Flirting

The young guy in the light-blue T-shirt is the last to board the 8.38 to Den Helder. It’s a double-decker, the kind that sings, something you hear best in the vestibule. It’s not very busy, but there are at least two people in each of the four-seat sections. He puts his bag in the baggage rack and chooses the spot next to a girl reading a newspaper. Opposite her is a man with ginger hair. He has his bag on the seat next to him and is staring out the window. His forehead is burnt. The young guy feels that the T-shirt he put on just before leaving for the train station is already wet. The air conditioning doesn’t seem to be working properly. He’s jealous of the girl next to him, not a trace of sweat on her nose. The ginger-haired guy seems to be feeling the heat too, though. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and looks at him. A little too long. Then he moves his lips as if he’s saying ‘fucking hot’, but in that very same moment the conductor announces ‘Anna Paulowna’ over the PA. When the doors open, a very brief draught passes through the carriage. Nobody gets on. The young guy slumps down on his seat, making sure to end up with his legs spread. He pushes his long blond hair back behind one ear. He can smell himself: fresh sweat and deodorant. Nice. Maybe the man can smell him too.

‘Ticket?’ He opens his eyes. The conductor is looking at him impatiently. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, gets his ticket out and hands it to the conductor. The girl next to him shows a monthly pass. The man looks through his wallet, starts to blush and looks up apologetically. ‘I don’t have a ticket,’ he says. ‘I completely forgot.’

‘No problem,’ says the conductor. ‘Off-peak discount?’

He shows her his card.

She writes out a ticket and charges him two forty. Apparently she’s in a good mood this evening. Then she gives his card a closer appraisal. ‘This is almost expired,’ she says.

‘I know,’ the man says. ‘Thanks.’

As the conductor strolls off, the young guy gives the man a conspiratorial glance. The man turns away and puts his wallet back in the front pocket of his rucksack. Evidently he really had forgotten. The girl has to get off at Den Helder South. He flops his legs to one side to let her pass, then slides over to the window so that he’s directly opposite the man. He spreads his legs again and slides back and forth a little until he’s happy with the bulge of his crotch. He looks out: wiry grass, small horses in the dunes, grey sky over the bunkers. He feels that the man is looking at him, waits, then turns his head to look straight ahead. And keeps staring until he’s forced the man to look away.

‘Den Helder, this train terminates here. Please remember to take all of your belongings with you when you get off the train.’

He stands up, bumping his knee against the man’s. ‘Sorry,’ he says.

‘No problem,’ says the man.

He stretches to get his bag out of the rack and feels his T-shirt creeping up. He’s also aware of the sweat patches. The man can’t go anywhere until he’s got his bag down. The young guy gets off in front of him and saunters along the platform. There’s no harm in having a bit of fun. He knows the man is just behind him, he can feel his eyes on his blond hair, moving down to his bum, his legs.

Walking through the train station building, he sees her waiting. She comes towards him. He puts his bag down on the ground, wraps a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her face towards his. She closes her eyes and opens her mouth. He kisses her long and hard without closing his eyes. Looking past her ear, he sees the man cut across the Middenweg and walk onto the deserted Julianaplein on his way to the Spoorstraat. He’s not in any kind of hurry. He turns back once. The young man smiles and pulls the girl closer. ‘I want you,’ he says, but sees himself: his six-pack, his damp neck, his hands on her breasts and belly.