Subway Love

Somebody once told me that the most romantic way to meet a new lover was to meet them on the subway.  She said there was nothing sexier than entering a half empty L train and seeing a good looking guy sitting in the seat across from her.  Their eyes touch and they quickly glance away, blushing heavy, but then a few seconds later their eyes find each other again and the cycle repeats.  She motions for him to get off at the next stop with her.  He smiles, throws down the remnants of an old amNY, finishes jerking off, and then exits the car with her hand in hand.  Love has exploded on the L train as two happy soon to be lovers have found each other.  I forget exactly which parts of the tale were hers and which parts were things I’ve personally witnessed, but in the end it doesn’t really matter.  Finding love on the subway can transform a dull ride into a moment of extraordinary beauty. 

In my many years as a New York City subway rider I’ve seen all sorts of love sprout.  I’ve seen the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti scene perfectly mirrored by two particularly large and particularly scary rats.  After they locked lips on a shared piece of what I’d like to assume was a delicious piece garbage, they motioned for their buddies to come join them in assembling the fabled rat king (you’ll look this up if you like being in a constant state of fear while walking home at night).  It was a moment so romantic that I celebrated by nearly overdosing on tetanus shots.  Their squeals of love and passion still heartily contribute to my various night terrors.

I’ve been privy to witness and partake in the drunken subway love myself.  It’s that transcendent moment when you decide to reach down and show off your inner-exhibitionist and give a show for the few denizens of the underground train.  You take your love by whatever you can grab and engage in the sloppiest of displays, if only to prove that your night was better than the other sorry sacks on the train.  Nothing says victory like draping a lover in your saliva (and they you) while the rest of the subway car pretends not to see it or cries about their own various romantic short comings.  Or so you assume.  One can never be too sure about late night riders on the subway and being a presumptuous dick is a good way for the night to quickly flip.  Before you know it, your potential lover is devouring another person’s face while you’re stuck trying to inconspicuously watch (as if they care that you’re watching).  In short the subway can be a cruel mistress to those who doubt or mistreat its powers.

To burrow on back to the point, subway love is a pure and beautiful thing that should be celebrated.  So the next time you enter a steel car please refrain from simply sitting down and avoiding eye contact with the uncommon beauty sitting across from you.  Start a moment and embrace the opportunity that the New York City Subway has given you.  Get up off your seat, finish masturbating, and extend a welcoming hand to a potential future lover and begin that beautiful cycle of love that keeps New York going.