Tubing Read online

  She suddenly felt stupid and embarrassed, especially in front of him. A game clearly not for the likes of her, she thought. She stared at the floor, wishing she could disappear.

  He moved in closer to her and gently lifted her chin with his hand until she was looking up at him.

  ‘Do you want to play?’

  He was so close to her now that she could feel his breath on her face and the heat from his body. She couldn’t answer. They both stayed perfectly still while the tension grew between them. Without any warning he lunged forward and squashed his lips into hers. He pushed so hard that she could feel his cheeks pressing against her face.

  His hands were everywhere, running up and down her body and pawing at her clothes. Sensation ran from the tip of her head, through her chest, to the fluttering in her stomach. He pushed her against the wall harder until he had her pinned exactly where he wanted her. She heard him fumbling with his belt buckle. He kicked at her feet until she moved her legs apart, then roughly pulled at the button of her trousers and unzipped her fly. She knew what was coming next. It suddenly felt as if everything was happening too fast. His hands were in her trousers, pulling them down, then slipping into the band of her knickers.

  What about everything she’d decided the other night? What about Oliver? She pulled away from his lips, moving her head to the side, trying to catch her breath. She inhaled deeply, and the stink of the bins caught in her throat.

  ‘No,’ she said pulling away.

  He ignored her and carried on pushing his hand down between her legs.

  ‘Please stop,’ she continued.

  He didn’t stop.

  ‘No,’ she shouted, and pushed him away.

  This time he stopped immediately and took a step back. ‘Fine,’ he said, lifting his hands up as if to dismiss her.

  They stood facing one another. She quickly pulled up her trousers and wrapped her arms around herself.

  He looked at her. ‘What is your problem?’ he asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘You’re wasting my time,’ he said after a couple of seconds. Then he did up his trousers and turned to walk away, shaking his head.

  Polly panicked. She didn’t want him to leave. Every logical thought in her brain told her to let him go. But she couldn’t. She felt very scared – not of him or what he would do to her; of what she was about to do.

  She reached out to stop him. He turned back and stared at her for several seconds, then roughly pushed her by the shoulders up against the wall. At first she thought he was pushing her away, but then he moved in, grabbing her buttocks and pulling her forward so that the top part of her back was leaning on the wall and her hips were jutting out.

  He moved slowly and deliberately this time. There was no rush in his movements; there was no need for urgency – he had her. He started undoing the buttons on her shirt, carefully loosening each one, then lazily moving to the next. She watched his fingers at work, her chest heaving under the strain of her breath. He remained calm and composed, as if he were carrying out a menial task. When he finished he pushed open her shirt and yanked down the cups of her bra, revealing her breasts. Every hair on her body stood on end waiting for him to lay his hands on her. But he didn’t, he just looked at her.

  Eventually he reached out his hand and ran his finger very slowly from the top of her right collarbone to the left. His finger ran back to the middle and down her breastbone, languidly stroking over each rib in a zigzag until he brushed over her scar and reached her belly button. Then he stood back and stared. He never once looked at her face, just intently studied her body.

  Then he bent down in front of her and very slowly pulled her trousers down inch by inch. Her fists were clenched down by her sides. The excited feeling in her stomach had turned into an ache that spread down to her crotch. She was in agony. He was punishing her, making her wait. When her trousers were all the way down, he lifted out first her left foot then her right. He then slowly moved back up to her crotch, his face so close she could feel his hot breath on her thighs. He let his hands run up over the tops of her legs and on to her hips. He gripped the protruding bones, his fingers moving to her buttocks and digging into her flesh before letting his hands rise up and encircle her waist. It made her gasp, he squeezed so tight. Then without warning he pulled her knickers down roughly. She yelped in surprise.

  He stood back against the opposite wall and stared at her. She stayed as still as she could, naked except for the shirt still hanging open around her shoulders and bra now fallen to her waist. She watched him as he ran his hand through his hair, leaving it on his neck. He looked at her for a long time, admiring his work. She trembled uncontrollably; the wait was unbearable. Then he very slowly undid his trousers as he stepped back towards her. He stood pressed against her for a few more seconds then grabbed underneath each buttock and hoisted her up. She felt her buttocks bang against the cold wall tiles. Her legs gripped around him and he was inside her. He lifted her up higher so he could push into her harder. She cried out in relief.

  He thrust into her deeper and deeper. She wanted to scream, let everything pour out. All the clutter and indecision dissolved from her mind until she thought of nothing but him and the pure lust she felt for him.

  She could feel his tongue run up over her neck to her ear.

  ‘You so tiny, so tight,’ he whispered breathlessly. His hands moved to her protruding hipbones and gripped them again, forcing them back so he could push into her deeper. ‘I feel like I could break you, like I could break your tiny pelvis.’

  She could barely keep herself upright, the sensation overwhelming her.

  Then suddenly she heard voices. In her haze, she thought she’d imagined it. She looked to her left towards the bright light of the main corridor. The darkness of the passageway they were in made her feel as though she was spying through a telescope. A man in a pinstriped suit with a briefcase rushed past. He took small, quick steps, like a cat in a fast walk.

  The voices grew louder. She saw a couple, arm in arm, march past. She caught a snippet of the woman’s voice. In its rise and fall she said something about going for dinner on Friday. Then another couple went past, then a woman, then another. More and more faces flooded by. Polly was having difficulty keeping track as he rocked into her harder and harder. She glanced down at him. He was watching them too.

  The noise of the people passing grew louder. When she looked back again, there was a crowd standing by the entrance of their passageway. They all faced forward, bunched up in a bottleneck, queuing for the escalator. They were so close she could hear their footsteps as they edged forward, the tinny treble coming from headphones, even the rustle of a newspaper. All the while, he continued thrusting into her. She couldn’t take her eyes off them. She concentrated hard, trying to keep the waves of pressure from coming. The crowd began to dwindle. She started moaning when she couldn’t hold off any longer. A woman at the end of the queue stopped and looked down into the corridor. Her eyes searched through the darkness and settled on Polly. She bent down and took a tentative step forward. From the way she moved it was clear that she couldn’t really see what was happening, but her eyes had found Polly and remained fixed. Polly looked down at him to see if he’d noticed. He was staring back at the woman. His breathing was getting heavier and heavier as he pounded into her. Someone knocked into the woman from behind and she saw that the queue in front of her had moved. She gave one last look and then walked on.

  Every muscle in Polly’s body contracted and then released. She flopped forward and collapsed on to him. He gave one last thrust and ejaculated inside her. They stood leaning against one another, breathless, neither ready nor able to move.

  After a long while, he let go and she leant back on to the wall. He bent down and pulled his trousers up. She heard the clunk of his belt being buckled. She was still naked; she didn’t care.

  He moved towards her and cupped her face in his hands. He pressed his mouth against her lips, pushing in hard
to kiss her, then said, ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  She watched him walk back to the brightly lit corridor. It occurred to her that he didn’t know her name and she didn’t know his. She considered shouting it to him, but she knew that wouldn’t be part of the game.

  Thirteen

  Polly was hooked. She didn’t see him again for two and a half weeks. In the meantime she met up with two other men.

  She set up a fake account on Twitter using a randomly made-up name, @44oro. A few days later, she found a meeting on a Victoria Line train in rush hour for that evening. It was from a male looking to meet up with a female. It hadn’t been responded to yet, so she liked it.

  The guy was late fifties, she guessed. His hair was almost totally white. He had a deep tan and a smart, pampered look. He wore a light grey suit. She could tell from looking at it that it was quality, a mixture of pure wool and silk. It fitted perfectly, even though he was quite short – it wasn’t off-the-peg. For a moment she thought of Oliver; he had the same expensive tastes – unless he got to pick the lining himself he wasn’t interested. Solid gold cufflinks held together pinstriped sleeves. The shirt was impeccably pressed and had the sharp newness of freshly opened packaging.

  She hadn’t worked out exactly how she’d find him in the carriage stated in the tweet, but she needn’t have worried: his eyes were on her the instant she boarded the train. He beckoned her over with a nod. She hesitated, looking around at the handful of commuters already on board, but she knew it was him. When she looked back, he smiled at her. It was enough to make her go to him. Up close his face was marked with age, but he was handsome.

  He took control immediately, putting his hands on her hips and swivelling her round so her back was to him. He gently guided her through the vestibule until they were in the corner behind a couple chatting.

  It was just past six p.m. on a Tuesday. The train was outside central London so was only partly full. He whispered in a thick Italian accent, ‘Let’s wait until it’s a little busier, shall we?’ There weren’t enough bodies on board to conceal themselves behind.

  Polly nodded without turning to look at him. Her eyes glazed over as she stared dead ahead and waited. He gripped her tightly around her waist. She’d been nervous about the meeting all day, but now the moment was here and she was in his arms she suddenly felt very calm.

  As the tube train travelled deep into central London, more and more people piled on at each stop. She felt bodies push in close, their heat pinching the air. A young guy with floppy hair and glasses accidentally stood on Polly’s foot. She didn’t look up, just heard a mumbled apology. She was too preoccupied with what was about to happen.

  He started slowly, gently stroking her stomach, his hands moving in a circular motion. She let him take his time. She was determined not to lose control and give herself away as she had last time. She groaned inwardly when he slid his fingers under her shirt and on to her nipple. He pinched it, teasing and twisting until it was hard.

  His other hand moved down under the waistband of her skirt then worked its way into her knickers. Polly almost buckled as he pressed between her legs, his fingers massaging applying more and more pressure. The pleasure was almost excruciating, the intensity too much. She tried to pull away, but his fingers followed.

  She looked at the commuters around her, as she trembled, trying to stay in control. They were right in the corner of the carriage, facing front. No one noticed them except for the guy with the floppy hair and glasses; he was staring directly at her. She hadn’t realised how close he was. He must have felt the bumps and thrusts from the Italian’s arm. She gave a shaky apologetic smile back, but at that moment his fingers pressed so deeply she could do nothing to stop her mouth opening wide.

  The young guy’s face broke into a wide leer, his mouth dropped open slightly. He was watching.

  Polly quickly turned round to face her Italian partner. He looked surprised, and a little put out. ‘Don’t face me, darling,’ he said. ‘Turn around.’

  ‘Someone’s watching,’ she said, swallowing hard.

  ‘That’s part of the fun, no?’ He exhaled heavily. ‘Enjoy it.’

  She turned back. The young guy was still there, watching her, waiting for the performance to resume. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t carry on.

  She turned back again. ‘I can’t,’ she said.

  He frowned at her, clearly annoyed. ‘In that case … ’ He briskly pulled her round so she now had her back in the corner. He put his hands on her shoulders and tried to push her down. She resisted at first, but soon relented and let her back slide against the metal of the doorframe. She felt relieved to be hidden beneath the sea of bodies. He fumbled with his flies and pulled out his erect cock, thrusting it forward into her face. She obliged, but not with her mouth; she took it in her hand instead. It didn’t take long for him to ejaculate.

  As soon as he was done, he pulled her up by her arms. The young guy had moved in closer and was watching when she emerged from beneath the crowd. He had the same dirty leer on his face.

  The Italian guy smiled at her politely, ‘Lovely to meet you,’ he said as the train came to a halt at the next station. He bowed slightly and then left.

  The watcher winked at her and followed him out of the same door.

  The second meeting took place a week later. This time she put out her own tweet.

  Female hook up with male. Bakerloo Line. Paddington southbound. Second carriage. 6.30 tonight. #TubingPaddington

  She nearly missed the train. When she got there, the ticket hall was packed. Only one barrier was open; the rest had been closed to prevent overcrowding. She was forced to wait in line as the crowd very slowly filtered through. A large clock on the wall to her right ticked away the seconds. By the time she got to the front she was having palpitations. She lost her cool with an old guy who kept running his pass over the sensor to no avail. She huffed and puffed behind him. Eventually she slammed her hand down on the metal gate and shouted, ‘You need to top up, you fucking moron.’

  He looked up at her, shocked, ‘You’ll have to wait your — ’ he started.

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ she shouted, and pushed him out of the way.

  Once through the barrier, she turned back to look at him. He was still there, repeatedly swiping his card on the reader.

  The escalators to the platforms were no better. The queue was at a complete standstill on both sides. Polly tried to push past, but it was no use. The train was due in a matter of seconds. She stood at the back of the line, shaking with frustration, as the crowd moved very slowly forward.

  When she got to the platform the train was still there. She ran at it and managed to get herself through the doors before they slammed shut.

  Once inside, she spent a couple of seconds in the corner getting herself straight before looking for him.

  She found the wrong guy first. She put on her sexiest pout, beckoning the stranger over. At first, when he ignored her, she thought they were playing a game. She winked at him and threw her head back, signalling to him. But she soon realised her mistake when the guy stared back, confused, then turned round in an attempt to work out what she was looking at.

  ‘Bugger,’ she muttered under her breath, then quickly turned, scanning the rest of the carriage.

  The right guy was further down the carriage. She knew it was him immediately by the way he was smiling at her. He was very different – much younger, about the same age as Polly, which surprised her. He was wearing ripped jeans and a T-shirt, but she could tell he had money – his clothes were a bit too clean and the rips too exact. He had deep dimples on each cheek, and soft brown eyes that exuded warmth. He was cute. She couldn’t help smiling back at him.

  As they made their way towards one another through the busy carriage, neither of them could drop the stupid grins from their faces. When they finally met, he grabbed hold of her hand and just stared at her. After a while, her cheeks began to ache.

  They stayed holdi
ng hands for several stops. Polly was beginning to wonder what was going on. She’d worn her mauve mini skirt with the zip all the way up the front specially – she’d thought he’d have gone straight for it. Then it dawned on her: he was new to this. A shiver of excitement prickled up her spine. She grabbed his hand and made her way to the corner at the end of the carriage. She sat him on the raised padded bench seat then pushed up against him and started to kiss him. They kissed like teenagers, coy at first, then becoming more frenzied. He tasted of mint.

  The other passengers paid them no attention, too busy on their phones or with newspapers held aloft in front of their faces. Even if someone had noticed, no one would have guessed they didn’t know one another; they looked nothing more than a pair of overzealous students. He made no attempt to touch her, other than to put his arms around her, pulling her closer. His tongue probed deep into her mouth and gave no sign of letting up.

  After a minute or so, she started getting annoyed. She pulled away and looked at him squarely, tilting her head downwards. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was trying to say, but from his lack of response nor did he. He stared back like a lovestruck teenager. She pushed her body close into his then ran her hand to the waistband of his jeans and on to his flies. His head dropped down, his mouth landing close to her ear. She angled her body in front of his so it acted as a screen against any prying eyes. She heard a gasp and his breath catch as she undid his fly and slipped her hand inside.

  His penis was already hard. She gripped hold of it and began to rub him back and forth. She pulled up the zip on the front of her skirt so that it opened up wide, then grabbed on to his other hand and pushed it towards her crotch. His hand went a little way up her leg, but as soon as she let go he stopped. Annoyed, she grabbed on to it again and pushed it further up. He obliged, but again, as soon as she let go, he stopped.