It Takes One to Know One

Week 1. Monday

Clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack.

The train made its own rhythm but danced to it badly. It lurched along, bobbing the passenger's heads as they sat in electric light at 100mph on another dark Monday morning hurtling to the metropolis.

"Next stop is Doncaster, next stop Doncaster" Today's announcer had a particularly nasal and strongly northern accent. As if approaching Doncaster wasn't bad enough news, he added "the buffet car is now closed. The buffet car is now closed". It always ran out of food with two hours to go. Always.

Sam looked along the carriage. He had slept, but it isn't real sleep on a busy train, when you have the aisle seat at a table. Carriage E, seat 34. Reserved from York to London. Nearly the same as last week, he thought. Carriage F the week before. I wonder if I can get every carriage before Easter.

This was Sam's ritual. On Monday he kissed his wife as she slept at 5.30 and drove 15 miles into York where he caught the East Coast Main Line train to London, coming down from Edinburgh. He had a flat in London, near the office. He stayed there all week, well, slept there. He really stayed in his office on the 25th floor of a glass monstrosity or at the Ivy with clients. On Friday he would leave the city finance office early if he could and try to get on a train that had him home by seven at the latest. He had managed that twice in three years. Judy, his wife, said she didn't mind. Sam suspected she was sleeping with her tennis coach. Fucking cliché.

The train was always busy, but Sam always reserved a seat. He could never reserve the same seat, or even the same type of seat. Oh no, your £9000 a year season ticket just guaranteed (sort of) that the train was there. The seat was your next challenge and the helpful trainline seat booking app was like a magic seat randomiser. But still, for the four years he had put himself through this misery so that Judy could be close to her sister they could have the space to get little Tabby a pony, he recognised many of his fellow sufferers.

Clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack. The rain had now started in the morning dark and was running Morse code help messages across the window.

Some stuck out to him, and they exchanged niceties. Never conversation, of course. I mean for fuck sake man, it isn't America. Nods, and perhaps a look of solidarity as the train was delayed by leaves on the track outside Peterborough. There was the FT chap, same carriage today. Read the paper cover to cover before he got into the office. Tall guy never looked comfortable and sat very upright. Drank from a flask. Then there was the small blond lady with the massive bosom, very striking but harsh in a not-at-all-sexy-but-definitely-filthy way. Always on her phone. Very loud, and almost certainly HR as today she kept talking about sacking some poor bastard.

There was the man who had one of those airline neck things and somehow cracked the sleeping part of being on a train. Got on with Sam at York and woke up in Kings Cross. Genius. There were a group of 3 from Peterborough who clearly lived close to each other and worked together in a building firm in the city. He once sat at their table on a Friday and they shared their beer. Judy didn't like that. He needed collected at the station.

There were loads of familiar faces and in the summer lots of tourists as well. Most of them probably did this misery every day, thought Sam, and every evening. That is truly shit.

Then there was the young man that Sam had first seen a couple of times weeks before. Immaculate suit, slender, not tall, but not short. Beautiful. Dark hair, pale skin. Always with ear buds, sometimes bobbing his head. Today he was closer than ever, sitting at the window seat of the table across the aisle facing Sam. Sam could see his face clearly and looked without staring. The man had his eyes closed but wasn't sleeping - he was lost in the noise in his ears. Sam didn't often think men were beautiful, but this guy truly was stunning to look at. Sam looked away, his pulse a little quicker. Just a little.

Clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack.

Week 2 Monday

Monday came round too quickly for Sam. He suspected it didn't quite come round quickly enough for Judy, however, who had been particularly not interested in sex at the weekend. Her tennis lesson had gone well though, although why she had to spend all Saturday morning doing an activity, she could any day during week was beyond Sam. Still, Pascal said her backhand was coming on a treat. I bet it fucking is. She offered to drive Sam to the station early Monday morning as he had a client lunch on Friday and wouldn't be able to drive, so no point in leaving the Range Rover there all week. They got to the station very early. For the love of god.

It was dark and cold. At least it wasn't raining. There was a healthy crowd on the platform and still a good ten minutes to go until the train would arrive, if on time. He looked around for familiar faces, although god knows why, he had absolutely Avrupa Yakası Escort no intention of engaging with another human being until lunchtime at best. He noticed he was standing beside that beautiful young man. They briefly meet eyes.

"Alright" the other said. A quite surprisingly deep and confident tone thought Sam. He wasn't sure why he thought this, probably because the mans face was so, well, feminine. It was six am on a Monday morning and this guy was still fucking beautiful, even in the shadows of York railway station before dawn.

Sam nodded in response. The man reminded Sam of someone in a great time in his life, some 20 years past now, when he was at university in Durham. Sam had embarked on a pretty hot fling with a guy he met whilst doing some amateur dramatics. Ironically he joined the amateur dramatics to try and seduce a girl called Diane, who ended up sleeping with the captain of the 1st XV rugby team (it turned out she allegedly ended up sleeping with most of the other 14 when he dumped her very publically, but no one except her and most of the back line actually knew if that was true). Foiled in his seduction Sam had thrown himself into the role in the play and in a weakened drunk, thespian state fucked a fellow student actor backstage after a successful show. Full of no remorse and no sexual embarrassment at all, he fucked that boy most of a term. That boy was pretty, but this guy next to him on York station was Tony fucking Curtis.

Sam smiled at the memory.

Judy knew all about it. In fact, it turned her on when they first met, and Sam always thought it was why she was so eager to experiment with anal sex. She was still a fan. Sam had often mused that whilst he was at work Pascal would be quite literally, fucking his wife in the arse at that very moment. They shared a schedule on google calendar. He knew when the tennis lessons were. God, he hated the modern world.

Week 3. Monday

Tony fucking Curtis must have been in a different carriage. Sam spent the entire journey sitting beside the short HR lady. To his horror she spoke to him. Turns out she was lovely.

Week 4. Monday

Early at the station again on Monday. TFC was on the platform again, and that was when Sam noticed something for the first time. Was it how he stood? Was it his suit cut? Or was it the way he moved when the train pulled in? Sam was practically staring at the man now.

He remembered what Rodney Davies used to always say at school

"It takes one to know one!". Davies was a prick. A proper bully, who stole and cheated and lied. If he was ever called out his response was bully level consistent.

"Oi, Davis you thief!", the response was always the same

"It takes one to know one...!"

"Oi Davies, you mong" (English boys in the 80s were not very politically correct)

"It takes one to know one...!"

Unlike many bullies who crumble when stood up to Davies was actually hard as nails. One day he called Sam a gaylord for liking the band Duran Duran. This was well before Sam's actual regular buggering of the beautiful actor, so you could say that he was being quite perceptive, but Sam didn't respond with a discussion about the likelihood of his sexuality being fluid.

"It takes one to know one...!" Davies then proceeded to beat the absolute shit out of our hero, to the point he had to be pulled off and Sam had to take the next day off school.

Sam had forgotten about Rodney Davies, but he remembered, "It takes one to know one" and he muttered it to himself with a little surprise as he watched TFC move down the carriage and sit eight rows away.

Was it imagination, or does it take one to know one he mused as the train rumbled down towards London.

Clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack.

Week 5 Monday

Sam got to the station early. No sign of TFC. Sam realised that he was early in the hope of seeing TFC and shrugged his shoulders. Hey, he thought. No sign on the train.

Week 6. Monday

No sign of TFC at the station, but as Sam settled into his seat, another aisle seat at a table (why the actual fuck do they keep doing that?) he saw him jump on the train looking a little flustered. No earbuds in yet. Must be running late. TFC then moved down the carriage toward Sam's seat. The way he moved.

It takes one to know one.

There was definitely something in this. This was not Sam's imagination.

He sat opposite Sam and did look a little flustered.

"Hi" he said. Clearly recognised Sam's face and clearly had no idea it was just from this train and in a confused state though they might know each other.

"Hi" said Sam back and smiled.

Week 8 Monday

How the fuck do they manage it. It is lashing down outside and nearly freezing but this carriage is like a sauna.

Sam was not the only commuter irritated by the overzealous and previously never used train heating system. All around him he could hear strangers talk to each other about how this was absolutely the final straw and Avrupa Yakası Escort Bayan they would write to their MPs (they wouldn't) and they wouldn't stand for this any longer (they would).

For the third week in a row, TFC was in the same carriage and although not that close, not that far away. They had said "Hi" again and rolled eyes at the heat like the commuter brothers in arms there were. However, whereas everyone else was flapping and moaning, TFC sat in his immaculate suit and tie and looked perfect. But...

Something was not perfect; he was sweating and was uncomfortable.

It takes one to know one.

Sam was pretending to doze but was aware of any movement and he saw TFC get to his feet and start to take his jacket off. It was a stilted movement.

It takes on to know one.

Jacket now off, the man looked around before putting it on the overhead shelf. It was high and he had to stretch over a seat and that's when Sam saw it.

As he stretched, his crisp white shirt popped out from his trousers and just for a second Sam could see a sliver of lace. The top of a pair of panties. There was no doubt at all. TFC quickly tucked his shirt in and sat down. As he sat, he noticed Sam looking at him, and probably noticed Sam smirking to himself.

That night Sam had a shower back at his flat. He dried off and went to his underwear drawer. His special underwear drawer. He pulled out lace stockings, a suspender belt, and a very lacy black thong.

He sat on the bed and attached his suspender belt and then pulled on the stockings slowly, enjoying the slide up his skin and the tautness and pressure on his legs. Finally, the thong, which strained at his already bulging cock.

He stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. He had a man's physique, mans hair on his legs and a hairy chest, but as he rubbed himself through the lace, he thought of what he'd seen on the train and how that would look. He grunted loudly and quickly, and he came in a throbbing wave into the fabric.

Week 10. Monday

Fate has chosen to keep them apart the week before, and it now put them together across the table.

"Hi" they said at the same time. Was TFC pleased that I saw him, thought Sam, does he know? Does he care? Do I care?

"You're on this train a lot, aren't you? But only Mondays?"

"Yes" replied Sam, surprised that a conversation was happening and in no mood to close it down.

"I'm Tony, by the way" The younger man held out his hand. Slender. Manicured.

"Of course, you are," smiled Sam, "Sam here"

They shook hands. Then bizarrely they chatted for the next hour. Mostly about the train, because that's what strangers talk about on the train, but also work (Tony was an ad agency creative) and London. (Tony commuted most days, but sometimes stayed with a friend).

As they reached about 20 minutes out from kings cross Tony left for the toilet. When he returned a button on his shirt was undone at about his belly button. With the jacket on and where he was sitting it was clear that this was only for Sam's eyes.

Tony gently fingered the hole in his shirt, pulling the gap wider. He said nothing, but in that most public of places he wanted to draw Sam's attention to something that was there. Sam was stunned, and immediately aroused and intrigued. He couldn't stare, he couldn't not stare.

Tony popped a second button. The conversation had stopped and the people beside them were looking out the window as the edge of London sped by. Sam looked. He nearly gasped when he saw that underneath the white shirt was a white lace teddy, or basque, or something else that was delicious. Tony was wearing sheer tight fabric under his shirt. Sam felt dizzy with immediate desire. It was so sudden. Flirtation turned to lust on the movement of one finger and the undoing of a single button. Tony clearly saw this, job done.

"Oh, bloody hell," he exclaimed, "and started doing himself up, "good job I noticed, or I'd walk into the office half naked!"

Half-naked, thought Sam. Half-naked.

The carriage was starting to come to come to life around Sam. It stirred him from his stupor. He shook his head and snapped back to life. The guy beside was gesturing that they needed to get out to get baggage. He stood up. Tony stood up too. Close. Forced close by the crowd.

"Oh, he said. You know the way you said your firm might be interested in some advertising creative?"

"Yeah" said Sam. He hadn't and they weren't.

"Well, here's my card. No pressure, obvs, but my numbers on it. I'm on WhatsApp."

Weird though Sam but took the card. Tony turned, and moved out of the carriage one way with the flow, which took Sam the opposite way.

Sam went through the barriers at Kings Cross and out into the grey light. Before he jumped in a cab to the office, he emailed his assistant to get him to push stuff back for the morning and went to gather his thoughts in the Starbucks on the corner.

He was a bit dazed. Usually Sam was unshakable, Escort Avrupa Yakası but what he thought was going on, what had been a fun little fantasy was now a business card and a phone number. Anthony Andrews. Creative Assistant. He was shaking.

He looked at the card in his hands and rolled it through his fingers. There was writing on the back.

Admirer? Dresser? Both? T x

With his hands shaking he reached for his phone. He keyed in Tony's number and typed out one word. He paused before pressing send. Then hit the green arrow send button. Woosh.

Both.

The response was quick.

A smiley face emoji with the words - It takes one to know one.

Week 9 Monday

Sam was on the platform early. He was breathing heavily and felt conspicuous.

The week before was a blur. Sam was barely able to concentrate on his work, although fortunately there was nothing major going on and it wasn't uncommon for the partners to take some downtime between deals. Previously he'd gone back north and worked from home. This week he didn't. He wanted to stay in London, just in case. Just in case of what, he thought.

He had exchanged messages with Tony all week. He found out more about the younger man, who had the job in London and couldn't wait to move to the city. He was openly gay, hated the "scene" and always wore lingerie. Sometimes it made him feel sexy all day, sometimes it was just because it was as normal to him as putting on socks. He learned that he was single but had a London fuckbud. Most of all he learned that Tony loved to tease.

It became clear it was a game. A game that Tony was playing well, making up all the rules and enjoying too much. The messaging started slowly. No referencing to the elephant in the room. The stocking clad, leather skirt wearing elephant. Sam bit the bullet and suggested a drink one evening. Tony wasn't staying down, but yeah that would be cool. Thumbs up emoji. Tony was asking the questions. I sort of you show me and I'll show you.

When he felt it was the time Tony moved the conversation to dressing. At Tony's request Sam sent the first picture. In fact, it was his first ever picture of his cock in panties. Tony liked it. The return pictures made Sam realise he was in deep and he wanted to keep swimming. Tony sent one as Sam was drifting off to sleep on the Wednesday of his legs in full stockings with suspenders and a neat pouch in a G string. Tony clearly shaved.

The following night it was a rear shot of Tony in negligee, with frilly pink panties. Enough to show the shape of a lovely peach backside, but not too much.

Thursday was lots of chat, with one late pic. Tony was fully dressed. Dark, wig, make up little black dress and heels. Black stockings. Sam trembled as he opened up each picture. He deleted them all immediately, but then restored them all. They were so sexy, but not sexual, promised carnal delight, but not pornography. Oh, and they were so rationed. He jerked off furiously with every one of the pictures as soon as they hit his phone. He was so hot for this guy, now.

Like what you see? he said in the message. He knew the answer. Tony had a figure that his suit made look like a man, but when he dressed, he could show some curves. It was like a drug to Sam. He now knew beyond a doubt, he wanted Tony. In that week he made a sudden move from curiosity about a fellow traveller to thinking about nothing else.

As they reached Friday, Sam knew there would be no meet that week. They had also agreed that there would be no messaging at the weekend. Tony suggested that, he didn't want to create a scene in Sam's household. In any case, that would make seeing each other on the train a more pleasant surprise...

One final text on Sam's phone as the train arrived into the station on Friday evening.

Hey sexy xxx Fancy a drink on Monday? I can stay with my friend Claire in Clapham. One thing though, I will just simply need to think of you in some sexy panties on the train on Monday morning!! Can you do that for me?? I'll need a pic. Wink face emoji.

Sam could barely stand up to get off the train. Every message from Tony made his head spin and this was suggesting both the encounter he craved and something naughty for Monday morning. He would of course, but that would mean buying some sexy lingerie up here, as all his stuff was in London. The risk of meeting someone, the risk of how to get dressed on Monday morning, the sexiness of all that danger. He was breathless then.

Sam went panty shopping during Judy's tennis lesson in a department store in town. He made a disproportionate fuss with the shop assistant about being on a "mission from the wife". She had chewed her gum and could care less. He got a black thong, and some lacy holdups for good measure.

He dressed on the Monday morning in the spare room. He had arranged that as to not disturb Judy. She just grunted approval when he told her. It was weird putting on the thong and stockings and not being in London, or just jerking off. When he felt the feel of the fabric on his skin, the softness of the hold ups and the tightness of the thong fabric on his stiffening cock, he wanted the release so badly, but no. He had no spares and little time. He expected to feel horny all the way. He would change at the flat before work, he though, and get himself off then.