The Bloke at the Train Station

Like many other people in major cities, I take a train to work.

Each morning I notice a man on the platform -- dark-haired, handsome, medium build. I'd say he's in his early-to-mid 30s, about a decade older than me, give or take. For reasons I can't quite describe, I keep thinking that he's a male escort.

It's stupid, I know. Judging from his formal attire of sharp suits and polished leather shoes, I doubt he's working in my old field. Well, I shouldn't really say that -- there were plenty of times I donned a suit at a business woman's request.

It's the brief case that does it, really. No male escort ever carries a brief case. They're so bulky and unattractive. A messenger bag, sure. But an honest-to-goodness brief case? Not so much.

I've told Simone about this bloke, and she thinks I'm just a victim of my own overactive imagination. And even mentioning another man gets her all hot and bothered. Seems that Simone harbors a fantasy of her own: watching me get it on with another guy.

"It's not compeltely unheard of," she said to me. "Plenty of girls do."

"I just don't get it," I said. "What pleasure could you derive from watching some guy suck my cock -- or vice versa?"

"You wouldn't be in control. You'd be outside your comfort zone. You'd be doing something you've never done before -- and you may even like it."

"Ah, so that's what it is, then?"

"What?" she asked.

"You've always fantasized about having a three-some with another guy. By having me fool around with one, well, that would give you easy access to a third party, wouldn't it?"

Her silence meant I was on the right track. I leaned in, kissed her forehead, then refilled her iced tea. That girl of mine -- always thinking, always scheming. Most boyfriends would be repulsed at her candor, over her somewhat kinky fantasies. But me? I'm a lost cause. Because even now, I'm still in love with her.