Change at Jamaica Station

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 Gerriann Has A Predilection                                                      2019, Oyster Bay LIRR Station, NY

I wore the gray skirt just for him. He knew it. I knew he knew it. He wore Gray Flannel cologne just for me. It drove me crazy. Must've been the fact that it was what my first lover always wore. It was the only gift I ever gave any of my men, but it all started with Ted. I think of Ted, which is rare, in my harried daily schedule.

If it wasn't for Ted, it would have been possible to move on to more normal relationships, but since I lost my virginity when underaged to someone who was into adventure, perhaps it was set in stone that I would always crave something a little bit more exciting in that department of my life.

"Thank you, Ted," I whisper as I slowly saunter onto the train at the Oyster Bay station, notice Sam standing further down the aisle, and sit down on an end seat. With my headphones on, I hope I didn't say that too loud, but the train is almost empty today, as it's the Friday before Memorial Day, and most commuters have taken the day off to get a jump on the long weekend. This was a one-off time for Sam and I to meet like this, as I usually saw him on the 10p.m. train or later, depending on how late I stayed in the office.

I looked good and didn't work too hard at it. I knew that too. Most of my teen years I was told so much how I looked like Betty Page, that I finally got the signature bangs and still wore them today.

I preferred four things most in my men. Youth, constant movement, as in an energetic countenance, a unique masculine sweet smell that mixed well with my favorite cologne, and his large shirt just out of the drier, warm, and cozy to slip over my head. I had a drawer of collected shirts that I'd stolen from them, which was an accomplishment as none of my beaus had ever been to my home.

Oh, and also sex. Sex of all kinds, but what would be the point of men if we weren't referring to one's sex life? So far, Sam checked off all the boxes except I had yet to get his shirt.

Of course, Ted became too much to handle. Even though he was on the Olympic gymnastics team in 1991, when I started dating him, and his body was fantastic, he had several addictions. Some of them were healthy addictions to adrenaline and sports, others, not so healthy. Cocaine, money and sex and a serious, if not justified, wandering eye eventually left me feeling a little more than angry and, surprisingly to me, more informed about men, relationships and myself.

I often thanked Ted, out loud to myself, to my befuddled workmates, and in toasts at dinners, or at family holidays, when no one else knew what I was referring to. I thanked him for making me more self-aware. He made me smart about men. Since Ted, I handpicked them so well.

Like now, all I could think about was this young man in front of me, not much older than Ted was when I first slept with him. Back then, it was the sweltering summer I was turning fifteen, but he was twenty-four. This latest model, Sam, approximately twenty-six years old, strong, rough looking, small tattoos on his fore arms; not the look of someone you would normally think to dress up in a train conductor uniform, unless it was a joke, or for a Halloween party that had a costume competition.

The joke was on them. He wore the hat intentionally too high on his head, at a rakish angle, and the brim to the side. A long, medium weight gold chain glimmered before dipping into the tip of his wifebeater undershirt, leading the eye to his strong chest. He looked more like a rapper wearing the latest Prada. He needed no stylist. He was style. He had swagger. It was all in your point of view and sitting in front of him on the train as he stood there, belt just hugging his hips above the bone, I liked the view. I smiled at him but did not remove my headphones. I was listening to The Shacks serenade in sweet sultry voices, "You've got a strange effect on me, and I like it."