She isn't my type. Dangerous, tattooed, boyish. All things I steer clear of when I'm staring at a woman. But there is something about her that has my ...ussy dripping. She's always bagging her pants, showing off boxers designed with different things. A baggy shirt over small breasts and a tight waist. A single chain hanging from her hip. A sexy eyebrow piercing curling around her thin clean shaven right eyebrow. My mind wonders. An image only a mind can conjure pops into my head. The train is. Could he feel me staring at him? Could he sense the desire in my gaze? Did he sense my hunger or read the offer my body gave him? Could he see my nipples harden, my breath run short, or the chills run over my body? How could I go on working like this? This man has become my idol, my sex god, my vision of perfection. I knew I could never have him, but I also knew that my dreams and fantasies were mine alone, and nobody could take that away from me. And that was how I had to live my life. By day,. More

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