The Commuter

 by: Hankster

© 2012 by the Author

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Part One

My partner Doug and I bought a small bungalow in Oceanside, New York.  I do mean small.  It was very expensive real estate, as it was only one block from the ocean.  It cost us a pretty penny, but it was worth it just for the view and the serenity alone.  Doug is a teacher, and he was able to get a job teaching science at Oceanside Senior High School.

I work for a prestigious Wall Street investment firm, which had once been headquartered in the World Trade Center.  Thank God I had just started college that terrible year.  The firm lost too many good men in the inferno.  Doug, of course, no longer had to commute to work, but I did.  I didn’t mind at all.  As I told you, it was all worth it.  Every morning I took the same Long Island RR train to Manhattan, and then I took the subway down town from Penn Station.

I had been commuting for just under a year, when it happened to me.  It was the day I lost all my senses, and I allowed my world to be turned upside down by an irrational obsession. 

It was a hot September day, the day after Labor Day.  I always sat in the most forward passenger car, because it was closest to the subway upon arrival.  I think that is why it was always the most crowded car, and seats were always scarce.  At the Valley Stream station, which is the next stop after mine, a young man got on the train.  He was about six feet tall, blond hair and blue eyes.  He was wearing a tee shirt, cargo shorts and sandals.  The tee shirt read New York University.  His muscles were mounds of pure hardness, and my crotch started to tingle at the sight of them. From the bulge in his crotch I reckoned that he wore no underwear.  He was carrying a couple of text books in his hand.

He came through the doors and looked around.  I was smitten.  I could only lament that the seat next to mine was occupied.  He found a seat just two rows in front of me, and I was able to view his beautiful blond head.  I could also swear that I could smell his after shave lotion, which intoxicated me.  That, of course, was practically impossible.  The aroma must have come from the man sitting next to me.

I kept my eyes on him when we got off in Manhattan.  I reasoned that if he attended NYU downtown, he might actually take the same subway train as I did.  But if he went to NYU uptown, we would part ways at Penn Station.  How foolish I was.  Just wearing a New York University tee shirt did not necessarily make him a student at that institution.  Why did it matter to me anyhow?

He headed for the Uptown Train platform.  I was devastated and could not get over my irrational behavior.  All day long I was distracted at work.  I could not keep myself from thinking of him (and wanting him).  I prayed he might be on my home going train.  I searched the platform and waited until the last minute to board the train.  I did not see him.

The next morning, as my train approached the Valley Stream station, my whole body went on the alert.  I felt like a hunter seeking prey in the jungle.  He boarded the train and my groin grew warm at the mere sight of him.  I wanted to jump up, embrace him, grab his package and kiss him until we both passed out from lack of air.  Of course I didn’t.  He looked around at the seat situation, and found one at the head of the car.  I relaxed when he did, because I was afraid he might have been forced to go into the car behind us. 

I closed my eyes and began to fantasize that I was in bed with the beautiful young man.  We were naked and his cock was uncut.  It looked more like a baseball bat than a prick.  I grabbed hold of it and began licking it all over.  It was too big for me to take in my mouth.  Then I mounted him and began slowly descending on him as his massive tool entered my ass.  As big as it was, it didn’t hurt at all.  I was awakened from my fantasy when the train lurched to a stop at its destination.  I did not see Adonis (that’s what I named him).  He must have gotten up and darted off the train as soon as the doors opened.

I love Doug, so where was all this erotic Adonis fantasy coming from?  Fat chance that my fantasies about him could ever come true.  First of all I am about eleven or twelve years older than he is.  I am only five feet, seven inches tall, and at least twenty-five pounds overweight.  As I approach my thirtieth birthday, I am balding at a rapid rate.  I am far from ugly, but nobody would look at me twice.  Doug is about as average as I am, but maybe not as much overweight.  We are just as average in the cock department and we are both cut.  Still, in spite of all that, we are very popular. We both have the reputation of being the life of the party, and we have a very busy social life.  Off the record, our sex life as a couple is fantastic, so why was I being so irrational in my lust for Adonis?

Adonis continued to ride my train, and my car, for weeks.  I continued to fantasize about him, but that was it.  What more could there be?  I missed him terribly on school breaks, but he always returned.  One day I tried something, and to my delight it actually worked.  Instead of taking the window seat, I took the aisle seat.  This successfully discouraged others who got on in Oceanside from crawling over me.  When Adonis got on in Valley Stream it was one of the few seats available.  He excused himself and stepped over me to take the vacant seat.  I smiled at him and he smiled back.  My heart stopped working for a beat or two.

I tried to make conversation with him.  “Are you a regular commuter?” I asked. 

Without looking at me, he muttered something which sounded like, “Uh huh.”  He opened one of his textbooks, and I took it as a sign not to bother him.  About halfway through the trip he closed his book.  He took out his cell phone, and reached someone by speed dial.

“Mornin’ beautiful,” he said.  “Wanna meet me at the coffee shop?  I don’t have an early class this morning……Terrific, I’ll see you there.”  He hung up.  I wanted to cry.  He has a girlfriend.  So what?  I have a boyfriend. 

Sitting next to him like this aroused me, and I started to erect.  Thank goodness it was late autumn now, and I was wearing a coat which would cover my embarrassment.  We didn’t talk at all after that, and I even dozed off a bit.  He was very impatient about getting off the train and he almost knocked me over.  Who cares?  He actually touched me.

I tried the same ploy again the following morning, and the seat remained vacant until Valley Stream.  Adonis got on, spotted the seat, and made a bee line for it.  I figured he wanted that seat because I had not tried to make inane conversation the day before, so I intended to try to keep it that way.  This time, as he crawled over me, he said good morning.  I gave him my most ingratiating smile as I pulled my coat over my groin.  For whatever reason, those two seats eventually became our seats.  It reminded me of our seats in church.  They were not assigned, but everybody always gravitated to the same pew and the same seats.  It’s a really strange phenomenon.  My bingo playing pals tell me that the same kind of seat habit occurs at the bingo halls also.

I could go on conjecturing about this seat fetish for hours, but all I really cared about at the time is that we got to sit together every morning.  We spoke very little, but eventually we introduced ourselves, and I knew that his name was Steven Ross, and he knew that I was James Hicks.  Slowly, little by little, we began to have short conversations.  He was majoring in Management Information Systems.  He had just turned nineteen and he had a beautiful girlfriend.  He showed me her picture, and as he beamed, I got sick to my stomach.

One day he dared to ask me if I was married.  I half lied when I told him that I wasn’t.  I asked him why he wanted to know, and he said that there was no reason.  The next morning when the train arrived at Penn Station, he shook my hand and said goodbye.  I looked confused and he said that his freshman year was over, and he hoped to see me again after Labor Day.  My world fell apart.  When I got to work, I told everybody that I felt sick.  I left the office and I returned home.  I went to bed and stayed there for two days.

Doug and I went on vacation the last two weeks of July.  Imagine my surprise the first day back at work, when Steve got on the train at Valley Stream and took his “assigned” seat.

“Good morning,” I said.  “I didn’t expect to see you for another few weeks.”

“I’m going into the city to meet my girlfriend.  I figured I’d take this train and say hello.”

“You flatter me, but I am also very pleased.”

Then I got a real shocker.  He asked me, “Do you have to rush right to work?  Do you have time for a cup of coffee with me?  I really would like to talk to you?” 

Without answering him, I took out my cell phone and dialed my office.  I left a message with the still unmanned switch board.  I said that something had come up and I would be a little late.

“Thanks,” Steve said.

We found a table in a quiet corner of a coffee shop just outside the station.  Steve wasted no time.  He looked me in the eye, leaned into me and whispered, “I’m going to ask you something.  I hope you won’t get insulted if I’m wrong.  You’re gay, aren’t you?”  I was stunned.  I didn’t want to scare Steve away, and I had never confided that information to Mr. Macho Man.  “And you have a partner,” he continued.  It was a statement rather than a question.  I finally found my tongue.

“Yes I am, and yes I do, but how did you know?  I thought I was pretty good at hiding my sexual orientation.  I’m in the closet at work, and I don’t think anyone there even has a suspicion.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he asserted.  “You act masculine enough, but you slip up.  The first time I suspected that you might be gay, was when you talked about escaping from the city and buying a home on Long Island.  You said “we” several times, but you told me you were single.  Another time you said that “we” never had more than coffee and a roll for breakfast.  If you want to hide who you are, you should learn to watch those little slips and use the singular.

I started to laugh.  If I didn’t laugh I would surely have cried.  I asked, and not too kindly, “What’s your point?”

“I broke up with my girl yesterday.  One of the reasons is that I failed to get it up for her several times lately.  Recently I met a really nice guy in my accounting class, and I gave into temptation.  I let him seduce me.  Besides the fact that I had no trouble getting and staying hard with him, the sex was fantastic.  It satisfied me in such a way that I knew I had to be gay.”

“Do you think that you may have something going with this guy?”

“No, I just wanted to experiment with him, and see how I felt.  Besides, he missed home too much, and he transferred to the University of Michigan for next year.”

“We are almost strangers,” I said.  “Why are you telling me all this?” 

Steve merely shrugged his shoulders, so I continued without an answer from him.  “You know that I am the last person in the world you should be telling all this to.  I am happy as a lark and very much in love with my partner, Doug, but at the same time I am so hot for you, I am holding back from pouncing on you.”

“I know,” Steve sighed.  “That’s another reason why I’m sure I’m gay.  I’ve been picking up on how you felt about me.  If I was straight, that would never have happened.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” I reasoned.  Then I added, “Surely you can’t have any sexual desires for a fat pig like me.”

Steve jumped on me.  “You’re not fat,” he said.  “At worst you are pleasingly plump.  You are fun to talk to and to be with, and yes, I could have feelings for you.”

I was more than stunned.  “Where is this leading to?” I asked.

“To a bedroom, I hope”

“I’d be cheating on Doug.  I’ve never done that.”

“No, not at all.  You would not be cheating.  Look at it as you’re being a mentor to me, breaking me in, and teaching me how to be gay, so to speak.  I am sure that eventually I’ll find my other half, just as you have found yours.”

Irrationally, at that moment I could swear I heard Doug yelling at me to wake up.  For a moment I was filled with confusion.  Suddenly I felt my shoulder being violently shaken.  “You’ll have to move mister, so I can get out.  We’re here.”   

I roused myself from a deep sleep, and swung my legs around so that my seat companion could get out.  When I came back to reality I realized that it was Adonis, not Doug, who woke me.  I was back to the first day he sat next to me, and I had dreamed our entire growing relationship.  I realized that I didn’t even know his name, and that I had created a fantasy name for him.

I came to a bitter conclusion.  I was losing my mind, and I had better erase Adonis from my thoughts, if I ever hoped to get back to reality.  Then, just as if I had never resolved to forget about him, I made a fateful decision.  It was too late for today, but I vowed to follow him if he was on the train the next day.

Part Two

My little ploy did not work the next day.  Someone started to climb over me at the Oceanside station.  I just sighed, moved over, and saved the man the discomfort of squeezing between me and the seat in front.  I could barely breathe until I saw Adonis get on in Valley Stream.  He found a seat somewhere behind me, but I knew he wouldn’t get off until we got into Manhattan.

The trains were always so crowded this time of day, and I lost sight of him in Penn Station, but I headed toward the uptown train tracks.   I spotted him just going through the turnstile, and I followed him closely.  I was secure in the knowledge that nobody ever noticed me, and he wasn’t going to be an exception.  I even stood close to him in the over crowded subway car.  He actually glanced my way a couple of times and our eyes met.  As I suspected, he didn’t seem to recognize me at all.

I was surprised when he got off at the station before the NYU stop.  I almost didn’t make it out of the car before the doors closed, but I saw him ascending the stairs and going out into the daylight.  He crossed the street rapidly and went into a corner coffee shop.  I discreetly peered in through the shop windows.  A beautiful young woman sat at a table for two.  When she saw him, she jumped up and they kissed with way too much passion for a public place.  I grew insanely jealous.  If I had a weapon I would have killed the girl.  When I realized what I was thinking, I became aware of my growing insanity.  I ran to the subway, and took the train down town to work.

After that I calmed down for a few days, but about a week later I followed Adonis again.  This time he went right to school.  I was shocked.  He went to Columbia, not NYU.  There was another male student waiting for him at the main gate.  They smiled at each other, hugged and went on inside.  My curiosity was aroused.  I whipped out my cell phone and called in sick to my office.  Like the idiot I had become, I waited in very cold weather for them to exit the building.  There were any number of exits they could have used besides this one, but I waited anyway.  I knew that I was becoming more and more irrational, but I was unable to stop myself.

I skipped lunch, and I was rewarded for my patience when they came out together at about 1 PM.  They headed for the subway station, and to my great surprise, they walked toward the uptown track.  I was following them too closely, but I was sure that I was remaining, as always, the cellophane man. 

They exited somewhere in The Bronx.  We were in an area I was totally unfamiliar with.  They walked two short blocks, and went into an apartment building.  Every erotic bone in my body was tingling.  Could Adonis be having a rendezvous, perhaps a sex session, with this handsome young man?  Suddenly I was struck with three thoughts. 

The first was ordinary enough.  Should I continue my vigil, or should I go home and try to relieve myself of this ridiculous obsession?  My obsession had rendered me incapable of a rational decision, and I knew I would never leave.

The second was still sort of ordinary.  I suddenly realized that I was acting as obsessively as von Aschenbach in Thomas Mann’s classic novel, “Death in Venice.”  I was stalking Adonis just as von Aschenbach had stalked the beautiful young boy, Tadzio?  I wondered if I was committing a crime.  Worse yet, the similar circumstances in the novel did not make for a happy ending.

The third was pure conjecture and came out of left field.  Could my dream be coming true?  Was this other young student the one from Adonis’s accounting class, the one who was at this very moment readily seducing him?  The idea was truly absurd, and a pure case of wishful thinking, but it did help me decide whether I should stay or go home.  I stayed.

About two hours later, Adonis came out of the building.  I needed to pee so badly, I was about to wet my pants.  I followed him to the down town subway tracks, and gratefully used the filthy, smelly facility provided by New York Transit.  We got on the same train and although there was an empty seat next to his, I took a seat a little away from him, but where I could easily keep an eye on him.  We got off at Penn Station and I followed him on to the same train to Valley Stream and Oceanside.  We were among the first to board the train.  I scooted in behind him and took the seat next to his.  This time I was determined to make conversation with him.

From the moment he had emerged from his friend’s apartment, I could see a difference in him.  His face had always seemed rather sad, sometimes it even looked surly.  Now his face was flushed, and there was a Mona Lisa like smile on his face.  Maybe he had enjoyed male sex after all, and had finally admitted his sexual orientation to himself.  I hoped that he would be more inclined to make conversation with me, than he had been the other time we   sat together.

After we were comfortably seated, I turned to him and said, “Hi, I’ve seen you on my morning train.  I think we even sat together once.”

To my surprise and utter joy, he turned to me.  He was smiling and said, “Yes you do look familiar.”  I had extended my hand to shake his, and he took it and said, “My name is Steven Ross.”  Needless to say, I grew pale and nearly passed out.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“Yes.  I’m fine.  My name is James Hicks.”

We said very little after that.  I was too stunned to say anything.  Instead I put my brain into overdrive.  What if my dream had been more than a dream?  What if it had been a prophecy?  I grew bold.  “Are you a college student?” I asked.

“Yes I go to Columbia.  Don’t be misled by my NYU tee shirt.  It used to belong to my brother.  What do you do?”

“I’m an investment manager.  What’s your major?”

“Management Information Services.”  By now I was not surprised that my dream was becoming a reality.  In fact my spirits were buoyed by it. 

“Does your firm ever hire summer interns?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact we do.  Would you like me to get you an application?”

“Would I like it?  I’d love it.”

“I get on in Oceanside,” I informed him.  “I know you get on in Valley Stream.  I’ll try to save you a seat next to me tomorrow, and we can talk about the internship.”

Steve smiled at me.  His teeth were so white they sparkled.  “I am so glad we finally met,” he said.  This is my lucky day.”

What did he mean by finally met?  Had he noticed me ogling and stalking  him after all?  Was there a glimmer of a chance that he was attracted to me?  Was my dream coming true in the best way possible?  I grew light headed and nearly passed out.

Part Three

The following morning, I was able to save Steve the seat next to me by telling a few people that the seat was taken.  After a few days, when other passengers saw that we always sat together, they just naturally left the seat for Steve.  It did indeed become “our seats.”

I gave him an application to intern at my office, and he filled it out.  When I brought it to Human Resources, I asked Mr. Sawyers to put the application at the top of the list as a favor to me.  He was more than willing.  Nepotism is a beautiful thing.

One day, I asked Steve, “How come a handsome dude like you never talks about his beautiful girlfriend, and then whips out pictures of her to show everybody?”

Steve began to laugh.  “Funny you should ask,” he said.  He took out his wallet and showed me a picture of the beautiful girl I had seen him kissing at the coffee shop.  This time I wasn’t jealous at all.  “This is my girlfriend.  Actually, we used to be a very hot item, but lately not so much.  We are growing apart.  I think my interest in her is waning.”

“Why so?” I asked.  I was hoping for the answer I had gotten in my dream, but Steve just shrugged his shoulder as if to say, “Who knows?”

In my dream, we had lost touch with each other, for a short while, at the end of the semester, but now we shared a morning and an evening commute to our office.  Doug and I did go on vacation the last two weeks of July.  We made love constantly, and I fantasized that I was making love to Steve.  Doug actually had to tell me to take it easy.  “You’re acting like a tiger,” he chided me.  Usually vacation trips are over too soon, but I was so anxious to be with Steve that this vacation seemed endless.

At work, I invited Steve to lunch as often as possible.  One day he invited me to lunch, and I dared hope that this would be the time when he would  come out to me.  He had different news, but it was good news none the less.

“Sawyers has offered me a part time job when school begins.  I gladly accepted.  We’ll set my hours as soon as I have my class schedule.” 

He was so happy, and I was even happier for many reasons.  My hand was on the table and he placed his palm on my hand.  “I’ll be forever grateful to you,” he said. “Thanks James.”  It was a moment when we should have kissed, but I had to restrain myself.

“Nonsense,” I said.  “You earned the job because of your talents.”

We engaged in a little office gossip after that, and I finally got up the courage to ask, “How are things going with your girlfriend?  Any better?”

Steve sighed.  “No, it’s over.  We don’t see each other any more.”

“From what you have told me, it’s probably for the best.  Are you seeing anyone else?”  I tried to be cagey.

“Off and on.  Nobody special.”

I decided to change the subject.  “Steven,” I said.  “Next Thursday is my big three-o.  My room mate Doug is making me a little party Saturday evening.   Just my sister and a few close friends will be there.  I’d very much like it if you came by.”  Steve jumped up and said, “That sounds great.  We’ll talk about it later.  Right now, we better get back to the office before we are both fired.” 

I realized that I was probably about to out myself to Steve, but what the fuck.  My prophetic dream was basically streaming itself out like a previously seen movie being downloaded to a TV set or a computer.  I was willing to risk it.  The few close friends I had referred to, were all gay, and my sister had become a bit of a fag hag thanks to Doug and me.  There would be no doubt in Steve’s mind about me, when he came to the party.  I wished he would ask me directly about my sexual orientation, just like in my dream, but so far it was not to be.

On the trip home that day, Steve not only accepted my invitation, but he insisted on coming over on Saturday to help us with preparations for the party.  He wouldn’t take no for an answer.  Right then and there I decided I had to come out to him before he walked into our house.

“Steve,” I almost whispered, “I have something to tell you.”  He looked at me quizzically so I continued.  “Doug isn’t just a room mate, we’re partners.”

“No kidding.  Do you guys have a business going on the side?”  How naïve could he be?  Or was he toying with me?  I ignored his remarks.

“No, Steve, we’re life partners, we’re a gay couple, and we’re lovers.”  There I said it.  I stared straight ahead, waiting for a reaction.  Suddenly I felt Steve taking my hand in his.  I turned to look at him and he was smiling at me.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” he asked.  “I was just waiting for you to tell me.”  I guess he had been toying with me after all.

“You don’t mind?” I asked.  “It won’t ruin our friendship will it?”

“So, you think I’m naïve?  You take the prize.  Did you think I didn’t see you following me around?  You were there the day I practically broke up with my girlfriend, and you were waiting at the building when my fuck buddy Larry took my cherry.  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see how hot you are for me.  And for what it’s worth, James, you have become my best buddy, and I wouldn’t mind a little hanky-panky between us.  Do you and Doug have a monogamous relationship?”

I couldn’t answer at first, because I was having too much trouble processing all this information.  Finally I said, “Kinda.”

“What does ‘kinda’ mean?”

“Doug and I occasionally savor the joys of sex with a third party, but only if we do a threesome.”

Steve’s eyes lit up.  He beamed a huge smile.  “How about I hang around when everybody else leaves Saturday after the party?”

“I’d love it, but I’ll have to bounce it off Doug.”  Doug, of course was all for it.

After the party, Steve, Doug and I cleaned up all the garbage, and packed the excess food for the freezer.  All the while Doug was groping Steve, and I was getting annoyed.  At some point I grabbed Steve’s hand and took him to the shower with me.  Doug was forced to use the guest bath. 

At last the three of us were laying on our king sized bed.  We placed Steve between us, and began an oral exploration of every part of his body.  His fully erect cock was about seven inches, and average size around.  He was uncut.  My restraint gave out and I pounced on his cock.  Doug began to sensuously rim the eager boy.  While Doug continued his rimming, I jumped up, greased my ass and Steve’s cock, and began to sit down on him.  When he was in my ass to the hilt, I had to notice that I had no pain just like in my dream.  When Steve came gushing up my ass, I wanted to suck the rest of his stuff out of him, but as I pulled away, everything went black.  In the darkness I could hear Doug yelling at me to please stay awake.

I woke up the next morning and Doug was hunkering up against me.  His erect cock was dry humping my thigh.  We were alone in the bed.

“Where’s Steve?” I asked.

“Who’s Steve?” 

“The hunk that slept with us last night, dummy.  Are you trying to be funny?”

“Go back to sleep.  You’re hallucinating.”

“He helped us with the party last night.  Are you trying to gaslight me?”

“What party?”

“My thirtieth, numbnuts.”

“Now I know you’re crazy.  Your thirtieth birthday is four months away.”

I panicked, I had dreamt a pure fantasy about Steve once before.  Could it be happening again?

I jumped out of bed, and although it was Sunday, I called Dan Sawyers at home.  I didn’t realize how early it was.  It was obvious that I woke the poor man up.  I could tell that he was still in bed, but what was shocking was that I distinctly heard a voice ask, “Who is it, honey?” and that voice was a deep baritone.  I didn’t have time to think about it, when I asked Dan if we had an intern working for us whose name was Steven Ross.

“No, James,” he yelled.  “Now let me go back to sleep.”

I then called every Ross in the Valley Stream phone book.  I came across plenty of Stevens, but not one of them fit the description of a Columbia University student.  Finally, I opened the front door, took in the Sunday paper, and checked the date.  Impossible.  It was last Labor Day weekend.  I gave out a blood curdling shriek, and Doug came running.

It was right after Labor Day that I first spotted Steve entering the train, so I was shaking like a leaf when my train stopped at Valley Stream on the Tuesday after Labor Day.  There were no seats available, and that presented a problem, but not for Steve.  He came aboard, looked around and leaned against the door after it closed.  He took out his cell phone and got lost in some conversation.

I don’t know where I got the balls to do what I did next, but I asked the guy sitting in the seat next to me if he saw that good looking young man leaning against the door, and talking on his cell phone.

“What guy?” the man asked. “I don’t see anyone.” 

“That’s the story Dr. Grayson,” I told my shrink.  “When I got off the train, I did not go to work.  I came right here, and I want to thank you so much for squeezing me in.  Please, can you help me?”

“I’m sure there is a simple explanation.  I’m going to begin by using a specialty of mine…hypnosis.”  Moments later I was sound asleep.

When I awoke, I found myself in a hospital bed.  My left arm and left leg were in a cast, and I was heavily bandaged all over.  I opened my eyes to see Doug hovering over me like a mother hen.  He looked a little fuzzy to me, so I fluttered my eyelids in an attempt to clear my vision.

Doug gave out a loud, heart breaking sigh.  “Thank God.  You’re awake,” he sobbed.

“Where am I?  What happened?” I asked in a raspy voice.  I smiled inwardly.  Those questions were so stereotypical, I thought. 

“Some switchman made a terrible mistake, a fatal mistake, on the day after Labor Day.  He accidently switched your train on to the wrong track, and there was a head on collision with a freight train.  Both engineers and thirteen passengers were killed outright, and dozens of others were injured, some seriously, and others less so.  You’ve been in a coma for two days, honey.  You started to come back to us a couple of times before, but you slipped away again.  Please stay with us this time, baby, please!”

“Where did the accident happen?”

“Right after the train left Valley Stream and reached full speed.”

At this moment in time I declared myself to be officially crazy.  My first thought was of Adonis or Steve or whoever he was.  “Is there a list of the dead?” I asked.

“Yes, honey.  I saved all the papers.  I knew you would want to see them.” 

Doug went over to my bedside table.  With my peripheral vision I could just about see that there was a pile of newspapers on the table.  He removed the top one.  It was Newsday.  This one is from the day after the accident.  It not only lists the dead, but it has pictures of all of them.”

Doug sat me up in bed a little so that I could see the newspaper.  He opened it to the page with the pictures of the fifteen dead.  There were three columns and five rows of pictures.  I looked closely and there he was, my Adonis, top row, middle picture.  Underneath the picture there was a small caption, Norris Lipton, 18, Valley Stream, CCNY Student.  The article contained a little blurb about each of them, and declared this to be the worst disaster in the history of The Long Island Rail Road.

My recovery was slow.  I didn’t return to work for another two months.  I will never be able to explain the strange obsession I had with the youth who got on the train minutes before his death.  These days, when I am commuting to Manhattan, I still see him getting on the train in Valley Stream.  Sometimes he smiles at me, and other times he totally ignores me.  It’s almost like he is teasing me with his sexual charisma.  I am grateful that the only time I fantasize about him these days is on the commuter train.  Off the train, the only sexual fantasies I have are about Doug, and all the wonderful things I am going to do to him in bed tonight.

Rest in peace, Norris Lipton, and please allow me the same pleasure.

Posted: 03/30/12