A crowded subway car at rush hour. Heat pours in from the platform each time the doors open and more people push, pull and pry their way into the car. We’re sweating, despite the cold air flying out of the vents in the ceiling.
This is as close as you’ll be to someone you’ve never met before. You can smell their cologne, their sweat, their breath…everything that they are seeps into you when you are that close. And when you’re pressed that close to someone, something happens. A charge, a longing…a wanting.
What I want is to be pressed up against someone in that crowded car, taking them in with a smile. Slowly rocking into them as the train sways back and forth. Subtle enough for them to question it, but obvious enough for them to know I am doing it.
I want to rock harder into them, forcing the action until the questions disappear and all the is left is the heat of this car and the heat of what we both know we’re doing in this car.
And just as we approach my stop, I want to take their hand and slide it up my skirt, let them touch me, let them know what we’ve done. Then, as we pull into my stop, I stop it all just as quickly as it started.
And I step off, the doors closing behind me, the fantasy left in the heat of that car.