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Subject: The Girl on the Bus (mf,cons,yng)
Date: Sat, 3 Aug 1996 18:56:31 -0400
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I did not write this story!


                          * * * * * * * *
                        THE GIRL ON THE BUS

   I was not looking forward to the bus ride. It had all the
markings of being just like the last one, bad. Eight hours of being
cramped into a bouncing bus filled with working-class Mexicans,
mostly farmers and their families, those who could not afford the
"Plus" service. I had learned to adjust to the crowding but the
noise of children's mayhem was hard to get used to. All this
because I had waited until the last minute to get my ticket and the
"Plus" service was all sold out. The "Plus" service is a big
Mercedes with comfortable, reclining seats. Movies are shown and
soft drinks are gratis. The toilet, not even available in some of
the lesser rides, is larger and nicer, not to mention the smell.
All in all, not unlike an airplane flight (tourist class.) Well,
that may be taking it a bit far, but it really isn't bad and worth
an additional fifty percent fare. With the "Plus" bus sold out I
had to take the "Express" which isn't express at all. Fortunately
they no longer tied the chicken coops on top. I was less than
enthusiastic. It seemed a hell of a way to start a vacation.

   I stood outside the bus finishing a Benson and Hedges, delaying
the ordeal as long as possible. The smell of diesel hung in the air
and was even visible in small clouds of black puffs when buses
started or impatient drivers revved their engines. People continued
to get on and off the bus. There was fat ones and skinny ones, but
considerably more skinny ones. I watched them mill on and of,
dragging their kids, until the driver appeared in his white shirt
and I figured we were about ready. I should know better. About
ready south of the border doesn't mean much. Giving him my ticket,
I stepped on the bus, wondering who I would have to move out of my
assigned seat, that someone would be in it was a given.

   As expected, it was occupied. There were two young girls, one
asleep on the

   arm of the chair, the other laying against her sister. They were
obviously tired little kids, having arrived with the bus and
continuing on to God knows where. I felt a twinge of compassion and
looked around to see if any other seat was available so they could
continue together. There wase none and my compassion wasn't such
that I was going to stand for the next eight hours. The girls
belonged to the lady in front of my seat. She also had a little
girl asleep beside her. The lady didn't stir but I doubted she was
asleep, more like hoping I wouldn't bother her. After I nosily
cleared my throat, the woman acknowledged me standing by the seat
and asked if I wanted the girls to move. I said, "yes, I do want to
use my seat." For a moment there was a pleading look, then she
shuffled the little girl around and, after waking the smaller girl,
managed to get her in between her and the little girl. I hated to
see them jammed up that way but she obviously had not paid for four
seats and I was not going to ride the next eight hours with three
people in two seats built for midgets, although I admit I
considered the idea briefly. They appeared to be beautiful little
girls, so far as the dimly lit bus would allow, and either
   well mannered or just worn out. We finally finished the round of
Mexican musical chairs and I settled into the aisle seat. The
driver walked down the aisle satisfying himself he had everyone or
at least all he wanted and we were underway. Underway is like about
ready. He got off the bus and I went back outside for another
Benson. When we entered the second time he did indeed start the
bus, backing out in our personal fog of diesel smoke.

   It took us about thirty minutes to leave the city. This was not
so much a function of distance or traffic, as it was horrible
streets. At this time of the night traffic was light but the
streets had pot holes that could compete with the Grand Canyon. As
the driver picked his way through the craters, I studied the girl
beside me. She was settled in and looking out the window. The
passing street lights and neon lit shops illuminated a smooth faced
girl of delicate features with typical black hair. In the strobe of
passing lights I could only tell her eyes were dark. Most Mexican's
eyes are black and readily sparkle with emotion. She was slender
but not skinny in the way of street children. The opening and
closing of her eyes was more from the exhausting ride she had from
Mexico city than from actual sleep. Indeed, she was typical in all
respects, as I would later discover.

   The bus was still warm inside but the air from the open window
was cool and blew directly on the girl. She drew herself into a
little knot against the cool air. Being from a cooler climate I was
still quite warm and had taken off my wind breaker. I would get
warmer. I asked her if she was cold and offered my jacket. She
said, "yes" but rather than accept my offer she reached in the
overhead rack and found a light jacket in a travel bag. This time
she did not draw up her knees but settled back into her seat,
pulling the jacket around her shoulders.

   I was becoming more aroused, that is not sleepy, and really didn't want
the enchanting night sprite next to me drifting off either. Realizing she
was not likely to start a conversation I got the ball started by asking
her  name. She replied, "Maria," returning my smile. I figured she
was intimidated by my size and my being an American so I patted her
hair and told her Maria was the name of a girl friend of mine in
the states. She asked my name and I told her my name was Jose in
Spanish. We talked for a while about school and what grade she was
passing too. She moved her head "yes" when I asked if her grades
were all nines and tens, the equivalent of our A's and B's. I had
the feeling she was fudging just a little on that one. As we talked
I sensed she was comfortable with me and patted her leg, telling
her I was going to take a nap. My hand remained on her small firm
thigh. This move was crucial in my attempt to "feel her out" in
more ways than one. Her response to this first move of mine would
tell me a lot.

    The incoming signals were indeed rich. Maria said she would nap
too. I reclined the seat and she did like wise, then put her head
against my shoulder, delighting me she was this bold with her new
American friend. I squeezed her thigh again, testing for the muscle
tension that would indicate any discomfort with the hand that now
caressed her inner thigh. She seemed quite content and if anything,
seemed to further relax. I patted her leg again but did not move my
hand. She responded by rearranging her jacket to better cover my
hand before moving her leg slightly in my direction, which had the
effect of sliding my hand toward her crotch. My little computer
circuits were fairly glowing with the increasing probability of
mutual eagerness. The probability coefficient was "hot" but not
quite 100%. Cautioning myself against haste I relaxed. There was
still a lot of trip ahead of us. I would wait for the 100%
indication.

   We rode in silence for the next half hour, her head on my
shoulder, my hand more or less on her lap. We didn't talk but that
is not to say we didn't communicate. Mexican highways are
notoriously rough and we were constantly being jostled against each
other. Her leg was relaxed and pressing against mine, the bouncing
motion of the bus shifting my hand across her lap. Like a Ouija
board, it's seemingly random movements were in fact quite
purposeful. My fingers slid across her lap, finally resting atop
the center of her jeans. Her jeans had a zipper fly, just like
boys' jeans. I guess with the meagre status of this family, they
wore whatever they could get. I pressed slightly, making little
circles with my fingertips, until I had laid out the boundaries of
the crease inside her jeans. She stirred in the darkness,
rearranging her jacket, again covering my hand. Her small hand fell
between us and pressed against my thigh, matching the pressure of
my hand on her crotch. I took her small hand, feeling each of her
long, thin, fingers. I cupped it easily in mine, rubbing her palm
with my fingertips. When I wrapped her fingers around one of mine,
there was a gentle squeeze. It was very subtle but enough to
quicken my already shallow breathing. Needless to say my pulse was
up a lot.

   We were exploring, probing, looking for boundaries of comfort,
limits of permission. A universal ritual between the sexes,
ageless, changing form but never content. I wanted inside her pants
and she knew it. She too was anxious for the encounter and in her
unsophisticated and juvenile way trying to tell me. The power of my
emotion raced along trembling nerves, and synapses crackled, as I
forced myself to deeper breathing and restraint. A surge of
swelling in my crotch announced the almost pre-orgasmic passage
from exploration to confirmation. She knew I wanted to fondle her
and was doing everything but pulling down her jeans to help. She
wanted the tall American's anxious hand inside her pants and on her
prepubescent pussy, my fingers caressing her tiny slit, and sending
inquiring probes into the warmth of her young sex. I swallowed to
wet my throat which was dry from my breathing through my mouth. I
reminded myself I was on a diplomatic journey. Who am I to impede
cultural exchange.

   With a probability coefficient of 100% I moved with more
boldness. Bringing my hand to a point where her legs joined, I
pressed below the double layer of her fly and could feel a small
quiver flow through this girl, but almost immediately she relaxed
her muscles. I was millimeters above her youthful prize and she had
to know what I was after. Even though the cloth of her jeans was
much too thick for me to actually feel her, knowing what my
fondling was likely doing to her was enough for me right then.
Indeed, the warmth now emanating from her crotch told me that she
was feeling something, even if I wasn't. Still, I wanted more for
myself, and undaunted (more like frantic) in my efforts, I explored
the area completely, searching for a crevice, any opening that
would let me sneak inside and touch her directly. There was none.
Her little twat was buttoned up, well hidden beneath the thick
double ply fly of her jeans. I was not willing, yet, to literally
assault her fly and barge into her pants and panties to satisfy my
urges. I wanted the assurance from Maria of participation but it
was time to move along, so I inserted my little finger between the
lower two buttons of her fly. It was a tight fit and I had to
wiggle my finger back and forth until I could get it inside her
pants. I was rewarded with a surprising feeling of moistness on her
cotton panties, and I now knew that Maria was as much into this
"touchy feely" affair as I was. Her mysterious little pussy was now
separated from me only by the thin cotton fabric of her panties.

   Having but one finger inside her jeans I could only rub along
the outside of her slit and didn't have much room to manuever. In
the space I had, I rubbed up and down about two or three inches
before the restrictions of her jeans and underwear forbid deeper
exploration. I could tell that she was becoming more than moist,
the crotch of her panties was in fact slippery wet now, and I could
feel the cloth slidding into her tiny slit.

   The bus had entered Tepic, a fairly large city, and both
oncoming traffic and occasional street lights served to illuminated
Maria's face. She pretended sleep but I knew she was very much
alert. As expected, she relegated the pace and progress of our game
to the adult. I did not realize the pace wasn't fast enough to suit
her. My arm and hand were covered by our jackets but the now steady
city lights were illuminating the bus, arousing the passengers. Her
mother, in the seat in front of her stirred, in turn arousing her
sister. When I returned my gaze to Maria she was indeed awake and
watching me. The eyes of a ten year old, trusting, friendly,
questioning her new friend if everything was OK. Had she done good?
Was her new amigo, Jose, pleased with what he had found? I smiled
and winked... you betcha Ubangi. The interior lights flashed off
the white teeth of her smile, our eyes still held.

   Withdrawing my finger from between the buttons of her fly, I
squeezed her leg reassuringly and told her I was going for coffee,
did she want something? She replied, "no." As I passed her mother
I asked if she wanted something to drink. She too replied, "no",
obviously too exhausted from wrestling with the kids for the past
ten hours, counting the time from Mexico city.

   The bus had pulled into the depot for a ten minute stop. It had
stopped several times but normally we did not have time to get off.
Considering the likely state of the on-board toilet I didn't want
to miss an opportunity and headed for the "baso". Anyway, there
would be time for a quick cup of coffee and a Benson. I was met
with cool night air as I stepped onto the parking lot but I hardly
noticed. My circulation was peaking, raising my skin temperature.
My goose bumps were not from the chill of the night air. Taking a
deep breath, I felt the RPM'S come down. My mind however was
anything but slowing down. I finished the Benson, impatient for us
to be underway and the inside lights off. I was aware of the edge
of excitement I was feeling. It was like a treasure hunt or maybe
hide and seek, but with special rules. I saw the driver leaving the
shop signaling time was up. Finishing the last swallow of coffee,
I tossed the cup at the nearest container... close but no cigar. Oh
well, Michael Jordan did his thing, I did mine. I stepped up and
into the bus... and a pleasant surprise.

   I sat down beside Maria. She was awake and turned toward me,
smiling like a Cheshire cat. I pulled my jacket over me and waited
for us to get underway, trying not to show undue attention to my
little passenger. Maria was sitting straight in her chair though
slid forward, covered by her jacket. We observed each other from
the corner of our eyes. The bus backed out and the driver turned
off the inside lights, restoring the darkness but for the street
lights. I slipped my hand from under my jacket to under hers,
resting it as before on her leg.

   We left the compound and followed some clandestine route back to
the highway. The outside lights became intermittent as we exited
the city, the blanket of darkness returning secrecy to my exploring
hand.

   Maria moved her leg against mine and, understanding, I moved my
hand upward along her leg. Squeezing her small thigh reassuringly
I moved to the top of her fly to insert my finger inside. Damn! The
little nymph was way ahead of me. All the buttons were open except
the top snap. An open invitation to exploring the privacy of her
underwear. I had just got the checkered flag. It was balls to the
wall, full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes, and all that stuff.

   Even with the buttons undone, the opening was small. I spread
her fly open as far as possible and tried to explore as much of her
panty-covered mound as I could reach, but her jeans were too high
on her waist. Given the size of my hand, and her small size jeans,
it was impossible to feel more than the very front of her puffy
little mound. This was met with slightly faster breathing from
Maria, and I could sense she too wanted me to proceed post haste.
I wanted to go further. She wanted me to go further. It was time to
cut the crap and get on with it.

   Moving my hand to her belt, I tugged at it a couple of times,
then placed her hand on the buckle. When I returned my hand a few
seconds later I found she understood completely. Well almost. She
had undone her belt but the top button of her jeans was still
fastened. Now in other situations this would not be a problem. I
could undo it with my teeth, or given my present state, bite the
damn thing off. Not so on the bus and my left hand wouldn't bend in
all the directions needed to unfasten it. I tugged at the button a
few times but gave up and placed her hand where her buckle had
been. When I felt again her jeans were open. I slid my hand down
her stomach and inside her underwear, feeling for the first time
the bare skin of her hairless little Venus mound. Her shivering
legs were matched by the shivers going up my spine. Was the tiny
opening of this little girl's pussy worth the quest? Does a fat dog
fart? I stroked up and down her thoroughly wet crack and knew it
was not enough.

   As usual for Mexican girls she had been very quick to get wet,
which I personally find delightful. While it may be true that most
girls, young or old, will get wet when sexually stimulated, Mexican
and Oriental girls will get wet faster than any other nationality
I have known. At least that's been my experience. They seem to have
a sense that their pleasure is my pleasure, and by them enjoying
what my fingers do to them turns me on more. And they want to turn on their
partners. It did seem that Maria was no stranger to having a hand in her
pants, and was enjoying it more than I was. I stroked through her very
slick slit then smelled my fingers. I was delighted to find the
contrasting sweet and pungent smell of her nubile pussy light to the
nostrils, stirring my salivary juices. My mouth watered.

    I slipped my hand further down into her crotch, continuing my
fingers to the bottom of her slit. It had the soft and moist feel
of youth and the promise of forbidden thrills to come. Liking the
musty aroma propelled out by my probing, I again withdrew my
fingers to savor the aphrodisiac of her sex. My hand went to my
crotch to rearrange my engorgin' organ before it exploded my 501's
and wiped out half the bus with the shrapnel.

   Her jeans were pulled tight up into her crotch and with
difficulty I was able to place two fingers on the edges of her cunt
with my middle finger stuck in her furrow. This just wasn't working
too well. I wanted the freedom to explore her crotch, to explore
the full dimensions of her mound area with her juices freely
flowing, but her jeans were just too tight.

   I glanced around the bus at the sleeping passengers. Her
mother's head was turned away, leaning against the window. It was
three o'clock in the morning and those that were not asleep were
trying to. The only noise was the diesel motor of the bus and an
occasional passing vehicle. Traffic was light. Almost nothing
travels at night but busses and trucks. We were well cloaked by
both our jackets and darkness. My awareness returned to the warm
moist flesh I cupped in my palm. I wanted it all.

   Placing my other hand under her, I lifted, then tugged downward
on her jeans. Moving to the other side I repeated the motion, then
waited for her to respond. Maria was a girl after my own heart.
Knowing I wanted her pussy to be completely free of restrictions,
she eagerly responded by arching upward. I tugged at her jeans but
working with only one hand I was not successful at getting them
down. I put her hands on each side and tugged again. She
understood. I could feel the backward pressure of her head and
shoulders on the seat as she lifted herself. When her activity had
quieted I felt again. Her jeans were past her buttocks to mid
thigh. Her pre-pubescent pussy was now covered only by her jacket
as I placed my hand between her legs. She spread her legs to the
limit of her jeans.

   Now my hand felt freely in between her legs on her hairless
mound. I moved my fingertips over and through that tender area then
to her moist slit. Pressing downward on the crotch of her jeans, I
moved them down several more inches, almost to her knees. She
opened her legs and arched her hips forward.

   She was eager to share her tender young sex and I equally
anxious to pleasure her. I could feel the smoothness in between her
legs, and her tiny slit, though wet, was hardly open at all. I
traced that slit all the way to the bottom of her crack, my finger
tip finally reaching that delicate area between her ass and her
pussy. I was mildly amazed to find a slight puddle on the hard seat
under her crotch, further attesting to her own excitement. Her
eagerness and complicity in this activity was even more of a
turn-on to me.

   I again brought my fingers to the opening to her pussy and
stroked along her slit, paying special attention to her
now-protruding clitoris. She was very much into my fondling of her
pussy and moved her slender thighs farther apart, giving me more
room to feel her. As she spread her legs, her slit now also opened
up more, and it seemed as though the flow of her juices had spilled
out as I pushed a little past her opening. Her pussy, for all its
wetness and fleshy feel at the front, was very tight indeed just
inside, and despite her obvious wanting to play with me, it didn't
seem likely that anyone had tresspassed through this young girl's
pussy before. I began to wonder what it was that made this girl
want to do these things with me here and now, if she hadn't ever
done them before. I could have just kept going as I was, silently
sneaking my hands in her pants, with her silent permission, but I
wanted to know more about this girl.

   It was still very dark inside the bus and I leaned over to her
and asked, "Have you done this before?"

   I looked at her, her eyes opening wide at me now, and she said,
"Yes, a few times I played with Mama's boyfriend, and it was fun,
but we had to stop." Now I was getting somewhere.

   "Why did you have to stop?" I asked.

   "Because Mama found out after the first few times and never saw
that man again. Mama told me that I shouldn't do those things until
I'm older. It was fun, even better than when I had touched myself
down there, but I couldn't tell her that, though." Now it was
making sense. She had experimented before, by herself, and a few
times with a man, her mama's boyfriend. And quite obviously she
wanted to experiment some more, right now, with me. I smiled
affectionately at her, grateful that the Fates had been so kind to
me.

   Without any further need to speak out loud, at least just then,
and risk disturbing others, I concentrated again on this young
girl's pubes, and getting more of my hands inside. There in the
dark I pushed my middle finger a little more into her sweet channel
of nubile sex, feeling the mushiness at the front, and the tight
constriction farther in. My finger felt like a wet ball-bearing,
sliding easily around at the front of her hole. I wiggled it enough
to keep her excited and her mind off of any pain that might be
coming. I felt that she wanted to cross some threshhold with me
tonight, and that she was going ahead no matter what. I pushed my
finger in up to the second knuckle this time, and while it was
tight, it went in smoothly, and she didn't seem to be in much pain.
The feeling was terribly erotic to me, knowing it was charting new
ground for her. With my digit firmly entrenched, I tried moving it
around as much as I could, without hurting her. I don't think I had
to worry about hurting her, though, because she seemed on a
mission, and was determined to have as much fun and pleasure as she
could.

   I forced my finger to travel that short path inside her pussy,
stroking in and out of that small distance, feeling her thighs
start to quiver and her pleasure increase. My hand was still in an
awkward position but I didn't want to stop right then. I continued
my slow stroking, enjoying the feel of this hairless girl's mound,
and could feel her prominent little clit slipping around my finger.
Maria was moaning softly now and ocassionally looked up at me and
smiled dreamily. I knew she was feeling thrills she hadn't known
before and I wondered if she could orgasm from my fingers. She
began to raise her hips to meet the downward thrust of my finger
into her pussy, even as my raging hard-on was getting more and more
uncomfortable. I increased the pace, in and out up to the second
knuckle, just as she increased the pumping of her slender hips up
to meet my hand. I could feel her pushing against the seat with her
shoulders and although I could not clearly see her face now, I knew
she was tense with effort. She was in the grips of perhaps the
first orgasm of her life for several seconds before I felt the
relaxation. She turned her head away from me, leaving her legs next
to mine, and I was sure that she had been satisfied.

   In a way, her satisfaction was enough for me, that day. I knew
I would have a terrible case of blue balls for the rest of that
day. But somehow knowing that this critcal, but gentle, moment in
this young girl's life would be a pleasurable one for as long as
she lived, made it all seem worthwhile. ·



