Aug. 27th, 2003 01:13 pm
Cruising pays off!
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muckefuckBut not how you think.
I left for work about two hours later than normal this morning. At the el station, a slightly portly older man was a few yards ahead of me, so I did what I usually do: Got behind him on the stairs so I could check out his ass. At the platform, he turned around and headed past the stairs again, which gave me a chance to check out his basket as well. Then train-related concerns came to the fore momentarily, but, after I had ascertained that a Howard was coming yet still a way's off, I looked for him again. He was halfway up the platform, squinting into the sunlight.
Given that I didn't have a book with me to read, I debated whether manoeuvring myself into the same car with him would be advisable. At least that way I'd be guaranteed some entertainment on the way up. First I waited for a Kimball train to roll by, to make sure he didn't get on that and leave me in the wrong car (from the point of view of my stop) for nothing. The Howard halted, I began to step in, but I noticed the old man hadn't budged. I thought, Could the Express still be running this late in the morning? I stepped out and looked south; sure enough, one was coming! So I waited for it, got in the same car, and placed myself strategically so I could check him out inobtrusively.
He had several endearing qualities: A neatly-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, a large bald spot, and a colourful knit belt. I fantasised that he might be a teacher at the local Vincentian college--maybe even clergy! There was just too much of that soft-featured, slightly lost and dorky air to him. But I noticed him taking out a Chicago map and studying it, which endeared me even more. The vulnerability of out-of-towners (assuming they aren't suburban vulgarians in for the baseball games or something) often makes me want to take them under my wing and show them around.
On the way up, I decided to get off one stop early and swing by my bank, since I had a sheaf of valuable papers burning a hole through my bag. He got off one stop before that and looked right at me as I stared up at him making his way toward the door. Did he know what I was thinking? If so, he didn't evince it. When I did get out, I was exactly where I needed to be and first down the stairs--again, thanks to my mystery man. A big kiss, buddy, wherever you are now!
I left for work about two hours later than normal this morning. At the el station, a slightly portly older man was a few yards ahead of me, so I did what I usually do: Got behind him on the stairs so I could check out his ass. At the platform, he turned around and headed past the stairs again, which gave me a chance to check out his basket as well. Then train-related concerns came to the fore momentarily, but, after I had ascertained that a Howard was coming yet still a way's off, I looked for him again. He was halfway up the platform, squinting into the sunlight.
Given that I didn't have a book with me to read, I debated whether manoeuvring myself into the same car with him would be advisable. At least that way I'd be guaranteed some entertainment on the way up. First I waited for a Kimball train to roll by, to make sure he didn't get on that and leave me in the wrong car (from the point of view of my stop) for nothing. The Howard halted, I began to step in, but I noticed the old man hadn't budged. I thought, Could the Express still be running this late in the morning? I stepped out and looked south; sure enough, one was coming! So I waited for it, got in the same car, and placed myself strategically so I could check him out inobtrusively.
He had several endearing qualities: A neatly-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, a large bald spot, and a colourful knit belt. I fantasised that he might be a teacher at the local Vincentian college--maybe even clergy! There was just too much of that soft-featured, slightly lost and dorky air to him. But I noticed him taking out a Chicago map and studying it, which endeared me even more. The vulnerability of out-of-towners (assuming they aren't suburban vulgarians in for the baseball games or something) often makes me want to take them under my wing and show them around.
On the way up, I decided to get off one stop early and swing by my bank, since I had a sheaf of valuable papers burning a hole through my bag. He got off one stop before that and looked right at me as I stared up at him making his way toward the door. Did he know what I was thinking? If so, he didn't evince it. When I did get out, I was exactly where I needed to be and first down the stairs--again, thanks to my mystery man. A big kiss, buddy, wherever you are now!