His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. She was certain that she had never seen him before. She could feel how her pulse began to rise. The man was ...locking most of her way; she would have to touch him, to get by. She lowered her pace a little. Didn´t really know what to do or say.“Wait...”She stopped dead two or three steps below him. She was looking straight ahead, but she could feel how he was undressing her with his eyes.“No bra on today?”Before she could answer, he put one hand on her. ”He didn’t reply, but on the way back to his wagon, hebegan thinking, and he was up late into the nightwriting things down on paper, crossing them out andthen writing more things.A few days later after breakfast, he knocked on herdoor. Her reply wasn’t friendly until she opened thedoor and saw him. “Hello, Nicu,” she said in acheerful voice. “I’m glad to see you.” I’ll bet youare, he thought, but to her he said, “May I come. I think for a black man it’s best to stick to his own race. Yes, black women are difficult. But they’re also brutally honest. Something about white women’s way too easy smiles sets off my spider sense. Something about most of them just don’t ring true. Have you noticed that when people are talking of racism they always think of angry white men but never white women? I think a lot more white women than white men are secretly racist. Their numbers are greater than most people can admit exist.. My hot admirer had sat down in a seat diagonally opposite me which faced the back of the carriage - he could look at me without even turning around! my imagination began to run wild. how i would have loved him to have sat right next to me - to have ran his hands up the inside of my thighs to feel my leggings soaked through from my wet *****.. how i wanted him to rip my leggings down, stand behind me, spread my legs, push me over the seat and jam his fat **** into my dripping *****. oh god i was.