I’m on an Amtrak train cross-country and my train conductor is a lesbian. She’s beautiful and butch and has just the right sides of her head shaved that I will have me spending the next three days fantasizing about how I can get invited back to her sleeper car.
I may or may not have audibly squealed when she approached me to collect my ticket, and when she asked for my destination, my knee jerk reaction was to ask where she lived. If you read that wrong, if you instead read ‘squirted’ instead of ‘squealed,’ know that it’s an easy mistake to make and, yes, that too. Not audibly however, thank god, just say no to public, crush-induced queefing.
I mean, she’s in uniform, she speaks to me with urgency and authority and this is possibly the best galdarned porn cold open that I have ever been apart of. And while I don’t have the balls to ask her name, much less for her to bend me over whatever cot situation they offer their employees, I am already drafting a missed connection for someone on a moving location. So far I have, “Me: Hot for conductor, You: Conductor.”
Before I left for my trip this morning, I took an obscenely long shower. Considering the recent threats of drought, it was technically a sin. A crime against nature. When ever I start thinking about bringing a child into this world, and I do think about it daily ever since the clock struck 30, I’ll just remember that shower, how it’d now be selfish to them bring another human into this world who’ll also require water, who’ll just add to the problem, and most importantly, who’ll never know what it is to take long showers.
I promise it wasn’t actually an hour, probably more like 20 minutes. Maybe 25. The reason behind my singlehandedly using enough water to wash a small army, a little league…too weird. The reason why I used enough water to wash half an actual adult football team is because it is nearly spring, I haven’t been laid in months and I am by nature a gambling woman when it comes to sex. It was time to get down to business. The lady pelt had to go. Except when I got in the shower, I said to myself, “I should probably shave my ball sack.”
I once realized the irony of being a lesbian who loves dick jokes, but I had never really identified with them personally. But there we were, we defined as myself and myself, in an intimate conversation where I had no reason to self-edit. So shave my ball sack I did, for 20 minutes. And an extra 5 for the tops of my toes.
Truth is, it’s possible that balls were on my mind because I had spent the entire night before dreaming about getting nailed by someone I had gone to grade school with. Thank god my brain has one of those age enhancement tools. Nick VanCleave was his name, and I hadn’t seen him since my 8th grade graduation. That was however until last night when Nick came out of nowhere, and also on my back. It’s unfortunate that I struggle to remember the details of my dreams, or maybe fortunate. What I do remember is unshorn balls and that we did it every which way until I told him to forgo the condom, it was baby making time.
And there we have it, babies. The thesis statement of my life’s story from now until I presumably have, borrow or steal a baby.
But now might not be the best time to remedy that situation, seeing that I’m confined to a train for the next few days and the likelihood of my getting caught seems pretty high with no real escape options. And if I’ll even still want one after being in such close quarters with some of the loudest screechers this side of the Serengeti. I can promise, I still will.
Maybe what I’ll do is go explain this quandary to the hot conductor, see if she isn’t willing to help me sort it out. If nothing else, I’ll probably get further insight as to whether or not she’s interested in me or not. Maybe she’ll be so ravished by my overwhelming need to breed that she’ll invite me back to her quarters so we can talk about a fertility plan. Or, if god is watching, I’ll step off this train with a newly stolen baby, a life partner and the knowledge of where she lives. All my dreams realized, except maybe the one where Nick and I do that one thing at an undisclosed cabin location, but definitely the one where I get railroaded by a conductor.
Find more of Erika Star’s writing on her website.
Artwork: Amtrak Empire Builder by Loco Steve