It's difficult to judge the colour of someone's face in the reflection in a transparent pane of glass, even more so when the view beyond the glass keeps changing at around 170 Km/h. But I could swear she was bushing bright pink. She definitely noticed, and the expression on her face in the window was so<i>cute</i>! she refused to make eye contact, which told me something: She was either terrified of me, or she was afraid of herself and her reaction.<br/><br/>Something I hadn't anticipated came to mind. Was this cute little woman actually<i>enjoying </i>the attention? I cupped te palm of my left hand against her left buttock, a gentle but firm pressure, consistent this time. I wanted to see what she would do. Would she pull away, would she ignore the contact, would she brush my hand off with hers, or (and this was the least likely, but I could dream!) would she press her backside into my hand?<br/><br/>The train sped on through the warm morning sunshine. Predictions were for a hot dry summer again. The comute had been horrendous last year and would probably be just as bad this year too. Fifteen minuted to go...