London is bad enough. It's over-crowded, over-priced, the weather is terrible and the food's even worse. It's a city built for thousands but inhabited by millions.
You wouldn't have thought it could get any more unpleasent, but then you'd have forgotten about the bankers, the bankers make London that much more dark and cruel. They're rich, privileged, and untouchable. They do whatever they like, safe in the knowledge that they're above the law.
Don't believe me? You think they can't be that bad? Well listen on I'll tell you what happened to me one evening in London town. Call it a warning.
I was coming home from the office on the Underground. It was a busy week and I'd stayed late and I was catching one of the last Tube's out of the city. The Underground is usually so crowded you have to fight your way into a carriage. You spend the rest of your journey trying not to have a panic attack because you're trapped deep beneath the surface of the earth in a heaving mass of people and you can't breathe properly and someone's smelly hair is pressed into your face. But it was so late that evening the Tube was quiet, relatively speaking.
There weren't any free seats, but at least there was enough space to stand without having my human rights violated. I even had room enough to hold my book in front of me without having it repeatedly slammed into my face by my fellow commuters. I was relieved, my first comfortable journey home in months. And then two braying bankers strode into the carriage.
I tried not to look at them, but I was nervous and I found myself doing so out of the corner of my eye. They were dressed in expensive black suits and crisp white shirts. They spoke in plumy accents and their voices were too loud for public transport, they roared and laughed at each other without any consideration for the rest of us poor souls that had to share the carriage with them. They looked rich and ruthless, like two modern-day Dickensian villains. I cowered back into the corner of the carriage and raised my book in front of my face.
I risked a look over the top of it. Fuck, they were moving towards me. I ducked back behind my book and prayed to a god I didn't believe in that they'd pass me by.
They stopped just in front of me, I didn't risk another look, but I could feel them standing there. I tried to ignore them but they were closer than they needed to be, as if they were deliberately invading my personal space. I could smell their perfume and the alcohol on their breath. I stood as still as a statue, I tried as hard as I could to turn invisible.
Fortune didn't favour me that evening though. As the train hurtled around a bend the carriage jolted and one of the bankers bumped against me. My book fell to the floor at their feet.
One of them reached down and scooped it up before I could get to it. "What's this? Why's it got flowers on the front?"
"Its poetry," I mumbled. "Nature poetry." I winced as I said it.
They erupted into howls of mocking laughter. "Why the fuck would anyone read poetry if they didn't have to?"
"Romantic are you?" the other one said. "I could show you some romance if you wanted?" They burst into laughter again. They leaned closer and leered at me. I felt their eyes all over me, inspecting me like I was an animal.
The one holding my book thrust it back into my hands though, and then they turned to face each other and continue their conversation. I felt like they'd dismissed me from their existence. I raised my book again and silently thanked that god I didn't believe in.
I shouldn't have prayed so soon though; it was all part of their game, it was all part of their taunting of me. As the train rounded another corner the carriage jolted again and one of the bankers bumped against me. They laughed, and then the other bumped against me too. I felt them moving even closer, they were crowding me, forcing me back into the corner, both of them pressing their bodies against me.
I did what any other sensible British person would do in that situation. I tried to ignore them. I hid in my book and pretended it wasn't happening. But then I felt a hand brush against my thigh. Then one of them reached out and squeezed me. Then a hand ran up the inside of my leg and I felt the panic rising in me.
The bankers were so arrogant and entitled they thought they could do whatever they wanted to me. They knew the other people in our carriage could see, but they were confident no one would dare intervene. They were rich and powerful and they thought the world and everything in it was theirs for the taking. Unfortunately, in London at least, they were right.
I tried to calm my breathing. I told myself to get off at the next stop. I just had to endure another few seconds of them groping and squeezing me. Oh god but their sickly sweet perfume was all over me and I could feel them starting to rub their crotches against me and I felt sick and my skin crawled.
The train began to slow as it neared the next station and I tried to push past them. They blocked me though. They put their hands up and held me in place and they sneered and laughed at me. I asked them to move, my voice shrill with indignation and fear.
They just laughed at me more though. They shoved me back into the corner and one of them grabbed my bum, a big full-handed squeeze of one of my cheeks. The other ran a hand right up between my legs and I yelped.
I felt anger as well as fear now. How dare they treat me like this? I braced my feet against the wall behind me and I pushed with all my might and I managed to shove my way between them and out of their probing hands.
I got to the nearest doors just as they closed. Then we were in motion again. I was trapped, but I fled to the far end of the carriage as fast as I could. I shoved fellow passengers out of the way and stumbled over bags and suitcases, but I put distance between us.
I looked back and one of them winked at me, but they weren't following. I hoped they'd had their fun and now they'd forget me. I was trembling from the adrenaline rush I didn't even realise I'd had.
As the train stopped at the next station I pushed my way out onto the platform, it wasn't my stop, but I could stay and wait for the next train along. At least I wouldn't have to share the rest of my journey with those two arrogant pricks. But as the people around me filtered away and up into the London night above I realised I wasn't alone on the platform.
The two bankers had gotten off as well. They must have been watching me after all. I felt the adrenaline and the fear surge through me again and I looked desperately for the exit. I realised to my horror it was behind the bankers, I realised they had me trapped.
"Alright darling, I had a few questions about poetry," one of them shouted. "And my colleague here is very interested in the birds and the bees and all that shit. I wondered if you would oblige?"
I ran. Without thinking I dashed away from them and down the platform into the dark, hoping beyond hope I could find another exit. Like two predators on the savannah they gave chase instinctively. The sound of their designer shoes clacking on the concrete floor echoed in my ears.
I ran without thought or coordination. I barely kept my feet beneath me. But the bankers' impractical shoes weren't made for running and I could hear them falling away behind me. I saw the opening of an exit ahead and hope bloomed inside me and I was going to make it, but then one of my feet slipped.
I fell in sickening slow motion, a feeling of dumb confusion came over me as my foot failed to land on the floor in front of me like it was supposed to. I fell hard against the cold concrete floor. I tried to regain my footing before they reached me but I was panicking and scrabbling and I was too slow. I felt a hand grab my jacket collar, then another took hold of me under my arm. They lifted me and held me tight.
"You alright sweetcheeks? That looked like a nasty fall. Why don't we help you up the stairs?" They started dragging me towards the tunnel I'd seen in front of me.
I fought and swore and spat at them, but I couldn't break free. I looked up and saw the sign above the dark recess they were dragging me towards and my blood turned to ice in my veins. It said 'Private. No exit.' I hadn't been running towards an exit, I'd been running towards a dark, disused side tunnel. I couldn't breathe.
"Listen flower, just do what we ask and we won't hurt you, OK?" One of them whispered in my ear. "No need to struggle and shout. We'll treat you well. You should be thankful you know, two prime specimens like us." They pulled me into the shadows of the tunnel and threw me onto the floor. They loomed above me.
"Please, no, please, you don't have to..."
"Shut it darling, talking time's over." One of the bankers stepped forwards and stood right over me. "Your mouth's about to be too full to do any talking anyway." She sniggered, then she rolled her skirt up to her waist. She kicked off her heels and then drew the crotch of her expensive-looking underwear to one side. "Go on, look at it," she sneered.
I looked up into the banker's jeering face, then down at her pink, plump pussy. A part of my mind marvelled at how perfectly preened and primped it was. I was so scared I wasn't thinking straight I realised.
She placed a hand on the back of my head and pulled my face into her. I shut my eyes and my mouth tightly. I could feel her against me though, I could smell the scent of her.
She had one hand on my head, but she slapped me hard with the other. It stung my cheek and I saw stars and I gasped. She shoved her cunt against my open mouth. "What did I just say? Do what we tell you to and you'll have a good time. Don't, and well, my colleague here could get a little naughty." She nodded across at the other banker.
