My hand absorbed the coolness of the metal pole. The snake-like city bus was standing room only. The fingers of my other hand worried the edges of my scratchy linen dress. I'm sure I looked poor and drab to the casual observer. They wouldn't be wrong. I was new in town, having recently left a rural cult for Seattle.
I was scared, unsure how to create a life here. I hadn't even found a place to live yet. I needed to make time to find a job. But years of waiting made another need more important.
I felt the tingle in my groin at the fantasies wildly whirling around in my mind. Everywhere I went, I saw the potential for a sexual encounter, and the excitement of finally living the life I wanted pulsed through me. I sought the drug that would allow me to do things my rational mind would stop.
I could smell my arousal, which had grown more potent than the stench of humanity crammed into the vehicle. I wondered if the preoccupied people could smell it, too. I wanted them to know, to wonder about me. The thought of me in their minds sent a thrill through my body. My eyes darted around, scanning passengers.
A masc woman sat casually, cradling an open leather-bound book in her broad, calloused hands. A line of black was wedged beneath each squared fingernail. She was a working woman. Her index finger was gentle as it slid down the course pages, and I shivered. Her finger left traces on me as if it had glided down the small of my back. The effect of a hardened body and academic prowess was akin to watching a tamed beast. The power was there, controlled.
My eyes caught the black tungsten metal wrapped around her ring finger. Married. It was a different fantasy, but not what I was looking for. In the seat in front of the beast sat a mother cradling her baby. She cooed gently to the yellow bundle. Her tranquility drew me in briefly. I felt transfixed by the intimacy and pure love of the moment, but I looked away. This was, for sure, not what I was looking for.
A teenage boy gawked at the peeping edges of the thigh-high stockings of one petite golden-haired woman wearing a blue and white uniform. She was a waitress and likely not interested in the panting of a rude adolescent. Wispy hairs, darkened with sweat, curled around her face, and her eyes were drawn. She wouldn't have the stamina for what I wanted.
I wondered about her day and whether or not her patrons groped her as she sweated beneath heavy trays. I wondered if she craved the attention or if it filled her with rage. Did she imagine creative ways to punish them?
I should consider her vocation for myself. I certainly had the skills.
For five years, I'd cooked for and served over a hundred people in the monastery where I lived until three days ago. For so long, it was the same routine. Hundreds of drab people with boring lives sat in silent meditation while abbots droned monotone lessons. I'd wake at 4 a.m. daily to give them my free labor and dedication to their teachings of selflessness, self-control, and piousness.
After years of repeatedly trying to mold myself into their ideal person and failing, I began a silent protest. They couldn't control my mind. Sitting in "meditation," I created obscene sexual fantasies. And when my contract was up for renewal, I ran from that beige prison as fast as possible.
I sighed and shook my head. I wasn't in the mood to reflect on my past. I was looking to live an earmarked fantasy right now. My eyes focused yet again and scanned the other passengers.