OK, so the train is probably the last place you would expect to meet a famous pop star. Surely they all swan around in limos, rather than having to squash between sweaty commuters? That's what I thought, until one day I was in London sitting opposite someone who was so gorgeous he should be famous. But I didn't recognize the tall Asian guy across the carriage from me—I just spotted that we were both reading the same book, The Forty Rules Of Love.
"So what's your favorite rule of love?" he asked, scooting into the seat next to me with a cheeky grin. His transatlantic drawl was sexy enough to make the McDonald's Saver Menu sound hot. Still, I wasn't really into that pretty, boyband look. I was more into rock music myself, unlike some of my friends, whose obsession with One Direction was completely all-consuming.
But Scott* went way beyond just pretty. He was drop-dead gorgeous in a Zayn Malik kind of way, with jet-black hair, piercing dark eyes, and sharp cheekbones. We got chatting, and he said he was in a band and had been recording somewhere out in the sticks. I assumed maybe he was in some university group, or perhaps he was on the rise, but somehow I couldn't quite picture him strumming a guitar on a beer-stained '80s carpet in the local pub.
"Maybe you should enter The Voice," I said. I didn't realize at that point how dumb my remark was. He laughed and then, in the most outright way I've ever been chatted up, simply asked me if I wanted to go back to his hotel room. Perhaps if he hadn't been so gorgeous or charming, I might have thought it was cocky. Instead, I found myself nodding. I hadn't had sex for six months, since splitting from an ex, and there was something about Scott that made me want to be impulsive. We practically jumped off the train, ran up the escalators, and into a cab.
The hotel we pulled up at was a luxurious five-star one...and he had the penthouse. It was becoming more and more obvious that he wasn't an up-and-comer, but I was too all over him to ask. As he slipped his tongue into my mouth and pressed his body against me, I could feel his erection. I wanted him to enter me there and then, in the hotel lift. But we made it to his room...and began tearing off each other's clothes as we stumbled towards the bed.
"We pulled up at a five-star hotel—he had the penthouse."
As he left a trail of kisses down my neck, I arched my back so my breasts met his lips, and he sucked my nipples hungrily. He went down on me until I was desperate to feel him inside me, so I flipped over and straddled him.
Afterwards he called me a cab. "So what's your band called?" I asked as I left. He kissed me on the cheek and told me. I Googled them on the way home, and realized that he was in one of the biggest groups in Asia and had performed in front of stadiums full of screaming girls. After that afternoon, I counted myself as a fan...
*Names have been changed.