The train stops once again. God! More people to pack in. I feel like I'm in a can of sardines. A few get on this way some shuffle that way. My shi...ty morning was about to change.This gorgeous blond moves in and is now standing right in front of me. My mind now races. “oh, excuse me, sorry to be bumping into you like this but I have nowhere else to stand”. She says this in such a lady like fashion. With an endearing British accent. No problem I reply back in my most thoughtful, polite. My mom being a single parent at that point (my dad had died when I was young), she usually had to leave me alone during the day, which really didn't bother me much, since there was always plenty to do -- swim, sail, fish, whatever I wanted to do.The summer I was 14, my good friend Chip came to visit for a week. Our families were close, and it was not unusual for Chip to spend the night at our house. We always had a good time together, and we were delighted to have an entire week. Chip was 13,. “Is that why I’m in the portrait? Because you’re worried about me?” She sounded like she was starting to get angry and I knew that I hadn’t said anything wrong.“No,” I said. “You’ve got it backwards.”“What?” she asked, confused. That was good. It blunted her anger and made her listen.“You think you’re in the portrait because I’m worried about you, but I’m worried about you because you’re in the portrait,” I told her, leading her to the bleachers so we could sit and talk.“That doesn’t make any. I slowly move my hands down along her hips and across the front of her thighs, then up to her firm belly. I pull her tight to me as I gently kiss her neck, my hot breath caressing her. Her breasts are heaving slightly as her breathing picks up, and I feel a slight trembling in her as my hands begin to rove her body.Reaching down with my right hand I undo my pants, letting them fall around my ankles. As I step out of them I wrap my left arm around her waist. My right hand goes to her shoulder.