Just about every famous author or politician or historian has a list of books which made them the person they are today. I have such a list even though I am not a famous person: The Magus by John Fowler, The Alexandrian Quartet by Durrell, Metamorphosis by Kafka, Alice Through the Looking Glass, all books that made me question the nature of reality, the world, taught me the overwhelming importance of perspective and forever transformed the way I relate to the universe. And then there is this other book, Fear of Flying by Erica Jong, which schooled me in the notion of the zipless fuck, not an intellectual concept but nevertheless important in my development.
A zipless fuck is very pure, has no baggage, no first date, no foreplay, no aftermath or recriminations, just lust untainted by virtue or sin. Once I read about it I was enchanted, my eyes opened to heretofore hidden possibilities. I was a sluttish kind of girl anyway but this did away with even the perfunctory preambles and courtship I might have insisted on earlier.
So I am on the train from Baltimore to Penn Station, going home for Christmas. College is already a disaster but hasn’t yet hit its nadir, luckily that is a few more months away. I am cheerful, it is nice to be traveling the rails independent like, I am feeling pretty wearing a camel’s hair coat and cherry red scarf, the train car is full of other young people, all happy like me. And here I am, a zipless fuck enthusiast, and there he is, he is an enthusiast too without even having read the book.
The boy is blond and handsome, a merchant marine cadet he tells me. Our interest in fucking is mutual, instantly communicated, here is the bathroom, here is my skirt pulled up around my waist and my coat on the floor, here are my legs wrapped around him, here we cry our passion for one another and it is exactly as delicious as expected.
Pull clothes together, exit the bathroom discreetly as the train roars into the station with grinding gears and screeching wheels. I am home, on the platform looking for my parents, still a little flushed with excitement, scarf nonchalantly around my neck, I never look over my shoulder to see him.