12 August 2010

Train guy



In heat, waiting for a train that felt like it won't ever come, on the lower east side of NYC. At long last here she is, I hear the bells and jump on. I skeeve sitting on the subway, I can't help but imagine what dirty, gassy person was sitting there before me. I'm pretty sure you can get an STD from even looking at the seats, but on this special day, I bit the bullet and gave my feet a rest.

I scan the car for an empty seat, see it and walk over - sunglasses and iPod in tow. That's when I saw him, sitting right beside me, a totally SMOKING HOT blonde chap. Green eyes, tattoos, cropped honey-colored hair, staring right at me. SWOON!

Naturally I pretended I didn't see him, I fiddled with my sunglasses and hair, trying to look cool and unassuming, but he WAS sitting next to me, so every time the subway came to a screeching halt all my weight shifted onto his beautifully chiseled tan shoulder.

Finally, the woman next to me left, freeing the seat on the other side of me. My dilemma?  Be "that person" who chooses to sit next to you on the bus/train/movies when there are a shit load of empty surrounding seats or move?  Thinking fast, I slid over, removed my iPod and purred with a smile "I'll give you your space back." Cue porn music, please...

And that, is how the conversation began. He asked about my tattoos, I asked about his. He spoke about work, I filled him in on my weekend plans. Trying to concentrate when a cute boy is talking is nearly impossible for me, as his lips moved I began to envision frolicking on the beach in slow motion, wind in our hair, sun on our backs, "Careless Whisper" playing in the background. Inevitably, real life catches up with you like a slap in the face; in the middle of my daydream I see we were slowly approaching my stop.

I have no problem asking a guy for his phone number, I'm progressive, dammit! I don't think it screams desperate or slutty, but on this afternoon, something stopped me. Listen, I don't usually have conversations with random strangers in transit, in fact, I avoid it at all costs. I thought it was in the bag, he  practically gave me his social security number;  I knew his name, where he works and what neighborhood he lives in. The fact is, I really wanted HIM to ask me! I didn't want to be the one with the cojones in this situation. So, I stand up giggle girlishly and say, "Here's my stop." Hottie smiles and says "I hope to see you again." I wipe the drool off my lip and head out through the car doors. 

Point of the conversation: Don't be a pussy. Next time, ask for his phone number.

- La La

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