It all came down to numbers.
She’s as smooth as silk, he thought, as he plucked the first petal from the improbably large seven leaf clover-like plant, he’d found growing on the side of the rickety train platform. She’s covered in sores, he added for the second.
The sight of Nicky made the young man throb, but he wasn’t single and knew he shouldn’t be thinking such things.
How would I feel if he knew that Sarah was thinking the same way about another man? He mused.
He’d sprawled out in the garden, the night previous to the start of his working week, summer light leaving the sky, but warm radiation still apparent and allowed Nicky to meet him in his mind.; her smiling blue eyes sucking him in to her world.
Her skin is soft, went the third petal.
He had not long been married, but the chemicals that burned true heat from his heart to his groin cried that it was a mistake.
Malcolm had tried, like a strongman yanking to throw 200 kilograms, to lob Nicky from his thoughts, as he’d laid, smoking a cigarette.
She’s covered in boils, went the third.
He’d then wanted to imagine her perfect body not only festooned in pustules, but riddled in scars and hairy moles, so that his mind would be saved, as he blew smokes rings that faded fast in the sweet evening breeze.
It was more than just lust, though. There was an irrational connection to this travel-mate, who had frequented the same line as his of late.
He’d used the train often, but hardly spared thought, never mind words for other passengers.
They’d swapped laughter and stories. They’d talked philosophy and future plans. He saw her spirit soaring. He’d never felt that spreading of the wings with Sarah.
Once, when the train was full, they’d been forced to sit so close that he felt her bare thighs through his trousers. The appearance of a man with size issues cramming himself into the third seat pushed them together with shy shrugs. Normally, Malcom would have groaned at such an intrusion of his boundaries. That day, as his body crackled with the intensity of her touch, and the train rocked gently along the tracks, he prayed only that he didn’t get an erection.
If it landed on perfect skin he would…
She’s stunning, he sighed as he plucked the fifth. She’s red raw in boils, his mind rasped for the sixth.
The little plant had one leaf left and he didn’t need to verbalise the turning in his stomach and the hardening in his need whenever he sat across from her; he was sure it flashed from his skin like a commercial for porn.
The train squealed to a stop, Malcolm pulling back to the reality of a dreary Monday morning. The many passengers filed out.
‘You got something on your mind?’ She asked, as she frowned in the sweetest way he could imagine at the torn plant in his hand, and the filthy carriage floor, before heading to the doors. ‘See you tonight?’
Yes I do have something on my mind: you. I want to lick you like a bastard lolly. There; said it, he thought, as he watched her elegantly leave the train.
‘See you tonight,’ he instead called and waited a moment for the blood to drain before standing.