the brush up

on the train, coming home. worked late (very late), so seriously cranky.

at the stop that allows blue/red line transfers, the car i'm in gets flooded with people. a guy with a suitcase sits next to me. goatee. hairy arms. buzzed head. it's been humid the past couple of days: i get a vague whiff of (non-offensive) perspiration off him.

the moment he sits down - snap - i get a hard-on. like granite. my messenger bag is in my lap so i'm unfazed. i continue reading my book.

the train continues. i begin to have a hard time focusing on my book. the guy is so clearly in my nose. again, he doesn't smell funky or unwashed. just unquestionably male. out of the corner of my eye i find myself inspecting his forearms. they are slightly freckley and dusted with reddish blond hair

at one point, i glance over. no reaction. i contemplate 'brushing' my leg against his - but decide it's too pervy. i look over again - no reaction.

i shake it off, continue to read. but every so often i cut cut my eyes across. nothing. he hasn't shifted once in posture. he seems completely and absolutely oblivious.

a few stops later, he grabs his suitcase and gets off. i glance up at him, keeping my face neutral.

he looks dead at me and smiles widely. i wink.

he heads to the door, i look back down at my book but train my eyes to see what he does next. as he exits, he turns around to stare. i smile (no teeth).

he heads outside. as he passes the window where i'm most visible he waves. i nod and smile (still no teeth).

i continue on my way home.