It was a hot June evening, the sun had just set and a cool breeze was now starting to blow as is usual at that time of the year where we live. Pete, my husband, had called and said he would be home from work shortly, and so I decided to wait for him out on the front porch. I was in my usual Saturday attire cutoffs and a white t-shirt. I had been cleaning the house all day and I was hot so I had taken my bra off before I went outside. The breeze that was blowing was causing my nipples to get hard as they rubbed under the soft cotton of my shirt. I smiled to myself as I thought that Pete may just get lucky tonight. I had no idea at the time just how lucky!

He comes to my bed and climbs on top of me. Sitting up, his hands drag lazily across my body, waking me from my sleep. His hands run up my sides, tracing the curves of my

waist and raising my arms over my head, as he follows the the contours of my breasts, until his hands rest against my breasts. His mouth comes forward to take one is his mouth. His lips full and warm, his tongue gently caressing the nipple as his lips suck gently.

A gasp escapes as my mouth falls open. I accept his gentle assault as he caresses my other breast with his fingers. Running his smooth fingertips over my flesh, bringing the blood to the surface, increasing my sensitivity to his touch.

From as young as can remember I loved to touch myself, the feeling it gave was better than any comfort blanket. By a certain age I began to wonder if it was more of an obsession than a liking. And, to this day, I still wonder. The bit that I like more than anything now though is the risk, a controlled risk! I have control and I take the risks.

The last risk I took was a very enjoyable one. It started one the journey to work. The same time, same train and of course the same bored commuters. Come with me on the train and share my moment.

The 8.05 train to Sydney opened it’s doors and we all shuffled on, most people trying in their institutionalised manner to get the same seat they had occupied for the last 30 years of their working life.

Man with briefcase with rip in it sitting on the second seat to the left of the toilet, woman who obviously only owned one colour of blouse’s sitting three seats up from him, olive skinned builders mate standing even when there was available seats. As the journey got closer to the city people started leaving at their respective stations and the ‘tinned sardine’ effect lessened.