Girl on the Net

The first time I tried to get this man to hold my hand, we were walking beside a London canal in the early evening darkness. I thought it was romantic – the lights reflected off the water, the gentle strolling pace, the early days of a relationship that felt extremely exciting. The first time I tried to hold his hand he let me do it for exactly half a second before pulling away and announcing “I’m not much of a hand-holding person, actually.” It was useful feedback, of course, and I respect how good he is at articulating his boundaries. However, as I explained ten seconds after I’d collapsed into awkward giggles, he could have said it a little more quietly… so the guy walking past at that exact moment didn’t witness my humiliating rejection. I tell you this only so you can see that the man in question here is not, traditionally, a hand-holding kinda guy. He’ll do it if we’re sitting on the sofa, but when we’re out and about the closest he comes to a PDA is the odd subtle smack on my arse or a peck on the lips. He doesn’t like being publicly affectionate, and would rather save certain types of physical contact for when we’re alone. Fair play.

Fast forward to a random day in September. A weekday, to avoid the crowds. He and I are embarking on a challenge that I’ve wanted to attempt for quite some time: taking as many different forms of transport in London as possible. I’m a nerd for trains and buses, and I live in a city with more than its fair share. It isn’t just a question of ‘underground, overground, bus’ – London has a huge variety of methods to get from A to B: trams! Vintage buses! The Thames Clipper! Hire bikes! Foot tunnels! The Woolwich ferry! In total we took 25 different forms of transport on that day, looping in and around the city from East to West, North to South, always moving forward and never repeating a single type of transport. Occasionally, thrillingly, we’d share a quick peck on the lips as I gave in to my inner romantic and asked him to kiss me on a particular vehicle: kiss me on the train. Kiss me on the tube. Kiss me on the top of this double-decker bus.

This might sound silly if you’re not into transport, but if you are then feel free to visit this page about the London Transport 25, which includes our itinerary and helpful links if you want to do it yourself.

You join us towards the end of this magical day: we’ve spent the morning haring through central London ticking ‘sub-surface tube’, ‘deep tube’, ‘high speed train’, ‘Hammerton’s ferry’ and many more things off our list until eventually disembarking the Thames Clipper at North Greenwich. The Thames Clipper – also known as the Uber Boat – whisked us out of the city from Embankment, and we managed to get a seat at the back in the open so we could point out our favourite riverside pubs as we sped by. Now, round the back of the O2 arena, amidst a baffling selection of sculptures, we sit on a bench and smoke a joint and watch the cable car ferrying passengers across the river to the Royal Docks. Little purple gondolas float off into the sky while we chat and wrap up warm against the chill that’s starting to creep in as the sun sets.

We’ve come a long way since this morning, I think. Not just in terms of miles covered but in terms of mood as well: the day started early, with me in a grump because I had no time for coffee, and desperately worried that I was dragging this guy on a wild goose chase. It may be Bucket List for me but what if it’s of no interest to him? What if he gets bored? What if we miss a vital train? What if he thinks the whole thing is a total waste of our lives? Somewhere outside Farringdon at 10am, he managed to get me to calm my inner critic and accept that he means it when he tells me he thinks this will be fun. And it is: it’s an adventure. Over the course of the trip we’ve been on emotional journeys as well as physical ones. A conversation that began in Waterloo took us to some dark, sad places, then dumped us in St Margarets as the sun burst through the clouds, whereupon we stopped for a riverside pint and a discussion about our funniest bad dates. A delay with one bus led us to despondency just after a trip on hire bikes had filled us with euphoria. Up and down, East to North to West to South to Central, joy to worry and back again.

And as we travelled, occasionally I’d turn to him and ask for a peck on the lips: kiss me on the bus, please. Kiss me on this tram. Please kiss me on the lips as we pass through Tower Bridge on the Uber boat.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Please kiss me. 

In North Greenwich we sat watching the cable cars, getting high and feeling soft and cosy and in love. I was desperate to reach out and touch this man – stroke him and hold him and cover him with grateful kisses for joining me on such a powerful journey. I could have cried for joy if I weren’t so busy grinning. I could have straddled his lap and wrapped him in my arms and pressed his face into my chest and ground against him.

But I didn’t, of course. He’s not really one for holding hands – he certainly won’t want to get humped on a bench in North Greenwich.

As the cold started to set in, we gathered our things and headed towards the cable car. Waited briefly with a crowd of people by the barriers, both of us slightly overeager and moaning a little about how long it took to be allowed up the steps to board. Surely it can’t take this long to get so few people onto the cars? We’d studied carefully as we sat by the river and reckoned each pod would hold eight.

So come on! Let’s go! Chop chop! The sun’s gone down and we’ve still got six more forms of London transport to do before we head home! 

Then we got upstairs.

Once you’ve tapped in to the cable car you walk up a few sets of stairs (or take the lift) before gathering in a roped-off area next to where they load and unload the pods. If you’ve been on any cable car before you’ll know roughly how this works: each pod appears in the loading dock and slows down, the doors open so passengers can get off, then you climb in as the pod rotates before the doors close and it whisks you into the sky. It’s thrilling, the idea that you just jump on and then go. Well… it is to a nerd like me.

What’s more exciting, though, is what I noticed within five seconds of us getting to the boarding area. The reason the queue had taken a little while to clear.

I turned to my date and asked: “Do you see what I see?”

“I do.”

“They’re…” I could barely say the words aloud, I was suddenly so excited. “They’re letting people have their own pods!”

In my head, I’d anticipated being ushered into a pod with anywhere between two and six complete strangers. Pictured having to awkwardly angle my phone so the camera didn’t pick up random tourists in our transport selfie. I’d been worried that I wouldn’t be able to document the cable car moquette lest people think me weird. So although I knew the cable car would probably be pretty exciting… definitely one of the highlights of the day… I’d never dreamed it might be this romantic.

I didn’t know we would get our own pod! 

The second I realise that this is a possibility, I reach with one trembling hand to clasp that of my companion. And this man, for the first time ever in public, squeezes my hand in return. We cling to each other firmly, trembling slightly with the thrill of it, and watch as groups of four, three, two and even solo travellers are ushered into their very own private pods.

My eyes are sparkling and my whole body has started going weak. I find myself mentally calculating how long each ride might take: how many minutes do you get, suspended in a pod over the London skyline, drinking in the romance of the city by night, touching and kissing and loving the person beside you?

I’m weak with delight at the prospect. Simultaneously quivering and glowing. My date holds my hand in public, for the first time I can remember, and I lean in so we’re shoulder-to-shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his fingers entwined in my own. Every now and then he looks at me, making eye contact that causes my heart to pulse and sends dark, powerful flutters from there to my cunt.

“You OK?” he murmurs, as I grin from ear to ear.

“Yes,” I tell him. “You?”

“Yep.”

It’s not what you say, it’s the way you say it. Choked and almost breathless, those five words we exchange say so much more than ‘yes’ and ‘yep.’

They say ‘I cannot wait to get you alone, in the sky over the city.’ And ‘I want to look across the Thames and reach for you with this trembling hand, then take you in my arms and breathe you in and know you’re mine.’ They say ‘this is one of the most erotically charged and eagerly anticipated kisses of my entire life, and I’ve half a feeling that when the doors close on our sky car, the second my lips touch yours I might come in my pants.’

They say ‘holy shit holy shit holy shit: I didn’t know we would get our own pod!’

I hold his hand and he does not pull away. He doesn’t shuffle awkwardly or loudly remind me that he isn’t into PDAs. Instead he clutches me back, tightly, and because this kind of contact is so rare it hits much harder than if he were a hand-holder normally. Because it’s so unusual, the act of being touched now feels sexier to me than any full-on fuck. It’s an acknowledgement that I am not alone in feeling breathlessly desperate to get on that pod and head into the sky: he feels it too.

When we reach the front of the queue and the staff member ushers us forwards, they tell us “it’s nice to see people who look so excited to be here!” and I grin some more. I imagine the staff who work on the cable car know exactly what most couples are thinking.

Perhaps that’s why each pod has a very prominent CCTV camera.

Don’t worry: we expected this. It’s not a disappointment. We don’t need to fuck in the sky pods to satisfy the part of me that’s thrumming with powerful need. When the doors close on ours I turn to him again and ask:

“You OK?”

“Yep.”

This simple, slightly-choked ‘yep’ tells me he and I are on the same page. The fact that he’s holding my hand again confirms it. We sit side-by-side, looking out at the skyline as the cable car rises and I can feel my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest as I wait wait wait for us to cruise out of view of the people still queuing to board.

The city lights are reflected off the water and I feel hypnotised by the gentle rolling pace of the pod as it heads skywards.

The giggling high of the weed is replaced by the full-body buzz of pure love: for this city I adore; this challenge I’ve been so keen to embark upon; and above all for the willing guy who joins me on adventures.

The docking station drops from view behind us, and the city noise falls away with it. I turn to this man who’s looking flushed and cosy, and in a voice that shakes with longing I say:

“Please… kiss me in the cable car.”