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It was only as the train pulled away, and his journey home had begun that Colin had a moment to properly reflect: when married men forget about Valentine’s Day, it’s difficult to recover.In Colin’s defence, his wife, Angela, had said nothing to him at breakfast that morning. She had been distant and her conversation curt. But that wasn’t unusual.He’d only realised his forgetfulness when he arrived at the office and saw a courier and a receptionist wrestle over two bouquets and six pink helium balloons. Colin had rushed back out to buy a card from a corner shop, and that had made him late for a crucial client meeting. The card was still in his suit jacket, unwritten. He’d found a moment to order flowers at lunchtime – to be told they wouldn’t arrive today. He’d called Angela’s favourite restaurant: not a table to be had. He hadn’t been able to leave work until seven – god knows when he’d get home. And Angela had ignored his texts all day.He’d run to the station and leapt onto this train just as the doors squeaked shut. That, he thought, was the first thing that had gone his way all day.The train was almost full, but a couple of carriages down he squeezed into a window seat. Two people sat across from him: an older man in the aisle seat, while directly in front, a young woman in a stunning, red dress was reading a book.The guard’s whistle blew and the train moved off. Colin checked his watch and it was at this point he reflected on the awfulness of his day and he sat forward, willing the train on. Maybe Angela wouldn’t be so angry once he’d explained. Who was he kidding? Her tempers could be furious and had become more frequent in their two years of marriage. At least once a week she accused him of not caring, or of having an affair, Üsküdar Escort or of not showing enough affection. It could bubble on for days.The train window had steamed up; Colin cleared a peephole with his fist. It was already dusk and he could only see the sombre outlines of the suburban houses they were passing. In the evening gloom, the window was more functional as a mirror, reflecting the bright interior of his own carriage. Through it Colin saw the older man fold his newspaper and settle back. Colin switched his attention to the woman. Her dark hair was arranged in a bob, she had a pert nose, and he was transfixed by the way her dress accentuated her figure. He noticed the audacity of its hemline – only just below her thigh. He watched as she lifted her head from her book and, unless he was mistaken, started looking at him with interest.He watched her reflection for a few seconds then turned to look at her directly. Still she looked at him curiously, raising an eyebrow that seemed to demand an answer. Flattered by her attention, Colin reddened. Maybe she’d had a couple of drinks; she surely wouldn’t be interested in him otherwise.The woman leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee. She had to nearly shout to be heard above the hubbub of the busy carriage.“Stockport,” she said.The word stalled Colin. It reverberated inside him. He swallowed. Stockport. The town where he’d spent every unfashionable minute of his childhood. Stockport, the place he’d raced from when he left school to come to London to – to do what? To find a successful job – and end up in one that barely covered his mortgage? To find love – and marry a woman who belittled him at every turn?But how could this beautiful woman Üsküdar Escort Bayan know about Stockport? Know that word would leave him transfixed? She was still looking evenly at him, aware he was floundering, and he could not stop blushing.There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. She had spoken with a Stockport accent, but he couldn’t remember knowing anyone like her. He was on the point of admitting that he often struggled with names and faces, instead he put his finger to his lips to give the impression that he was on the cusp of recognising her, if she could give him a clue?But the intensity of the woman’s gaze began to stir something in him. Recognition emerged slowly from a fog. It was – it was –Jesus. Could it be Amanda, that girl from next door? Colin struggled to hide the disbelief that had to be evident in his expression. Little Amanda: his next-door neighbour the whole time he was growing up. She was a couple of years younger, but, like him, she was an only child and as there were few other children on their estate, there had been a kinship between them. Sometimes, as summer evenings died, they’d climb out of their respective bedroom windows onto the narrow felt roof that linked their terraced houses, and throw stones into their back gardens. Colin was at ease with Amanda because it was perfectly platonic. Amanda, buck-toothed and guileless, was a listener who navigated the flow of friendships in and out of his life with what seemed like indifference, until, one Valentine’s Day morning, Colin had watched with horror as she pushed a pink envelope through his letterbox. It was a card.Had he spoken to her since? Colin thought not, but he couldn’t keep at Escort Üsküdar bay a fleeting recollection that she had tried to take his hand one day afterwards and he’d run away and called her a name. Jesus.And now the same Amanda was here, metamorphosed into a stunning and sophisticated woman. Her teeth had been fixed, but had those long, tanned legs always been there? Those deep brown eyes? Colin felt his own Valentine card in his jacket pocket; its edge pressing against his nipple like a dagger.Amanda clearly remembered him. Should he say something now, to explain himself? But what could he say?Once Amanda realised he’d made the connection, she looked away, across the carriage into the distance, as if she was contemplating. It gave Colin the chance to study her. He ran his eye over the pattern of her dress, before noticing that, perhaps as a result of the train’s movement, her knees had drifted apart. He had only a moment to take this in, conscious he should not be caught staring. But excitement washed down his spine. It was a gorgeous view. He stole another glance to ascertain if this really was true.And there was no doubt, Amanda was, very slowly, opening her legs in front of him.He looked away for the longest minute of his life, then back. Now she had edged forward in her seat, which had made her dress ride further up.His glances continued and he needed to adjust himself to control his arousal. It was like watching a clock being adjusted: one minute her legs were at the twenty-five to five position, then at twenty-to-four. Now they were splayed indolently, so brazenly he could see the pale aqua of her panties. He looked furtively around. No-one else had noticed; this show was solely in his honour. And then something snapped in his excited body. He gave in: if he was in the front row, why shouldn’t he watch? He stared openly at her legs, burnished to a shine by the overhead light. He stared as her panties came into view. He stared at her knees, at the shadows formed by her dress, at the smoothness of her skin.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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