The bathroom was what one would have expected of a midwestern nowhere-town -- dirty white tiles lit by a single florescent bulb that was slowly but surely wincing out of existence, with broken glass mirror and an unholy stench to boot. I unzipped my fly and felt a shudder go down my spine as I finally relieved myself after so many hours. Midway through my long awaited bladder draining I heard the door to the bathroom open slowly. I stopped peeing and turned around quickly, my heart racing, and the paralysis of fear sweeping my entire body. A man a few inches taller than myself stood with his hand bracing the door with a large, hairy forearm. A John Deere hat and a heavy brow line cast a shadow over the strangers eyes. We made eye contact briefly. A smile shot across his face quickly and he took a step in. I figured the man was a trucker, which seemed to diffuse my immediate fears. I began pissing once again, having not finished the first time (I really had to go), and studying my new. We would sit cross-legged on the floor, with our knees rubbing and talk. Our conversations always flowed and I yearned to have that same experience in person. As our knees rubbed and the wine flowed even the thought of such an experience would warm my stomach. We would talk about our first kiss. It would always be unhurried. Our lips would slowly come together. Yes it was akin to a stereotypical movie moment. But nevertheless, that moment was something I dreamed about. I would always tell her that after that first touching of lips we would slowly pull our heads back and look at each other. Our expressions would be roadmaps to what was to happen next. Our bodies would be guiding our next moves. Our souls would be in suspended animation, as we would continue to kiss. I used to lie in bed and fantasize about all of this. I was very much turned on by her body. You see, for me, to enjoy someone as much as I enjoyed her had to be a prelude to wanting her physically. Because I liked her so.
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