I just returned from visiting family in the north country where the snow lingers, and the roads are mud. The bears are waking up (we take in the bird feeders at night), and the robins are finally making an appearance. It was a good, albeit emotional trip, and I enjoyed being in the woods serenaded by the sounds of birds and rain.
But more importantly (for the purpose of this newsletter at least), I took a train. The Amtrak Vermonter, to be exact. And because I’m a slut for comfort (and had the miles), I rode business class in the back portion of the cafe car where train nuts and trust fund kids sit together in leather seats and drink free diet cokes.
It got me thinking about another train ride, which I’m sure I’ve written about, where I hooked up with a french girl on my way to Boston. She was sarcastic and snarky, but we wandered the quiet cars finding empty seats where we kissed and groped, my fingers finally finding their way into her jeans where I made her come with gentle moans against my ear.
It was fleeting and dreamy even in its lack of lasting connection.
I only got her name after we departed the train, and it was in the midst of our saying goodbye, so long, I know I’ll never see you again, but maybe I’ll remember you.
She was the girl with the biting kiss and the soft warmth between her thighs who let me finger her with clumsy adoration. I was the boy with the rough hands who possibly made America feel less sterile and more like an outlaw.
Traveling, whether by land, air, or sea, can lead to a particular sort of bursting affection and lust. Maybe it’s the movement or the fleeting nature, but for one reason or another, when I’m kissing on a bus, fucking in an airplane bathroom, or nestling down in the tight quarters of an overnight ferry, love lingers between kisses and groans.
If you close your eyes, maybe you can remember the backseat of a car where someone touched your cheek, and you felt a shiver down your spine. Perhaps the rumbling of train wheels reminds you of an overnight trip where you struggled to fuck in a tiny bunk but ended up laughing instead. Or possibly you think of that person sitting across from you on a long flight that you dreamed of dragging into the restroom to discover what you could get away with.
Each method of movement has its own flavor, and I’m running through them like a sexual Rolodex of fantasies and memories intertwined. Right now, a sailboat with someone’s sister in a bikini, lying on the deck with her top undone and her sun-kissed neck calling to me, feels as enticing as Spring.
And if memory is more enticing, I think of her mouth on me as we drove down the Mass Pike with the lights on so the truckers could get a good view of her upturned ass as I moaned her name.
The ferry from Aomori to Hakodate springs into vivid imagery as well. I lay between the legs of the girl I was dating while watching my best friend fuck the girl I most wanted in the small bunk across from us. We stared and smiled as we grunted and fucked, and my bastard of a mind wouldn’t let me be.
The transitory nature of movement and the briefness of travel open up doors that might not otherwise be there. Dreams move through, and past reality and fantasies arise that might otherwise shy from the light.
But the train home yesterday was full of wine, long winding rivers, and grief I hoped to block out with the distractions of lust. If I kissed the girl in 4A, then maybe I could forget the past few days, and if the couple in row 2 winked at me and led me to the restroom for a fling of unknown logistics and pleasures, then maybe I’d feel less sorrow and remember that life goes on.
I just returned from visiting family in the north country, and I’m no longer moving. The sun is shining through the window, and the city bustles around me, reminding me that there are other ways to find peace and love.
And here, in my bed, with her warm arms wrapped around me and her lips pressed against my neck, I can find lasting love and a forever lust that doesn’t require the rhythm of rails or the heart-raising turbulence of uncertainty to wake my body.
I can be still and alive and in love.
At least until the next train ride.