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Their eyes had met at the turnstile….his fare ticket had been returned with a “See Attendant” notice, and his blush was very noticeable against his blonde beard. Rachael smiled sympathetically as he moved aside and let her through.

Sexy eyes she thought to herself as she walked to the escalator descending to the train platform. Hearing the train doors open, she ran quickly down the slowly moving stairway and arrived just in time to see the doors closing and the train pulling away. “Nutz!” she mumbled under her breath, and moved to her accustomed queue position, where she opened her novel.

The ill-fated mad dash to the train platform had made her warm and she removed her long coat, dropping her book in the process. As she bent over to pick it up, her rear end bumped against the person in back of her, and she swiftly straightened, turning to apologize. Now it was her turn to blush as she saw that same blonde beard and sexy eyes she had encountered upstairs at the turnstile. She had noticed him many times before, and had imagined he had watched her a few times as well, although she didn’t think it was true.

She averted her eyes quickly, not knowing what his thoughts were, but she couldn’t restrain her own. She tried to go back to her book, but couldn’t concentrate. The stranger had stepped forward to the side to look down the tunnel for an oncoming train, and she could see the slight bulge in his suit pants in spite of the jacket he held over his arm. He stepped back in place behind her, and she went back to her story.

Soon, she felt something push gently up against her ass, which felt much like a briefcase. He must have made a mistake, she thought, and mentally forgave him. Shifting from one foot to the other, she couldn’t help fantasizing about this stranger behind her. She had noticed he was about her age, of average height and weight; the kind of teddy bear she would love to hold and suckle. His face was that average-guy good looking, with strong cheekbones (what she could see beneath his beard), and smiling blue eyes.

Well, what am I doing day-dreaming about him” she asked herself. After all, he probably wouldn’t even LOOK at me. She unobtrusively tugged at her slightly snug blouse, smoothing it over her breasts, and rounded hips.

She had been uncomfortable all day, noticing how this blouse accentuated her large breasts, and how the new brassier she was wearing held them up and allowed them to bounce MUCH too much when she walked.

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Third of the “Deb’s Tails” series. There are more in the works; Deb has told me several others, I just need to find the time to write them down.

My wife, Deborah, often tells me “bedtime stories” of her sexual adventures. Some of them I know are true, either because I was there, or because she has corroborative evidence. Some of them, I’m sure, are fictional. Others, I’m just not sure about.

I don’t know about the truth of this one. It sounds like the kind of thing she’d do if she were in the right mood, but since I wasn’t there, I can’t vouch for it.

If you’ve ever heard anything about the New York subways, you probably think you know what they’re like. Noisy, obnoxious, and crowded. Most of the time that’s true, but as any New Yorker will tell you — once you get past his pride in living in the least livable city in the country — that some trains can be practically empty if you pick the right times and routes. Many evenings, around 10 or 11, even the busiest routes start emptying out, and by midnight it’s sometimes possible to have a car to yourself.

In all fairness to New York, though, it does have it’s good points. The Circle Line is one of them. It’s a mini-cruise around Manhattan (it is an island, you know!) Any place that’s got a decent-sized body of water has something similar. Seattle has trips around Puget Sound, New Orleans has riverboats running along the river. The Circle Line cruise is really beautiful at night with the city all lit up, but in the middle of winter, you can — and probably will — freeze your ass off.

Deb and I often have separate social lives — an inevitable reaction to work-related gatherings where people sit around and talk shop. What usually happened in New York was that I’d stay home and play with my techie-toys while she was out partying with her colleagues, or she’d stay home with a book while I was out cheering for the Mets. Naturally, that meant a few solo subway rides for both of us, often at somewhat odd hours.

This is the story of one of those trips as Deb told it to me (albeit, with my title).

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Walking along the dark street, I thought for a moment to the almost daily occurrences that seemed to dominate the news. Numerous bodies had been found in the recent weeks. Bodies savaged physically, and sexually. Bodies of mostly women, but a male or two as well. Grinning to myself I walked on, shrugging my shoulders and pushing my hands deeper into the pockets of my overcoat. The tabloids were shouting about rampant vampires and wolfmen. Right. Even though the reputable papers did mention, from time to time, the disturbing fact that the victims did seem to be a bit on the anemic side, the whole thing seemed pretty outrageous. Here at the beginning of the 21st century, old ghost stories were dominating the papers. Chuckling lightly to myself, I turned and started across the street, heading toward the little bar that I usually frequented.

As I walked in, swinging my coat off my shoulders and hanging it on ‘my’ coat hook, the bartender gave me a nod. As I reached my stool, I found a draft waiting for me, and I casually tossed back a swallow, looking around the bar. The TV was on, over the end of the bar, and the late news was on, more jabbering about yet another body found just after nightfall today. Pity, I thought to myself. “It’s your buddy at work again, Slade,” the bartender jibed toward me.

“Can’t you put some other trash on Tom? Don’t you get sick of this shit?” pushing my empty mug toward him, he picked it up, and soon, I found it back before me.

“You know I only put it on to annoy you, Slade,” he grinned broadly at me and went to the other end of the bar, taking a drink to an old man sitting there. He always bugged me about this shit, knowing how I felt about sensationalism. We had talked often of how these losers would pull some cheap stunt, grab some publicity, and get credit for being so strange. And a vampire impersonator certainly had the attention of the city now. “You know they found that gal,” he gestured toward the screen which showed a body being carted into a waiting ambulance, face covered, “about a mile from here?” He grinned at me, and I just shrugged. No sense feeding his mirth.

“Yeah? You’re hitting them close to home, eh?” He laughed as I ducked the wet bartowel that soared toward me. Eventually, thankfully, the news changed to more mundane matters, and I watched silently as one little tragedy after another was shown. Pity.

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She awoke at midnight again, the way she had for the past three nights, the sheets twisted tightly into an umbilical cord binding her to the sweaty womb of her bed.

She disentangled herself from the tangled topsheet and laid back, closing her eyes. Immediately the dream from which she had awakened flashed into her consciousness: the utter darkness and the sudden, dim, slanting light; the stranger, the man she had seen and followed; the small anonymous room; the smell, the feel of him; the awful, all-consuming hunger.

She opened her eyes quickly, sat up and turned on the nightstand light to dispel the vision. No sense trying for sleep now, she thought. Why the dream had come, why it affected her, consumed her like this, she did not know; but for now it would not leave her.

She lit a cigarette, hoping to concentrate on that and occupy her mind, dispel the terrible demon that was the dream with the mundane, the ordinary. She sat back against the headboard, and without thinking closed her eyes tiredly.

Instantly the dream filled her vision again. A dark restaurant, club, bar, a place she had never been; a man she did not know — no, did not *want* to know; the small room, featureless apart from a bed against one wall, without blankets or frame or headboard; the feel of him against her, on top of her; feeling him between her legs, parting them, dividing her (divide and conquer, a part of her mind thought, unbidden), opening her….

She started suddenly, looking down. As of its own volition, her hand was caressing her bare thigh, grasping it, pulling her leg away from its mate…opening her….

She stubbed out the cigarette and jumped to her feet, her heart racing, pounding. This is ridiculous, she thought, pacing the floor. It’s a dream. *Only* a dream. I’m in control; it only affects me as much as I want it to.

Instantly upon thinking the phrase she stopped her pacing. The truth penetrated her mind: she *did* want it to affect her, to consume her. She wanted a reality to match the dream.

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Kate and Linda spent a quiet few weeks reliving their recent adventures. Nothing too exciting happened to either of them, since, in real life, sexual escapades tend to run in cycles. You have a great couple of weeks, then a few barren ones. Then things start to perk up again. Kate was looking forward to the upcoming Halloween holiday, she loved dressing up in sexy exotic costumes and wandering the neighborhood, watching the children run shrieking from house to house. She wondered if any of the neighbors realized that the woman dressed in the micro-skirt, tall stiletto heels and heavy makeup was their neighbor Kate. She even talked Linda into going out with her that evening. Kate’s husband was out of town on a business trip for several days, and Linda’s mate went across town to play poker with some buddies. Once again, the ladies who loved cum were on their own.

“Lin, I just know you’ll love this - it’s so much fun to walk around the neighborhood all dressed up and seeing people’s reactions to us. They’ll never know its us!”

“I hope you’re right, hon, if this gets around Roger’ll kill me!” her friend responded, only slightly humorously. The ladies spent the afternoon before Halloween night getting their hair and fingernails done, both of them luxuriating in the splendor of the salon they went to. Their every need was catered to as they sipped champagne and strawberries. Linda, on a dare, even had the young beauty parlor girl trim her pubic hair back, until just a small patch wove it’s way on top of her mound, and her pussy lips were completely bared. Linda allowed herself a mini-orgasm as the cute young girl carefully trimmed and shaved her sexual regions. The girl was not as embarrassed as Linda might have thought - as she finished, she leaned forward and gave Linda’s crotch a loving swipe with her tongue, pausing to diddle her clit just long enough to let Linda know that she was turned on herself. Linda picked up her head between her hands and kissed her warmly.

The ladies anxiously awaited nightfall. In their part of the country, the sun set quickly, and the night, though seasonally cool, was not at all unpleasant. Kate was wearing a very short, tight skirt that rode far up her thighs, a tiny cotton halter top, and high red heels with stockings. The tops of the stockings just barely hid beneath the hem of the skirt, and if Kate bent down or sat, a nice expanse of creamy thigh was exposed, under the sensuous red garter strap. She loved dressing like that. Linda wore short shorts that seemed painted on her trim buns, and spent several minutes trimming the crotch up until her panties almost peeked through the seams. A lacy, almost see-through blouse and a black lace bra completed the outfit. Linda purposely wore the dark bra under the white blouse, so that interested viewers could see exactly what she was so proud of. Her legs were bare, but she also wore heels, though not so high as Kate’s.

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