The overhead lighting in the carriage flickered on and off as we sped through the tunnel towards the city. Java Joe’s dark brown eyes appeared black in the intermittent light. He stared at me with such intensity that I could not look away. Was this just the blank, unthinking stare of a bored commuter, or was he really eye-fucking me? Looking away would make me the loser in this impromptu game, and I would not let him win. My gut swirled with longing as I mapped his face—the Greco-Roman bone structure, strong nose and hard jaw. His lips looked sculpted as if an artist carved them.
The train rounded a bend in the track, and all of the passengers who were standing close to me lurched, forcing me to break eye contact. Damn it! Java Joe had won this round. A woman barreled into me, and I lost my balance, but there was nowhere for me to fall. I bumped into the passengers behind me, who all pushed me upright. “Sorry, sorry,” I apologized sheepishly. I felt like such a fool. It was very embarrassing. So much for not attracting attention to myself!
That reality check made me pause for thought. I looked back up at Java Joe and saw his pretty mouth hitch to a winning grin. I wondered for a split second if I was insane—imagining it. Was the game all in my head? Was I losing my mind? Surely, this was proof that Java Joe had been checking me out. I did not know what to do with that information.
No matter how I tried to justify my actions I knew in my heart that I was obsessed and in all honesty, I wasn’t researching for a TV show format at all; I was stalking a stranger. I was thoroughly disgusted with myself. What had I become? I decided, there and then, that I would stop this charade. Even though I’d been getting some very good signals from the man, Java Joe was a fantasy. I knew nothing about him, and I was in danger of doing something that was totally out of character for me.
I decided I had to purge myself of the sickness. I could not look at the Undr site anymore, and when I alighted from the train at Waterloo Station and watched him walk away, I decided I would never see Java Joe again.
****
CHAPTER THREE
AGAIN
On Tuesday morning I woke early and decided that this was the last time. I just wanted one more look at Java Joe before I moved on. One more time wouldn’t hurt, right? I was a thirty-nine-year-old single, gay man, and not unattractive. I’d been going through the longest dry spell of my adult life. I knew my behavior was pathetic, but I assured myself I was going to see Java Joe this one final time to seek closure—and so I caught the same six-thirty a.m. train from Highgate Tube station.
Joe looked different today. He was more disheveled than I’d ever seen him in any of the covert shots posted on Undr. He had bags under his eyes, and he was unshaven, dark, rough stubble lining his strong jaw. I wondered if he’d been out on a date the previous night, or maybe he’d been working late.
When my eyes found him on the platform, I realized he’d seen me first. His countenance changed from slumping against the Victorian tiled wall of the tube station to standing up straight and alert. He smiled, but I told myself the smile was not for me. It couldn’t be for me. He reached into his peacoat and pulled out his phone then began tapping the screen. I nonchalantly walked past him, not even daring to chance a direct look. I found an empty seat on a bench and slumped down. I needed to be inconspicuous. I was sure I would make a terrible spy, and I guessed he’d already spotted my unnatural interest in him.
I was unusually nervous today. Lack of sleep was really no good for me. It would be the last time I would see Java Joe, and so I wanted to drink my fill before he vanished into the swell of commuters in the City of London.
Just like the day before, the train arrived and the crowd crushed into the carriages, but this time—I honestly don’t understand how it happened—but I turned and found I was pressed against Java Joe. Joe was around three inches taller than me. If he was so inclined, he could have rested his stubbled chin on the top of my head. At a guess, he was five or more years younger than my thirty-nine years.
I didn’t know where to look. There was nowhere to look with the brick wall of his chest in my face. Damn it; he smelled so good, I could have sobbed.
I was torn. My logical mind knew I was obsessed, and my fascination with Java Joe was unhealthy, but my dick was taking the lead in this covert operation. I gulped in breaths, but the air inside the carriage was stale and stifling, with a hint of Joe’s aftershave attached. My pulse quickened at our closeness, and I could feel the dampness at my armpits as I sweated with nerves. I wanted to bury my face in his chest, or drop to my knees and blow him on this packed Tube train. Those thoughts were surely madness. I didn’t even know if he was into men, for God’s sake.
The noise of the train rattling through the tunnels was so loud that commuters didn’t even attempt to have a conversation. I bit my lip and gathered the courage to look up. My breath caught when I did and saw Joe was looking down at me with a secretive, curious look in his eyes. He smiled at me, and I knew right then that he wasn’t straight. No straight man has ever looked at me that way. I tore my eyes away, blushing that I’d been caught checking him out again. I still hadn’t found anywhere else to look. The only choices were his broad chest, or I could close my eyes, which would look weird as if I was sleeping standing up, or I could turn around, and look out of the window at the pipes and cables in the tunnels as the carriage rushed by.
Our predicament was becoming way too awkward. I turned around took a couple of steps and grabbed for the nearest pole to steady myself. To my surprise, Java Joe followed me. He wedged himself behind me, pressed to my back, and being taller, grabbed hold of the pole higher up. His hands were big and masculine, and the fact he was pressed against me, and his hand was mere inches from mine made my blood thrum in a way it hadn’t for years.
We were tossed around the carriage, and my brain turned to mush when Joe’s groin met my ass. Jesus Christ! He was hard—and seconds later so was I. Today’s game was a lot more interesting than the day before. Joe covertly pushed his hard-on against my bottom, grinding, while, in consent and encouragement. Whatever Joe was packing it was big and hard—just what I wanted. I pushed back and rubbed against him—in full view of everyone in the train carriage. The people around us were oblivious, lost in their own heads, consumed by their phones, reading, listening to music, or staring blankly at nothing. It amazed me that no one knew what we were doing, and the thrill of frotting in public made my heart race.
This was the closest I’d come to sex with another man in two years and over the tense minutes that followed until we reached the next station Joe and I let our bodies move in unison to the ‘clickety-clack’ roll and rhythm of the train.
What we were doing felt so good and filthy. Once again my satchel came in very handy to disguise the tumescence at my crotch. It was so out of character for me to be doing. The bulk of Joe’s firm body, his heat, and hardness, Christ! I was so turned-on and high on the rush of being covertly humped in public. I could feel Java Joe’s straining breaths against my cheek and wished his lips would graze my neck, or rub against my short beard. Joe kept a keen rhythm and overplayed the rock and roll of the train beneath his feet, pretending he had trouble keeping his balance. He leaned in and put his free hand on my shoulder and squeezed, holding me in place as he frotted against my ass, then I heard a deep groan in my ear. Joe shuddered behind me and went still. I knew exactly what had just occurred. I closed my eyes, pushed against the leather of my satchel, closed my eyes focusing on his firm grip on my shoulder holding me still and bit my lip as I came, imagining the sticky mess in Joe’s underwear as I spent into my own.
Joe stayed where he was, just breathing heavily behind me until moments later the train arrived at Embankment Station, the station before our usual stop at Waterloo. I turned to look up into Joe’s eyes. He met my gaze with a smile and then shrugged regretfully. Without a word he left the train and vanished into the throng of commuters seeking an exit. I was stunned and disappointed. I thought he’d stay until Waterloo Station. That was where he’d
exited the day before. I could not let this go. What we’d just done was so incredibly exciting, and I wanted to—had to see him again. I needed to find out his real name. I had to get his number.
Just as the doors were closing, I squeezed between them and then set off at a speedy walk following the crowds of commuters through the station, trying to discover where the hell Joe had gone.
****
CHAPTER FOUR
Espresso
It was useless. Java Joe was nowhere in sight. Embankment Station was in the heart of the city, and thousands of commuters traveled through the Tube station every day.
I exited the station onto Victoria Embankment beside the River Thames. The sky was a brilliant baby blue, and I immediately saw the commuter riverboat leave from the jetty opposite the station—the dark waters of the Thames taking commuters who wanted to avoid the traffic up and down the wide thoroughfare by river taxi. I anxiously looked left and right, but there was no sign of Joe. Could he have taken the boat?
I was jostled by people passing. I moved out of the line of commuters and leaned against a wall, deep in thought. Where would I even begin to look? The tip-tap of high-heels caught my attention, and a brunette woman passed carrying a cardboard cup tray holding four tall cups of coffee—the cups wore the branding of none other than Java Joes Coffee. I knew my Joe worked for the Java Joe Coffee chain, and so I drew my phone from my breast pocket and pulled up Google Maps. Was Joe working at a riverside kiosk or a bricks-and-mortar café? I checked for the location of Java Joe’s in the area. There were three cafés within a mile radius between Embankment and Waterloo stations.
After the deeply erotic nature of what we’d done on the Tube, I was determined that I would find out which branch he worked at, and at least find out his name.
The first branch of Java Joes Coffee was on Northumberland Avenue. It was a well-used thoroughfare with offices; shops, the London School of Economics, and New Scotland Yard close by. This Java Joe’s was a very busy café. Customers, mainly city workers, and students, were lining up outside the door and past the front window of the café. I stood outside for a minute and observed what I could through the window, but it was no use, I had to go in.
Boldly, I eased my way through the front door, much to the consternation of those lining up outside. I pretended to look at the wares in the glass counter displays—Muffins, Brownies, Danish pastries, Croissants and granola bars, while surreptitiously glancing at the Baristas. Two women and one man worked in this branch, and the man was not Joe. I left and checked my phone for the next location.
Branch number two of Java Joes was in Watergate Walk, just off Villiers Street and close to Victoria Embankment Gardens. There wasn’t as much passing trade, and so I was happy to see no queue of coffee addicts lining up for their next fix. It was a small branch. There were two couches with tables for customers who wanted to eat-in, and four table and chair ensembles outside on the pavement overlooking the gardens.
I stepped into the café and the scent of freshly brewed coffee was more than welcome. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, I was hungry, and my caffeine monster needed an Espresso kick start to the day. No one was eating-in or sitting at the tables outside, but two customers were queuing before me. I saw only one Barista on duty, but she was quick and efficient and served the customers swiftly.
When I stepped up to the glass-topped counter, the Café was otherwise empty. The Barista met my gaze, gave me a puzzled look and then said,
“Ohhhh, crumbs, umm, that was quick!”
My brows knitted with confusion. The Barista appeared to have recognized me. I was sure I’d never met her and I had no idea where she could have seen me before.
“Hang on, he’s in his office,” she said, then turned and vanished through the ‘staff only’ door. My mind raced. Was Java Joe here? Had he shared that he’d just humped me on the Tube on his way into work? Surely not! A sickening feeling gripped my belly, and I wondered if I should just turn and do what I was supposed to be doing—heading to work, but since seeing Joe in the flesh that first time, work had been the last thing on my mind.
The Barista returned, but instead of serving me she grabbed keys, and a bag from under the counter, and headed for the front door. She turned the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed,’ then looked at me and said, “Nathan’ll be out soon. Have fun.” The girl winked, and then exited, locking the door behind her.
Nathan? What the hell? I was confused and unnerved by her assumed familiarity, and honestly, freaked out by being locked inside the café. I bit my lip, wondering if I’d just made a dreadful mistake. Did she know I’d been stalking Java Joe? Had I somehow been set up? Was it all a big joke and now I’d made it here Java Joe was going to kick my head in for stalking him?
The ‘staff only’ door opened, and Java Joe passed through. His eyes met mine, and the thrum of excitement that filled my blood made me want to dance. The expression he wore was not ferocious, and he did not look like he wanted to kick my head in at all. He appeared a little shy and surprised to see me. He was blushing in the most endearing way, and in turn, I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and my heart thunder in my chest. We stared at each other, our eyes dilated with excitement.
“I don’t know what to say.” I began.
“Wu…wu…we could start with hello?” He stammered. His voice was deep and had an edge of posh to it—and it was evident the man had a speech impediment.
In my fantasies, Joe had become the embodiment of masculine perfection, but with that first stuttered sentence, the fantasy shattered and I saw the real man, imperfect and yet, he wasn’t any less attractive to me. Understanding that he stammered made things fall into place in my mind. Now I knew why he hadn’t spoken to me on the train, even when he’d had the chance. Did he think I would laugh at him, or worse?
“Hello, my name’s Marcus. It’s a pleasure to meet you properly.” I offered my hand. Java Joe took my hand and shook it. His grip was firm and warm, and his handshake sincere.
“I… I… I’m Nathan. Good to meet you, Marcus. Su, su, sorry about the…” he said giving a self-depreciating shrug, the stuttered speech appearing to frustrate him. “It gu… gets worse when I’m nu… nervous.” He added.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, and there’s no need to be nervous. I won’t bite.” I said with a wry grin. The smile he shot me in return could have charmed the birds from the trees. Nathan was so endearing, and honestly, hearing him struggle to speak gripped at my heart and made me ache to hear more.
“Cu… can I get you anything? Cappuccino, Latte? O… on the house of course.”
“An Espresso would go down well.” Nathan smirked and raised a brow. The phrase ‘go down well’ had caught his attention, just like I’d intended. He turned, then efficiently prepared two Espressos in tiny white toy town cups and placed them on saucers.
“We can take these th… through to the office and have a ch… chat if you want?” Nathan suggested.
I nodded and moved around to the wrong side of the counter. Nathan picked up both coffee’s, leaned on the staff door to let it swing open. He then stepped back, holding the door open so I could pass into the small catering kitchen.
The stainless steel worktops were laid out with wrapped trays of pastries and sandwiches for sale that day. Nathan strode past me and through the kitchen. He entered an office which held a desk, the same model of couch from the front of the store, and a low Ikea coffee table. He placed the coffees on the table, sat and then gestured for me to join him on the couch.
Nerves caught up with me, and I suddenly didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I sat and let my satchel drop to the floor. Nathan wrung his hands, and the silence between us became awkward. I scratched at my beard, and then checked my watch. I wasn’t even late for work yet. Nathan looked up and gave a nervous smile and then said, “Um… I owe yu… you an apology.”
“What?” I stared at Nathan in confusion. Was he apologizing for grinding against my butt on the Tube this mo
rning? Did he think I was going to report him for sexual assault or something? I considered him, wide-eyed and speechless, and then I reached for the Espresso and took a sip. Oh, that hit the spot. I needed him to know he’d done nothing wrong. I’d wanted that dirty friction—I needed it. I’d come looking for him because wanted more.
“I… I only uploaded the photo out of desperation,” Nathan explained. “I’m nu… not good in social situations. Dating is… tricky.” He shrugged. He didn’t need to elaborate. I could imagine dating would be a struggle if he found it hard to talk to strangers, and I was sure there were arseholes who mocked him for the stammer.
“I du… didn’t think I would see you again, and I um… wu… wanted to,” he admitted. Nathan rubbed his hands over his face in exasperation.
“Wait a minute. WHAT? You’ve lost me?” I tossed the rest of the scalding coffee down my throat and then placed the tiny cup and saucer on the table.
“The ph… photo I uploaded to TravelCrush last night. You saw it, didn’t you? I’ll tu… take it down, honest. Just don’t report me or anything.” Nathan pleaded.
TravelCrush? What the hell was TravelCrush? I stared at him in disbelief. If I was correct, it sounded very similar to Undr. I remained silent, pondering where our wires had crossed. In a light bulb moment, everything fell into place. I laughed out loud. Nathan scowled at me as if I was mocking him.
“Have you heard of a website called Undr?” I asked.
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