Pt 1
The birds chirped wildly in the tree next to me. I sat down on the back steps of the art store, organizing my purchases into my beat up leather bag: a thick, absorbent book of watercolor paper, a long metal ruler, guache tubs, and a new metal palete. As I violently shook my new supplies into place, the sun beamed into my eyes and I began to overheat. I had overdressed – I didn’t get out much. Peeling my knitted yellow sweater over my head, I started to feel like I was being watched. I quickly ripped off the mass of yarn and pulled my purple t-shirt down with anxious force. My head flitted around, cheeks flushed, underarms damp. My smooth, androgynous chest heaved with stress from being so exposed. As I caught my breath, I noticed someone looking at me curiously from the patio across the street.
She sat alone, a plate of what looked like pasta half eaten in front of her. She was svelte, toned, and seemed tall. Her long, multicolor braids were half put up, a few front strands dangling over the pages of the paperback she was holding open against the table. The fingers on her other hand tapped gracefully on a tall, cool glass full of fresh mint. I could see black and silver studs peppering her face here and there, and the edges of a black and grey tattoo on her chest, peeking out below her lacy black bodice. Elaborate tattoos covered her arms; even at a far distance, i could tell they were high quality pieces.
The woman was strikingly beautiful. My heart skipped slightly.
I want to paint her.
I slowly drew out my phone, trying to make it look like I was texting someone. As I took the photo, her head snapped up and she peered at me inquisitively over her dark circular sunglasses.
How did she know?? There was no flash… it was just a quick picture of a beautiful scene. I needed the reference.
I swallowed hard and quickly looked away, my eyes darting for an exit. I stuffed my yellow sweater into my bag and hurriedly got up, walking briskly down the street towards the subway.
Pt 2
I stood on the platform, nodding my head along to my music. My pleated pants vibrated and as I went to grab my phone, I saw that woman from earlier – the one reading on the patio near the art store. Her eyes were still glued to that thick paperback from before. I gripped my phone tightly, wondering if she had caught me taking a photo. I knew it was a bad idea. I invaded her space. I didn’t have her consent for that photo. Why did i even take it? How could I be so stupid and predatory? Every Women’s Studies class, every intersectional salon, for me to have learned nothing? Should I delete it? Could I?
As these intrusive thoughts raced through my mind, the subway roared and I was brought back to reality with a rush of hot wind and screeching metal. I ran into the awaiting train and grabbed an empty seat.
I glanced up at the map above the doors, and I saw her, leaning effortlessly against the metal pole. Her deep emerald, black-tipped acrylics held the novel open sharply. But she wasn’t reading. Her sharp, black eyebrows were cocked interestedly as she stared not at the book, but at me.
Is she…. following me? I thought in alarm, my breath beginning to quicken. I glanced up at the subway map. 5 stops to go. Should I change cars? Get off and wait for the next? Or pretend she didn’t exist at all?
My eyes strained and began to water as I glared ahead at the streetcar doors opposite me, the brick of the subway corridor zooming by in a chaotic blur. I could feel her eyes still on me. I was afraid to dare look anywhere near this shadow woman, and stared intently on the ad for thickening conditioner before stealing another glance at the subway map.
When I finally peeled my eyes away from the blurry, blinking map, they landed straight into her awaiting gaze. I shuddered slightly as I realized that when our eyes met, I was met with fervent hunger deep in her deep hazel eyes. They glinted crystalline as she scanned my person, her gaze dropping down my soft, freckled face; pausing at my quivering auburn lips; serenading my body with her silent – yet deafening – lust. A jolt of the train, and her eyes snapped back to mine, her mouth slipping into the slightest smirk.
I was sweating. Who was this woman? Am I going crazy? Is she sexy? Does she think I’m sexy? What…?
I jumped slightly when the train robot dinged the PA, announcing the stop. The doors opened with a brutal rattle, and an old lady stumbled in. The shadowy woman briefly took her eyes off mine to let the septegenarian through, beckoning to an empty seat to her right. With bouncy, appreciative waves, both parties smiled warmly at each other and the old lady settled down, grocery cart in tow.
I’m fairly certain I creamed my pants.
I couldn’t keep watching her. I tried to stare at my phone, swiping furiously through posts, not looking at a single one. As the doors dinged every so often, I listened intently for my stop announcement, feelikg the hair on the back of my neck prickle and the vibrations of the speeding rail course up my thighs. I crossed my legs tightly, trying to concentrate every fiber of my being not to look back at the lithe woman whose gaze I felt locked onto my head like a snipers target.
Finally, the robot ladys static voice cut through the pressure as if breaking the sound barrier. I quickly jumped up, tripping over my tightly crossed ankles and feet, catching myself bashfully on the arm of the disgruntled man standing in front of me. I stammered out an apology and awkwardly waited, flush with the subway door, praying for the train to finally stop and release me from the flurry of embarrassment. As the doors chimed, I forcefully stumbled onto the platform, not knowing whether the woman had followed me out. I nearly ran, fighting back tears and looking straight ahead, up the the tiled steps and into the sunny spring afternoon.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/w95wmz/transit_pt_12_f27_nb22