turn back, rip his clothes off and shag his brains out in the middle of Oxford Street – but also, so good about myself.
Just as I get to the bottom of the escalator, I get a text.
Tonight was perfect. Can’t wait to do it again. Jx
I stop. I have one bar of signal and want to send a reply before I go further underground. I’ve made my point, there isn’t really any need to hold back any more, I don’t want to leave him with any doubt about how I feel, so I just go for it.
I’ll not be so polite next time. I’ll want more of what happened in that doorway. I wonder if you’ll have any special requests?
I press send and a speech bubble pops up right away but my signal goes. It’ll be something nice to read when I get back above ground.
Jason
Jason is still standing at the entrance to the train station, hoping that maybe she changes her mind and comes back out. But seeing as this isn’t a Richard Curtis movie, he soon realises she really has gone. He’s disappointed, until he gets Tara’s text.
‘Any special requests?’
How incredibly hot. Jason can’t believe his luck. She’s clever, funny and sexy as hell. He fancies her more than he’s fancied anyone in ages, but he wants to play this right too.
‘Any special requests?’ Hmmmmm. Maybe it’s a little too soon to tell her that he loves the idea of her whipping her hair all over his body? It’s just his thing, he can’t explain it. It’s nothing seedy, or weird. He just loves women with long hair. Of which she had plenty. Long, thick brown hair. It was the first thing he noticed but luckily sense got the better of him and he didn’t entertain the idea out loud. He could really do with some sex though; it’s been a while since anything notable. He texts back.
I think we’ll …
And just at that moment, a cyclist crashes into him. The guy falls off but quickly picks himself up and gets back on his bike and speeds off. Was he embarrassed? Escaping someone? Jason doesn’t give a shit, all he cares about is the fact that his phone flew out of his hand and disappeared down a drain.
Tara, and her number, gone.
FUCK.
Tara
As the train passes through Seven Sisters, I look around me. My carriage is empty. I’ve got that heaviness inside me. That dull thud of my libido like a heart thumping in my underwear. I could wait until I get home to give it what it wants, but then here I am. Alone on a train. Gently drunk and reeling off the back of an electrifying encounter. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this fluttering of excitement. Why wait?
I see a copy of the Metro on the seat and lay it over my lap, then slip my hand inside my trousers and then into my underwear. My head falls back against the wall of the train and I think about Jason’s body pressing against mine. I imagine us in that doorway, naked now. My legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes me against the door, not caring if anyone sees. Totally locked into my fantasy, I rub hard, it feels so good. My knees fall apart and I feel cool air filter through my pubic hair as the newspaper falls to the floor. The train starts to slow. I’m running out of time, but I can’t and won’t stop. I press harder, think harder, breathe harder until I come harder than I have in a long, long time. The train slows down. I know I have to move. Just one more second in this moment.
I hear a sniff.
My eyes bounce open and I see a kid – white, blond, in a tracksuit. He’s holding a phone. Taking a picture? Or God, is he actually filming me?
‘What the fuck?’ I scream as I launch myself at him. But as the train stops I’m jolted forward and end up face down in the aisle with my trousers around my ankles. The youth’s feet disappear as he runs off the train.
‘PERVERT,’ I scream to a closing door.
What the hell did I just do?
Cam
Over a breakfast of black coffee and scrambled eggs on toast with an enormous dollop of ketchup, Cam is sitting at her kitchen table wearing a t-shirt and knickers, making a few finishing touches to the column she’s been writing since Mark left to go to the gym at nine a.m. As she’s reading through it, searching for missing commas and spelling mistakes, her doorbell starts ringing so aggressively she thinks there must be a fire. Launching herself into her bedroom to pull on some leggings, she runs to the intercom saying, ‘What? What?’ only to hear her sister say, ‘Cam, it’s Mel. We were on our way to the Heath and thought we’d come to say hi.’
She buzzes them up, instantly hearing the stampede of Mel’s three children racing up the stairs. She opens her door and in pelts Max, eleven, Tamzin, nine, and Jake, four. They all run straight to the window and start naming all the London landmarks that they can see in the view.
‘Morning,’ she says as they pass her. ‘MORNING, AUNTY CAM,’ they shout in reply.
Behind them comes Mel, trudging up the stairs, weighed down with beach bags and a cool box. ‘Here, let me help you,’ says Cam, rushing to help her.
‘This is the most un-kid-friendly flat I’ve ever been to; how many stairs are there? Oh, Cam, you haven’t got a bra on!’ says Mel, disapprovingly.
‘There are forty-six steep steps, it’s an old building and I don’t have kids so it’s fine for me. And I am not wearing a bra because I’m at home. Alone. Or at least I was.’
‘I know, but still. You could have put one on before you opened the door.’
‘Mel, you’re my sister?’
‘Yes, but, the kids … anyway.’
Cam shuts the door and sarcastically mouths, ‘Welcome’ under her breath.
Mel drops all of the bags onto the floor, puts her palms on her lower back and arches backwards. She lets out a loud sigh but it doesn’t hide the sound of her cracking bones. She looks exhausted.
‘The place is nice,’ she says, looking around. ‘It’s big, won’t you get lonely?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Cam says. ‘Tea?’
‘Better not. I’ll need a wee in the park if I do.’
‘Right,’ says Cam, putting on the kettle anyway. She fancies more coffee, and is grateful her bladder allows it. ‘All well?’
‘Not really, Mum is worried sick. She thinks that your website is inappropriate and she’s too embarrassed to go to her ladies’ club because she thinks all the other ladies think you’re a bra-burning
