Private Investigator (Foxy Lady and CougarGirl)

As my tube train rocked and rattled its way around the Circle Line, my eyes wandered idly over my fellow passengers. I’d boarded as usual at Victoria and was heading for my stop at Moorgate.

For a moment my eyes locked with those of a woman further down the carriage. Nothing unusual in that, not in such crowded rush hour conditions. Except. Except that she held my gaze for just a fraction of a second too long. I was sure she had been watching me.

I smiled to myself. Strange, isn’t it, how we have fantasies. One of mine is being picked up by a woman on the tube on the way into work. But not like this. I always imagined a long, leggy bombshell in stockings, tight short skirt and high heels. Not a middle aged woman with slightly wavy brown hair and wearing a beige rain coat. But, coming back to reality, who else would want to bother with me?

The next time I looked in her direction, she had gone. Probably got off at the last stop.

I’ve been on his trail for a week now, but this is the first time he’s seen me. The first time I’ve let him see me. Already I know his daily routine as well as he does. I’ve sat next to him on the train home to his wife and family. Stood next to him in the shop when he bought his lunch. Been a step or two behind him as he walked to his office from the tube station. But today it was time for him to see me and to know I had seen him.

These are my least favourite jobs. I don’t do many, but for some reason I let myself be persuaded by this one. It was his photograph, I think, that was what swung it. Nothing special. Just an ordinary middle aged man with hair beginning to turn grey and a small bald patch. But his hands were well manicured and very soft, and his shoes were brightly polished. I liked that, the hands and the shoes, they’re the first things I look at when I meet a man for the first time.

He knew I’d been watching, so mission accomplished for today. I waited until he wasn’t looking and slipped along the train, where I pushed my raincoat into my bag and donned a pair of glasses. He didn’t notice me when I followed him out into the street and along to his office.

She was there again today, just like she has been all week. Same rain coat, same wavy brown hair. I’ve not caught her watching me again, but I am sure she has been. I watch her reflection in the window of the carriage when we are in a tunnel, but she never seems to look in my direction. But I have the feeling that she always knows where I am.

She must be on the platform at Victoria waiting for me to get on the train. That’s the only way she can be sure to be on the same train. But there’s no sign of her. She must be keeping out of sight and then jump on the train at the last minute, probably further down and then work her way towards me.

It’s no surprise to be followed. My company does that regularly, especially if someone is being considered for promotion. There are some guys ahead of me who are due for retirement and I could be in line for one of their posts. That would mean more money and some other perks. Margaret, she’s my wife, would be pleased. She’s been unsettled recently, so that extra money might be useful. We could take that long haul holiday she keeps hinting about.

He’s really amusing. We’re like children really, him trying to catch sight of me and me pretending not to notice him. He’s so obvious; he makes no attempt to conceal what he is doing. I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve started playing games with him. Trying to get as close as I can without him noticing me. He’s so fixated on the rain coat that he doesn’t notice me when I take it off. Take yesterday, I stood right next to him on the platform as he tried to look casual as he kept looking around for me. And today, well today was fun. It was luck really. The train was really crowded. We were all packed in like sardines. He couldn’t see me and I lost sight of him a few times. Then a crowd of people got off at Liverpool Street and I was sort of carried along in the crush. And, guess what, I found myself a few feet away. So I just stepped forward and stood right alongside him.

I wasn’t looking at him, but I could feel his reaction when he turned round to find me almost touching him. I thought he was going to speak, but he didn’t. It’s too soon, for him anyway. Other men would have spoken, taken the chance while it was on offer. But he’s not like them. I’m sure he wanted to, but I mustn’t force the pace. I have to wait. That’s one of the most important rules of the game. I make myself available, but I don’t initiate anything. Any initiative has to come from him.

It won’t be long now. I just need to engineer a suitable opportunity for him.

She’s been there every day so far, always in the morning, but never in the evening. I wonder why that is. Maybe she works late, or only part-time. I was thinking about that this morning when I realised that she wasn’t there. It wasn’t that I hadn’t spotted her, she wasn’t on the train. I actually worked along looking for her, but there was no sign and she couldn’t have hidden anywhere. Had something happened? Had she been delayed? Or had an accident? Or been taken ill?

I put it out of my mind when I got to work. This was probably all just a fantasy of mine, an invention out of seeing the same person on the tube every day. There were probably lots of people I saw every day without remembering them. I only noticed her because of that brief eye contact on the first day. Our first day, as I thought of it.

It's strange, though. It felt like I was being watched, even though she wasn't there.

I’ve noticed a strange thing. I’m not the only one following him. There’s someone else, a man, nondescript, in a typical crumpled blue. Same outfit everyday, standing at the same place on the platform, getting into the same carriage. Just like so many others. But he’s definitely following me. he’s good, but so am I and it takes one to spot one. I wonder if he’s spotted me.

I’ve reported this back to the office. Well, I had no choice. There is obviously something going on that I don’t know about and that may affect how I should behave. I’ve stopped following him, at least for the time being until we can fathom out what is happening. Instead, I’m concentrating on the other guy. He picks him up and Victoria station, follows him to work, picks him up at lunchtime and then again at night back as far as Victoria. I now know the agency he works for. They don’t do private work like I do. they only handle corporate stuff. There’s no way they’d tell us what they’re doing: client confidentiality and all that. They haven’t picked up on me as far as I can tell.

Time for a change of tactic.

She’s not on the tube in the mornings any more. Odd the way I miss her. I hoped at first that she might be on the tube in the evening instead, but she wasn’t there. Tonight I finally accepted that I wouldn’t see her again.

I got off the tube and hurried to the mainline train in order to secure my usual seat at a table. Someone sat down opposite, but I was reading my paper and didn’t pay any attention. When I looked up, it was her. Sitting opposite me, staring out of the window, apparently focusing in the distance, but really, I was sure, studying my reflection.

We were getting close to my station when her expression suddenly changed. She had become very thoughtful. My reaction was instinctive. It wasn’t planned.

‘What are you thinking about?’ I asked her as if we were old acquaintances, which in my mind we were.

‘My husband,’ she replied.

His question took me by surprise. Surprise that he had spoken and surprise at what he had said. My answer had been spontaneous and true. I had been thinking of Peter. He didn’t like me doing this sort of work and I had promised always to tell him when I was on this sort of job. He needed to understand why I was behaving as I was. When I first started, my boss advised me to live the role. I didn’t understand what he meant at first, but gradually I understood that I had to feel part of the role I was playing. It wasn’t enough just to go through the motions, because then I didn’t come across as genuine and sincere, which is important when you have to establish a rapport quickly.

What was I thinking? I was wondering how he would feel if he knew where I was and what I was doing? He wouldn’t be surprised that I was late, even if I didn’t come home at all. That was the nature of my job. But he would have been surprised at what I was doing, because I hadn’t told him. For the time since we had been together, I had not kept my promise. And I had been trying to work out why.

But my answer was fortuitous. He now knew I was married.

I didn’t say anything more, just smiled and continued to stare out of the window. But this time I was thinking of something else. His question. It hadn’t been the typical question for a guy who was trying to pick up a strange woman on a train. It showed that he had not just been watching me, but thinking about how I was feeling. His question had come from his genuine concern that I was looking worried. It showed he cared.

Margaret and I had sex this morning. Just a quickie. I’ve been trying to remember who initiated it. It seemed spontaneous, we happened to turn towards each other and reached out. But I’ve got the feeling that it was her first move that set it off. Now why would she do that? It’s not normal in the mornings, because I have a tight schedule to catch my train. And another thing. She’s normally quite dry. It takes quite a bit of work to get her moist. But not today. She was ready. It was all a bit frantic, which again isn’t our style, but like I said I have a tight schedule.

I didn’t want to be late. I couldn’t afford to miss my train. That would mean missing the woman in the rain coat. I was sure now that I would see her again. But would she be on the tube or had she changed now to following me home rather than in the morning?

My boss texted me overnight calling me into the office for an early meeting with the client. I protested, but he wouldn’t relent. we don’t mind keeping the client informed of progress. It makes for good customer relations, and of course there is a charge for each report. But we normally don’t like the client to meet the investigator, not in a case like this, but she had insisted. That meant I didn’t have time to be on the train to sit opposite him. Strange, I felt bereft somehow, even though we hadn’t spoken again apart from that short exchange.

The client didn’t need to say anything. I could tell what she was thinking by the way she appraised me. obviously, she was expecting something rather different from the slightly dumpy, plain, middle-aged woman who sat opposite her at the table. My boss picked up the vibes and took to my defence.

‘Our judgment is that a man like, well let’s say, a man of your husband’s maturity is going to be suspicious of a leggy, twentysomething blond who throws herself at him. If this is to be a genuine test of your husband’s fidelity, it needs to be realistic. And,’ he added, unnecessarily in my opinion, ‘you have the benefit of one of the most experienced operatives in this line.’

Thanks, thanks a lot.

It’s odd how easy it can be to read clients. Some want their fears allayed. Others just want them confirmed. Others just want to know, one way or the other. But this woman was difficult to read. She was smartly dressed and well turned out, but she was what you’d call the mature figure, larger than me certainly. And I couldn’t put my finger on quite what it was that she wanted. It was almost, I got the feeling, that she was using the investigation in some way for her own ends, which she wasn’t disclosing.

That’s OK of course. She was paying and it was up to her what she did with the information. Just so long as she didn’t interfere with the investigation. And I got the impression from the detailed questions she asked me that that was something she might just do. Why else would she want such a detailed account of my attempt to seduce her husband?

She wasn’t there this morning. Pity I hadn’t known or I could have spent a bit longer with Margaret. But she seemed in a hurry too. That may be what made it so exciting. Perhaps she’ll be there tonight. I must speak to her. We can’t just keep looking at each other.

She was there this evening, already in her seat when I got on the train. I kept setting deadlines to speak, the next signals, or the next station. Finally, I knew I would keep avoiding it unless I found something to say. But what?

‘I’m going to Manchester next week,’ I told her as if we were in the middle of a conversation, which we have been all along for days now, except it is all in my head.

‘Just for the day?’ she asked.

‘No, I have to stay overnight.’

‘Which train are you catching?’ She seemed interested, but then she may just have been making conversation.

‘No, I’m not going by train. The firm always sends me by air.’

She nodded and didn’t say anything more until we were pulling into Victoria.’

‘I suppose you’ll be staying at the Midland,’ she said as I was gathering my papers.

‘How did you guess?’ I couldn’t believe she could work that out. But she didn’t explain.

‘What’s the flight number?’ she asked as I stood up.

I told her.

That went OK. I had to prod him a bit to get the details of the flight and the hotel, but that wasn’t entrapment. He obviously wanted me to know where he was going and there was only one reason why he might want to do that. He was just being subtle and I respect that. It shows I was right all along that this isn’t the usual sort of guy I get to follow. He didn’t pressure me, just fed me some information that I could follow up if I wanted. Which I did. And, you know what, I’m looking forward to it.

There is one thing that’s puzzling me, though. He hasn’t asked how I come to be on the tube every day or why I am now on his train in the same seat every day. You’d think he’d ask, just in casual conversation. For some reason, he doesn’t want to do that. Maybe he feels it isn’t necessary, because we’ve established a rapport that has moved beyond those details. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just reading my own feelings into him and he has other reasons. I need to bear this in mind, though. He’s not my usual sort of target and that means I need to be on my guard.

I missed my usual train this morning. It was Margaret’s fault. She insisted on having sex. No doubt about it this time. It was her decision and I wasn’t given a choice. Not that I mind. Apart from … well I don’t like to be late for work, but I can always make up some excuse. And, well, I didn’t want to miss her. We actually had a conversation yesterday, sort of anyway. And she got of me where I would be staying in Manchester.

But, as I was saying, Margaret insisted. She climbed on top of me, already wet. Soaking in fact. That was the problem. She was so wet she couldn’t really get a grip on my cock and that made it difficult for her to get off. And I couldn’t abandon her in mid-fuck to run for my train, could I? Anyway, she managed in the end, but I was in a mess and needed a wash, by which time it was too late for the train even if I skipped breakfast.

Fortunately, as the train pulled in I saw that my favourite seat was free. When I got down, she was there, in the seat opposite. And she spoke as soon as the train pulled out.

‘Why were you late?’ she asked.

That’s the first time she initiated a conversation. What could I say? The easiest answer was the best.

‘Fucking,’ I told her, ‘my wife and I were fucking and I’m running late.’

So, there it is. Now she knows I’m married.

‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘You’re normally on my usual train. What kept you today?’

‘Waiting for you,’ she told me.

We’re making progress. He’s told me that he’s having sex with his wife, so he’s letting me know that he is sexually active and married. I like that. So many guys pretend that they’re not married or that their marriage is stale and barren, but here’s a guy confessing that he’s missed his train because he’s been fucking his wife.

It shows, too, that he feels close enough to me to reveal such personal details. I bet he won’t tell his boss that if he’s asked to explain why he’s late for work.

But what is that wife of his up to? She’s got me tailing him and yet she’s letting him fuck her. Or is she the one who’s initiating it all? It worries me that she may trying to interfere with my investigation. It’s like she’s letting him know what’s available at home without him needing to stray. So why pay me to follow him around waiting for him to get me into bed? It’s almost as if she doesn’t want him to get caught. Hang on, though, this is all assuming that she’s the one taking the lead. It may be him and he’s getting excited about what he hopes will happen in Manchester. I don’t buy that, though. I saw the relief on his face when he found me sitting opposite him. No, she’s the one controlling this.

I need to reciprocate here. Let him know I’m married as well. So we’re on an equal footing. He needs to be sure that this is just fun fucking, nothing serious. Well, that’s easily done.

‘I understand,’ I tell him, ‘I’m married too. I missed a plane to the US once.’

That last bit wasn’t true, but it lets him imagine what sort of fuck that must have been. And me too for that matter.