'Buses are such wonderful inventions, ' thought Sidney Q. Wickington as walked from the ticket counter toward the departure area. 'Where else do you get to spend hour upon hour with total strangers, none of whom particularly cares to know you, none of whom will even think about you after they disembark? It's absolutely perfect for me!'
Taking his small carry-on into his left hand, Sidney walked outside the depot, quickly spotting his transport. The silver bus with its blue and white sign stood empty as of yet; the driver stood smoking a cigarette, leaning easily against the side of his vehicle.
"Excuse me, sir, is this the express bus to Dallas?"
The driver flicked his cigarette away and stood up straight. "Yes, it is. Can I help you with something"
"Let me introduce myself. My name is Sidney Wickington, and I'll be riding on your silver chariot today." Sidney offered his hand to the bus driver, who accepted without qualm. "I always like to meet the person who is in charge of the driving before I board, just to make sure that I'm comfortable around them. And I can already tell that you and I are going to get along fine."
For his part, the driver could only nod. After he had accepted Sidney's hand in his own, he had lost the ability to speak, the ability to think... the ability to do anything but listen to Sidney's words and accept them as gospel.
"Now, my good man, I just want to make sure that you understand the way things are going to go. Nothing strange is going to happen on this bus. Right?"
"Nothing strange is going to happen on this bus," the driver parroted.
"Excellent. I do love a quick study. And you are going to keep your mind on your driving and your eyes on the road, and not mind whatever happens behind you."
"Eyes on the road. Nothing happening behind me."
"Superb, superb! You and I are going to get along so splendidly. Last thing," Sidney paused to look at the man's nametag, "Mr. Greene. While you should act normally around the other passengers, once the bus is started, you shouldn't listen to them if they ask you to do something. I am the only person you should listen to and obey immediately. Do you understand?"
"Listen to you. Obey you."
"Very good! Now stand there for a moment, won't you? I'll be right back."
Sidney clambered into the bus, leaving the driver staring off into nothing, his hand still extended. Minutes passed, until Sidney finally reappeared, breathing a bit heavily. He returned to where the bus driver stood, and regripped the extended hand.
"Perfect! Oh, and you shouldn't remember any of this; we were just having a nice, getting acquainted conversation prior to my getting on the bus." Sidney released the bus driver's hand. After standing completely still for a moment, the driver raised his hand to his head... and removed his hat
"Will there be anything else, sir?"
"No, my good man, that will be all for now. I know that I'm in good hands on this trip."
And with his business finished, Sidney turned around and walked back into the terminal, leaving a slightly confused bus driver who felt like he needed either a couple of Tylenol... or a stiff shot of bourbon.
Sidney Wickington never liked to board buses until the last minute. In that way, he was able to position himself among his fellow passengers to utilize his talents to best effect.
In this instance, he was able to sit in his favorite spot, almost exactly dead center of the bus, on the aisle. Even as he reached his chosen seat, the bus lurched into motion, and he let the motion propel him heavily into place.
"Looks like this is my stop," he joked to the young woman in the seat next to him
Her only response was to roll her eyes as she continued to look out the window.
"You know, young people should be more polite," he said, tapping her on the back of the hand.
She turned to face him, her eyes and mouth full of anger. "Why should we, you old pervert?"
His finger stopped tapping and remained solidly lodged against the top of her palm.
"Because you never know when you might meet someone who can change your life... permanently."
Any response she might have made was caught in throat, as her eyes rolled up in her head and her body stiffened, her fingers gripping the armrests as if she was suddenly in intense pain.
His finger moved from her hand to her temple. "Sleep," he said softly.
She slumped, as the tension that was there only a moment before disappeared.
He shook his head sadly, murmuring to himself "Why does everyone have to be so rude anymore?"
Still, his gaze lingered on the sleeping form of the young woman. Her baggy gray sweatshirt bore the logo of a major southern university. 'Ahhhh... how I remember my own college days. Classes in the morning, parties all night. It's amazing that I ever got anywhere at all in my life!' he thought, chuckling at his own private joke.
Something inside him stirred at the thought of his own carefree college days, and suddenly one particular idea that had been mixed with the myriad memories of the past was isolated and carried to the front of his brain.
Looking over at his seatmate, Sidney grinned wolfishly. "Looks like I was right my dear," he said softly to the uncomprehending co-ed. "Never be rude to the man who can... and is... going to change your life. Permanently."
He settled himself comfortably into his own seat, his right hand encircling her left wrist.
And then he closed his eyes.
The sign by the side of the road said "Thank you for your stay in ATLANTA, GA. Come back and see us soon."
Having seen it many times before, Mr. Greene paid no attention. His mind was on his driving, his eyes on the road. In the lengthening shadows, he switched on the bus lights, anticipating the coming of night.
What happened behind him didn't matter to him at all.
'Express service... shit! 14 hours of hell, that's what it is!"
Denise Burcham hated buses. 'No, that's not quite right, ' she corrected herself. 'I hate traveling, period! Cars, trains, planes... they're all bad enough. But buses have to be the worst!'
However, expediency and funding had come together to force Denise to take the quickest form of transport she could afford. Had she boarded one of the regular, stops-in-every-other-city buses, she would've been 12 hours late for her sister's elopement. As it was, she might just make it to the courthouse to stop what Denise knew would be a regrettable error on her sister's part. Which was why she was on the all-night express bus to Dallas.
'In the fucking shitter, no less, ' she cursed mentally. 'Damn my weak bladder!'
Still, she had to admit it was a cleaner toilet than most she had encountered on buses in the past. It didn't smell like chemicals, or old piss. It smelled... sweeter, somehow. It was almost enough to make the need to use the little closet bearable.
As she stood up, she rammed her elbow into the side of the metal box that served as a sink, and again was reminded that people of her size were not necessarily the models used when such bathrooms were designed. 'Thank God this bus is half-empty! I don't know what I'd do if I had to sit beside somebody and try to squeeze into what the bus company thinks is a suitable seat!'
She stood for a moment, her pants around her ankles, caught between the momentary pain of her elbow and the constant rage she felt at being large. Nothing ever seemed to fit her; nothing ever seemed to be made just for her; no one ever seemed to look at her and think nice things. Their faces mostly reflected disgust, or pity. Looking into the metal rectangle that passed for a mirror, Denise whispered softly, "Fuck me."
Still, there was something... distracting... about the smell floating around the bathroom. She took a piece of toilet paper from the roll next to the toilet and blotted her crotch absently, trying to identify what it was about the scent that so captured her imagination. Her mind was so wrapped up in the thought that she didn't notice when the wad of toilet paper fell from her hand... or when she began rubbing her finger over the mound that hid her clit.
Lost in thought, she remained standing, gazing into her own reflection, her finger's motion quickening as her own juices lessened the friction over her clit. Sliding back and forth... back and forth... mmmmmmmmmmm...
At that moment, the bus hit a pothole, throwing Denise back into the door of the small toilet.
"What the hell am I doing?' she whispered angrily, pulling her hand away from her clit. "Fingering myself in a fucking toilet, for God's sake! I must be out of my mind! Thank God the door didn't pop open when I fell against it!"
She trembled at the mental picture of her, naked from the waist down, falling out into the aisle of the bus, her hand still buried in her pussy. She again pulled some toilet paper from the roll and blotted herself, then flushed it down the toilet.
Beside the sink stood a small bottle of what looked like anti-bacterial soap. As she squirted some into her hand, the scent she had been so keen on just a bit earlier hit her full in the face again.
'Oh, it's the soap that's making that smell.' She brought her hand closer to her face. 'Damn, that's some good stuff.' She took another deep whiff, closing her eyes. 'I wonder where I can get some of thisssss... '
Lost in the scent, Denise Burcham's mind simply hung on that last word, the pearly liquid in her palm held mere inches from her nose.
Had she been able, she might have been more than a bit startled by what happened next.
The 'soap' in her hand began to move.
.... There is more of this story ...