THE BLOG

A BART Tale

07/05/2009 05:12 am ET | Updated May 25, 2011

On my way home from LaGuardia Airport and an exhiliarating, if exhausting, week in Manhattan, I decided to take the Bay Area Rapid Transit train from the airport in San Francisco to the East Bay instead of the shuttle.

An attractive young woman sat only feet from me in one of the first rows of the train. She was in her late twenties--no more than about 30, brunette, a few extra pounds, wearing the proverbial tight jeans, and light cardigan.

After one or two stops, a guy in his mid to late fifties gets on. He is substantially gray, in excellent shape, good looking, looks like he might have be a financial analyst, or a law firm associate, and is hooked up intently to his I-Pod.

He sits down across from the young lady, and continually takes her in with his eyes as if he is touching, and maybe tasting, every inch of her. Her back is to me, so I can't see her face, but he keeps winking and smiling at her, so I imagine that she doesn't mind his attention. He seems like the kind of guy who would stop if she was the least bit bothered.

I'm sitting a few rows back with my cowboy hat on, and sun-soaked eyes bloodshot from insufficient sleep, but still feeling hot and sexy. All I can do is watch as he ingests every inch of this young girl while, simultaneously, slurping from bottled water, and popping a series of little white pills. Cialis, I thought, he must be taking Cialis.

After several minutes, he notices me watching him enjoy eagerly mentally rip every last bit of clothing off the nubile body of a girl who must be at least half his age. When I take my sunglasses off momentarily, he smiles at me rather mischievously as a young boy would when his mother catches him with his fingers in the cookie jar.

Naturally, I can't help but think about how meticulously I've unclothed him in my imagination, as well as how quickly, and defiantly, we discard anything that smacks of age. How little we humans value the kind of beauty that ripens, and instead opt for only that which ultimately rots.

Suddenly, I feel painstakingly ancient. I may be the same age as my libidinous friend, but the only desire I see coming from him is the futile urge to be immortal, and through flesh to transcend flesh. He's is hopelessly young, and endlessly unfulfilled. A bit presumptuous of me to think so, but it is an irresistible urge rather like looking for a rainbow after a stubborn storm.

Hmmmmmm.... I think, it's a lucky thing this guy likes young girls. Cialis wouldn't even begin to help him when it comes to knowhing how to satisfy me.

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