Riding on the Bus

An early one from the archives

I hated travelling by bus, not because they were uncomfortable or slow, although I wasn’t particularly fond of those things. No I hated buses for one simple reason and it was the reason I always sat in the back seat away from as many other passengers as I could. You could be excused for thinking that the back seat is the entirely the wrong seat for a person like me to sit in, especially when some buses have the single dickie seat up near the door. But that just not true on a bus that is never full, trust me since losing my license and being reliant on public transport I have done the studies and for a person like me the back seat is the safest haven. See for some reason when the majority of people board a relatively empty bus and see one person already taking up part of the back seat they never venture the full distance to the rear of the bus. Often leaving up to three rows between me and any other person. Its a an interesting study you should try it yourself next time you’re on a bus.

Anyway back to me. My name is Danny Simpson I’m a high end hit-man, people pay me millions to rid their lives of the leeches, scumbags, rapists and downright deadbeats in their life. It’s a job made all that much harder by my reliance on public transport. Even though I’d often be carrying knives, guns or other such weapons on my person they were not the reason I disliked buses so much either. It wasn’t even the smell of death that seemed to linger within the fabric of my clothes. No, the reason I disliked bus travel was a very common problem suffered by many men in the world, the Bus Boner. A problem often made worse when the thrill of a kill was still fresh in my mind.

You women might have the pains of child birth and the inconvenience of periods but until you’ve experienced the bus boner you have no idea what discomfort really is. Sometimes it can be hidden, a quick shuffle in the seat, an adjustment whilst there are no eyes on you or even a few fingers through the pocket of your pants. For some reason, and it’s possibly the restriction of clothing, a bus boner always feels larger than any other arousal you’ve ever had and that in turn causes a discomfort factor like you’ve never felt and one you can not ease. Now imagine all that happening when it comes your turn to de-board the bus. There is no convenient, comfortable or dignified way to walk off a bus with a tent in the front of your pants.

You may have noticed that until now I have been speaking in the past tense, that’s because recently I was forced to reassess my hatred of buses. Why you ask? I’m sure you can guess but I’ll tell you anyway.

Friday week ago I was sitting in the back seat of the number 39 bus from Denver. I’d just taken out a cheating wife, a women so hell bent on screwing over her husband she hired me to kill him, it was just a pity for her that her husband doubled the fee. It was a messy kill and although I’d cleaned up I couldn’t have been sure I’d removed all traces of the kill in my haste to catch the bus. I was running late and didn’t want to be later. So there I sat, 20 minutes from home, one seat to the left of center at the back of the bus and up pops Henry.

With no one for six rows I slip down in the seat a little bit, adjusted my pants and pushed myself into a more comfortable position. I was doing well, thinking non sexy thoughts and, focusing on the back of the seat in front of me. I spread my legs and gave myself room and within a few moments the pain of denim restraint was become less. I was even thinking good thoughts about having to stand up in the near future, then the bus stopped and she got on.

Blonde hair tied into a pony tail, tall, wearing a strapless dark blue dress, high heels and legs that seemed to go on for ever. I couldn’t see all of her face thanks to those weird oversized sunglasses women like to wear but she definitely had looks worth checking out twice. Obviously Henry had the same thought.

Breaking ever rule of my studies she walked, almost strutted, straight to the back of the bus and sat one seat to the right of center on MY back seat. Even before that cute ass landed on the seat she greeted me, her voice was even sexier than her body. Henry had suddenly had no intention of sleeping.

I did not dare look her in the face, I simply nodded, looked to the front of the bus and said, “My name’s Danny.”

“Do you mind if I take the window seat?” I heard her say as she stood up. Apparently it wasn’t a question.

As the bus stopped for a red traffic light I sat up and moved my legs to allow her room to get between me and the seat in front. Turing to the front of the bus, unashamed of showing me that cute ass she moved slowly. Then almost as if by accident, at least I thought it was an accident at first, as the bus took off she fell backward into my lap.

That cute ass I was just looking at suddenly fell into my lap landing on an extremely happy Henry.

“Oh, well hello Danny,” she said as she moved her hips against my lap.

As the bus continued along the road and the vibrations of the moving vehicle took over I knew there was no way I would be getting off at my stop, forget about the tent pole in my pants I couldn’t walk even if I wanted to.

“Move one seat over.” I heard her say as she stood up and lifted her skirt showing me she had no underwear on.

I did as she asked and shuffled further to my left. She followed my move hiding us completely behind the row of seats in front.

“Get it out.”

Again I obeyed and released Henry from the confines of my tight jeans. He stood up proudly in the open air but had less than a second to enjoy his new found freedom before she lowered herself down.

We rode the bus for the next 20 minutes, although the diver kept looking at us in the mirror no one else on the bus knew what we were doing. We moved together, rode together and breathed together and came together.

I missed my stop but I didn’t care. I was just about to ask the woman her name when she stood up, pushed her skirt down and grabbed the cable hanging from the roof used to call the bus to a stop. As the “STOPPING” sign at the front of the bus lit up she paused turned to me as whispered.

“I know you killed Lisa.”

She then walked to the front of the bus, de-boarded and disappeared.

I have caught the same bus every day since, spent as much time as I can riding the bus, along with Henry, all in an effort to see my blonde hair beauty again. I’m unsure whether my desire to see her is the desire for a second bus ride or the desire to find out who she really is and how much she knows. But what I do know is that bus rides are no longer something I hate.

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