Lunar Obverse

So, last night, I was taking the bus home, feeling a little, y’know, anti-social, nose buried in my book (“All The President’s Men” — awesome. I will post a review over at Geeks Against Bush when I’m finished), sitting near the back of the bus…

The bus stopped in front of Portland State, and this brunette got on and sat across from me. I can’t judge age well but she seemed like she was in her late 20s early 30s, maybe? She was wearing these faded old jeans, and, well… wow. I noticed a picture badge hanging from her backpack that was from the university — but I couldn’t tell, in my quick glance, if she was a student or faculty. Seemed more student-ish.

I’m sitting on one of the sideways chairs, and she’s sitting across the aisle facing towards the front of the bus.

She’s sitting there, and I’m looking at her, and she’s looking around, and… frankly, I don’t know why she turned to look, but she did it slowly up to a point and then turned quickly to see if I was looking at her. I was. And, again, like the last time, I held her gaze, not smiling, just a neutral gaze straight into her eyes.

…which were a rich dark brown, by the way.

She holds the look for just the briefest of seconds, and when it becomes apparent that I’m not looking away, nor am I embarassed, she looks down and away and gives this very coy, but also very sexy smile.

She has just the slightest blush, also. I smile, very subtly, back, and then return to reading my book.

When this happens, there’s a shock to my system, that’s hard to describe. But my mind goes into overdrive, fighting with myself as to what to do next.

Sadly, the part of my brain that says, “Do nothing; danger here!” won. 🙁

But for the rest of the bus ride, I can see her in my peripheral vision, over the top of my book, once or twice, look back in my direction.

When she got off the bus, she deliberately walked past the bus, and almost literally glared at me through the window, as if she was so disappointed that I hadn’t followed up on my direct stare.

It was… fascinating, actually. It made me recall another time from the night before. Another cute brunette, she was on the phone, I smiled at her and then sat right behind her. And after she got off the phone, she kept sneaking glances at me behind her.

This is the revelation I had, and it seems kind of basic and a stoopid thing for me to only now to be learning, after forty years… but here it is:

Some girls want to be approached.

Weird, huh?

It’s a completely new concept in my experience… but it seems to be happening a lot lately.

I spotted her — well, to be honest, I spotted her even before I stepped on to the bus. As it was pulling up I saw her face through the window. Black straight hair, half over her face, Veronica Lake style, Hispanic features, petite, almond-shaped green (I swear!) eyes…

At any rate, as luck would have it, I ended up standing next to her; she was sitting in the front part of the bus, facing sideways, her hands folded over a spiral notebook, her legs in pinstripe slacks and crossed. She wore white high heels, and the toes were sharply pointed. Honestly, to me, the shoes looked a little ridiculous. I’m sure, to a girl, they had some other meaning.

I didn’t pay much attention to her, but at one point, as I hung on the strap to keep my balance, I started tracking some object outside the bus; an interesting car or something. I can’t even remember what it was, because as my line of sight moved to my left and down, I looked right at her, and stopped. She was smiling to herself, and must have caught the motion of my head, and looked up… and I held her gaze, not looking away, keeping my face neutral, no smile, no frown.

She smiled wider and glanced down, then back up, only her left eye showing, the other hidden under the curtain of her black hair.

I felt a warm flush start underneath my scarf and start to work its way up into my face. But I held her gaze. I smiled a little bit; I couldn’t help it. That was one of the sexiest looks I’d been given in a while. I smiled simply to acknowledge the compliment and waited for her to look away again, which she did.

The bus ride is only 20 minutes long overall, from when I board to my stop, so the next few moments couldn’t have been more than a five minutes at the most, but it seemed so much longer. I returned to not looking at her. Not out of embarassment; simply out of the urge to not spoil the moment previously. OK, OK, I kind of chickened out a bit. I was thrown, I’ll admit it.

But as the bus rolled down the boulevard, swaying back and forth, her leg swung back and forth, too, and her pointed white-leather-encased toe poked me in the ankle. It drew my attention back to her, and I glanced at her again. Her whole face smiled; but it was subtle. She whispered “sorry” and looked anything but.

I gave her a mock-stern look and said, “You have to watch those shoes.”

She looked at them again, and playfully kicked at me. “I know!”

“You might hurt someone.” Someone else, I thought, dammit, why didn’t I say that? But years of practice let me keep my face neutral, with just a hint of smirk.

“I’ll be more careful.”

But then every time the bus swayed, her toe brushed my pants leg again. I would give her a stern sideways look, and she would softly giggle.

At the first major stop downtown, the bus cleared out, and I had a choice of a seat next to her, and one across the aisle from her. I chose the one across the aisle from her, facing her. I maintained eye contact, just to continue to see her smile and her eyes, almost lit from within. I wondered about getting a phone number…

The bus stopped again, and she stood, joining the line of people deboarding, and I finally saw a clear view of her left hand, finally unhidden, and the plain gold band around her ring finger, an obvious wedding ring.

…damn.

But it was fun while it lasted.