Anyways too much of a rant on British transport system but this is important to set the context of the story.I am an Indian IT man working in London a...d this has been my story of travel in London trains. Suffering in silence, I consider myself good looking, dress well smell good and fit.This story is about my train journey and how I subsequently met an Indian lady on the train.Recently I have moved to a new house so the train I used to take to work has changed. After traveling for 2 months on. "Yours are even better than Sandy's. They are bigger than most girls and perfectly shaped." Although I feel like I am on strange ground I continue. "Her boobs flop too much when she jumps. I'm always afraid she is going to hit herself in the eye with those things. Besides, they have to be fake right." No, they are real big brother. I promise you that. You'll be lucky enough to find that out soon."I blush and look away. "I honestly like your boobs more than hers."It is her turn to look away and. I really mean it."Her husband leaned slightly and butted and then caressed her cheek with his nose. "The Isolationists were making much of today's poll. Sixty-one percent of Madeirans thinks we should be completely neutral in Phoenicia, leave completely, not even be there, sixty-one percent!" Oh..." I went and checked the results. It's true. For Porto Santo, the number's almost seventy percent." Shit... What are people thinking of?" A number of the Isolationists cornered me for a while, saying. What they didn't daretell each other was that in the weeks following their visit they both spentmany hours stroking themselves in their beds while recalling all that theyhad seen. In the lobby a large sign read "Registered Volunteers," and in a smallerprint, "walk-ins welcome." The sign pointed to the right, whereseveral desks were set up. Quite a few girls and women were alreadyqueued up in front of the desks, some accompanied by their family or friends. Trine'sand Christina's families.