8 months out of the year, I live in the lesbian capitol of the country. I don't see many men, much less get to have sex with any. 8 months out of the year, I don't have sex with men. (Draw conclusions where you may.) So, I generally hit the ground running when I get away.
Upon returning home for the summer, I took a 2 day train trip from Springfield, MA to DC, back up through upstate New York and Ohio and to Chicago. The train stopped in Chicago and there was a 5 hour layover.
I was standing in line at Union Station in Chicago when I heard it. Normally it would have made me cringe a little, but it was like butter after so long. It was a man with a Texas accent. Not just Texas... I always loved that, but it was Dallas. I love that less. It's the accent that makes a man say "hurr" instead of "hair." It wasn't pretty, but it was comforting. I struck up a conversation immediately.
We talked for a bit in line to board the train. We experienced a short delay in boarding when the young man in front of us dropped two of his five pieces of fried chicken on the floor of Union Station and proceeded to debate throwing away or keeping the chicken. I think we all know what the outcome of that internal debate was. He was a big boy. The floor chicken became the joke of the day. Big Boy would have to deal with us for the remainder of the trip.
The rest of the trip played out just as you would expect. We sat together once we boarded the train to avoid risking a seat mate that was less appealing. We cracked jokes and ate our meals together. Train Guy was of less than average intelligence. He was simple, but funny and cute. Oh ... he's a minor league ball player too. His body was right. His arm brushed mine the whole trip, until I got cold and he offered to put it around me. I let him and the progression of the rest of the evening felt pretty natural. Really natural by the end of the night.
When the lights went out, we kissed and the heavy petting began. I had happened to grab a condom before leaving home and Train Guy and I used it that night in the dressing room in the lower level of the last train of the Texas Eagle line of Amtrak. Yep folks. I had sex on a train. And it was good sex. I was amazed. I expected it to tide me over until something ... idunno ... in a bed or at least in a house, but I never expected it to be good.
It's funny how good sex can fuck you up for a lil while. I gave this dude my number. I let him snuggle up to me in our adjoining seats. And he gave me a shirt so I could keep warm on the painfully cold train. The sex was so good I kept the shirt. I thought I might love him. Then I awoke the next morning and remembered that good sex can't make a man smart. I got off the train in Longview, TX and caught a bus to Houston. I thought about him (and when I say him I mean the sex) a little on the bus, but mostly I just slept. Lynn got me at the station and we began the celebration that would be the last summer of our 20's, Viva Summer 2010.
A few weeks later, a baseball game brought Train Guy to Houston and we had sex in his hotel room. It was life changing. Possibly the best sex I have had, but still not enough to make me take him up on his offer of something more between us. As we ate our continental breakfast and I waited for him to drive me home, the high from the sex wore off again and the Dallas came back into sight. I was ready to de-board Train Guy for the last time.
*Foot Note - We got busted leaving the dressing room after having the great sex on the train by an Amish woman and her two Amish teenage daughters. No joke. The train was full of Amish folks.