The Night Bus


My eyes were on the doors as the bus rolled to a halt at the stop. The three people who always sat in the middle shuffled to the front, and I held my breath, waiting for them to get off and someone else to get on.

A young woman had been getting on at this stop for the past twelve Wednesday nights. She always came to the back of the bus, sitting herself down in the seat that faced mine. I travelled all the way to the terminal, and she got off one stop before it.

The first time I’d seen her she’d pulled a book from her bag and kept her nose buried in it. After that, she’d left it in her bag, becoming more and more aware of me week by week until, last Wednesday, we’d stared at one another for the entire ride. We hadn’t spoken yet, though I was hoping this was the night.

A soft hiss signalled the doors opening. One by one the passengers got off, and I shifted in my seat, waiting for her. But the doors closed again and the bus rolled off, my travelling companion nowhere to be seen.

Never had I felt such disappointment.

I’d went through tonight’s meeting in my head more than a hundred times, thinking of what I’d say, how I’d say it, and how she’d respond. Introducing myself would have come first. The name exchange would be followed by a handshake, and if she shivered at my touch, I’d offer her my number.

But no. I was on this ride alone. God, I wanted to know her name desperately. I’d been convinced that I’d at least learn that about her this week, if nothing else. Maybe next week would work out better.

The bus pulled up at another stop. That was a curious thing, because it was unusual for anyone to get on here. Not many people in the residential streets used the night bus. I looked up, almost gagging on my tongue. She was here, walking up the aisle, using the backs of seats to steady herself as the bus moved off.

Settling into her usual spot, she smiled at me. I could see she looked a little out of breath, as though she’d had to run to catch the bus. She pushed her windswept hair from her face. The colour of it still amazed me. Pure white, and super fine. But her eyes were still the most spectacular thing about her.

Her irises were the palest lavender I’d ever seen, and rather than being black, the pupils at their centres were deep crimson. They weren’t contacts, either. Lavender was her natural eye colour, and even though it was pale, it still stood out stark against the bleached white of her skin.

She was the single most unique – and beautiful – woman I’d ever seen.

All of my plans to approach her flew out of the window. I just stared, spellbound by the perfection of her. She smiled at me and I almost spoke, but my lips closed again before any words could make it past them.

Placing her bag on the seat beside her, she took a deep breath. When she looked at me I really believed that she was about to break the ice herself. Maybe she’d grown tired of waiting for me to do it. I know I had.

But she didn’t utter a word. Eyes on me but avoiding my face, she bit her lip and did something that shocked the shit out of me. Inch by inch, she ever so slowly lifted her silvery skirt to her thighs.

I shook my head, trying to decide whether it was really happening or if I’d fallen asleep and slipped into an erotic dream like I did on Monday night bus journeys.

Her knees parted. I blew out a long breath through pursed lips, unsure how to respond. Did she want me to say something? Did she want me to react with actions and not words? I had no idea what she expected of me.

Her pale skin seemed to glow in the light from behind me. Fleshy thighs, labia covered with a fine layer of platinum white hair, and between them a pale pink flash that was already beaded with drops of clear fluid.

As I watched, she parted her legs further, running a finger through the pinkness. From clit to vagina and back, she stroked herself slowly. Moving a finger around her quickly swelling bud in circles, sliding two fingers either side of it, squeezing it, making it peek out from beneath its hood.

My eyes flicked to her face, catching her looking at me. Smiling shyly now, she bit her lip, curling her hips and lifting her ass so I could see more. And I looked. I watched her fingers quicken, rubbing, flicking, moving in time with the little swivel her hips had going on.

And then?

One finger made a hook and disappeared inside her. I couldn’t say which of us the resulting moan belonged to, because the blood pounding in my ears made it seem so far away. Even so, I could hear something else now. I could clearly hear the juicy squish of the girl of my dreams finger fucking herself two feet away from me.

Everything south of my neck spasmed when she pulled her fingers out and lifted her hand to her mouth. I’d wondered how her lips would look, parting to accommodate a cock, and now I had a pretty good idea. She was showing me her technique on her pussy juice laden fingers, so I knew she’d suck it like a dream, too.

I’d love to see her do it, one day.

As her hand moved down her body, she gasped. I smiled at her then, noticing the pretend shock on her face when she looked down at her now exposed right breast. Her nipple was the same pink as the slit between her legs, with veins that matched the colour of her eyes branching away from it, getting lighter until they blended in with the milkiness of her skin.

When she reached her pussy, she took two fingers in this time. Fucking fast, stomach crunching, booted feet now on the edge of her chair, legs wider and making her gape wide for me. I listened to the sound of her fingers sloshing in her wetness, feeling my own wetness start to soak my knickers.

I knew that it wouldn’t take much for me to come now. The brush of her clit against mine, of her vulva forming a sucking vacuum as she rubbed herself against me would be enough to do it.

Scissoring my thighs, I felt the seam of my jeans push my knickers between my lips. I kept going, watching her hand jiggle against her cunt, peeking at her face to see she was watching my legs move, to see a little warmth creep into her sweat sheened skin.

With a soft cry she pulled her fingers out and a series of quick squirts splattered the leg of my jeans. My pussy clamped around nothing, squeezing my juices from me with each orgasmic pulse.

We’d come together!

Even though we were both still here, both still panting, I couldn’t believe any of it had actually happened. It beat the ass off my fantasy introduction, that’s for sure.

Straightening her clothes, she fished in her bag until she found a pack of wipes. She cleaned her hands, the seat and the floor, but winked and left the wet patches on my jeans as they were.

Just as she finished, the bus pulled in to her stop. She handed me a slip of paper and walked away without looking back. She didn’t even look up at me when the bus crawled past, but I looked at her and could see she was smiling.

I unfolded the paper, seeing a number and a name. “Lily,” I said softly. Her name was Lily, and what an apt name it was.

Week #123

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