I am a mixed-race woman. My father was an Indian, but my mother was white British.Now, let’s get to the story. It happened some years back, and I ju...t got down to write it all down. I had boarded the train to my home. It was late in the night, and the train was packed. I slid my suitcase underneath my berth and took my seat.Moments later, a guy came to me and claimed the seat to be his. I showed him my ticket that read coach B12 seat 46. He showed me his ticket, and it read the same. I let him. “It’s okay.” I heard myself say. “Well can I help in any way?” She managed to ask as she stifled her giggles. I couldn’t help it, I laughed to, knowing how silly it looked, with me hopping from foot to foot, clutching my flies like they were on fire.“Alice.” She held her hand out.“Um… Robert… pleased to meet you.” I couldn’t shake hands right at that moment. I still had the cup in one and my trousers in the other.“Please let me buy you another coffee.” I declined, but took the opportunity to. Now the thing is that she and I share a love of BDSM amongst other things and she found a couple of my stories a real turn on, and it took a while for me to find out which ones and why she was turned on so much, having written over 40 I thought I could pinpoint her turn on by working out which ones she had commented on and the common theme, as she was a little coy which was unusual with her as she usually was very outgoing. Anyway, we live a couple of hundred miles apart so meeting was not. Inhalt.’ She sounded a bit girlish, but it was clearly in fun. ‘Thank you Miss Solberg. You look very fetching yourself’. He tried to sound light but wasn’t sure he had succeeded. ‘I thought we progressed to Steve and Ingrid?’ she teased. He wrinkled his forehead but there was a small smile on his lips. ‘We have.’ He relaxed a bit more, quickly changing the subject. ‘Which wine did you order, Ingrid?’ ‘It’s an Italian white, a Pino something I think the waiter said. It’s very nice. I.