Strangers on a Bus


It had been two years since my last serious love affair, six months since my last orgasm with a real flesh-and-blood partner instead of my horny fist, and I was getting desperate. Truly desperate. Usually, I can control my desire. I handle my sexuality they way I handle a thermostat: I turn it off or on when I want to. That ability comes with age and experience. If I need a quick release, I always have my hand to turn to. That and a squirt of expensive lube.

But now something had happened. During one morning bus commute, I'd caught sight of you, and once you entered my plane of vision I couldn't get you out of my head. The sensation was instantaneous, as if a photo negative had become imprinted in my mind, so that each time I closed my eyes, I saw you. For the first time in my life, no amount of masturbation could control the images of what I wanted to do with you. Or, more honestly, to you. I could see it easily in my X-rated fantasies, the two of us meeting somewhere-anywhere-and fucking. Just fucking. In my daydreams, you were equipped with the same untamed libido that I possess, and you would insist that I take you. Seriously take you. The first time, anyway. Quickly and fiercely, so we could get that initial screw out of the way before we slowed ourselves down, before we worked to make it last.

Even with these images dancing through my head, I couldn't manage to get myself off. I rubbed for what felt like hours with no relief of climax. I tried all of my tricks, using a silk scarf to caress my balls while I pumped with my hand. Squeezing lotion into my palm and then cradling my hard-on as I slid my fist up and down. But no-nothing. This was a completely new experience for me. I'd never been unable to deal. In all aspects of my life I am cool and contained.

You'd ruined me. Without being the slightest bit aware of that fact. You controlled my world.

I spread out all the facts mentally before deciding that I would find you again. I had to. But how? I'm not the kind of person to write in to one of those "missed connections" sections of the local Weekly.

You: gorgeous, high-class girl on the bus.

Me: horny bastard desperate to meet you. To fuck you. To spread your creamy thighs and lick, and lick, and lick. I want to taste you. To dine on you. I want to press you up against a wall and drive my cock inside you. And when we're done, I want to do it all over again.

Yeah, that would go over great. That wouldn't frighten you off at all. No, there had to be a better plan. So finally I came up with the only plausible solution I could think of: I would find you by following your route. I rode the bus until the driver seemed apprehensive of me. This isn't entirely unreasonable. I cut a fairly startling picture. I'm six feet tall, hard-bodied, and I wear my dark hair razor cut. After my fourth day-long journey on our local transportation system, you got on. You were wearing leather, as you had been before, and your long, blonde hair was done in two tight braids. I saw everything about you: the deep berry hue of your lipstick. The kohl pencil around your dark eyes. Saw the way your breasts looked in that simple T-shirt and open sweater, the way your ass looked in those leather pants.

I moved to the free seat at your side and stood next to you, looking down.

"Are you taken?" I asked.

You glanced up at me, and for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of recognition there in your eyes. "Is this seat taken?" you repeated, correcting me. Then you waited, your lips parted slightly, for me to answer. I shook my head emphatically and then repeated my question.

"Are you taken?"

You could have done anything then to change the course of our destiny. You could have moved away, or told the bus driver I was annoying you, or pulled the cord that would have signalled that you wanted off. I wouldn't have followed you. Believe me when I say that I'd have chalked it up to fate, and moved on with my life. I would have gotten over you eventually, I'm sure. But until you answered, I still had a chance.

To my delight, you blushed a perfect pale-rose hue and lowered your eyes and I knew from that moment that you were mine. But still I needed to hear your answer. I waited until you said, "No," in a low, semi-aroused, semi-reserved voice. "No, I'm not taken."

I understood your trepidation. I was a stranger, after all. A complete and total stranger. And you must have been able to tell from the way that I was looking at you that I wanted something from you. Something aside from the chance to sit by your side. Desperately, urgently, I wanted something.

"Good," I said, sitting down in the empty seat.

I felt the heat of your body pressed against mine. You look damn good in those leather pants, and you know it. The skin of them against my Levis was enough to make me want to shoot. That and the fact that I'd been dreaming of you since the first moment I'd seen you-day dreaming and night dreaming. But somehow I held myself in. I took a deep breath, smelling the fragrance of your perfume. For several stops, we sat side by side like that, thigh to thigh. I could feel your body trembling, and when I looked out the window, I saw our reflections in the glass. Saw that you had closed your eyes, that your face had a look that was close to perfect bliss.

You felt what I felt. I got that then. You felt as turned on by me as I was by you. After I saw that, I lifted your wrist and traced your pulse with my thumb. You shivered and opened your eyes, looking directly at me, and that was all the encouragement I needed.

Quickly, I took your hand and placed it against the huge bulge in my pants. Your eyes on mine grew wide and moist with want. You stroked my cock through the heavy denim. My back stiffened and I stifled a moan under a cough. We were still on public transit, remember. You didn't care. Casually, you slid your cardigan sweater off your shoulders and placed it over both of our laps. Beneath the soft mohair curls of the sweater, you unzipped my fly and reached your hand inside to feel my cock.

Bad girl, I thought. Such a dirty bad girl. Sensing what you need and going after it. I smiled as I felt your fingertips trip along my bone. Weren't we a pair? Too lost in the moment to care, to be discreet.

You sighed when you made the connection of flesh to flesh, running your fingers over my rod, then brushing against the skin of my belly as you did. Your touch sent a shiver through me. I almost came from that alone. I used my own hand to explore the crotch of your leather pants, not worrying about the horrified stares of the other passengers, not paying attention to anything but you until the bus driver screamed for us to leave, to get off before he called the cops. I was quick to oblige.

I pulled you through the doors after me, dragging you down the street to one of my favorite alleys. I was pleased to discover that you knew what I wanted you to do without me having to say a word. You put your hands flat against the brick wall in front of you and you let me undress you from behind. I pulled your leather jeans down your slender thighs, then slid your racy red panties down as well and began pawing at your pussy. I made your split even wetter with my spit before introducing you to my cock. You didn't moan as it went in, you simply steeled yourself, flexing your body like one long, hard muscle.

I pressed my lips against the back of your neck and said, "It's been years since I fucked someone."

"Make it last," you said back, your voice sounding pretty tough for someone in your position. Instead of making it last, I made this ride count, rocking my rod in and out of you like a well-greased piston, getting it all slippery wet with each forceful thrust. I worked you until you couldn't handle the wait, until you took one hand away from the bricks and brought it between your legs, teasing your clit, tugging on it with force.

I liked that. I must say, I liked that a whole fucking lot. You were in control.
You kept your hand working between your legs, rotating in vibrant circles around your clit, and I kept driving inside of you until I felt myself build to climax. As I shuddered and started to moan, you let yourself reach it with me. We came together in a rush, your pussy contracting like a velvety fist around my prick. It was quick, but it was necessary. It did the job. I couldn't wait to do it again, slower, but I wanted to be in my own place for the sequel.

For a moment, you stayed in the position, your beautiful half-naked body exposed to the sunlight and the curious stares of anyone who walked past the mouth of the alley. It seemed as if you really needed time to contain yourself, to pull yourself back together. Then you slid your panties and leather slacks back up, and turned to face me as you did the zip and button.

"You know," you said, eyebrows raised. "You must know, right?"

"Know what?" I asked, gazing directly into your eyes.

"I got on the bus looking for you. My heart just stopped when I saw you sitting there-"

"You're kidding." I couldn't believe this.

"I've been riding it for a week."

Jesus, we'd probably been on different lines-different times-both of us cruising through the city, searching for strangers.

"I saw you before, saw the way you were looking at me. I couldn't get you out of my mind." You had your hand in mine now, and you were pulling me out to the street, hurrying me to our next carnal connection.

We didn't bother with the bus, this time.

We took a cab.