Eating Ice Cream on the Subway

By Steve Nugent

Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

This story appears in the print collection Attractions.

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2011 Steve Nugent

ISBN 978-1-61152-107-8

For more titles by Steve Nugent at Smashwords visit

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stevenugent

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Cover Photo Credit: Karuppasamy .G, Dmytro Bershadskyy

Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

Cover Design: J.M. Snyder

All Rights Reserved

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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Eating Ice Cream on the Subway

By Steve Nugent

Must be near midnight. He is sprawled opposite me on the subway. Hair plastered down. Goatee. Wearing the uniform—Nike stuff, yellow and orange shirt, pants with the crotch around his knees, phosphorescent sneakers. Legs open, big, sleepy-looking guy, kind of a smile on his face, eye-stalking a woman sitting a few seats up. A couple with a cranky kid. Strewn papers. Someone left their garbage-smelling, half-eaten burger and fries on a seat.

Christie Station. The woman gets off. Two guys get on and sit together at one end of the car, early twenties I’d say, one in cargo pants and tee, the other tanned, in a tank top and shorts. Talking high and loud to each other about some movie and, with plastic spoons, eating ice cream from the same carton.

I notice the guy opposite me staring at them with a different expression now—black, you might say. Major shift of mood. He looks across at me and frowns, turns away to look at the couple again, studies the ads above me, mouthing the words. Moving his legs around restlessly he stares at the two guys, then across at me. I look down at his sneakers, won’t meet his gaze. He is trying to draw me in. I won’t go there. He wants approval from me to start something. I won’t get into it at all.

Ossington Station. The couple with the kid gets off. No one gets on. He is staring at me. He wants to see his disgust reflected in my face.

The guys are laughing now. They’ve finished the ice cream.

The one in the cargo pants says how cute someone in the movie was.

The other one thought someone else was hunkier.

Then the one in shorts leans forward and looks down at us as if he has just discovered they are not alone, and then they lower their voices and burst out laughing.

All I hear is, “Wouldn’t kick him out of bed…”

I watch the guy opposite. He sits up straight, leans forward, stares at me, challenging me, and he quickly turns towards them, glaring. Then he shouts. “Keep your fuckin’ faggot talk to yourself.”

His voice is like an alarm going off, mixed with the rattle of the subway. I look down the car. They are looking at each other, puzzled, maybe frightened, uncertain. He stands up, feet apart, swaying with the motion of the car, then abruptly sits down again.

The two guys don’t move, then get up together silently and carefully pace the distance to the door.

Dufferin Station. The car clanks to a halt. The attacker times his move. He springs from his seat just as the one in shorts is stepping onto the platform. The second one’s head swings around, his attention caught by the movement to his left, fear lighting his eyes. His head is grabbed, held by two hands. His face is smashed, crunched, against the closing doors. With a choking cry, blood spurting, he crumbles in pain. The attacker positions his foot to check the doors, and when they reopen, he grips his victim by the shoulders and shoves him, collapsing, out onto the platform.

The doors slam shut. I see his friend bend over him. The platform hurtles away.

He stands for a while, walks to the end of the car, back again, sits down, sprawled, and stretches his legs out, looking over at me. He smiles. I meet his gaze for a moment. I stare at the blood splatters moving down the glass. Then I fix my gaze on his sneakers.

Lansdowne Station. I get off.

THE END

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ABOUT STEVE NUGENT

Steve Nugent lives in Toronto and has had short fiction published in fab magazine and Velvet Mafia. His stories have appeared in the anthologies Quickies 2, Exhibitions: Tales of Sex in the City, Buttmen, Bent, Afterwords: Real Sex from Gay Men's Diaries, and Boyfriends from Hell. In 2011 his first print book, Attractions, a collection of gay erotic short stories, will be published by JMS Books LLC.

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction. Short stories and novellas are available as e-books and compiled into single-author print anthologies, while any story over 30k in length is available in both print and e-book formats. Visit us at jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!