From:
Subject: Bus Driver
Date: Tuesday, June 08, 1999 4:10 PM
I stood outside the bus, taking a last drag from my cigarette and
flicked it into the dust of the dirt lot, sending small sparks flying in
the muggy night air of August. I could hear the dull hum of thousands
of people not too far away, mixed by screams and screeches from kids on
the rides of the State Fair. Fuck. I looked at my watch. It would be
a good hour before the little shits returned. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I wondered what Donna was doing at home, whether she playing with the
twins or smoking in front of the television while the kids cried. She
was smoking. Lazy . . . Get a second job, she bitched. The machine
shop wasn't paying enough. Fuck. I took a deep breath. Bus driver.
What a joke.
Today had to be the worst job. Driving the fuckin' nerd machine of some
shitty little high school here and there to play in the parades.
Fuckin' little shits. Zits all over the place. Some of the chicks were
. . . Fuck it. Thirty-one and driving a bus on weekends and nights.
Terrible. Fuck. Surrounded by yellow busses.
I stepped back in, and looked down the long aisle, cluttered with black
cases, drums, instruments. Wouldn't it be awesome to go nuts on the
fuckin' things. Break everything, smash and twist. I laughed,
imagining the broken pieces, twisted brass, punctured drums. Kids would
be screaming. The high school teacher would be crying, demanding
compensation and such shit. Oh, fuck. I stretched my arms over my
head, groaning. Fuck. Why not? I took my pack out of my light blue
polyester short-sleeved shirts--why did they make us wear these fuckin--
and stepped out again, but then stopped abruptly, almost bumping into
someone.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said.
I stepped back.
"Yeah, no problem."
She walked up the steps, smiling.
"I forgot something," she continued, motioning towards the back of the
bus.
"Yeah," I nodded. Little shit. I don't own this fuckin' thing. You
can do whatever you want. Steal it all. I don't give a shit.
She smiled again and walked back, wiggling and jiggling in her
mini-skirt and t-shirt, though I couldn't really make it out well in the
darkness. Get the fuck out of here, my brain screamed.
I shook my head, turning from her and stepped out into the air. Leave
it alone. Fuck. She's probably sixteen or maybe younger. Jesus.
I lit my cigarette, wishing for a brew, a nice cold one, a good
thirst-quencher. Fuck. I'd go out tonight. Fuck Donna. I needed to
go out, have a couple, shoot the breeze with the guys. I belched, the
chilli hot-dog of half-an-hour ago coming up on me and heard her
stepping down. I didn't look at her, but knew she'd stopped.
"Heh, I'd sure like one," she said.
I turned to her. Fuck. My eyes hadn't been lying in the darkness of
the bus. Out here, under the flood-lights the chick was incredible.
She smiled at my atare.
"Do you have one more?" she asked.
I looked at her, puzzled, and she giggled.
"A smoke," she laughed.
"Oh," I nodded, and handed one to her without thinking. Fuck. Sure way
to get canned asshole. Minor smoking . . .
"Maybe you shouldn't do that," I muttered.
"Oh, no biggie," she laughed. "Come on, light it up. Be a gentleman."
Fuck it. She was grinning, holding the cigarette in her white teeth.
Little shit didn't know how to smoke. Fuck . . . why not.
I held out my lighter and then stopped under the dangling smoke.
"If you get me fired . . ."
She giggled some more and the cigarette dropped to the ground.
We both looked down at it. Incredible legs. Tanned, lean. Fuck.
Donna was a mess after the baby, all fat . . .
"Heh," I heard her say, "stop looking at my legs and give me another."
Another? Jesus. At three buck a pack. Another? Don't be a dirt-ball.
Be cool.
I straightened up, laughing and handed her another.
"Not only are you going to get my shit-canned, but you're taking all my
smokes."
She laughed at the stupid remark and grinned again, the smoke tightly
held between her teeth. I lit it for her. Nice tits. Fuck. Tight
t-shirt. Jesus. I'd fogotten how nice a woman's body could be. Woman?
Christ, the kid was barely a bleeder. She inhaled, confidently. Maybe
she did know. . . . Woman? Get yourself together, dumbass.
She was hacking, coughing up the smoke and the cigarette fell from her
little mouth.
"Oh, yuck," she groaned. "Yuck." She spat onto the ground. "Oh, I feel
sick."
I laughed, taking a deep drag and then flicking the smoke away.
"Litter-bug," she giggled between a couple of more hacks and then put
her hand out. "Give me another one."
"Are you crazy?"
"I wanna smoke. Give me one."
I shook my head. Bullshit. "No way, kid."
"Kid."
"Yeah, kid."
"I'm not a kid. I'm eighteen," she pouted.
"My ass."
"What about your ass?" she laughed.
I shook my head. Eighteen. The kid couldn't be a day over sixteen if
she was lucky. Fuckin' brat. I squatted down to pick up the lit
cigarette she'd just dropped. Fuckin' legs. Don't look up. Don't . .
. Fuck it. Oh, mother. Sweet tight panties, snuggly. . .
She kicked me, gently. "Heh, don't look up my skirt."
I stood up, laughing. "I wasn't. I was getting your smoke back."
"I bet you were."
"Here," I said holding the smoke.
"I don't want it now. You touched it."
I turned from her and took a drag.
"Eeoohh," she screamed. "Yuck. That's been in my mouth."
I shook my head, not listening. I could taste the sweetness from the
bud. Cotton candy, brat lip-stick, mixed with kiddie saliva. It was
nice.
She watched me smoke and I tried to ignore her.
"Give me another one."
I shook my head, savoring the burning tobacco. What would life be
without a cigarettes? Fuck.
"Come on, give me one."
I turned to her. "No."
She was getting upset and I laughed, making her more upset. I could
tell she was about to go away, but then stopped, crossing her arms in
front of her.
"I'll show you my tits if you give me another one."
The cigarette dropped from my mouth, as I coughed, hacking away the
smoke from my lungs, that were convulsing. She was laughing. I turned
to her, swallowing, trying to get the taste out of my mouth.
She smiled, arrogant, defiant.
I shook my head, trying to get things together.
"Get lost, kid."
She shot back. "I told you I'm not a kid."
"How old are you?"
She hesitated. "I'll be sixteen in three weeks."
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. Jesus. That'd get me a good fifteen
with a boyfriend named Leroy.
"What are you doing here?"
She looked puzzled.
"Why aren't you with your friends?"
"I don't know."
"Well, just go."
"You don't think I'm good looking."
I laughed. "That's the problem. You're very good looking.
She blushed, but continued, unabashed. "So then why don't you want to
see my tits? Are you gay?"
I laughed, "I would love to see your tits, but when you're eighteen, not
now."
"That's crazy," she blurted. "If I let you see my tits, why should
anyone care if I'm not eighteen?"
"Alright, this is crazy. Please go. You're going to get me in trouble,
okay?"
"You're worried about getting in trouble? That's it. I'm not gonna
tell nobody."
I shook my head.
"Here, see," she said, clasping her hands behind her and sticking her
chest out.
I wanted to turn away, but it was, of course, too late. They looked so
firm and round. Fifteen. Why the fuck is God making fifteen year old
girls look like this? Jesus. I took a deep breath and could see her
smugly congratulating herself. Round one to her. My heart was pounding
and I could feel myself getting excited.
"All of your friends know you're here, don't they?" I said softly.
She shook her head, lying and then said, "Well, only a couple, you
know."
I understood everything now. They'd giggled about the rough-looking
bus-driver, whether he was cute, opinion divided, but thinking he was
certainly better than the zit-faced nerds among them. Kathy, probably
the leader of the little pack of bitches, took it upon herself to
explore. I shook my head. Fuckin' kids.
"Look, I'm sorry . . . what's your name?"
"Kathy," she smiled.
"Look Kathy, you're really beautiful, more beautiful than I . . . I'm
going to kick myself tomorrow, but go back to your friends, okay?"
She was so tall. Maybe five-nine, almost as tall as me. Fuck, what an
unbelievable body. Pretty, too. Who the fuck would know, and what
would it matter, just to check out her mellons. No harm. No touching.
Fuck.
She scatched her head and shooed away a fly or some other bug and stared
intently at me. Then she smiled.
"Okay, I'll go," she chirped and hopped back into the bus in a blur. I
could see her silhouette walking towards the back.
I would wait out here. Fuck it. I adjusted myself. Now now. Come on,
get yourself together. Jesus. I looked at my watch. Half-an-hour.
Fuck, what could happen in half-in-hour? Just look at the tits and
it'll all be cool. Just look at the tits and . . .
I stepped in and took a deep breath. I could not see her.
"Heh, you robbing the place blind," I laughed nervously.
I heard her giggle and walked towards it, not terribly interested
whether I stepped on a trumpet here or a clarinet there.
She was sitting in the very back, among the drums and tubas. I looked
down at her and she smiled up.
"Have a seat," she patted next to her.
I sat down.
She smelled wonderful.
She was staring ahead, a smirk on her face. She'd gotten the loser
bus-driver to make a fool of himself.
I stopped myself, upset and hesitated, debating whether to step out.
Why? It had been a while, but I was sure I could get in this chick's
crotch. Fuck it. I would fuck her, little bitch. Smiling. Fuck it.
High school, I was a stud, athlete, everything. She didn't know me,
little . . .
I smiled at her.
"Little different now," I whispered, "in the dark all alone."
The smirk left her face and she turned to me, unafraid.
"Let me see your tits," I continued.
"Let me see the cigarettes," she replied.
I took out the pack and showed it to her and then placed it slowly onto
her lap, leaving my hand on her thigh. It was warm. Very. She was
staring down at it and I could see it had unsettled her, but she made no
move to push it off. That wouldnt' be cool. And she was cool.
She looked back up, trying to smile once more, and I began to softly
squeeze the lean, long muscle under her skirt
"Okay," she said, and reached down to her t-shirt to pull it off.
"Do you want me to help you," I whispered, continuing with my massage.
"No," she muffled as the shirt quickly came over her head and then off.
They were a little smaller than softballs, smooth and they looked so
firm, leading to a hard smooth tummy, her belly button covered by the
top of her skirt. She had beatiful strong shoulders and a narrow waist.
She turned to me again, shivering a little.
"Well?" she said.
"Well?" I whispered.
"I won," she swallowed.
"I don't see any tits," I continued, and reached down with my hand so
that it touched her skin. She shuddered.
She put her hand over mine and tried to hold me, but I continued
rubbing, feeling the soft, slightly wet, skin.
"I don't see any tits," I repeated.
"What are these?" she pointed with her free hand.
"I just see your bra," I smiled.
"Well, that's all you're going to see," she quickly replied and pushed
my hand off.
I smiled and just as quickly grabbed for the pack of cigarettes on her
lap, pushing her skirt up. Her hand followed mine and she tried to hold
it in place. For a moment, I tried to push her off, but I stopped, of
course, immediately.
"The cigarettes are mine," she hissed.
"I saw nothing, Kathy," I smiled, my index finger already slowly tracing
the soft meeting of warm, perspiring skin between her naked thighs.
She looked down at my hand, at her skirt hiked up, her panties almost
visible and the reality of her situation hit her, but I could tell she
did not want to lose to me. She'd manage.
"Okay," she struggled, "I'll take my bra off, but you've got to get your
hand off my . . . lap first."
I continued to trace higher up between her thighs and I could feel her
tightening them together.
I shook my head, guessing my finger was probably just a couple of inches
from the young snatch.
"Take your bra off, first, and I'll take my hand away."
"What if I don't?" she squeaked.
I smiled, feeling the heat and wetness much stronger now with my finger.
"Then I get my pack of smokes back," I laughed.
I could see her struggle some more, trying to weigh the odds, the time,
everything. She was a smart kid. The troops would be back any minute,
and I would be banished from her life forever. She could still win and
it would be hilarious relaying what a jackass she'd made of me to her
friends when they returned.
She reached back to unclasp her bra and as she did her thighs opened
ever so slightly. I felt myself becoming completely erect, as my finger
pressed into the wet, soft heat between her legs. I was there. I
pressed further and her heard her moan. I could make out the soft
outline of her cunt lips, pouting like her mouth.
Her bra was off and she quickly returned to trying to press her thighs
together to get my hand out. The beauty was she didn't use her hands
because she knew she'd opened up a new avenue for me.
I was staring, licking my lips, at what had to be the most firm,
circular pair of tits I'd ever seen. Magnificent wouldn't begin to
describe them. Perfection. I felt my hand being pushed away from the
soft warmth and realized I was becoming distracted from the main prize.
She saw it too, and swayed a little, taking pleasure in my weakness and
strength from her own beauty. It would be okay. I could see her
reproaching herself for ever having a doubt.
"There," she breathed deeply, "now get your hand out of there."
She slapped my hand hard and it pressed closer into her and I laughed.
She didn't.
"It's not funny," she said. "Come on, I did what you wanted."
I hesitated. The next few steps could be fatal or incredible. I took
my hand away, quickly and brought it to my belt.
"What are you doing," she gasped, as she saw me unbuckling myself.
"It's only fair," I said, standing up and pushing my pants and underwear
off. "I saw you. You should only get to see me."
My cock sprung up, reaching for the heavans, straining and I heard her
gasp.
"What are you doing?" she croaked, as I sat down again next to her,
stroking myself.
"Nothing," I moaned, continuing, letting her watch.
"Oh my God. That's so gross," she said, but I could feel her drawing
closer.
I closed my eyes, continuing with the stroking, letting her see
everything. If she didn't bite, who the fuck cared? It'd been fun
while it lasted.
I opened my eyes as I felt her body leaning into me to get a better
look. She was transfixed on the sight of my masturbation. I drew
forward and kissed her.
"Don't", she yelled, pulling back.
I smiled, continuing, faster and reached forward and put my hand, back
under her hiked skirt. She tried to pull away, but it was too late. I
palmed her and she groaned.
"Don't," she pleaded.
Bullshit, I thought and reached underneath her dripping panties. Fuck,
my cock jerked, as I felt her lovely bush and soft overheated cunt lips,
dripping and sticky with her excitement. She groaned and pushed against
my hand as I traced higher and found her hard little clit.
"Oh noo," she moaned.
I continued, rubbing, my hand flooded.
Make it quick I thought. Quick. Come on. I got off my seat and faced
her. I pushed away some cymbals crashing away next to her and got down
on my knees. I tried to open her thighs, but she resisted so I pushed
my hand back up her skirt and started tugging away her dainty little
panties.
"No," she pleaded, leanding forward to stop me and her thighs opened and
I pushed myself forward and her towards me. She tried to push me away
and as she did I reached up and cupped one of her incredible tits with
my hand. Her hand shot up to try to push it away, but it did no good.
I pinched her nipple and she groaned once more.
Her thighs were opening wider and my cockhead touched her wet panties.
I reached under and pushed them aside, between her ass cheecks and felt
the sticky wetness all over.
"Don . . . ." she started and moaned as I found her opening and pushed
the head in.
"I'm virgin," she gasped as I pushed another inch inside the wet soft,
layered heat.
"I don't care," I hissed and pushed in hard, feeling her hymen weakly
resist for a half-second, then break and I was in to my balls.
She was screaming and I reached forward and kissed her. She tried to
turn away, but I found her mouth and shoved my tongue inside. I could
feel her tears flooding my cheeks. I pulled out and shoved back in,
amazed at the ease and wetness of full penetration. She groaned
underneath me, each time, as I continued with my slow hard pushing in
and pulling out.
I released her mouth and she was crying, bouncing against me, her head
bumping against the backseat. I was close. Don't cry I thought. Oh
come on. Enjoy it. Come . . . Oh fuck. There. I moaned into her
tits, feeling the spurts coming out over and over, again and again.
Yes. Dear God. Yes. Don't let it stop. I looked down her eyes were
closed, swollen shut and I could hear her murmuring, trying not to gasp.
I lay on her for a couple of minutes, exhausted. She did not stir. I
thought maybe she'd fainted.
I pulled out completely, the cool air quickly surrounding my rigid cock
and looked down at her.
"Are you okay," I whispered.
She bit her lip and shook her head.
"Why . . ." I began and then heard people coming towards the bus.
I stood up, quickly and put my pants and underwear on.
"Thet're coming," I called down to her.
She nodded and stood up in the seat and, trembling, put her bra back on.
The voices grew louder and she put her t-shirt on.
I sat down next to her and held her hand. She pushed me away.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Go away," she choaked. "You fucker."
I nodded and walked to the front of the bus as a gaggle of loud
teen-agers converged at the door. They stepped in one by one, not
paying any attention to me, talking of this and that.
On the ride back to their high-school they wouldn't shut-up and I shook
as I drove. I'd raped the kid my mind screamed. You raped her. You
raped her. You raped her. I tried to find her through looking up at
the back-mirrors, but could not see her in the darkness.
As they left the bus, a little more tired than when they'd come in, I
continued to wait, sweating, for Kathy. What the fuck would happen? I
was dead meat. Finally, the band teacher stopped by and stared at me.
I froze, waiting for the disaster, but he smiled and put out his hand.
I shook it.
"Thanks for everything," he said, cheerfully. "Thank you."
And he stepped out.
After him, I saw her, surrounded by three other girls. They were
the last on the bus. They were staring at me afraid, upset and a little
embarrassed. I felt sick to my stomach. They walked out, Kathy last,
not looking at me. I grabbed her arm and held her. Her friends looked
on, terrified.
"Look," I began.
"Don't say anything." she said, trying to smile, weakly, "I lost fair
and square."
And she stepped out and was gone, one of her friends giggling as they
walked to their waiting parents.
Later that night, as I undressed in our bedroom, Donna snoring under the
covers, the cradle with the babies next to her, I noticed the red,
bloody stains on my otherwise white underwear. The kid's blood. I felt
dizzy and quickly ran to the bathroom down the hall, and threw up.
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