Amy and I were grabbing a quick bite at a Chipotle. Well, as quick as you can ever be when you're trying to eat one of those obscenely large burritos.
"So, there's this game I play sometimes," I started, "when I'm sitting in public places. Buses, libraries, like that. I look around the space I'm in, and I pick from the people within sight the person I'd most like to have sex with."
I didn't have to ask Amy if she wanted to play -- it took her less than ten seconds to look around the room and then gesture with a toss of her head to her right: "The cop," she said, and she took another bite of her burrito.
"Wow. That was easy for you." I checked the guy out. He was of Hispanic heritage. Stocky. A round, boyish face. "I was thinking more of the guy up at the counter, getting his food now."
"Him?" she asked incredulously. "He looks old and boring."
"I thought he looked ... distinguished," I sheepishly defended myself. My fantasies involving Amy with older men are spawned from an actual event, a one-nighter she had in her early twenties, at a Denver airport hotel after a canceled flight. She discovered the pilot of the flight that had gotten her to Denver in the hotel's bar, and they spent the night in her hotel room. He was married and at least 25 years older than her. Amy had never told me a lot of details about the night (She claims she doesn't remember them!), but that didn't stop me from clocking tons of mileage out of my imaginary, sweaty-sheet, noisy version of that night.
I realized that Amy's pilot and the cop sitting a few feet away from us did have one thing in common. "So, is it the uniform that does it for you?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's part of it," she confirmed. "So, who's your choice?"
"Interestingly, it's the woman with the cop," I said. She was also Hispanic, with a little weight on her in all the right places.
Amy rolled her eyes after checking her out and remarked: "Of course."
"What?" I re-checked my choice out and realized she had a big chest. "Oh, no, no, no -- it's not because of that. I think she's got a cute face." And I also thought that face would look pretty hot lost in an orgasm. "Anyway, it's between her and the woman at the stool over there, with the purple hat." My other choice was a little on the skinny side, but her black hair was done in short braids sticking out from underneath her hat. A stack of papers shared her tiny table with her burrito. It looked like she was grading them, which probably meant she was a graduate TA or something. Which meant she was probably really smart. Don't even bother adding water -- I'm instantly aroused.
A few minutes, I noticed the cop and his lunch date chatting by the door.
"Well, that seals the deal," I said, and indicated with my eyes where they were standing. "Now they're even sexier." As they stood together, their heads bowed slightly toward each other. They were breaking through the comfort wall. Their relationship was not platonic. (Neither Amy nor I bothered to look for rings on fingers.) The body language we were seeing from the couple now suddenly made them more than just a couple of strangers. Now there was a little piece of back-story. But just a little. Were they married? To each other? Someone afraid to take the leap? I didn't get the sense that it was a new real love. Nobody looked starry-eyed.
The couple kissed, held hands briefly, and then they were out the door of the restaurant, headed in separate directions. Amy and I weren't far behind them, heading back to our respective offices.