Single Guy In Transit

Outside, the winds begin their urgent whispers, their floating lips galloping alongside the railway train.

You pay the weather no attention. Your mind is stormy as it is. Your eyes, however, are another matter altogether. They are like the eagle’s; they dart from side to side, in search of easy prey. Mobile, but focused. Agile, but sharp.

Target sighted: Humanoid X by the train door. Looking out the window, deep in thought. You trace the Humanoid’s vision and discover the rain for the first time. You dismiss it. There are more important things than a little precipitation. Like the Humanoid’s face. It’s immensely interesting how the jawline meets the ear in a sharp angle, and how the hair cascades down the forehead like, well, dark rain. Further down, two hollow depressions appear on the Humanoid’s nose, one on each side. It has been wearing its glasses for too long a time today. 

You smirk. Nothing escapes your vision. Not in the face of such beauty.

Outside, the winds have replaced its urgent whispers with more forceful kisses. Inside, you feel a vibration in your pants. Your gaze falters; your smirk softens to an uncertain but hopeful smile.

You reach into your pants and grab your cellphone. Against the bluish backlight are written 3 little words: 1 New Message. Your heart skips. Just once. With a little quiver, you lead your thumb to the keypad and press OK. Like the other times today, you may have pressed a little too hard. But this does not matter. The act does its job. The screen changes to reveal your Inbox. At the very top is the unread message: it’s a quote.

Your heart sinks, but your face does not show it. It has learned to adapt.

You shove your cellphone back into your pocket. You glance up. You have arrived. Before you step off the train, you check out the Humanoid that has captured your attention so forcefully a few moments ago. Your forehead contorts in visible puzzlement. Suddenly, everything seems wrong. The jaw juts out a little too far away from the face; the hair is a slimy mess. With nary a second look, you walk away. 

Past the mob. Past the Humanoids. Past the people with everything to tease, but nothing to offer.

You climb the next flight of stairs. You go down the other one.

First station. Next train.

Wash, rinse, repeat. Humanoid X in one corner; Humanoid Y in another.

Outside, the winds begin fucking.

Filed under: Eros, Fiction, Yes?, Ra