Her Beauty
She stepped onto the streetcar. Her long tresses cascaded over her small shoulders in shimmering chestnut waves. The brightness of her smile immediately filled the entire coach with sunshine. I was pleased that her smile seemed to be directed at me. With amazing grace, she dropped her money into the change box and sauntered down the aisle. She stopped.
“Is this seat taken?” she asked.
I glanced around. The streetcar was nearly empty and yet she chose the seat beside me.
“N-n-n-o-o,” I managed to stammer.
She slid into the seat. Her delicate scent filled my nostrils. The hem of her skirt moved. I could see the seam of her stocking as it hugged the curve of her calf.
 “I’m on my way home,” she shared coyly glancing at me.
I felt a lump in my throat and couldn’t speak. She was so beautiful.
“My husband isn’t home at present,” she murmured and placed her slender hand on my thigh.
My breath caught in my throat. My brain began to spin as her heady perfume captured me and the full meaning of her suggestion slowly sank in.
She slid her hand up and down my thigh stirring the warm feeling in my loins into a hot flame.
She leand close, her shoulder pressed tightly aginst mine. The rumble of the streetcar as it traveled over the iron tracks matched the roaring in my ears. I was lost in time. The bell sounded as the streetcar came to a stop. Taking my hand she led me down the aisle and off the coach. I held a discarded newspaper in front of me to avoid embarrassment.
We climbed the stairs to the second floor apartment. She unlocked the door and we stepped just inside. She closed the door and locked it behind her. Pulling me close, she whispered in my ear, “What can I get you for supper, dear?”
“Whatever you want, but tomorrow it’s my turn to pick you up on the trolley.”

Just an amusing short story I wrote some time ago and thought I'd share.