As usual, the downtown 2/3 is packed to the gills. I scoot in as quickly as I can and grab the last available seat, squeezing in between the rail at the end of the bench and a woman engrossed in her novel. Something about her catches my eye so, after settling back into the seat, I take another look. She's startlingly beautiful, at least to me: red hair, fair skin, green eyes, a few freckles, and a woman’s face. Not a girl’s face, but one that’s been in a few battles and has the character to show for it, fine lines around the eyes and small creases at the corners of the mouth. I take a few glances, but she’s too busy reading, so I give up. Desperation’s never gotten me a date yet.

    The train hits the next stop and even more people pile in. If you’re standing it’s cheek to jowl, shoulders pushed into backs and not enough handholds for everyone. Some big guy in a suit wedges in and pushes people into whatever little space I had. I ignore him and try to read my book.

    As the train moves downtown he moves down the car until he’s almost standing over me, his leg pressing into my thigh. I look up and give him a fuck-you look, but he’s not paying any attention to me. I follow his eyes as they go down to the woman next to me and spill into her cleavage. She’s wearing a v-neck blouse and hunched over into her reading; from his vantage point it’s probably a straight shot down. I check the guy again. His eyes are huge, like he’s heard about breasts all his life but never seen a pair. A minute later and he moves in for a better view, pushing into me even more. My thigh is throbbing now, and I try to move it, shake him off, but he’s too big and I’ve got no leverage. He’s standing right over the woman now, and can probably tell who made her bra. The train lurches. The standing crowd moves as one, packed too tight to resist. The big dork standing over me stumbles and almost falls. The woman next to me looks up at him, down at her blouse, and back up at him. I look quickly back at my book and steel myself for a true New York scene (“No, officer, I didn’t see a thing. . .”) but nothing happens. I sneak another look and she’s looking up at him, grinning. I look at him and now I’m sure it’s the first time he’s seen tits. His eyes are threatening to jump out of his head. He smiles.

   The woman next to me sits up straight and arches her back a little, thrusting her breasts out. She’s looking him in the eyes and smiling, just a little, and for some reason that’s better than if she were smiling a lot. She wiggles her shoulders a little and raises her hand, curling a finger and beckoning him lower. Now I think I’m in for a completely different New York scene.

   The big guy takes a look right and left. No one else notices what’s going on. People are too busy reading the newspaper or skimming their PDAs or catching a few, last minutes with their eyes closed. He kneels down slowly, with much difficulty, forcing my whole body to the left. He leans in and looks at her.

    “How’d you like to start your day off right?” she asks, and I am surprised by her voice: calm, clear, free of malice. The guy smiles. “Sure,” he says.

    She beckons him closer. He scoots in, his face inches from hers. She arches her back again, her right hand tracing a line down the inside of his right thigh. “You ready?” she asks. He nods.

    I see her elbow move, quickly, just a hint of motion, and the guy’s eyes go wide. He catches his breath and goes stock still. I start to smile. “I know they’re nice,” she says, “but they’re mine, and I control who sees them and who doesn’t.” She pauses for a second. The guy nods, small, quick movements. “So if I want you to see them, I’ll tell you,” she says. “But until then, stick to internet porn, okay?” She says the whole thing in the same calm, even voice. “What’s your stop?” she asks. “14th,” he says, his breath a gasp. She nods slowly. “Good for you,” she says. “That’s next.”