“The Train Trip”, a tale of anonymous hot sex between two dykes in the bathroom of a train! Read the rest in Sex Still Spoken Here.
“I ended up traveling from Ohio to New York City with my mother’s ex-boyfriend. We called him the Turk; he was from Istanbul and composed discordant, meaningful, modern music. She had dumped him for writing bad poetry and leaving it under her windshield wiper in the Indiana State University student parking lot, and he had driven to my house in Ohio in an effort to understand my mom’s motivations. I couldn’t tell him a lot, but did let him know that he wasn’t alone and that she had dumped plenty of men. I don’t know if that reassured him of his virility, but he decided that he wanted to be my boyfriend instead. He took to lying on my living room floor, listening to the Sex Pistols, and keeping me in cheap wine. I was alright with this, and when he suggested that we take a train trip to New York City I agreed. He bought tickets, I turned a trick for spending money, copped a handful of Talwin in case I got bored, and we met at the downtown Amtrak station.”
Let me be totally clear — I was not nice. I was 24, belligerent, and beautiful in a kind of faggy punk way. I had dropped out of art school and was working in a pornographic bookstore. I spent my days handing out quarters and hooking businessmen up with each other during their lunch hour, drinking take-out white Russians from a styrofoam cup, sealing dirty magazines, and reading Crime and Punishment. I liked to slip on a Dolly Parton wig and pretend I was a man saving up my pennies to get a sex change. It got me an amazing number of drinks in the local gay dive. I would hint demurely that I couldn’t wait to get that big ole thing chopped off, my new friend’s eyes would get enormous, and another drink would slide over the bar’s battered wooden counter. Other times I was a skinny nelly fag with my short red hair slicked to one side and in a suit and vintage tie.”