These past three days, I've been traveling to Boston for work business, which has been kind of a nice change of pace. Every morning, I've been driving from Eldredge to Quincy Adams to pahk the cah (or, more accurately, the 'stang) in the pahking garage. From there, I'd take the red line into Downtown Crossing and the orange line into Back Bay. About two hours after I had started my trip, there I was, at my conference.
The first day, a curious thing happened in the morning. The conference didn't start until one, so I headed out around eleven, and was at Downtown Crossing waiting to take the orange line at around 12:30.
As I stood there, a young guy in his early twenties caught my eye. He was leaning against a pole about ten feet away. Holding it up, so to speak. He had soft blond hair and was on the slight side. And, there was a pretty good reason I noticed him: he was staring right at me.
I looked over his way. He stared me in the eye, then moved his gaze down lower. Embarrassed, I turned away.
A few seconds later, looked his way. He was staring at me again. Same look, same glance down.
This was kind of fun. I was getting a definite "take me" vibe. But as much as I like my blond boys, was I really going to return the compliment and say anything Break the heart of the big blond boy waiting at home?
No, no, I couldn't do that. I stood there, waiting for the train. Every so often I'd look his way. The minute I looked, he'd turn his head so he was staring again.
The train arrived. I moved in and sat down. The blond boy moved into the train, positioning himself so that he was standing right in front of me, holding on to the train rail. His crotch was only inches from my face.
Interesting. I must admit, I did look up a few times, examining his crotch. i didn't see much there. Those thin blond boys never really do have much to speak of. Tight skinny jeans. It was leaning to the right.
The train stopped in Back Bay. The boy moved away and headed out. I rose from my seat. I watched him walked toward the stairs, hesitant. I looked his way, he looked at me. Then, he passed by the stairwell, heading toward a shadowy area.
I paused for a moment. Well, should I? I mean, who would really be any the wiser? I'd just walk over to him, strike up conversation. See where things go...
No, I couldn't. I turned and headed up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I looked down. He was there at the bottom, staring up at me.
"You should have gone to him," said David, whose been feeling a little "live for the moment" lately.
"I couldn't have done that to Corb," I replied.
"How would he have known?"
I grinned. "And, I would have been late to the conference."
David shook his head. "Why does that matter?"
"Dave, really." Then I thought for a moment, about the road not traveled. "And besides, what if he was a prostitute? What if he had some kind of STD? What if he had a knife on him?"
Dave grinned knowingly. "It wasn't a knife he was looking to hold against you, Ted."
Touche. Still, I'm glad I didn't take Dave's advice. As exciting as a chance encounter with a young stud sounds, I have a feeling the actual execution wouldn't be anything like the fantasy playing in my head.
Besides, maybe Frank N. Furter didn't quite get it right: maybe in some cases, it's better to simply dream it. Being it isn't always the way to go.