Sometimes the Northern Line is
wonderful.
I sat wearing my lovely black
boots and a short skirt. Opposite me was the cutest possible young black guy.
He was trying not to be seen looking at my bare legs but I noticed his glances
over the top of my copy of the Evening Standard. So ever so subtly I parted my
legs enough for the lad to see that I hadn’t put my knickers on again before I
left the office.
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