I was never one to hug goodbye. “If it’s over, it’s over,” I said.
“That’s it….why hug? It’s done.”
The term closure means to bring to an end. However, in the wake of my immaturity, I thought closure was something made up by someone looking to get the last word.
I never broke-up well. I was never friends with anyone I dated, after I dated them. I never kept in touch with ex-girlfriends, or said, “I still want to be friends.”
I remember a line from a movie called Oxford Blues, in which the character, Nick De Angelo (played by Rob Lowe) was rejected by Lady Victoria Wingate (played by Amanda Pays.)
She told him, “But I still want to be friends.”
And he looked at her and said, “You were never my friend…..you were my dream.”
On the short end of romance and lost in my awkward phase, I found myself in the down-cycle of young relationships. I remember the way my stomach dropped when I found a picture of another man in my girlfriend’s room. I remember how she swore she would never do that again, and whether I believed her or not is unclear. But I wanted to believe her—even if I knew it was a lie, I still wanted to believe her.
Months later, I found a letter as well as another picture. This time it was from someone named Billy. There was no reason to hug goodbye. There was nothing left to say.
True, I was not the best for her. But she was not the best for me either, and whether I wanted to be with her or not; I found myself jealous when I learned she had a new boyfriend.
Suffice to say, I was not jealous because someone else made her happy.
I was only hurt because I could not.
I never dated well after that girl, which is sad, because this gave her too much importance. I was guarded. I believed everyone had an angle—so I kept my angle. I tried to keep the upper hand. I tried to maintain my position. Perhaps this is why I saw myself as dominant; I was too afraid to submit, or feel vulnerable.
In mid-August, I found myself towards the east end of a hot car on the Long Island Railroad. The evening rush had begun to trickle in, but I found myself near a restroom, and sitting beside a thin, pale-skinned girl on a railroad car without air-conditioning.
We did not know each other long; however, we knew each other long enough to speak and make eye contact. She was someone I had spoken with on the phone. And on occasion, we spoke at night and talked about sex.
We exchanged fantasies, which built up the sexual tension between us. It was inevitable, that one day, she and I would find us in the right place at the right time …….It just so happened, the right place and time was on a hot train out of New York City.
She looked at me, but said nothing. I placed my hand on the girl’s thigh.
She looked down…and this was good. It was good when she placed her hand on mine and pulled me beneath her short skirt.
I could feel the warmth between her legs. I could feel the swell between mine, and as the train Left Pennsylvania Station, the overhead lights began to flicker.
She slid my hand between her legs. The humidity was unbearable and the heat was thick. I wanted her to touch me, but there were people sitting nearby. I wanted to take her, but air-conditioned or not, the conductor would still pass through the train to collect tickets.
As she teased herself with my fingers, I looked over towards the bathroom door. Then I looked back towards the girl. I motioned my head to the door and she smiled. Next, she stood up. She casually stepped closer to the door, and without the other passengers noticing, she slipped inside and waited for me to join her.
The bathroom on the trains are terribly small. There is a small counter with a sanitary-wipe dispenser. Across is a steal toilet with a plastic lid.
There is hardly enough room for one person to maneuver inside, and if there were two, the couple would have to be extremely close in order to move. But of course, that was the plan.
The overhead lights continued to flicker. The cars connecting to mine were well-lit and the air-conditioning was working. However; I was not thinking about lights or air-conditioning. I was thinking about the girl waiting for me in the bathroom. I was thinking about her short skirt and the black, laced thong beneath it. I thought about her pink nipples and how I wanted to expose them while mounting her from behind and watching our reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I calmly stood and walked to the door. Then I pushed inward, closing the door behind me, and wrapped my arms around the girl.
Her chest was small, but her nipples were as pink as I imagined. I turned her towards the mirror, lifting the back of her skirt, and then I unfolded myself from my pants.
The anticipation left her soaking. Mine left me stiff, and as I slid inside her, my girl’s mouth opened wide. Her breath quivered as I reached my hand up to her throat, forcing her to watch our reflection as I slammed into her backside.
In seconds, our hair was drenched with sweat. Our breath was quick and so was the beat of my thrusts. She arched her back to accept me, and as the lights continued to flicker, we continued to soil the bathroom with sweat and the aftermath of our sexual victory.
That was our only moment.
Eventually, she stopped taking the train. I stopped calling and she stopped caring
Years later, I saw that girl on the same train home from New York’s Pennsylvania Station. She was with her husband and two children.
It was kinda weird……you know?
The Written Addiction 