The thought that I desperately crave human contact -- not the social kind; I get that in spades, solely given the fact that I have three roommates in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment -- struck me hard today. Actual physical contact. A backrub. Curling up with someone on the couch. The fact that this is a problem in New York City, in which a single ride on the subway involves half-a-dozen people squeezing in the doors during rush hour and rubbing their hands across my ass in the process, I find even more striking.

Another subway story: Coming home from work today (paycheck tucked safely in my satchel, thank you very much), a man stalked up and down the platform, shouting incendiary comments. A selection: "Woman kills 300,000 men per year with low-cholesterol foods. She dips it in fat and fries it!" "Money is a tool to keep the poor man poor!" "Women should stay at home and leave working to the men -- we're better suited for the stresses of the outside world!" I think he only shouts these things to get into conversations with people, because all the times I've seen him, as soon as someone takes issue, he quiets down and converses. I hope I never have to resort to such measures to get attention.

Some friends have wanted me to meet this boy Phil (I use the phrase "boy" loosely, as he is 31 -- but for some reason, when you're gay you get to be called a boy until you are an octagenarian or something) for quite some time. I meet him tonight as we all get together to watch the premiere episode of "Survivor." It is a touch awkward at first, as Phil and I both know why I am there. We both loosen up, have a very nice time. We leave together, and I walk him to the subway (again the trains factor into my story). After we stand outside the subway for a time, I invite him to my neighborhood bar for a drink. We talk, we laugh, we have a great time. Finally, we leave, and stand outside for a moment, wrapping the conversation and building up to at least a goodbye hug. As we are concluding, a stranger walks up, intrudes on the conversation, tells us about how his mother just passed away, he is lonely, he has been out drinking. We both express sympathy, trying to gracefully extract ourselves from this. The stranger continues, and then out of nowhere confides in us that he really wants to "suck some cock tonight." We both point to the bar we just left, laugh and say "Good luck," hoping he will leave. He does not -- he, in fact, presses the issue, points at me, and says, "I'd like to be with *him,* he's hot!" I laugh, I look at Phil with a "How do we get out of this" look. He responds with a "How the hell should I know" look, and then the man continues, and says, "I mean look at him! He looks pretty...big, if you know what I mean," with a conspiratorial glance at my new friend. I demur, declare that is my cue to go home, and Phil and I are left with a ridiculous "So...umm...see you next week for the show, maybe?" and a salute to see each other off, in that camaraderie sort of saluting way. I walk home, the man follows me, and I have to explicitly tell him that I do not want him for company before he leaves. Once again, I hope I never EVER become that desperate for attention.

Had I ridden the subway more often today, I might have more stories for you. Wait until tomorrow. I am sure I will have more.