I captured the dialog word for word and made sure I made record of this unexpected encounter aboard Amtrak Train 30.
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“Mind if I snag the window seat?”
He pulled his legs in as I stepped across and tossed my backpack on the floor. I dug out my book, my snacks, and my bottle of water then settled in.
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“Toledo.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
We departed Union Station on time. The conductor made his announcements, scanned our tickets, and then it was lights out as the train headed east. I reached up, turned on my reading light and cracked open the book I started earlier in the week. My seat mate asked me to plug in his phone charger, then kicked back to watch a movie he’d downloaded.
There was a reason he chose the aisle seat. His height comprised mostly of long, thick legs demanded as much space as possible. Add to that broad shoulders and big arms. This man was a fortress. The navy blue v-neck sweater stretched across his pecs and the seams on his grey slacks appeared to be at the breaking point. Clean cut. Tight fade. Brown shoes. He looked like all the other start-up bros that circulate through the Merchandise Mart on any given day.
We didn’t get much further than 95th street when the train slowed to a crawl then stopped while freight traffic passed us on either side. At one point I saw the shadows of the crew as they walked outside along the train with their flashlights. This is not a good sign. Eventually we are moving again and begin picking up speed but after an hour and a half we’d not yet crossed into Indiana.
I excused myself so I could stretch my legs. First downstairs to use the washroom then to Club Car. While the large windows offer only a view of darkness at this hour because it is winter, a few folks were here talking on their phones. A young woman sketches in a notebook. Four Amish boys had staked out a table for themselves and a young Amish couple talked quietly as the motion of the train rocked their baby to sleep.
This eclectic mix of people always fascinates me. For well over a century these tracks have carried people east through the night and countless stories have traveled with them. Those who travel by train know this. It’s why the dining car is popular and why you can ask anyone anything and know you’ll get a good story. The Capital Limited isn’t the fastest way to get to Ohio but it is the most comfortable and convenient way to get there.
Back in my car, as I approach my seat the guy in the aisle seat folds himself together to let me in, then returns to his full extension and continues watching his movie. I reach down to take off my shoes, extend the foot rest, recline my seat and settle back in with my book. Though it’s dark outside I can’t help but gaze out the window. Only dots of lights pass by. A barn. A sole automobile on a distant road. An upstairs window in a farm house. I wonder who is behind those windows watching me pass by them.
When my eyes open I see we’ve just departed Elkhart. I’d dozed off for about an hour. It is now 11:00pm and we’re still two hours from Toledo. My seat mate had dozed off as well. His phone had fallen face down on his lap, his head had fallen to the side, and his knee was resting against mine. This big lug of a man was sacked out next to me and I imagined that this is how he looks when he’s in bed on a Saturday morning.
I reach up and turn out my light, adjust my posture, and turned to look out the window at the passing darkness. It’s the perfect time to sleep so I’ll close my eyes for a bit longer.
I hear my seat mate sit up, unplug his earphones, and put away his phone. A moment later he’s back to being fully reclined, feet up on the foot rest, and legs splayed wide. I feel his knee against mine again. Or is it mine against his? At this point it no longer matters. What does is that it’s late and we’re both getting some shut eye.
Now, however, it feels as if he’s pushing his knee against me. Maybe it’s just his position in the seat and the rocking of the train. I glance over to my left. His left hand is wedged in his pocket and his right hand is resting on his groin, immediately adjacent to his fly. This view - this image is both beautifully innocent and simultaneously erotic. Friday is slipping away the further east we go and the man next to me has now shed his work week and is slowly entering his natural state of being.
I want to sleep more but now I’m intrigued with the man next to me. I wonder who he’d been texting. I wondered about who was on his Instagram feed that he scrolled through. I imagined his girlfriend back home in Toledo who would be waiting for him at the station.
I glance over again and now his thumb is subtly rubbing against the lump that had formed in his pants. It didn’t appear intentional, but rather the involuntary movement associated with dreaming. I’d like to keep watching but there’s no way to continue without being obvious so I close my eyes and try to sleep.
The occasional lateral bumping of our knees is now replaced by a vertical motion. Slow. Elongated. Up. Down. This is not a result of the movement of the train. I open my eyes and look down. The motion stops. I adjust the way I’m sitting, close my eyes and it resumes and now his right arm has moved and is resting against my left thigh.
It’s decided. This man is playing with me and it’s time to play along. I push my left leg next to his. He can feel this.
The fingers of his right hand are now flexed and his knuckles strum against my leg . I move my left hand down and place it between the seats so that now I’m touching his. When my skin touches his my breathing changes. I inhale deeply and my chest heaves. My brow furrows when I exhale and I turn my head towards his and open my eyes. He’s been watching me and he smiles when our eyes meet.
His forearm crosses mine so that he can clasp my hand - then pulls it up on to his lap, pushes it into his crotch. Through his slacks I can feel his hard cock. He pushes from the inside and I feel it throb. Once. Twice.
He moves my hand back between the seat and reaches down to fetch his phone, opens the address book and gives it to me. I look over and he nods. I enter my number. He texts me.
“Did you feel how hard you made me?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Downtown.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
The light emitting from our phones catches the attention of the man across the aisle and now he’s watching us. We make eye contact and he looks away. I have no idea how long he’s been watching.
My phone vibrates and the screen lights up again.
“Look over but don’t touch. Can you see I’m still hard?”
“I want to touch it.”
“Not now. Not here. How long are you in Toledo?”
“Monday morning train back,.” I type
.
“Good. That gives us plenty of time.”
It’s now just before one in the morning. The conductor comes through whispering, row by row, “Toledo. Ten minutes. Toledo, Ohio. Ten minutes,” then plucks the city marker above our seats.
I start to gather my things. My seat mate is first to exit. My coat is up above. When I step back into my row to put it on others pass me. Then down the steps, onto the platform and I join those from the other cars pressing into the station. I continue through the waiting room then out the opposite door. I want to see who’s there waiting for him but he’s vanished. It’s as if the night has pulled everyone into its own secret.
I climb into a taxi and head towards the hotel while making small talk with the driver. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. The preview on the screen contains one sentence.
“I move to Chicago in January.”
