Train Lovers

It's 5:00, so I'm up. I can't help myself. Roosters (somewhere) are crowing, birds are chirping, and nearby a dog barks occasionally, probably at the rooster. Besides I have the coming work day to worry about. What if I've forgotten how to hammer? What if I cut off a finger? How much more free time would I have if I gave up worrying as my hobby?

Yesterday on the train, we split into two groups. Eight of our crew sat together in one car, and four of us sat in the other. I volunteered for the small group out of frustration with the indecision of the group. Besides, I figured in the smaller group it would be less rude to whip out my Jane Austen and find out what happens next to Marianne and Eleanor. Anyway, I rode with Neal and Sam (father and son from California) and Marta (71-year-old Hungarian, who's been living in the US since the 1940s). We made a pleasant group, and Neal and Sam slept and Marta seemed content to look around, so I was free to read my book.

Behind Neal and Sam, sat a good-looking couple, who, at the beginning of the trip, kissed each other sweetly and often, and I caught glances of them when I talked to Sam and Neal. It was so affectionate, that I even began to rethink my opposition to public displays of affection. Just as I was wondering if my opposition was denying myself some part of happiness when I'm in a relationship, the couple seemed to grow more open in their displays of affection. Their kisses lasted so long, and their giggles were so intimate, that I began to talk to Sam and Neal, without removing my eyes from the scenery outside. The couple, meanwhile seemed to dare us to watch as they ran their tongues down each other's necks. I decided that the couple belonged in the bedroom, but it seemed harmless enough, until most of the Hungarians left the car.

The two lovers were left alone in the car, except for us, a group of tourists they cared nothing about, and a family several seats away. It wasn't long before I heard Marta draw in her breath disapprovingly. I didn't want to look, but I did, and the man was making motions that can only be described as masturbatory, and the woman seemed eager to assist. The laughter and noise that accompanied their performance were proof that they considered us no obstacle to their pleasure.

So we had no choice. We left the car to stand in the little hallway next to the bathroom with all our bags.