Pattern Passion

He was a three.

I realized with a little shiver. A metal-legged spider scampered up the ladder of my spine and curled itself into a cold, tingling ball just beneath the back of my skull. A perfect, perfect three. As humans, we like threes, but rarely have I encountered such a dedicated one.

He got on at North Acton, travelling East at 6:33 every weekday morning and, as far as I could tell, he started doing this on the third of March. He chose the third compartment from the end of the train, picked the third seat from the door on the left hand side. He always wore a suit jacket with three buttons, and had triple-eyelet black oxfords on his feet. Nicely shined, I might add.

What clinched it for me was that, after watching him for several weeks, I noticed that when the third seat on the left hand side was occupied, his body language altered. He wouldn’t sit elsewhere. He just hovered, waiting until it came free and then he’d snag it.

The days piled up, and I grew to anticipate the arrival of his threeness. As the train pulled into North Acton, adrenalin flooded my bloodstream, my nipples seized and my cunt started ticking like a clock. I’ll admit that I attempted to lure him by exhibiting a bit of threeness myself, just to see if he’d notice. But he had an annoying habit of plunging into a paperback novel the minute he sat down.

After 24 days of consecutive, gorgeous, elegant workday threenesses, I was in love. In a bold move, I decided to take his seat.

When he boarded the train, the subtle but perceptible physical tension caused by my disruption of his pattern was thrilling. By the time we reached Notting Hill Gate, I nearly relented and relinquished the seat, but I clenched my teeth and held my ground, learning to enjoy the sharp spikes of anxiety that forked off his body like a Tesla coil. Just before we pulled into Bank – the station he got off at – his eyes met mine with a look of such pure hatred, it sucked all the air out of the train compartment. I almost came right there on the tastefully patterned grey upholstery.

Although it was normally my habit to ride the underground for a further two hours, I couldn’t hold out that long. Alighting at my usual stop, I ran home, and spent the rest of the morning producing imaginary porn in which he stroked his cock in increasingly frenzied sets of triplets. I frigged myself raw, matching his waltzing bouts of masturbation. Of course, I could have stopped at three, or six, but nine orgasms seemed the most appropriate number, a celebration of the triptych in the most sincere sense.

The next morning, my heart raced all the way from Ealing Broadway to North Acton. I usurped his seat and waited, trying to tamp down steamy visions of him pulling out his cock and ejaculating on me in a fit of pique. The minute he boarded the train, he noted the occupied seat with an audible huff. He caught my eye again, this time with a more measured expression of grave disappointment, and tried to pull my gaze, with exaggerated urgency, to the empty seats on either side. I pretended not to notice.

After some minutes of intense glaring, he bent a little forward and, in a low, gruff voice, said, “Would you mind moving one seat over?”

What I really wanted to say was: “I love your threeness, please fuck me!” But I didn’t. “Not at all,” I replied, trying to sound breezy, and shifted to the right, melting between the legs as he settled next to me.

Did he know he was a three? I wondered. Pulling the ubiquitous paperback out of his briefcase, he began to read. I closed my eyes, letting the train rock me, allowing my mind to plunge, over and over and over, into lewd pools of explicit threenesses. My reverie was only interrupted when his arm brushed mine, as he bent forward to put his book back into his briefcase. His stop was next.

Gathering up my courage, in the middle of the tunnel, as I heard the train begin to brake for Bank, I touched his arm, purposefully, three times. He looked confused, slightly embarrassed. I didn’t say anything, or look at him. Diligently, I stared ahead at the window that pretended it was a mirror in tunnels. As it turned back into a window, sliding into the station, I watched him get up and leave the train.

That day, I didn’t allow myself escape. I rode the train as usual and tried to look for other patterns. I spotted lots of other threes, but fours and fives and sixes eluded me. Only then did I realize I’d become so obsessed with his threeness, I had stopped being able to recognize any others. This, I admit, was disconcerting.

It took three more morning encounters before he touched me back. In the tunnel approaching his destination, with his nose still buried in his book, he moved his thigh until it touched mine and pressed it three times. The incident was so powerful, I got off at Liverpool Station, quivering, and availed myself of the privacy of a stall in the ladies public toilet.

The following day, before we’d even reached Marble Arch, he crossed his arms over his chest and, holding his book in front of his face with one hand, touched my arm three times with the fingertips of the other. My pussy flooded. Just before Bank, I responded, nudging his leg with my knee.

Unable to hold my tongue anymore, I turned and whispered, “You’re such a three.”

His eyebrows rose as he carefully closed his book. For a moment, he had difficulty speaking. Then he swallowed and said, “I take the 4:20 train home.”

  25 comments for “Pattern Passion

  1. August 4, 2009 at 3:26 pm

    I love this story rg. very quirky.

    Keziah

  2. red
    August 20, 2009 at 5:19 pm

    The Solitude of Prime Numbers

  3. Keros
    September 12, 2009 at 1:31 pm

    Something in this makes me want to read this as the secret love affair of an obsessive-compulsive… But that might just be me reading myself into the story! Still, the repetition and the focus was great… Although the 4:20 at the end broke it up a bit. I suppose, though, if you added four and two, you would get six, which is, indeed, a three.

  4. Ashlyn
    August 15, 2010 at 9:29 am

    That was brilliant. Never saw anything sensual about numbers, but, my dear, that was just brilliant.

  5. KK
    December 15, 2011 at 9:42 am

    Completely awesome.

    The 4:20 “punchline” was just what it needed.

    • Gina
      October 19, 2016 at 2:07 am

      Same here. I’d like to know how they finished! My first time reading and I already love it!!

  6. Dick Osborne
    May 15, 2014 at 12:55 pm

    Random!
    4:20 is so even yet the number 3 is so odd. Finish the story.

    • May 15, 2014 at 10:11 pm

      I started out answering this comment politely but decided… what the fuck.

      I stepped out of the story in a place I felt was appropriate. You don’t like it? That’s perfectly fine. Luckily, a publisher did like it, and published it this way.

      But when you demand I ‘finish’ it, what you’re saying is: give this story the ending I want.

      And my answer to that is: do it yourself.

  7. Jemma
    June 2, 2014 at 2:39 am

    This makes me giggle because the stations you mention are very close to my house.
    In other words, I’m always a huge fan of your writing and must say they do provide heaps of pleasure to my masturbation sessions. Thank you.

  8. Anastaria
    July 4, 2014 at 6:04 pm

    i chuckled too lol she will be stuck on threes now for quite some time i think, no one will understand her arousal by number lol

  9. Dan McGru
    July 24, 2014 at 1:55 am

    I love this. I really thought it was clever and beautifully written. It’s the first of your stories that I have read and I will certainly be checking out a lot more of your stuff. Congrats of such an interesting and well thought out piece of writing. True quality.

  10. Debb
    November 7, 2014 at 2:20 pm

    3 has always been my favourite number … loved the build up of anticipation!!

  11. Redd
    April 4, 2015 at 10:14 am

    Enjoyed the story and get the numbers thing

    • April 5, 2015 at 8:54 am

      🙂 I’m glad you do. I think a lot of people are pretty sensitive to patterns.

  12. Seldom
    July 23, 2015 at 7:29 pm

    Love the way you have taken something seemingly ordinary like traveling on the train (paging Dr Freud) and turned it into a deliciously erotic adventure. So many questions left: the narrator riding the underground for 2 hours each day a normal commute or hunting for patterns? Was she looking for someone to synchronise her pattern with? Who else might be on the train watching her patterns and fantasising? You’ve just made traveling on public transport fun again.

    • July 24, 2015 at 7:35 pm

      Hello Seldom,
      I’m so glad you liked the story. And I’m delighted it left you with questions. I always think it’s more enriching to leave a reading with questions than go away with answers (since they are never really useful anyway). I love your notion of who else on the train might be watching HER patterns. That’s recursive and wonderful.

      I do love traveling on public transport. It’s a great opportunity for people watching.

  13. Aís
    September 6, 2015 at 10:37 am

    Kudos.

    Quite simply stunning and very unexpected. I thoroughly enjoyed that story, which was the first I have read of yours. A good balance of tension, thought and the familiar put into context.

    I will never see the number three in the same light again – it will join six and nine which already have their own associations.

  14. Trevor
    January 10, 2016 at 12:27 pm

    Magic, loved it!

  15. Kama
    February 17, 2016 at 10:59 am

    intrigued, hooked, engaged
    grateful
    the one touch is such a powerful event
    that the three, i think, would just dissolve me
    or fuck me into lava

    thankyou

  16. BL
    February 25, 2016 at 11:50 am

    This one amused me but in a good way. I found it endearing and it reminded me of a pattern of events that get myself turned on. It was nice to see such an odd thing be sexual, but it must be the pattern.

  17. Dick Hardigin
    June 25, 2016 at 2:43 am

    I loved your story. I love all stories about masturbation. Especially from a female perspective.
    Nicely done.

  18. Mark
    July 17, 2016 at 3:28 am

    Of course all mathematicians know the intellectual allure of numbers, but your story adds an extra sexual dimension ,…..

  19. Sandy
    August 28, 2016 at 11:04 pm

    Just the thing!!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

ten + 15 =