I've spent the last two weeks traveling around Italy, soaking up the culture and learning to speak the language. Everything about Italy seems so sensual to me: the people, the food, the whole way of life. I hate to leave this country, but I've got to be in Zurich tomorrow morning in time to register for classes. That's the reason I'm in Europe, after all -- a semester at the University of Zurich, trying to get my LLM. I'm so glad that I came over early for a much-needed vacation before starting such an intensive program. Traveling alone was an adventure for me, but it was thrilling. Although, I am sort of craving some companionship. Especially now, faced with a 14-hour train ride from Rome to Zurich. At least I'm catching an evening train. I can get some sleep, hopefully.
I board the train and find the couchette I reserved. The compartment's empty, and I'm hoping it stays that way; not exactly thrilled with the idea of spending the whole night in here with three strangers. It's warm in here - - well, it is summertime, after all. Glad I chose to wear a tank top and miniskirt today. I take a seat near the window and watch the people hurrying by, imagining what kinds of exotic destinations they're headed towards.
The sound of the door opening startles me out of my brief reverie. I glance around, and I see you. You walk in with your carry-on bag, wearing your scruffy-looking t-shirt and shorts, tanned from the summer sun, obviously haven't shaved in a while. You look like you've been backpacking across Europe, which I find out later you have been. And damn, you're cute. And traveling alone. As you settle in on the opposite side of the compartment, I start thinking about how much I've always romanticized train travel. I associate it with the feel of old movies and books, the classics, and I imagine two strangers meeting, boarding a train together, exchanging looks, communicating so much without speaking it out loud, and passion, lots of passion. I'm still thinking this way as the train glides out of the station, rolls along the tracks, gently moving from side to side, as our long journey begins.
We keep somewhat to ourselves at first, both engrossed (or seemingly so) in reading material. But I can't quite lose consciousness of the fact that you are sitting across from me. Every so often I steal a glance, look at you, take you in little by little. A look at your arms, strong, toned. Another look at your shoulders, your chest ... imagining what you would look like without that t-shirt. Your legs, your eyes, so sexy, and my eyes of course drift to your crotch, but as soon as they do I try to shake myself back to my senses, telling myself "what the fuck are you doing? You cannot think like that. You're going to be in this compartment with him all night, a stranger, you know nothing about him, cut it out." I go back to my reading, trying to focus solely on it, but I can tell, can sense, that you are stealing glances at me just as I was at you. And imagining what you're thinking over there starts to heat me up again.
I'm surprised to hear your voice suddenly, as if you could sense that I was thinking about you. You strike up a friendly conversation, just the typical things - - where are you from, where have you been, what're you doing in Europe, etc. I'm surprised at how comfortable it feels talking to you, as if I've known you for a long time, even though I know nothing about you at all. Then you mention that you're hungry, you're thinking about going to the diner car to grab something to eat, and you ask me if I will join you. Yes, definitely.
We find an empty booth and check out the limited menu. Not sure what we want, but we'll both definitely have a beer, we tell the waiter. We talk a lot over that beer, then over food and another beer. I'm having such a good time that when you suggest we hang out a little longer and have one more, I'm all for it. Am I flirting with this guy?, I think to myself; yes, I am. Damn, what am I doing? But it's all innocent, just two people talking, I tell myself.
