Strangers on a Train

I gave up my car upon moving to France, and with the exception of the tears of heartbreak I shed when I surrendered the keys of my Mercedes 230 SLK convertible (in black) with a Kompressor engine, I have never regretted it. Mass transit is so accessible, so easy, and so inexpensive here that unless there is a perturbation the train and the bus is the way to commute! People watching opportunities abound; a businessman in a navy blue pinstripe suit, highly polished pointy toed shoes, and Sponge Bob Square Pants socks busily reviews his paperwork while casually picking his nose. An old woman with flaming orange hair, whose support hose strain to contain her cankles, carries a ginormous sack of groceries laboriously onto the train and sighs heavily as she plops into her seat, a young Algerian male with baggy jeans, a D&G knockoff belt buckle, and headphones scrolls his MP3 for the latest french rap. There are tourists absorbed in their maps, and yuppies on the way to and from work, and gypsies who hold you hostage with a violin (which in this case can be considered a lethal weapon). And every once in a while - not often - you see a really hot guy. I was on my way home on the last train of the night when I noticed "Judo Dude". Noticeably taller, beefier, and more sportif than the average french guy he was hard to miss; his dark brunette hair was a striking contrast to his creamy white skin and rosebud lips, his blue eyes framed the longest eyelashes imaginable! He was downright pretty, (in a young Brad Pitt kind of way). We locked eyes as he boarded the car and he made a beeline toward me, choosing to sit in the seat directly across and facing me. (Holy shit!) He smiled and I blushed, looking demurely out the window at nothing. In my peripheral vision however were his thighs, which I can only describe as tree trunks. The kind of strong, oak tree trunks that you instincively want to wrap your arms and legs around and climb - higher and higher toward the heavens! He was no older than 25, but suddenly I felt young again when his knee "accidently" brushed mine as he folded his rather considerable frame into a space clearly not intended for two people over 5'4". On the floor next to us was his gym bag, as big as he was, and I noted that I would be obliged to climb over it at my stop. His scent was that of freshly showered testosterone, his blue Nike athletic shirt clung to his torso like a second skin. I could see clearly the cut of his pecs and his biceps in the reflection of the window. Of course, he was using the tried and true "window method" of flirtation as well (it has reached the level of art here), and he caught my eye in the reflection and flashed a shy smile. There was nowhere to go, I was trapped between a Mount Everest sized gym bag and a hard place, and the train was pulling out of the station. Meanwhile, my panties had taken on a mind of their own and decided to take a trip south! If I looked straight ahead there he was, smiling seductively. If I looked out the window, his reflection invited me to dangerous places. I leaned my head against the glass and shut my eyes - another tried and true method of using body language on mass transit. His knee gently kissed mine in synchopation with the rythym of the train, which lumbered toward our first stop like an old workhorse. I feigned sleep as we pulled into the station, keeping my eyes shut as a deflector shield - a self imposed cock block. He was creepin', normally I wouldn't support any physical contact with a stranger on a train, but Judo Dude was so cute I found myself making an exception! As passengers disembarked I opened my eyes and he was gone - our moment of silent, heated, flirtation finished. I must admit to having been a little disappointed. Then I noticed his gym bag, still in it's place on the floor beside me. Surely he hadn't forgotten it?! The bell signaling the departure of the train sounded, the steel doors slammed shut. The train began to chug, slowly picking up speed. I was concerened that he had absent mindedly left without his bag when he reappeared as stealthily as he had gone, and this time sat next to me. Again our eyes met, saying everything even as our lips said nothing. Again I blushed, and looked out the window at nothing. Judo Dude leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He was a man of few words - being an athelete he was a physical kind of guy. I used this opportunity to gaze down at his tree trunk thighs, and as I did an idea began to formulate in my (rather clouded) mind. J.D. was on my right, eyes closed. My purse was on my left, which contained my business cards and vital information; name, phone number and email address. As gently and discreetly as I could, I reached into my bag with my left hand, manipulated a zipper pocket (quite a good trick), and palmed a card. I would quietly leave it on my seat if I got off the train before he did. If he was clever, he would find it and contact me! The moment of truth was about to arrive; the train slowed as it neared my stop, jerking slightly as the conductor applied the brakes. J.D. opened his eyes, and I stood up. "Pardon" I said, smiling coyly at him as I climbed over his bag. I had placed the card on my seat without him noticing. He was looking panicked, bewildered, and a bit befuddled as he realized he didn't know my name - he hadn't spoken or asked me for my number, and now I was about to disappear! All this was written on his face as I got off the train, smiling to myself as I wondered if he would notice the clue I had left behind. The bell sounded, the doors slammed shut with an air of finality, and as I climbed the stairs of the sortie I glanced toward the train. He was sitting there looking at me like a little boy who just lost his bike. I smiled seductively, and he smiled weakly as the train pulled away and disappeared into the night.....