Train Erotica for Her – When He Sat Across From Me
It had been a long week.
The kind of week where everything feels a little heavier. Deadlines, forgotten texts, dishes in the sink. My shoulders were tight, my head full. All I wanted was to sit in silence and let the world blur past the window.
The train smelled faintly of coffee and old fabric. I had my usual seat—second car from the front, left side, next to the window. I always chose it. Habit, comfort, routine.
I pulled out my book. Romance, of course. My guilty pleasure. A story about two strangers meeting on a train, their tension slowly building until it spilled over. I liked the slow burn. The anticipation. It made me feel things—things I rarely let myself feel in real life.
I was just getting to the part where the heroine touched herself in bed after imagining him beside her, when the train stopped.
A wave of cold air swept in as the doors opened. I didn’t look up at first. Then I felt it.
A shift in the air.
Like someone entered the space around me. Like something… changed.
I looked up.
He walked in like he belonged there. Not arrogant. Just… grounded. His coat was dark, fitted, and his face held that unreadable calm that always draws you in. Stubble along his jaw. Eyes like they’d seen a lot, but didn’t need to prove it.
He scanned the seats.
And then he sat. Right across from me.
I lowered my eyes back to my book, pretending to read, but I couldn’t even find the line I’d stopped on. My fingers tightened slightly around the pages. I was suddenly aware of everything—my breathing, the shape of my mouth, the space between our knees.
He smiled. Just a little.
“Good book?” he asked.
His voice was deep but soft. Like a Sunday morning. I hesitated, then lifted the cover slightly, enough for him to see.
“Oh,” he said. “I’ve read that one.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He nodded, amused. “A man can read romance too, can’t he?”
I felt my cheeks warm. “I guess I didn’t expect you to.”
“You didn’t expect me to sit across from you either, did you?” His tone was playful. Calm. Confident, but not pushy.
I shook my head with a quiet laugh. “No, I didn’t.”
There was a pause. The kind that makes you feel like something else is about to start.
“I liked that scene in chapter seven,” he said. “The one where she… watches him sleep and wonders what it would be like to be brave.”
I swallowed. My mouth was suddenly dry.
“That was… intense,” I managed.
He tilted his head. “Do you like the intense parts?”
I glanced out the window, then back at him. “I like the parts where nothing happens, but everything feels like it might.”
He leaned back, smiling with interest. “You’re more of a slow burn girl, huh?”
I nodded.
The conversation went quiet for a minute. I could feel the warmth between us. Not literal heat, but something else. Something slow, coiled, ready.
His eyes drifted to my book again. “It’s funny how books like that feel more real than real life sometimes.”
“They’re safer,” I said softly. “You can feel everything, but no one sees you.”
“Unless someone’s reading you, too.”
I looked at him. “Are you?”
He didn’t answer. Not directly.
“I think that character… the woman on the train… she didn’t need much. Just one moment. One look. And she remembered she was still alive.”
I didn’t know what to say. My thighs pressed lightly together under the table. Not on purpose. Just… instinct.
“She thought about touching herself right there,” he said. “Didn’t she?”
My breath caught.
“In the story, I mean,” he added. “Though… I wonder if she actually did.”
I closed the book. Not hard. Just… gently. Marking the page with my finger.
“What do you think?” I asked. My voice was quieter now. Not because I was shy. But because it felt like we were in a smaller world now. Just ours.
“I think she wanted to,” he said. “Maybe not because she was turned on by him. But because he made her remember something about herself.”
Something about the way he said that made my chest feel tight. Not anxious. Just… full.
“What did he remind her of?” I asked.
He looked out the window for a moment. “That her body still wanted. Even after all the days that made her forget.”
The train rumbled gently. My breath moved slower. Deeper.
My nipples were hard under my blouse. I was aware of it. Not embarrassed. Just… present.
I shifted slightly in my seat. My legs uncrossed, then crossed again. A subtle movement, but I saw his eyes flicker. He noticed.
“You don’t have to answer this,” he said, “but… do you ever imagine things like that? When you’re on the train, or at work, or alone in your apartment?”
I swallowed. “Sometimes.”
“Are you imagining something right now?”
I hesitated. My skin felt like it was humming.
“I think I am.”
We were both quiet again. But it wasn’t awkward. It was filled with possibility.
He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees. Closer now. Not enough to touch, but enough to feel.
“You know,” he said, “the book has a sequel.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked.
He nodded. “In the second one… they stop pretending.”
What happens next?
He heard everything… and he didn’t stop there.
The tension built in the dark was only the beginning.
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Part 2 – We Were Still Strangers, But I Let Him In
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How to Use Train Erotica for Her – When He Sat Across From Me:
- Read in bed. In the bath. Wherever you’re alone.
- Let your breath follow the rhythm.
- Touch if it feels right. Pause if it’s too much.
- There’s no wrong way to feel pleasure.
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