1. The Last Virgin


    Date: 1/13/2017, Categories: Lesbian, Author: KatieElizabeth, Rating: 49, Source: LushStories

    slipped my ticket through the electronic barrier and made my way down the platform looking for Carriage C. Thankfully A was nearest the barriers, so I didn't have far to walk. I swung open the heavy door, climbed up, waited for the automatic sliding door into the corridor to open and started to look for my seat. The carriage was four seats wide with a central aisle running its length. Most of the seats were in rows of two all facing the same way like you'd see on an aeroplane, but others were facing each other in groups of four, separated by a small table. Although the carriage was almost deserted, I had a seat booking, so set about looking for number forty-nine which I hoped had one of the little tickets that slid into the top of the seat to help me find it. As I walked down the aisle, there were only a handful of seat booking slips so I didn't think mine would be hard to locate. Forty-nine was about a third of a way back down the carriage on the right, and was one of a group of four separated by a table. I put the toastie on the table, my bag in the overhead rack and flopped down in the seat nearest the window. I knew I was soaked and would have to find a towel or something sooner or later, but right then I was just grateful to be on the train and out of the wet. I was also curious to see the seat opposite me had a little booking slip on it too. Quickly glancing to see where the booking was from and to, I noticed it was the same as mine; Piccadilly to Euston. It was hard ...
    to believe that Virgin, with a carriage as seemingly empty as the one I'd just boarded, would put two bookings directly opposite each other, so I resigned myself to the potential of having to fight for leg room all the way to London and looking after myself in the toilet rather than in the seat. I closed my eyes and waited for the train to leave. The towel and the relief could wait a few minutes. Two minutes later, when the remaining passengers had finished their mad dashes to board the last London bound train of the night, the conductor's whistle blew and the train crept sluggishly into life. It barely seemed to move at first, then slowly gathered pace as it left the station. Once outside the canopy I could hear the incessant beat of the rain against the roof of the train. Looking through the window, the quickly receding lights of the City of Manchester were streaked and blurred in the streams of water that cascaded down the glass. As the train moved through the suburbs, gathering more and more speed as it went, the drips that had initially funnelled their way vertically down the window, gradually changed angle until they were whipping and splattering their way almost horizontally across the glass. It was while I turned my head to follow the random splatters across the window that for the first time my gaze took in the carriage around me. It still had barely any passengers. Two girls, both in their late teens, sat three rows further back on the other side of the aisle. They ...
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