The Right Stop

If I’m going to properly assess whether I’d sleep with him, I have to watch him carefully on this crowded train that is....suddenly getting less crowded. Damn. Everyone is getting off at this stop. Now it’ll be harder to stare inconspicuously. Thank god he’s still on board, sitting there properly. Six foot five, is he? Tall. But he’s squeezing his legs in and keeping his body within the confines of his seat, even now that the train has emptied, he’s striving to take up as little room as possible.

I’ve got to say, men who are space efficient are SUCH a turn on. Nothing says capitalist pig faster than a guy who sprawls his body all over the train bench, letting his legs fall open, offering his cock up to the world. Sprawlers make me think of SUV’s and suburbia’s takeover of our nation’s wetlands—and who wants to sleep with a nature-killer? Not me. But this guy—this man—he’s so careful to only take up just as much room as he needs. He’s got nothing to prove, he doesn’t need to pretend his cock is the size of a Boeing 747, which makes me think his cock probably IS huge. It makes total sense. He doesn’t splay his legs open because he KNOWS he’s hung—my spin is tingling! A guy with a large penis and who is actually modest about it is such a rare breed—especially one that’s handsome as a cowboy!

This guy is so hot. Double oh seven. He’s balding but he buzzes his hair really short, which means he’s definitely got style cuz he knows that you can’t be balding and let your hair grow out, it just doesn’t look good. It’s like Nazism, you know? No matter how you cushion your kindness, the second someone finds out you’re a Nazi, that’s all they’ll see. So bald guys need to just shave the hair completely—come out with it up front, don’t pretend you have hair cuz everyone knows you DON’T. Plus if you emphasize the lack of hair it means YOU are not only self-aware, but confident about your body. Oh and is this man confident! He wears a blue work shirt like George Michael wears a cockring. Damn. He looks fiiiiiiiine.

The only drawback, though, aside from the wedding ring on his finger is that he’s ogling his cell phone. I mean really intensely looking at it and I can’t be attracted to a man who is THAT into his phone. I mean, on our first date are you gonna shut the damn thing off? What about at our commitment ceremony? Does he spend hours on the toilet flipping through electronics catalogues? Uh uh, that’s just gross. This man, he doesn’t poop. He’s too godly for that. Oh, who am I kidding, I love the seedy side of guys, the part that makes them real and human—I’d LOVE to hear this guy fart or burp or even take a dump—it means he’s natural, honest.

He’s still staring at that damn cell phone, what the F is he doing? See, the corporate world might prize multi-taskers, but I loathe them. You need to pay attention to me. Focus on this, baby, and nothing else, and—oh wait! He’s playing a game on his cell phone. Awww. That’s kinda cute. I thought he was, like, reading emails and stuff, but I like video games. We could play video games together. Fighting games, adventure games, racing games, and then we can have sex and wipe all the cum off with that hotly understated green silk tie. Damn. He is fine. And SO straight he hasn’t even turned to look at me once. He doesn’t even feel me checking out that pumping thick vein on his bronzed and hairy hand. My god, those fingers could do a number on me. This is my stop.