Unseasonably warm afternoon weather had brought the London crowds out in droves as I squeezed myself uncomfortably onto the Piccadilly line underground train and stood awkwardly, my overnight bag at my feet, my face pressed into the armpit of a tall blonde Scandinavian tourist. He gave me a look of pity no Londoner would have bothered with and I felt pleased that his personal hygiene was up to scratch; at least for the next few stops.
It was Friday afternoon and I was on my way home after yet another conference. The formal dinner and most of the presentations, including my own, had been the previous evening so an overnight stay had been essential. The morning's work groups had been optional for me but as I was in town anyway, I had decided to take part and had in fact learned a great deal, especially about my presentation style.
The food at the post-conference dinner had been good, as had the hotel room and breakfast but I had been obliged to fend off a slightly inebriated amorous approach from my next door neighbour throughout dinner.
Given my recent conversations with my husband Peter, this made me smile. It felt good that someone found me attractive enough to flirt with a little more seriously, but even if I had decided to comply with my husband's apparently sincere desire for me to take a lover, my dinner companion wasn't my type at all. Surgeons' egos apparently run to more than just their professional lives; my would-be seducer wasn't anywhere near as attractive as he clearly imagined himself to be and I remained un-tempted by his charms to his obvious frustration.
So now, still in my 'professional' attire of dark grey skirt suit, white blouse, black tights and shiny medium height heels, I was on my way home. Less than ten minutes later I arrived at St. Pancras station, hurried past all the shops in the fantastic arrivals hall and dragged my wheeled overnight bag up the escalator to the platform, only to find to my dismay that I had missed the train by the merest few minutes.
After a good strong silent curse, I told myself that the service on that line was generally good so I only had about forty minutes to wait for the next train. Cursing London Underground under my breath again, I turned and sulked my way to the coffee shop closest to the barriers, ordered a large Americano and pulled my conference notes out of my briefcase.
The conference hadn't been all that riveting first time round so was even less interesting in note form. Within ten minutes I had read enough and my mind had begun to stray onto the latest erotic stories I was in the process of writing. I had quickly found that my ability and dedication as a writer depended greatly on my mood at the time so I was keeping several different stories on the go at once, adding and amending them as the muse took me.
I knew I still had a great deal to learn but was enjoying the experience immensely. As a result of my husband Peter's constantly expressed desire to see me with another man, the 'Cuckold' theme was very much dominant in my current choice of story, but I had drifted into other subject areas as well.
There was also a powerful thrill in having a secret; no-one would have guessed that the middle-aged rather severe-looking professional woman sitting opposite them on the train was actually composing erotic stories and imagining herself taking part in them!
This delay in my return home could be an opportunity too. If I could find a seat where I couldn't be overlooked, the journey home could be a great opportunity to press on with the latest chapter in my favourite series. In fact, I realised, if I moved to the corner table in the café, I could get a good twenty minutes constructive writing done now before catching the train. I slid along the bench seat to put my back to the wall and within seconds my laptop was out and I was engrossed in writing, finding to my shame, that it was getting easier and easier to put myself in the place of my stories' heroines.
Each time a story called for a male lover, I tried to use as role model a man from my real life who I rather fancied, partly because it's so much easier to base a character on a real person but also, I must confess, because it gave me a thrill imagining what such a man might do to me and with me and for me.
An idea for a highly erotic scene had just sprung into my mind; the world of the café faded to blur as for a quarter of an hour I typed and typed, my eyes fixed myopically on the small screen.
So it was that, when the barriers were open and I boarded the train, I was in something of a state of arousal. My face felt hot and I suspect I was a little flushed but was very much looking forward to an unbroken ninety minutes' to develop further the plot line I had just created. My alter-ego was going to have one hell of an evening if I could just get the scenario that was filling my mind onto the screen before its intensity faded.
The train was quite busy but I was an early boarder and selected a single seat in the corner of First Class where it would be difficult for other passengers to look over my shoulder and see what I was working on. I booted up my laptop again, set the document magnification low to make it doubly difficult for an eavesdropper to read anything I might write and got back to work ten minutes before we were due to depart.
The story was taking shape nicely. My anti-hero had managed to manoeuvre his wife into a situation where she thought she was alone with her would-be-lover and was rapidly succumbing to his considerable charms. As a result, I had started work on what was always one of my favourite parts of any story – the seduction itself.
In my mind, the seducer in this chapter was heavily based on Tony, the frequent dinner companion and 'goodbye groper' I have described before. Tall, slim and definitely very handsome, he and I had come close to inappropriate contact at least twice before.
Since his wife Jane had embarked on a misguided affair with her Personal Trainer and they now lived apart, his newly acquired 'single' status made him an even more dangerous threat to my fidelity.
The action on my screen was heating up rapidly in the central characters' lounge. Oblivious to all around me, my fast-moving fingers had typed up to the point where my anti-hero's wife was being slowly undressed by her soon-to-be lover after a candle-lit dinner. As her husband watched, her soft body was being gradually but efficiently exposed to her lover's touch; after all those bedroom fantasies with my husband Peter, it was easy for me to imagine what it might be like to be in that situation myself.
I fidgeted in my seat I became more and more aroused with each completed paragraph. As the train slowly began to move I became aware of my panties becoming damper and damper as my characters shed more and more clothes until...
"Hi Penny! Great to see you!"
The very familiar but out-of-breath voice above and just behind my head made me jump almost out of my seat. I had been so engrossed in my writing that I had let someone get close up to me without even noticing. Awash with guilt and fear I instinctively slammed down the screen of my laptop, begging my guardian angels to make sure whoever it was hadn't had a chance to read what I was writing, then span around in my chair to see who it was that had frightened me so much.
"Tony! Jesus you scared the life out of me!" I exclaimed.
Oh my God! It was the very person I had been imagining seducing the heroine of my story, a heroine in many ways modelled on myself. My skin was suddenly hot and prickly at the absurd thought that he might not only have seen the erotic story I was writing, but might also have recognised one of the characters as himself. His first reaction was reassuring though.
"I'm so sorry Penny. I could see you were concentrating but didn't realise you were in it so deep. I wasn't trying to sneak up on you!"
I laughed out loud, partly in embarrassment, partly in relief. "It's okay, really. I was miles away and didn't see you."
"I nearly missed it," he confessed. "They closed the doors just after I jumped on. I had to run through the station. The tube was a nightmare. Do you mind if I sit with you?"
I gestured to the seat opposite and as he arranged himself, his coat and his briefcase, I began to tell him I had found the underground equally infuriating. I felt terribly flustered; it was nearly impossible to make small talk with a man who I had just imagined stripping and seducing me in front of my husband. I felt exposed and vulnerable, almost as if he had just seen me naked
"Are you okay, Penny?" I heard him ask as he settled in his seat. "You look a bit... anxious."
