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[Part I](

Regret began to consume her as she sat stationary on the edge of her seat, paralyzed for what felt like hours while contemplating the decision made as he sat only feet away. The heat rising up from her abdomen spilled into her cheeks and for a moment she thought if she would collapse into the walkway beside him. He would undoubtedly pay attention then, but no, that isn’t how she wanted to engage him.

Quietly they rode and not once did she turn to face him, nor did he address her. She wasn’t sure if he saw her at all. And, just as she was certain the anxiety would finally overtake her, she felt the train slow and then drag to a halt. Without even a glance, her bag in hand, she vacated the car as quickly as efficient.

At home that night she mulled over the entire situation, what she had done wrong, or didn’t do at all, curious if he had taken a glimpse at her that simply went unnoticed. Having a strong sense that he didn’t even notice, she wouldn’t twice make the mistake of inaction. This would take radical measures. After months of being disregarded, she knew what she had to do.

On Thursday she chose her usual place at the back, waiting until the return ride home to make her move. When she boarded he was there, his attention downward, absorbing another novel. Again she selected the row parallel to him, but today she slid directly next to the window, placing her bag on the floor rather than on the aisle seat between them.

Turning so that her back pressed against the wall and window, she extended her legs transversely over the chairs where her feet dangled into the aisle, thighs pressed together. She from this position could stare safely, without much attention due to the angle at which she sat. And stare she did. She’d never had a clearer view of him. Even when he was walking toward her to his seat, she was too apprehensive to build eye contact.

From here she could fully appreciate his user account, noting the straightness of his nose and his sculpted jawline shaded by the days of stubble covering it. She watched as his eyes darted from left to right and back again, taking in the information on the page. She’d never felt more jealous, wishing she were words on a page that he was eagerly consuming.

She waited patiently for the time when he would finally look up and lay eyes on her. She envisioned him smiling widely, his eyes no longer fixated on the book in his hands, but on her, this overlooked seductress he’d spent his time oblivious of. Yet, he didn’t. Even with her body sprawled out next to him like a luxurious lap cat, he never wavered.

Shifting her feet, she crossed one ankle over the other and adjusted her clothing, making as much movement as efficient. The most he did was cut his eyes to the right toward the floor when she did so, but he repositioned them immediately. Had he looked at her then he would have seen frustration over an infatuation. When the train came to a stop she exited without his acknowledgment.

The weekend came and went, as did Monday. Tuesday morning she boarded and advanced to the back row. On the evening ride she sat opposite him anew. From her bag she pulled a book—a strategically chosen hardcover authored by one of his favorites which she had previously noted. She stretched her legs across the seat once more, cracking the book to the center and holding it up in front of her face to obscure it. This time she was ready.

She dragged her right leg upward, bending it at the knee, and the skirt she wore followed. It slid up her thigh, the split at the side revealing more with every inch. Then she paused, carefully peering over the top of the novel for a reaction. Nothing.

Her leg moved outwardly until the knee rested against the back seat of the row ahead of her. The material was well past her thighs now, ruched in a bunch that disclosed her creamy skin in its entirety. She wore no stockings that day. Her legs lay bare, open and inviting. She glanced at him, her eyes just two small slits above the binding.

Initially his gaze lifted from the novel and fell to the floor between them. He was playing his own little game of anonymity. With her fingers she pinched at the cloth, pulling it further until it unveiled her absolutely. The panties she had selected were lavender, cotton and soft, with a thin lace border lining the exterior where they touched the crease of her thighs. The cut was small, as intended, but they covered her. Ultimately, he looked.

She sank behind the safety of the pages, feeling his eyes upon her for the first time and savoring each moment of arousal that crept across her exposed body. With every ounce of audacity within her, she dropped the book to look directly at him.

His focus prevailed. He stared at the heated center between her thighs, his eyes as deliberate as they had been when focused on his novel. And his mouth gave nothing away. It were as if he wasn’t looking at anything at all, impassively transfixed by what was occurring.

Her chest rose and fell in heavy exhalation as she watched him, watching her. She didn’t budge. The temperature in the passenger car seemed to boil over with every second that passed like the sluggish rolling of molasses. Still he observed her, his hands gripping his book which lay carelessly in his lap, his mouth closed and tight, his jaw tense as the muscles flexed in his cheek.

For twenty minutes they remained this way, until the slowing of the train denoted her destination. When the cab became still she sealed her legs and pulled the clothing over herself before exiting without a word.

On Thursday she boarded and as all the time he was there, though part of her had questioned if he would be, if she had by any means disrupted some predetermined planetary flow. Not waiting for the afternoon ride home, she took the chair by the window across from him once more. She wore a simple dress, and repeated the previous action. Her legs extended coolly but she wasted no time lifting the right one until it was open and resting against the back of the row ahead of her. Her panties were black today. They were more suggestive, lacier, smaller. They cut into the flesh of the vulgar triangle barely being concealed there. This time there was no novel to hide behind.

Now she began her game, staring directly. For a while he maintained his composure and continued to read until she wondered nothing would happen, that he would ignore her completely, that it was all over, yet she kept herself spread. Suddenly he closed the cover and placed the book on the seat beside him. He turned his head toward her, his focus on the seductive spectacle being performed for him. He didn’t once look her in the face. His attention was solely on what lay amid her smooth splayed thighs, at the swelling of the tumescent mound that was dripping in secrecy for him.

Her fingers gripped the bunched material at her waist, holding it up as he admired her. He sustained his survey in silent inexpression. And when the train stopped it was him who departed first.

For weeks they continued this way. Each day she chose a different pair of panties to torment him with. Some were solid in color, and cotton. Some were opaque, lacy and risqué. Some were light and thin so that he could see the little darkened spot that formed from her arousal during the entirety of their speechless ride. Every encounter was the same. She would spread her legs for him, and he would stare.

Until one day.

NSFW: yes

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