I am not even counting the telephone calls that she let go into voice mail when I was around, or how many times she walked out of the room, or onto the patio, to talk to her girlfriend, in winter, in Ontario . My brain knew but my heart did not want to listen. Isn’t that the way with love? Our brains scream out the answer but our heart just doesn’t listen, or simply explains things away? The last piece of evidence, and the one that was nearly a signed confession, was the pretty black thigh-high stocking I found under the bed. Funny thing, I didn’t even know she had them let alone ever see her wear them. No, but wait, there’s more as the infomercials say. The black hold-ups had a curious white crust stain on the top on the inside of the thigh. “Gee, maybe she just spilled a glaze on them. Yeah, that’s it,” I laughed to myself. I am not counting the mountain of little things, like coming home from the girl’s night out and heading right for the shower, every time she went out. Also,. "you little slut..."She just winked at me. I continued to run my fingers through her slit and play with her tits until my fingers were wet. I looked into her eyes again, and stuck 2 fingers in her pussy. She let out a gasp and started wiggling her ass trying to get my fingers deeper.I heard her whisper... "Don't forget my ass..." She leaned over and put her hands on ther glass.This was too good to be true. I couldn't believe it was happening. I continued to play with her perfrect, perky tits and moved my fingers from her tight pussy to her even tighter ass. She squeeked for a second as I pushed them in. I saw someone at the front of the train look back at us and then turn and ignore us again.She was loving this. And I was too. In fact, I could feel her cum starting to stream down her inner thighs. I looked at her reflection again and she stared at me and licked her lips slowly.That was it... that was so sexy. I unzipped my pants and pulled out my now rock solid cock. I.
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