I see you get on the bus. You’re an attractive guy. I’m an attractive girl. I adjust my skirt and hope you come near. You do.
It’s not really difficult to live your life in your own alternate reality. It’s simple: I live in my mind, and I’m not truly aware of your reality, that is until you ram your dick up against my leg while the bus rocks and sways. No collective hive consciousness, no pheromone trails, no telepathy, just your stiff cock and my knee and a crowded bus.
Can I have your phone number?
Why sure here you go.
Not happening. I just feel awkward. I know you know I know, and I should say something, but you know, what can I say?
Excuse me, sir. I’m happy to meet you too.
Why yes, let’s get off at the next stop and duck in an alley.
Not happening either. I look up and you look down and our eyes meet and I smile, but I don’t know why. The bus leans to the right around a curve and bounces. Humping action on my knee . You don’t break the stare.
Let’s go to Centre Street and get married and adopt some babies!
We’ll have to live in your apartment because mine’s a studio!
“Please exit through the rear door.”
You’re gone. Not even a tingle is left, and I see you standing outside at the stop shuffling through your shoulder bag. You don’t even look up.