Kathy was never fond of riding the train. It was something that she had to do sometimes. Riding the train alone was often a source of dread in the tall, gawky, redhead virgin. At 5' 11", Kathy was the tallest girl in her class.
At 120 lbs, she felt she was a little slender to be attractive. Her flat chest caused her no end of embarrassment in the shower after gym classes. Kathy felt that the other girls were snickering behind her back about her boyish figure. Even guys didn't pay her much attention, hence her ongoing virginity at 18. Well, technically, she wasn't a virgin. She has long since gotten rid of the proof with regular use of her trusty hairbrush's handle.
Kathy was riding the train home alone this afternoon because she was late leaving school. Usually her friends, Becky and Natasha would ride with her and give her a feeling of safety. Today she was by herself. She felt a little vulnerable on the crowded train heading east.
She placed her big backpack on the floor between her legs. It had all the books for the new term inside of it. Kathy gripped the rubber handle coming down from the train's ceiling with both hands to keep her balance in the fast moving, swaying train. Falling down was not an option; she couldn't handle the embarrassment. But it wasn't a big fear as the train's passengers were jammed in really tight against each other.
The cool air from a floor vent in front of her felt nice between her legs; it kept the stickiness to a minimum and it made her feel fresh. She had her legs spread apart with the bag between her ankles. The naïve schoolgirl didn't realize what a ridiculously inviting target her spread legs and short skirt made. She was an easy target for any one of the many train perverts that preyed on any meek female with an accessible bottom.
The morning after she sold her graphics design business for a sum large enough that she could comfortably retire, Francesca Weaver looked at herself naked in the mirror and considered what she wanted to do with herself, and her life. She was forty-two, married but childless, and she and her husband Edward led mostly separate lives. Her looks were undiminished, and though she had never been conventionally beautiful, she knew she was sexually attractive, with high cheekbones and an aquiline, regal profile. In her stocking feet she stood nearly six feet, with long light-brown hair she usually pulled back into a patrician ponytail. Her 34C breasts and her ass might have sagged a little, but only a little, and her exercise regimen kept them in shape.
In her youth Francesca might have been considered a little on the scrawny side, but she was now merely slim. Oh, her youth, she thought. Her wild, lusty youth.
She raised her arms above her head lazily, and admired her smooth, sleek body. After years of shaving and waxing, she had indulged in laser treatments that gave her a form utterly free of body hair: not under her arms, nor on her legs, nor on or around her delectable pussy and ass.
She liked what she saw. And she was determined that many others would see it, and like it, and enjoy it also.