Prologue

Have you ever, have you, the words of a childish rhyme echoed in clacking rhythm of steel tracks under a fast train to Brighton. Have you ever, have you ever; lost in my thoughts reminiscing, the memories of adventures past, back then when I was cool and daring and brave; when I was myself when I could look in the mirror and truly see myself, not just some stranger's reflection.

I always won at that have-you-ever game. I've done it all, most kids thought I did it because I wanted to be cool, or it was my macho bravado. Still, the truth was much simpler; I did it because I could; it was fun; it made me feel alive.

Some kids learned how to ski; others did extreme sports; some joined an army and died or came home limbless. I caused trouble. I was a troublemaker; I remember my mom telling me, "I wish someday your kids were half as ill-behaved as you are, so you get a taste of how it was to be your parent". I was a little rebel; I was defiant; I'd get into trouble and fight my way out.

I used to be fun, at least to myself; I'd do what I liked, I travelled, got drunk, fucked a hot girl I met in a club. I'd speed on my bike and evade the cops, just to be arrested the very next day for something else stupid I've done along the way. I used to live a life worth living, thinking I won't live long enough to get old. I wanted to die young, in a blaze of glory.

Nowadays, however, I wore a tailor-made suit from Saville Row. I'd wave my hands telling people about some stuff that made me sound smart, all of them clapping, nodding their stupid heads like toy dogs from that insurance ad on telly.

Somewhere along the way, I made a mistake, then I made another. I said, "yes," when I should have walked away. I was bought, trained and tamed, put in a suit, converted into a corporate man, like the rest of the dumb fucks in cheap suits around me. At least in my case, the suit was expensive, and I wasn't stupid; I just pretended to be. This became the extent of my continued rebellion. It was the plausible way I could lie to myself that I still mattered, that I was still was my old self avoiding the fact that I sold out. Someone saw my number and paid me, and just like all other obedient whores I zipped my lips, bent over, spreading my ass cheeks apart with an inviting smile and a seductive wink.

"Have you ever, have you ever been a zombie?" I chuckled to myself, "I am one right now, a corporate zombie that is". At least they replaced the old clunker slam-door trains from the time dinosaurs walked the earth so I could space out pretending the world didn't exist for an hour and five minutes it took to get home. At least the neighbourhood cats kept me some company while I ate my dinner alone.

I wasn't really lonely; I just tended to often isolate myself from people for a reason I couldn't understand. I guessed once you get into the mid-forties if you had a good life, the motivation to do something new disappears. It is hard even finding something new to do. "Let's travel to Dubai", a young girl I fucked would say, and I would fake excitement as we flew off. Still, I saw Dubai many times before, it was hard getting enthusiastic about it again.

On some days, I would lay in my bed throughout the weekend, thinking of getting a gun, shooting myself in the head. No, I wasn't suicidal. I was just bored. The richer I got, the fewer challenges I saw in life and the less interested in doing something I got. I was a bored, rich, lazy cunt, an overachiever with a crazy past, living my repetitious life, groundhog days one at the time.

"Have you ever, have you ever done something so stupid that would possibly get you killed or imprisoned? Something so unbelievably illegal that it would fundamentally change your life". As always, the answer would be "yes" and not just one time.

This was, in fact, the crucible of my existence. I've done it all, or at least most things that my crazy mind could come up with. Still, now I've spent my years reminiscing about the old days, quietly hating myself and the life that kept me comfortable, well-fed and dull.

Sometimes I lay in bed trying to think about a worthy challenge, something that I could push as far as I can, something that would cost me dearly, then go out guns blazing in a flash of glory. I imagined newspapers writing about me and my daring life, my gravestone saying, "here lies a cunt, good fucking riddance".

I wanted a life worthy of such death; I wanted to rebel for years, show the finger to the world, say "fuck you" instead of hello, crash my car, burn my house, kill a man with my own bare hands, then piss on his grave and pass out drunk.

However, it seemed I would die rich, fat and irrelevant someday, cared for in a nursing home that cashed in on all that I own, forgotten, abandoned and utterly useless.

I wanted a challenge, something new, something dangerous and exciting. I wanted to feel life pumping through my veins again, to feel alive with a mission and a purpose, something driving me forward, a new goal, a new obsession.

I wanted to feel myself again the way I once was, but I was out of ideas and options, living my fat, cushy life dreaming of something better.

Have you ever, have you ever, "excuse me, is this seat taken?" Her voice took me out of my trance. Mumbling unintelligible "huh" quickly, I recovered, smiling politely, pointing at the row of seats opposite me, "no, please, go ahead, have a seat". The girl stretched her smooth, slim body, pushing her backpack to the overhead compartment. Her top pulled up, exposing a tout belly and blemishless white skin, drawing full attention to the supple curves of her body.

Unable to stop my eyes from exploring her body, starting with small feet encased in expensive Nikes, slowly moving upwards, following the contour of her perfect long legs. I drew my breath as my eyes reached her butt; the type one sees photoshopped, never quite believing those could be real. Slowly following her ribcage, I watched a magnificent pair of unreal looking perfectly shaped large breast, covered by a simple top and a bra, pushing them high up. Exhaling loudly as I saw them, it took a split second to do that, but it felt like minutes in my mind.

As my gaze reached her face, our eyes met, and I knew I was busted. She knew I was checking her out, and I could see she enjoyed it. Giving me a perfect smile, exposing two rows of brilliant white teeth, she said "thank you", sitting cross-legged, looking down at her phone. Her long dark-blonde, thick luscious hair covering part of her face ended at her waist.

Astonishingly, across me sat easily the most beautiful young woman I saw since I could remember. I guessed she was in her early twenties. We all have a type, and she was clearly mine, but I've seen too many women not to know that the one in front of me was a rare gem. Something deep inside me awoke, a desire I thought long gone. I wanted that young woman, I desired her more than I remember wanting anything before, but odds were against me. Two strangers in a train, even in my best days, with all my wit, look, and charms, pulling that one off would be just dumb luck at best; I couldn't just leave it to chance. I was six-foot-three, tall dark and handsome, some people would say great looking guy, impeccably dressed in my custom Saville Row suit, with a fancy watch that cost me a hundred grand. I was in great shape for my late forties, the middle age, taking impeccable care of hygiene, food and exercise with a confident smile and crystal blue eyes on my masculine face. I know I was a catch. A few women told me that but picking up a girl mid-journey, out of the blue, was extremely unlikely, and I couldn’t just waste the opportunity like that. Besides, I didn’t want a girlfriend to date her and chase her. I didn’t want to be hers; I wanted her to be mine.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my laptop, pretending that I had to work. I switched a back-facing camera, recording the girl surreptitiously just sitting there staring at my computer. In reality, I was staring at her, studying her perfectly shaped face, supple lips and sparkling deep-blue eyes. This was one of the rare moments that I was happy to be the king of geeks who bought a computer with a fantastic resolution camera on an off chance I'd need it. Every detail of the girl was recorded in outstanding resolution and clarity.

All too soon, her stop came; she was getting off at Gatwick airport. As she got up, giving my camera and me another quick peek at her incredible outstretched body. She said a polite "see you", to which I responded, "I'll catch you later"; it wasn't just a polite comeback; it was a promise.