Public transport fantasy

Do you ever sit on the tram and wonder how your fellow passengers like to have sex?

What about him, the meek looking balding guy reading the paper, spectacles on his nose? Does he like to be dominated by a woman with big strong thighs as he kneels naked and vulnerable on the floor? Or is he a secret sadist who pinches his wife’s nipples just a bit harder than she likes, as he gets a kick out of hearing her cry out in pain? He never admits this to her because he can’t admit it to himself.

Or him, the man with the broad face and hooded eyelids. Caramel coloured smooth skin and an army green cap over his short hair. Does he love his wife? Is he faithful to her? Or is he on his way to see his mistress while her kids are at school and her husband at work. Will he go to her place and they’ll steal an hour fucking in the marital bed or will they meet at some cheap motel that smells of stale sweat and carpet deodoriser?

The young guy, tall and lanky, his curls a wild mess. He’s a man, yes, but there is still much boyishness in his smile. Is he aware of his appeal to girls who are drawn to his awkwardness and cherubic looks? Does he take them home and fuck them up the arse? Or is he shy, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye when he is sure she is not looking? At night he sneaks into her garden to watch through her living room window as she kisses another and takes off her white cotton bra in the warm glow of the imitation Tiffany lamp.

This one is standing, holding onto the pole. A business man is my guess. Confident bright eyes, short clipped blonde beard and hair. He looks straight at me. I don’t smile back, but return the stare. Does he like to be in charge? Does he know how? Or is he only after a quickie in missionary position before rolling over and going to sleep? Who knows, perhaps he is a secret romantic who likes candlelit dinners and giving gifts of expensive handmade chocolates.

The next stop is mine. I get off and merge with the business of the crowd. Losing myself.

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