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Fraud Sex Therapist counsels a couple.

I sit down at my desk and open my email. There's one from you saying you hope I'm enjoying my day (Oh, am I ever!) and that you're having a productive time on your trip. You tell me you were thinking about me last night and wishing I was there with you (I know exactly what you mean!) and that you love me. My heart beats faster. I write back one sentence: What would you have done had I been there last night? I don't normally write things like that to you, but I'm not myself today.

I have a hard time keeping my mind on my work the rest of the day, my mind is buzzing with sexual energy and it's difficult to contain my desire. I have to tell myself: Focus, Erica, focus. The time ticks by too slowly. A little before five o'clock you send me an email, it says simply: By the time you arrive home, there will be another email from me. Enjoy. At the stroke of five I'm away from my desk and walking quickly out the front door.

I walk the two blocks to the metro and arrive on the platform hoping for a quick commute so I can get home and check my email. Unfortunately, it's not to be, the platform is crowded with people; the trains are behind schedule. Frustrated, I position myself to survive the onslaught of riders trying to get onto the next train.

It arrives in about twenty minutes. The doors open and passengers disembark. A mob of people with me in the middle surges forward and presses onto the metro car. I'm pushed forward and, finally, as the doors close behind us, the pushing relents a bit. I'm still pressed between a mass of bodies and one of the handhold poles. I barely maintain hold of my purse.

I can feel someone behind me, pressed against my back. I glance back. It's a younger man a little taller than me. He smiles at me and I return it. He's close enough I can smell him. It's a manly smell, enticing, and in my state, arousing. As the train moves the mass of passengers sways back and forth. I can feel the young man's hips pressing against my rear. The train stops and starts. I sway back into the man, pressing my ass against his crotch. It's then I feel it. I think he's hard! I allow myself a slight smile.

As the train moves, there it is again, the distinct feel of his shaft pressing against my tight bum. I don't know whether it's intentional or not, but I enjoy it touching me. After a stop and another exchange of passengers, the train starts again and I'm pressed between my gentleman friend and the pole. The hard metal rod presses against my stomach and mound, his shaft presses back against me. The long wait on the platform had dampened my arousal but it now comes back full force. It's hot in the car, hot and humid. The heat and mass of humanity makes me dizzy.

I can't help myself. I press my ass back against him and feel his hardness underneath his pants and then the train is pushing him back against me and me against the pole. My mind is abuzz and my senses are overloaded. I feel a trickle of perspiration on the back of my neck and then a slight dampness between my thighs as the pole presses against my skirt front. I inhale deeply and look ahead of me at a woman who's staring right at me. Does she know? I wonder. Her tongue touches her upper lip as she watches me. My eyes are wide. I wonder what I look like? I'm pressed against the pole once more and my mouth opens.

And then the train doors open and the pressure relents. The train empties out. I turn around, but he's gone. The attractive woman is still looking at me. I'm sure my face is flushed. I smile at her, partially embarrassed but still aroused. She smiles back. I straighten my blouse and jacket. The next stop is mine.


After a quick walk from the metro, I arrive home. I climb the stairs to our bedroom, throw my jacket onto the bed, slip my shoes off and pull my blouse out of my skirt. I eagerly sit down in the chair in front of our computer table, open up my email, hoping for something from you. It's there.

Erica, it reads, if you were with me here

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