The Great Grope

By Misty Chikan

I met Debbie on a blind date in the spring of my junior year. We hit it off well and subsequently saw a lot of each other. After I graduated with an Engineering degree, she had one more year, but we stayed connected and married the following June. That was nine years ago, and we’ve been happy enough, though ‘happy’ might not be exactly the right word. To tell the truth, the intensity has gradually vanished. It’s a bit hard to explain. We didn’t become hostile or even indifferent toward each other, we just seemed to drift apart, into separate orbits that occasionally intersected. As a result, our life together became rather predictable (even boring at times), but comfortable. We have no kids as she can’t conceive, and that may have made a big difference.

Some months ago, my company sent me to Japan for a year to superintend the installation and initial operation of a rather complicated process at one of our Asian affiliates. (I do speak some Japanese, having spent a couple of years in Okinawa, but I can’t read it.) Debbie came with me. I’m not tremendously enthusiastic about going, but I did think that the change might be a welcome diversion of sorts for both of us.

The job is in Tokyo, but the apartment provided for us is outside the city, so I have to take a train in to work. Since I’m relatively experienced (in the past, I’ve commuted into Chicago and into Philadelphia), I figured I knew what to expect.

That first morning, when the train pulled into the little suburban station, it is already pretty well packed, except for one car. Naturally, I started to board that one, but a uniformed attendant officiously shooed me away, repeatedly pointing to a pink sign (in Japanese!). Then I spotted an English translation: This carriage is for ladies only.

Meanwhile, several of the ‘ladies’ were gibbering at me and apparently calling me a variety of things, including ‘gaijin’ (which I knew meant foreigner, or foreign devil) and ‘chikan’ (which means pervert). I recalled men groping women on crowded trains have been common in Japan for some time, but I’m still annoyed, especially since I have to board a car in which there are no empty seats and not even much standing room. By the time the train has made a couple of stops down the line, there’s NO spare standing room left. Everyone’s wedged in tight, my nostrils are filled with a spicy alien stench, I’m continually being jostled, and as a result, I feel even angrier.

So I cling to a chromed pole and sway along with the train, trying to be better than everybody else, and not bump the nearby riders any more than I have to. Then the train suddenly decelerated, caught unprepared, and I lurched forward into the woman standing an inch or two in front of me. My right hand is mashed against the woman’s butt, and I instinctively squeezed.
And she didn’t flinch or react in any way.

I have several quick thoughts, tumbling over one another. First, I’m grateful that she didn’t scream, hit me, or demand my arrest. Second, it occurred to me that, since groping on Japanese trains is a more popular sport than baseball or martial arts, and since she hasn’t opted for the ‘ladies only’ coach perhaps she LIKED a touch of anonymous fondling. Third, I decided to test her limits. And, fourth, maybe I’M a bit of a pervert after all.

I proceeded to survey what I could see of the woman.

She’s wearing a scarlet suit with a short jacket and a skirt whose hem is beyond my field of vision (we were so closely packed). She’s tallish for a Japanese woman as she stood, but is probably wearing heels, so she must have been about five feet two, barefoot. Maybe one-hundred and ten pounds. Her hair (black, of course) has a few artful streaks of gray, but is no real indicator of her age. If I have to guess, my gut feeling is that she’s probably forty-something. She smells good, subtle, and suitably inscrutable.

By this time, my earlier annoyance have been pretty much dissipated by this new prospect, yet I’m driven forward (into what I later realized is very risky behavior) by a combination of arrogance, stupidity, and (increasingly) lust.

I tentatively feel her ass, then investigate her skirt’s waistband, it’s too tight, and I could barely get my fingers beneath it. Regardless of how long her skirt is, I knew if I wanted to score I’d have to get my hand under the hem. I glanced around. Everybody nearby seems to be reading or meditating (or maybe even concentrating on a grope themselves).

After caressing her ass some more, I begin gradually pulling up her skirt in the back. It is slow, clumsy work, since I could use only my right hand. (My left arm is wrapped around the metal pole, and my left hand held my portfolio.) Eventually, though, I’ve edged it high enough, I could sneak my hand beneath and to her ass again, fingering her thighs in passing.

And still she didn’t react.

I’m reacting, though. I have a monumental erection, stoked by what is certainly the most excitement I’ve had in months. I slid my hand past the waistband of her pantyhose and into her panties.

I’m on fire. It’s intoxicating, exhilarating. I can practically hear the testosterone throbbing through my veins. The unthinkable danger, the unbreakable dominance. My fingers slid between her legs and through her sparse pubic hair. I’m invincible.

I played with her erect clitoris, and her breath caught. Then I gained the entrance to her drooling cunt and slithered a finger inside. Her cunt muscles contracted, yet there’s still room, so I added a second finger. Despite her passive exterior, her cunt is hot and wet and eager. She even wriggled her ass cheeks around my wrist.

I begin pumping my fingers into her cunt. It seems to take a long time, but eventually she uttered a tiny whimper, and her cunt spasmed, tightening on my fingers before slowly relaxing. She gave a soft hiss of satisfaction. I extricated my fingers, wiping them clean with her pubic hair, her thighs, and the crotch of her panties. (Even so, my hand still carried her scent hours later.)
As we pulled into the terminal, I gave her ass a final squeeze and withdrew my hand, letting her skirt fall back into place. The train stopped, and she moved forward, toward the exit, while I edged back into the current of commuters leaving by the door behind me. Outside, on the platform, I spotted her up ahead. She’s gazing about, as if looking for someone. She’s attractive, but, at the moment, somewhat frazzled. Moreover, her eyes looked dazed, I thought, yet there is a Mona Lisa smile on her lips.

A moment later, the surging crowd bore me away. (I have enough presence of mind, however, to carry my portfolio in front of my telltale crotch.)

I actually got more work done that day than I’d expected, being my first day there. I have an unusual amount of energy and confidence and an almost preternatural clarity. By the end of the day, I’ve begun to wonder how I could infuse my marriage with some of this as well.

*****

Over a bottle of Sake that evening, I told Debbie what happened on the morning’s commute in complete detail. She’s, by turns, incredulous, hurt, angry, derisive, curious, and fascinated.

So far, so good.

But, when I suggested that she might enjoy being groped, she reversed right back to incredulity, and I have to work through the whole gamut of emotions again. I’m hopeful, however, since I already knew she has something of a submissive streak (though I have no idea how compelling it might be). In the end, she did promise to consider the proposition, and I could tell that the prospect excited her. Even so, it took her three days to agree.

Thursday evening, we made our preparations for her adventure the following morning. First, we depilated her crotch to virtually pre-adolescent smoothness. Then, we sorted through her wardrobe for an appropriate outfit. After some debate, we settled on a thin white tank top (without a bra), a blue denim miniskirt, thong panties, and flip-flops. For the record, Debbie is a honey-blonde, five feet seven, about a hundred and thirty pounds, a thirty-six inch chest (B cup), and she looks stunning in those clothes. I knew the male commuters are going to love her. And, despite her initial reluctance, real or feigned, she could barely wait until morning. She’s only thirty-one, but some women need reassurance about their sex appeal at even younger ages.

We left the apartment very early, and separately on Friday morning. Debbie is dithering, outwardly uncertain whether to go or stay. Yet it’s all show, I know she’s aroused, so much so she could barely speak, and nothing could prevent her going.

We stood some distance apart on the platform, still I may as well have been invisible, since the waiting passengers, mostly men, are all staring at Debbie. She’s well worth looking at, too. I’m wearing mirrored-sunglasses, so I can stare wherever I wanted to, for as long as I liked. The rising sun behind her is turning her hair spun gold, and rendering her tank top translucent. Though the air is still cool, she’s perspiring. Is the sheen on her thighs merely sweating or is it also cunt-juice, I wonder? I did think her skirt could be improved, it’s short, and however, it could be even shorter.

She’s still showing some ambivalence. At times, she just stood there pigeon-toed, biting her lip and tugging on the hem of her skirt. However, then she’d stalk a few paces back and forth, subtly twitching her hips and wriggling her tits, and causing erections to rise along the platform. I’m not affected, I’d have a continuous hard-on since before breakfast. I’ve also taken the precaution of wearing a condom, because I didn’t want to have to clean up another ungodly mess like Monday’s.

Finally, the train arrived, and I boarded a car through one door while Debbie entered it through the other followed by a mob of potential gropers.

I take up a pre-planned position, from which I can get a good view of Debbie, who’s facing me. It helps I’m significantly taller than most of the other passengers. Less than five minutes after the train has left the station, her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open.

The Great Grope has begun.

I’m not able to see all of it, because the gropers surrounding her are ebbing and flowing, and sometimes hide her. Still, I see most of it, and I thoroughly enjoy watching these men ruthlessly grope her body.

When we alighted at the city terminal, she joined me briefly.

All she could say was, “Wow!”

We made plans to meet for lunch, and she suggested she may rest in a cinema and watch a movie.

*****

At lunch, she didn’t look particularly rested. As it turned out, not knowing more than a smattering of Japanese, she had inadvertently chosen a porno theater to rest in. She entered during the opening credits, but haven’t been in her seat more than a few minutes when she realized what sort of movie it is. But, by that time, the die has been cast, a man sat on either side of her and almost immediately begin feeling her up. One soon got in her panties, while the other pulled her tank top down around her waist and busied himself playing with her tits. The double feature lasted almost three hours, or twelve orgasms. Add the ten on the train (according to her recollection), and it’s no wonder she looks shopworn.

I phoned my assistant and got the name of a modest, nearby hotel and took her there, where she actually could rest for the remainder of the day.

*****

When I picked her up late in the afternoon, she seems restored. As we leave the hotel room, she hands me a small wad of cloth, her panties. I put them in my pocket without comment.

The train ride home is similar to the mornings, though detouring to the hotel means we missed the main crush of rush hour passengers. The somewhat thinner crowd didn’t mean less groping, however. I even became a participant, not merely an observer. I threaded my way through the press to a position behind her, slipped my hand between two gropers who were working on her cunt, and begin fingering her asshole, something she’d always been reluctant to let me do.

It gave me a feeling of exaltation to be playing with my wife’s virgin asshole amidst a mob of horny Japs. For all she knew, the perv diddling her asshole is another stranger. She’s standing passively, gripping a pole tightly with both hands. Despite the more than twenty orgasms she’d already had that day, when I shoved my thumb up her ass, she climaxed so hard she went on her toes.

She’s moaning softly, continuously, but I’m not able to do anything more, because just then I’m elbowed out of the way. I retreated to my original vantage point and pulled out some tissues, intending to wipe off my thumb. But then I saw it’s unnecessary, my thumb is clean and, in fact, smelled sweet, like flowers or soap. Apparently, besides resting, Debbie made some preparations. It’s interesting, and would bear thinking about.

We have a long, earnest, and honest conversation that evening, freely sharing our thoughts about what have happened and what we hoped would happen in the days to come. Debbie wanted to repeat her porno theatre experience, but with me watching from a row behind. She also wanted to visit a strip club, a whore house, and a public bath. I wanted to watch a teenage Japanese girl dominate her, and a young Japanese stud introduce her to various perversions. I also thought it would be great if she didn’t just visit a strip club, but got a job there. And, of course, we both wanted her to continue riding the train.

We were both so turned on that we spent virtually the whole weekend in bed. Building on that start, we’re closer now and more passionate than we were, even as newlyweds. Will it last? Who knows? But, at least for now, our marriage has been reinvigorated. We’ve developed many compelling interests in common, and we’ve made a host of new friends.

And we’ve re-upped for another year in Japan.

The End.

Feedback is Welcome.