Pretzels or penis?
When flying, I survey the faces of every one of my fellow air travelers. This visual manifest is prompted not by a fear of fundamentalist terrorists, but my own radical belief in the spontaneity of love. There is always the chance that one of my future boyfriends or husbands or mile high initiates might have purchased the seat next to mine.
I’ve shared an armrest with plenty of men. Unfortunately, they have all been straight. And elderly. They’d rather sleep on me than with me.
Assigned seating is no obstacle for fate. I accept that. The Universe just isn’t ready to set me up. When flying Southwest Airlines, however, the open selection policy temporarily eliminates a need for destiny’s intervention. Why lament placement two rows behind that burly brunette when I could choose to sit right next to him? Between him and the sliver fox on the aisle. Beefcake on one side, sugar daddy on the other. No pretzels or peanuts for me, thanks. I’m satiated.
Before plopping down to feast, on my way back from San Francisco, Sunday, I realized I had better inquire as to whether or not they served my kind. In such a frenzy over my in-flight freedom, I hadn’t considered that they might not care to accommodate my guyit. I was ready to lick their lips clean, but perhaps they were consulting a completely different (wo)menu.
Hello, brown eyes. Yeah. I’m looking at you. I’m looking at you and I’m not going to be the one to look away -
He broke eye contact.
First. Shoot. Okay. Not gay. Well – maybe he’s just shy. Maybe he’s open to experimentation. Maybe he just wants me to -
Catching my unwavering gaze again, he began to fidget.
Stop. Stop staring at him. I smiled rascally. Nah. I’m going to make you squirm one way or another.
I paused next to his row.
Am I going to sit next to you? Am I going to take that empty seat? Am I going to make a move?
My eyes bored into the side of his handsome head as I slid my carry on into the overhead compartment.
What’s – I made sure my bag was secure.
It – He jumped as I SLAMMED the bin shut.
Gonna – Adjusting my other satchel, I was prepared to sidle past the silver fox.
Beee?
He INHALED audibly, nervously.
I choose the middle seat – one row behind.
Relief WHOOSHED past his lips.
I would have preferred to put something in his mouth, but at least he was still within view. Actually, from my diagonal position, I could have ogled his pulchritudinous profile the whole way home. Unfettered, too, as he sure as hell made a point not to turn around. Instead, I followed suit of the sexagenarian next to me and took a nap.
Lecherous though he may have thought me to be, I don’t regret my rubbernecking. Awkwardness is always a worthy risk in life and love. And considering the consistency of my placement alongside those in possession of an AARP subscription, at some point the Universe is bound to substitute bachelors for widowers.
