It’s the sway she walks.

It’s the sway she walks.

Sometimes it's a look, the voice or the body that attracts. Me, I love an intelligent girl - especially if …. what do you think I mean.


I’ve been following the girl every day for a week. It’s probably a coincidence but she gets off the train one carriage ahead of me and walks all the way to my office and then keeps going while I turn off and go to work.

It’s mesmerising. I have never seen such a desirable figure swaying and slinking 30 feet in front of me for nearly a mile. It’s delicious, enticing, exciting, erotic.

Every day. Nearly twenty minutes every day. Click-clack went the business shoes, about a 3 inch heel was my guess. Click-clack. Carrying her slim but not skinny figure, gorgeous long dark-blonde hair reaching to well below her shoulder-blade but not quite to the waist., a sexy bum that swivelled and jiggled beautifully and several gaps between her legs as they scissored to and fro cutting their way into my heart.

And the really amazing thing was that she never looked behind her to see who was following in her footsteps for such a distance.

I was a young married man of 28, 5 foot 8 inches, just over 10 stone. Longish black hair and a skin that had avoided teenage eruptions. My wife, Dahlia, was an inch shorter and a stone lighter, long blonde hair and a nice figure. What really attracted me was her intelligence and humour. We fitted together well. Having met at college, we had been together for about 8 years now, married for 6.

I worked in the centre of Manchester and she worked in Stockport, so we caught different trains of a morning.

It was a busy weekend, we went running together, to the pub with some friends, then a film and a late night at a winebar, early morning sex, shower, run, café and on again to the evening.

In the morning, the girl clearly was delayed getting off her carriage. I hadn’t seen her get on but suddenly there she was just about three or four paces ahead of me. I could see much rather clearly now. The front view seemed to be just as nice as the rear view. Nothing excessive but nicely proportioned. A Simpson-type ‘excellent’ veered across my mind – without the almost pervy gestures of Mr Burns. It might have been my imagination, but I almost thought she took a quick glance in my direction. Then she turned and began the daily walk, strut, sway that much closer than usual. If I wasn’t sure that it was impossible, I’d have thought that she was putting a little more effort into the walk than usual. Did she usually swivel and pivot quite so thoroughly? I didn’t care.

Her trousers today were tight across that delectable bum. I could see no trace of a visible panty line or VPL, but then manufacturers had improved their styles and selections over the last few years with new materials and new designs. I missed the occasional VPL – but then I did really enjoy watching women.

Despite concentrating on the gorgeous example vibrating ahead of me, I still had time to consider the better examples of bottoms in the abstract. I wondered if how many dimensions there were to an excellent bottom – height, width, depth, time, motion, acceleration, jiggle and attraction meant 7 at least; plus charm, colour and strangeness too for the more expert analysis.

It’s got more difficult to watch women properly. It’s so easy to be noticed and labelled as some sort of ‘dirty old man’ or ‘perve’. I just love watching those curves as they alter shape and flex and sway. Lovely.

Apparently, hypnotists use a steady moving sparkly item close to the eyes to lull the client into a trance. I have to accept that the steady sway of that gorgeous bottom was quite effective at hypnotising ME.

The bottom kept its distance for the next month or more. I was never tempted to speed up and overtake, or to take sly glances in the shop windows to see if I could get a bigger, better view. I just followed behind the behind almost every day of the week. Never any closer than about three paces, and many days never further than about 7 or 8 paces.

Sometimes trousers, sometimes skirts; sometimes short, sometimes longer; sometimes tights or stockings; once, rather pleasingly a tight pair of shorts. Always shoes with heels. Day after day, my eyes were delighted and simultaneously tormented.

Then, happiness. Walking home one evening having taken a detour to a delicatessen, SHE popped out of an office building just as I was passing. My first impression was confirmed. She was a delight. Not so beautiful as to frighten me into running away – as if I could run away from a bottom so delicious. A nice looking girl with a happy expression as if the day had gone well, all the jobs had been done and a pleasant evening was likely.

I smiled. To my amazement she smiled back.

I had to speak. But what to say.

I said the stupid words, “You’re very beautiful.”

She smirked and said, “I think you admire my bottom more than any other part. I have got eyes, y’know.”

“In the back of your head?”

“Hmph, comments like that will have me walking away”

“And I’m going to complain?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I’m sorry, that was totally lacking, quite improper of me. I apologise. To start again, may I walk WITH you?”

So, that was our first conversation. Brief but very pleasing. I say brief because we must have walked for a good fifteen minutes. I don’t even know what we talked about that time. The minutes passed like gossamer.

---------------------

Time rolled on. We spoke a couple of times a week. There was no deliberate pattern. For one thing, I was well aware that I was a married man – happily so.

Her name was Allison. We joked a little about how many girl’s names were variations of a male equivalent. Being me I began an alphabetical list, Andrea, Bobbie, Carla, Daniela, Edwina, Frances, G was tricky so she offered Gregorina and we both shouted ‘Georgina of course’, Harriet, and so on. I came back with some names that were available for both such as Ashley, Brook, Cameron, Drew, Evelyn, Frances/Francis.

It was looking at names of that sort on the computer that alerted my wife – because most such lists are headed ‘Baby Names’ As I said, her name was Dahlia, named by parents who enjoyed PG Wodehouse too much.

But then clichés are exactly that because they actually do happen.

“What’s got you lookin’ at baby names, my pet? As far as I know we’re not expecting to get pregnant at the moment? I’m still taking my pills,”

Then she hissed, “Are you taking any pills, maybe? Having a little escapade? Getting home from work a little late?, a little tired?, a little lipsticked? You’d better not.” And her tone of voice was very harsh. “You’d better have some good answers. Before I perform bobbitoffomy on you.” [see John Wayne Bobbitt 1993 - sometimes spelt Bobbette!).]

“Answers you shall have, apple of my eye. There’s this woman on the train – she goes about three-quarters of the way to my office before she turns off. About once a week we have a bit of a chat if I happen to be within talking distance. She’s got some interesting ideas. I say about once a week, that’s maybe twice a week going to work and incredibly rarely at the end of the day as we seem never to overlap then. Maybe once a month.”

“Mmm. Exactly when were you going to mention this ‘regular chat’ you’ve been having with this woman.”

“For a start it’s not ‘regular’ in any way. Being blunt. I guess I expected I would have probably already have mentioned her or something she said or I said. Fortunately, she seems to be making little effort to ‘make conversation’ and I don’t think either of us have actually taken more than a pace or two to get into chat-range. I’ve never felt that I was thinking in terms of ‘I need to talk with her’ and I’ve never noticed her push to get to me. Or to delay her steps either. And your wording and tone are over-the-top. It’s not a regular chat. For me, it actually helps me once or twice to think sideways at a question about work – and to get a new answer. She seems to be a bit of a spreadsheet boff like me. I can’t be too chummy and I don’t want to be. There’s you – my love – to prevent me even thinking improperly about anyone else; and there’s the rules at work which prevent me discussing any actual work issue outside the building. So we chat about articles in the paper; stuff of little value but mildly interesting.”

“So how far from being ‘a bit interested’ is this ‘relationship’? Should I have any concern?”

“Well, it ain’t a relationship. Sure ‘nuff, it ain’t. There’s no point in either of us getting in a twitch about it. Fortunately, she’s just a ship passing in the daytime, even if going the same direction at the same time. I can find ways to detour and things to do differently. I’m pretty sure that there’s no risk to me or you or us, or her even. But, taking view of it from a distance, it’s time to cut it short. Really.”

“Honey, if you think there’s nothing to it, then I’m happy. I’m not even saying the words and then planning to revoke them within a week. After all, I’m not the chairman of a football club about to sling his manager. And I’m not a politician either – you can see my lips moving and I’m not lying. “

“Well, I’m only a bloke and therefore immune to multi-tasking and the understanding of emotion or subtlety. But I think I think that there’s no relationship. How would I be able to tell any better – sufficient to appease your concerns.”

“Concerns, is it now. Plural. Huh.”

“Stop playing with words – you’re not a lawyer.”

“That’s rich. You’re not a lawyer and you play with words all the time. Mind you, a lawyer would play with words and then invoice you – so let’s be grateful for that.”

“For a start, I’ll make sure that this girl knows that I’m married. And I’ll tell you whatever happens or is said in any of our walking overlaps. Would that help?”

“You can tell me what keeps her in your mind. What attracts you. Why you can’t keep all of your brain-cells focussed on me.”

Honey, I think I’ve got issues with which part of me is controlling my actions and thoughts. If it’s my brain that’s one thing. If it’s my heart that’s another; and if it’s him-down-there that’s different again.”

“You’d better not be implying that Miss Walk-with-Me is getting Him-down-there interested. You’d be in need of surgery a la Bobbitt, like I mentioned before.”

As should any man threatened by that remark, I crossed my legs and put my hands in front to protect me.

I’m not good at keeping my mth sht nd m thghts t mslf. So, a few mornings later, I met up with Allison and mentioned Dahlia’s reaction. As any sensible bloke, I minimised it. “She wasn’t that concerned,” I said.

“What exactly, as a typical man, do you know about the reactions of a woman to distasteful news? Would the correct answer be ‘zero’ or ‘duh’? What on earth is the meaning of your statement ‘ she wasn’t that concerned’? What do you think she really meant? Enlighten me?”

I thought it better not to comment.

“Better. Silence is golden. I veer off. Does your lady ever pick you up from the station. It might cool her angst if she were to know of my existence. Not as formal as an introduction – but to have a view of me. To make her own mind up.”

I said, “it very seldom happens unless we’re going out for the evening and she wants to spare me the half-hour walk or it’s bucketing down. So maybe three, four times a month.”

You have to admire Nature’s way with coincidences. Three days later, it was bucketing and Allison must have been on the train with me. As Dahlia picked me up and began to pull out of the carpark, I saw Allison some fifty yards ahead.

“D, see over there, walking towards the bridge – that’s Allison. The girl I sometimes talk with – she must have been in the next carriage.

“I have to admire your caution and actually your success in not being attracted to her. I mean she does have that long hair you so enjoy. And you can tell that she’s a dangerous woman just be how she walks and acrries herself.” Dahlia kept watching. “That IS a dangerous woman. Maybe not to you – but to anyone she targets with those hips. As you say – it’s the sway she walks.”

We drove past and Dahlia looked straight at Allison as she came in front of us at the zebra crossing. I’d have sworn that their eyes met and there was a frisson of recognition.

“D, what was that? Did you recognise her or something?”

“No, absolutely not.” After a minute or so, Dahlia pulled the car to the edge of the road and stopped. “I’m not sure what to say or whether to say it. That lass there. You never mentioned that triangle of sort of beauty spots on her cheek. I’ve only ever seen a pattern like that once before. It was a kid in the junior school when I tutored them as part of my A-levels.”

“Yes. And …..”

“Well, if it’s the same kid – and it can’t be – then Allison was called Alex. ,,,,,, because he was a boy.”

“That’s a complication.”

We both knew we were thinking about the hysteria that was triggered by the local pub when it was taken over by a gay couple. They wanted a few modest changes. We all became well aware of local intolerance. Mind you, the objections were all with regard to planning laws and licensing and disruption to the nearby schools etc.

“I, we, I will have to make some very careful oh-so-casual comment that will make her feel safe.”

“Chum – your casual comments have all the delicacy of a javelin being used as a toothpick. I’ll write a short note and we’ll hang around the station tomorrow to make sure she gets it as soon as possible. I think I’ll suggest how amazed I am that a rough tough tomboy should grow up to be so stunning. But I’ll find some way to point out that you’re mine and that she is mildly acceptable as an occasional walking-talking companion for my excellent husband.”

“That should work.” By now Allison was still in sight walking through the park away from us. “She does have a sway with words,” I sniggered. “As you say, I’m glad you can protect me from the potentially dangerous sway she behaves.”



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This story is 2634 words long.