Not the street but on a train. Summer 1995, I was on the train home from Vauxhall, early afternoon as I had a half day. Glorious sunshine. Sat on the virtually empty train I was reading a book but kept seeing a very pretty girl, bit of a Sloane, sitting about 20 feet away, reading Vogue. I studied her over the top of my book and saw her flip aimlessly through the magazine, turning the pages without reading them. Then I saw her slowly open and close her legs. She knew I was watching her…open and closed, open and closed, getting a little wider. It was then I clocked she didn’t have any underwear on…a nice tidy bush. She caught me having a good letch and I returned embarrassed to my book. A few stations later she got up, gathered her things, then made a point of walking down the carriage, past me, when a door was just by her seat. She brushed my shoulder and hopped off the train. I sat for a moment, wondering whether to follow her…had it been a huge come-on? But the doors closed, I sat in silence and continued home, wondering “what if”?
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