He's all about the cool. Sittin' there in the back seat of the bus. The big man. And I do mean big. I hate to think how large he'll be when he's done growin'. All ramrod straight but like he could be slouchin' if he felt like it, with his cubic head, his Marine buzz cut, his goofy-ass black-lens, silver-frame little plastic sunglasses and the girl, oh my God the girl, young and eager and breathless from the massive fuckin' he just gave her all clingin' to his giant muscled arm.

Now she is hot. He may be a nowhere-near=over-himself idiot and I may have to question her mental competence for wanting him, but raw brain power or no, a cute young brunette in heat will get my attention every time, especially when the doofus she's clinging to can't understand that she needs emotional reassurance, a little cuddling, a lingering kiss, and some well-placed compliments. He's sitting there treating her like the final accessory, the last and most important visual component in his carefully crafted public image of studliness, and all she can see, and more importantly feel, is his cold, calculated distance.

The more he gets into his own image the more distant he becomes and the more she clings and fawns and humps his arm, desperate for some attention but only succeeding in further fueling his testosterone-driven ego. It's entertaining in the abstract, but a damsel in distress is distressing, and an opportunity never to be missed. So I make a noise, clear my throat, make vague but distracting hand gestures and sure enough I've got her attention. Just for a second. Long enough to give her a meaningful look, a look that says "Hey beautiful, you take your clothes off for the dirty old man and hump me like that and I'll not only make you come better and longer and more times than him, I'll give you all the reassurance you ever needed."

I'm not sure she fully understands every word. But it's enough. Enough to let her know she's desirable and wanted. She stops humping and fawning and contents herself with cuddling up against him. The cycle broken he finally turns his head toward her, for the first time since they sat down, and touches his lips to hers.

And me? I get to go through the day knowing I did a good deed, able to hold on to the small ray of hope that some day in the not too distant future I'll find myself on a bus with her, alone, without the enormous moron, that I'll say hello, that she'll remember me, and that she'll invite me back to her parents' house to take me up on my silent offer.