The powder room was empty. She put on her lipstick, her favourite shade “Fire Truck Red”. She saw him in the mirror, standing in the doorway. “You should lock the door” she told him. He did as she said. He walked over and stood behind her. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up on end. He sighed and kissed the side of her neck. He smelled good she thought. “I’ve stared at you across the table all night, who are you?” she asked him. “Somebody” he answered. “Is this OK?” he asked as he slipped his hand down the front of her trousers. “Would you still do it if I said it wasn’t” she replied, answering him with another question. “No” he said, pulling his hand out immediately with no hesitation. She smiled and pushed his hand back in.
This had always been her fantasy, a consensual encounter with a stranger or somebody she just met. She never understood the appeal of the fantasies some of her friends had back in college, of boyfriends climbing through their bedroom windows at night, balaclava hiding their faces.
The train rolled into the station. She stood up and smiled at the man sitting in the seat across from her. The one wearing a navy blue pea coat and reading a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. Her somebody that morning.
Image: photographed by Cassandra Coldeboeuf for Mara Paris. Visit: mara.paris