Continuing the series of erotic fiction set on tube trains (I heart TfL), here’s some aching, surreptitious fucking on the Victoria Line. Note that this story is fiction. Don’t do it in real life. 

The carriage is already rammed by the time we get on – him, me, a few friends. All of us slightly tipsy from the gig, but eager to continue the night back home in Walthamstow. Home, where the booze has been pre-bought from Tesco and we don’t have to queue behind Gen Z amateurs at the bar. The train is packed by the time we get on but we squeeze down to the end of the carriage anyway. When someone gets up to push past us, in deference to his ever-present backache I offer my boyfriend the seat. Then, because my feet are hurting and I’m a little bit pissed, I sit on his lap.

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