That Married Dude I Made Out with Last Year? SAW HIM AGAIN

Last November I met a man on a train. Let’s call him James. James and I bonded all the way from New York to Connecticut, and then we passionately made out in his car like a couple of horny high schoolers until we decided to cut the party short due to the fact that he had a wife whom — no big deal — he almost forgot to tell me about. It was a debacle, and really you should just read my entire original post about it to get the full effect before continuing, because OH MY GOD – I saw him last week.

I was stuck at the train station due to a delay and decided to treat myself to a large iced coffee to ease the pain (because large iced coffees always ease the pain — they’re a lot like Vicodin and/or puppy therapy in that way).

As I approached the Dunkin Donuts stand, I noticed that there was a man with an effortlessly strong build standing at the front of the line in sharp tan suit pants and a white T-shirt. His suit jacket and dress shirt were cradled loosely under his hot right man-arm.

I’d so hit that, I thought to myself, apparently not requiring any knowledge whatsoever of what his face looked like.

Then he turned around and our eyes met.


We hadn’t seen each other since the night we met, so this was kind of a BFD. (That’s “big fucking deal” for those of you who actually put your educations to use and therefore don’t speak in profane teen girl abbrevs.) (Abreva?)

I immediately went into super-adrenaline mode and decided that I would just pretend I didn’t see James in front of me or that I did see him but had absolutely no idea who he was because I’m the type of person (in this imaginary scenario of me not recognizing him, that is) who just makes out with strangers on trains all the damn time and so trying to keep track of them would be like trying to keep track of the number of nipple rings at a Bear convention.

(Explanatory side note for straight people: Bears are large hairy gay men who are traditionally into body piercings and leather. And conventions, apparently.)

Our eyes met again as James stepped to the side to wait for his coffee and I moved to the front of the line. He looked nervous.

“Large iced coffee, please,” I said, trying to look as directly at the cashier as possible. “With milk only.”

I spoke loudly, immaturely hoping that the sound of my voice would initiate some kind of nostalgia or arousal or regret or why-isn’t-Nic-saying-hi-to-me?-ness (emotion of any kind, really) in James.

I wanted him to notice that my outfit was similar to the one I wore the night we met seven months ago – a button down shirt, slightly open at the chest with two chains of contrasting lengths showing (because yes, on Tuesdays I dress like the owner of a pizzeria). I also wanted him to notice that I had a bunch of new half-hippie/half-someone-who-hangs-out-on-boats bracelets on my left wrist, so I made sure to really stick out my hand as I reached forward to pay the guy behind the counter.

Why did I so desperately want James to notice everything about me?

Maybe it was just my way of acknowledging how bizarre it was that last fall we shared an intimate moment – a moment that I’ve since written and talked and thought about at length; a moment that has been the subject of blog posts and essays and bar conversations and marathon phone calls and so much else – and here we were pretending to be total strangers.

It felt rather dishonest.

But it was all either of us could bring ourselves to do, I guess. And so James and I continued to stand there in awkward silence until we each got our respective cups of fuel for the morning.

“Thanks,” I said to the DD guy.

“Have a good one,” James told him.

And then we each sped off in directions so completely opposite that anyone watching would have never known we were both going to the exact same place.

I couldn't really think of a good picture to accompany this post. So here's me squatting on a rock during a hike a few weeks ago. There's a message here somewhere, maybe.

I couldn’t really think of a good picture to accompany this post. So here’s me squatting on a rock during a hike a few weeks ago. There’s meaning here somewhere, maybe.

P.S. It just occurred to me that, when left open to interpretation, the last line of this post could totally make it sound like I was insinuating that James and I took roundabout routes to the men’s room and then gave each other blowjobs in the handicap stall or something – and I’d just like to clarify that that’s not what happened at all. I just meant that, you know, we were both commuting into the same city. There was probably some underlying metaphor there, too. I didn’t need to clarify any of this, did I?

P.P.S. How gross would it be to give a blowjob in the stall of a train station bathroom? How gross would it be to do anything that involves heavily breathing through your nose in a train station bathroom? Just, ew.

P.P.P.S. No judgment, though, if train-station-bathroom-blowjobs are your thing! To each his own.

P.P.P.P.S. But still I probably wouldn’t share a drink with you.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Unless that drink was a vodka gimlet. Or a Guinness. Or a White Russian. Or a jalapeño margarita. You know what? Never mind.



  1. The beauty and pain in such an “everyday” situation* here is just exquisite.

    *Note: By “everyday situation” I don’t mean that everyone makes out with closeted married men like horny teens in cars. I just mean that this was SUCH a normal scenario, but the subtleties in the details make this SO profound and empty and haunting and beautiful.

    And then you brought it back to blow jobs. Well done!

    Also, iced coffee really DOES = Vicodin and/or puppy therapy.

    • OMG love you for using the word “exquisite.” And RE: bringing it back to blowjobs – RIGHT?! It’s like this amazing skill that I have. (Bringing everything back to blowjobs, that is. Not giving them. Or, I mean, that’s a skill too. You know what? I’m going to stop here.)

  2. Ahhh! Thanks for sharing the beautifully awkward moment and at least making us all laugh. At least you didn’t end up back on the same train car, and have to sit in awkward silence the whole way home. But at least you would have had iced coffee with you – I think it’s the best stranger danger defense because you clearly can’t continue a conversation when you have coffee to sip.
    And now I’m rambling… haven’t had my coffee yet.
    Good for you for avoiding icky James – even dressed like a pizzeria owner you won out 🙂

    • “even dressed like a pizzeria owner you won out” – LOL, thank you!! You’re so right though, I considered how crazy it would have been if we were in the same car and realized just how easy I got off in this whole situation.

      P.S. I’m honored that you read this prior to sipping your morning coffee! That is one of the highest compliments IMO 🙂

  3. This is like the ending to some Sophia Coppola movie. The title is ‘Revenge of the P.S.’

  4. Brandon Haskey says:

    Fact: when visiting Seattle this Spring Break, a man on Growlr insisted he’d travel an hour south of his home to allow ME to blow HIM in a bathroom at the Seattle-Tacoma airport. I offered a friendly “No thanks,” but he was really insistent until I just ignored him. I’m pretty sure he’d have to buy a ticket somewhere, go through security, and then find me huddled next to the falafel place in the airport, take me into a family bathroom, and then have me fellate him in order to make that dream a reality.

    • Ba! Ha! This is exactly why I felt the need to include that P.S… because shit like that happens. I’d say you dodged a nice little bullet with that one. On another note, what is this Growlr?! This app market is becoming far too saturated. Is there a bonr yet? I feel like that should have been one of the first.

      • Brandon Haskey says:

        Welp, Growlr is like Grindr, but for people who like bears… like me. Well, I’m the bear in that scenario. I don’t have a type. Where’s the app for a guy who is nice, funny, good to his mother, and thinks I’m great? In any case, public transportation is not a sexy place for penis. Ever. 😉

  5. The Howling Fantogs says:

    I have been in awkward situations like this when bumping into someone I’ve dated when it didn’t go too well, but not someone I’ve met in such a random situation. I will check out the original post.

  6. I don’t know about grand central bathrooms but some bathroom bars in the west village are good for getting to third base 😉

    • Ha! OMG Andres, I can’t wait til my book comes out… FYI I will be sending you an advance signed copy with that chapter specifically earmarked.

  7. I have had that same awkwardness, of course I have because I am you in the straight middle aged woman form. In a nice restaurant and he’s with his wife and I’m with my now husband and ewww and that whole looking and not looking, like NOT looking really hard.

    • “I am you in the straight middle aged woman form.” Truer words have never been commented. And right?! The looking and not looking, like NOT looking really hard! I know precisely what you mean.

  8. You: I immediately went into super-adrenaline mode and decided that I would just pretend I didn’t see James in front of me or that I did see him but had absolutely no idea who he was because I’m the type of person (in this imaginary scenario of me not recognizing him, that is) who just makes out with strangers on trains all the damn time and so trying to keep track of them would be like trying to keep track of the number of nipple rings at a Bear convention.

    Me: You don’t do the amnesia thing? Where you have to explain you had amnesia during that part of your life? Or that you suffer from a disorder that doesn’t allow you to ever remember anyone ever and how that’s soooo awkward every time someone recognizes you?

    Explanatory side note for straight people: Bears are large hairy gay men

    I knew that, actually. See how educated I am? I think my knowledge ends there, though.

    I wonder what it says about “James” that he did not initiate contact but was doing the nervous lingery (that’s not a misspelling of lingerie, btw) thing while waiting for his beverage. He could have walked further away or pulled out his cell phone and pretended to be on a call. I guess this sort of humanizes him a bit? Maybe? I still want to slap his face but maybe with my rings turned outward and not inward. Maybe.
    I hid behind a column, once, when I saw an ex at the mall and knew he saw me but then I pretended I hadn’t seen him and ducked behind the column and waited to dodge away after he passed. Because I am a confident, classy person.
    Actually, the last time I had an encounter like this, I just shot the guy daggers and face-dared him to talk to me. Pretty much, I mad-dogged him and he backed down and I thought evil thoughts at him all the way to my car and hoped he’d fall down a manhole and be eaten by a sewergator.
    I might harbor a little bit of resentment.
    You did way better than I. You are clearly the bigger person…which is no surprise, as you are 6’8″.

    Yeahhhhh…my kinks will never reach public bathrooms. I turn into the most chaste prude ever to walk the earth when in the vicinity of a public bathroom. I imagine a train station bathroom is the worst. Oh, wait, I know they are; I was in the worst one ever in Thailand. Horrific. Just letting my underwear leave the zone it protects while in a public bathroom – which you kind of have to do if you’re using said bathroom for any of its main functions aside from handwashing and primping – makes me all squeeby and I have to do this every day because we don’t have a staff bathroom anymore.

    • Hahahaha omg – before you gave me that lingerie parenthetical, I SWEAR I was like, “lingerie?”

      I agree, it totally humanizes him… TBH, I’ve always kind of felt a weird sense of sympathy/empathy for him more than anything else; I mean, God only knows what his deal is but I think there’s def some underlying issues (as we all have!) at work there. So I shall pray for his healing! (That’s my 6’8″ bigness talking, clearly.)

      P.S. you just ruined Thailand for me. THANKS!
      P.P.S. JK it’s totally fine because I don’t have a passport anyway

      • Oh, all countries will be ruined for you once you know about their bathrooms. North American is the only place in the world that is so extravagant in its toiletness.
        You can’t even flush toiletpaper down the toilet in most of Greece. I think it’s the same for Rome and Spain and other countries around there.
        Think about that for a bit.

  9. Ashleigh says:

    Where have you been all my life and why am I only just discovering your blog now?! Look, never mind the mundane questions I have asked because I have found you! Your writing makes me want to vomit stars because you’re equally awesome and funny and it makes me sick that I am neither of the two.

    • Hahaha ASHLEIGH this comment means everything to me – it started my day off on such a positive note! Thank you so much for the love!!!

      Also: you’re clearly awesome and funny just for being here; boring people are entirely blocked.


  1. […] 2014 UPDATE: We ran into each other at Dunkin’ Donuts and it was weird. […]

  2. […] session at the end of the night with the revelation that he had a wife. It was a fucking saga! (And then I ran into him at Dunkin Donuts a few months […]

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