(Copyright belongs to the author, Saninian. Neither this story nor any extract of it can be reproduced in anyway without that author's consent.)
Elizabeth Morris waited patiently on the bus steps as the man in front fumbled for change. She wished she had brought her car. However difficult it was finding a parking place in the University staff car park it was better than this on a rainy November night.
Slowly she moved with the other passengers along the aisle of the dimly lit crowded bus. She clutched one of the vertical metal bars as the driver let out the clutch and the bus lurched forward.
'Oh! I'm so sorry. I... I... ' She had swung with the bus's momentum and now found herself practically lying across the lap of one of the seated passengers.
The man caught hold of her and helped her regain her balance. ' Don't you worry, Ma'am. You just move a bitty and let me up there and you be seated.' The voice was deep and rich and warm.
Elizabeth scanned the ebony face with its smiling eyes and the teeth gleaming white. She protested without conviction as the black man stood up and offered her his seat.
Once seated, her briefcase on her lap, one hand holding tight to the chrome handhold of the seat in front as the bus swayed and hurtled through the rainy streets, Elizabeth, in sidelong glances, considered her benefactor as he towered above her, swaying to the movement of the vehicle.
From her seated position he seemed tall but she guessed he was a little under six feet. 'Bulky' was the word to describe his physique, she thought. His raincoat was open as was his suit jacket and although there was no suggestion of a paunch his belly seemed to barely contain by his trousers and shirt. The thought of his belly, the word itself registering in her mind, caused Elizabeth to feel a warm glow diffuse her. She shifted in her seat.
'Are you all right, Ma'am?' The man bent forward over her. She looked into his face.
'God. How black he is. His skin is like polished coal. And his lips so thick and... ' Elizabeth felt an onrush of moist heat. ' Yes. Yes', she stammered, 'I'm fine. Absolutely. It was so kind of you... I... ' She ran out of words.
' It is my pleasure. I enjoy standing. I sit all day. You know, ' he bent further down. His face was only a few inches from her upturned one, ' if you were to get on the bus two stops before the one you were at tonight - that's where I get on - you'd get a seat no problem. The bus fills up after that.'
He smiled broadly, almost laughing, and Elizabeth glimpsed the pinkness of his tongue and the inside of his mouth. What was he so happy about? Was he looking forward to fucking some little black wife waiting at home for him with her knickers off?
'Thank you', she got out, 'that's very kind of you.'
Just then the bus driver braked sharply and turned a corner. Caught off guard, the standing passengers grabbed tight to the handholds to keep their balance. Elizabeth felt the black man's thigh press her right hand hard against the metal handhold. And then, unbelievably, as he shifted his feet, the hard muscle against the back of her hand was replaced by the soft yielding feel of his genitals.
Elizabeth stared fixedly in front of her. Her whole consciousness seemed centred in her hand. The man made no attempt to move.
' He must feel my hand', she thought, ' he must know his... his... ' she could feel herself getting warmer. She risked a sideways glance. The man was standing, his upper body swaying with the bus. His eyes seemed closed. One large hand was gripping the metal pole, his pelvic area pressed into the side of the seat in front of her and her hand trapped on the handhold.
She wondered if she should just pull her hand free. But then it occurred to her that that could be very embarrassing.
'Particularly if he isn't aware of what is happening. Maybe he can't feel my hand.' Elizabeth felt a giggle welling up and struggled to suppress it. She realised she must be smiling and bit on her lip to control things. It was than she felt a change on the back of her hand. Where there had been softness there was a sensation that was different. An ever-so-slight movement. A pressure on her hand unlike before.
She looked toward her hidden hand and saw the man's trousers bulging slightly. She looked away. The man on the inside seat was slumped against the window, his eyes shut. It dawned on her that the black man's open raincoat was blocking anyone else's view.
There was no doubt now she could feel the tumescent maleness against her hand. She looked and saw the bulge in his trouser front MOVE! Elizabeth had no doubt now: the black man was aware of her hand. He was enjoying it touching his... his...
' His cock' she said to herself, ' his big black cock. I'm sitting here on a bus with my hand touching a black man's cock. Me!' She smiled to herself and moved her hand just a little on the hold. The partially hardened flesh inside the trousers seemed to roll against the back of her hand. Elizabeth squirmed a little in her seat.
'Are you all right, Ma'am?' She looked up into the man's face as he bent down towards her. He moved a little as he spoke and she felt the hard flesh under the cloth, and then what she sensed must be one of his balls, against her hand. He gave no indication that he was aware of was happening.
' I'm really fine', she said, quietly. She was amazed at how calmly she spoke. 'Thank you.' She looked out of the window. 'Oh! It's my stop soon. You'll be able to get your seat back.'
The black man stepped back in the aisle and she let go of the handhold. He began buttoning his coat. She panicked. Was he going to get off with her? What if he was some kind of pervert? A rapist?
' We must live close together. I'm in Dudley Gardens. I'll get off here with you. It's not far to walk.' He bent and stared out of the window. 'I think the rain has stopped.'
Elizabeth's mind raced. He was so polite. And he didn't look like an axe murderer.
' Are you all right, Ma'am?'
She looked up at him and smiled, then glanced into the dark street. 'Yes, of course. But this is my stop, now'
She rose and he stood to one side to allow her to squeeze past.
The drizzle started again almost as soon as they'd left the bus and from his briefcase her companion produced the smallest folding umbrella Elizabeth had ever seen. Huddling close to get under it she felt his arm encircle her. She liked that. Apart from anything else it was sensible. Practical. But also enjoyable. Exciting even. She, Elizabeth Morris, walking in the rain with a black man, his arm around her, his hand resting on her hip.
He was a draughtsman in a firm of architects; he had transferred up to Edinburgh from Birmingham about eighteen months ago. Yes, he was married, with one child: a daughter living in Jamaica with her mother. No. His wife had gone back to Jamaica shortly after they had moved up here. She had gone to look after her sick mother taking their daughter with her. Her mother had died recently leaving her entire estate to his wife, her only child. He thought it unlikely they would ever come back to Britain. No. He would never go there. He had left Jamaica with his parents at the age of four. Britain was his home.
Elizabeth apologised for asking so many questions but he just laughed and gave her a little squeeze.
'Ma'am', he said, ' you have no idea how good it is to talk to someone about personal things. Especially to talk to an attractive woman. But hey, we'd better get properly introduced. And then you can tell me about you.'
He stopped and half-turned, causing her to do the same. They stood facing each other under the umbrella.
He put out his hand, his outstretched fingers almost touching her, 'I'm Richard Clarkson Mayhew. My friends back in Birmingham call me Clark.'
She put her small hand into his; happiness welled up in her as he enveloped it in his...
'I'm Elizabeth Morris', she murmured softly, ' I work at the University. It is a pleasure to meet you, Clark.' She hesitated, then. 'I too don't have many people to talk with. Call me Elizabeth, please.'
She stopped. He was still holding her hand. his thumb moving across it in small circles. He was so close. She remembered the feel of him against her hand in the bus.
A gust of wind blew the drizzle under the brolly.
'Hey', he laughed, 'we'd better get going before we get soaked.' He put his arm round her again and pulled her in under the brolly and the pair of them hurried down the street.
In next to no time they were at her road end. ' This is where I live', she said, rather sadly, as she drew them to a halt.
'Elizabeth', he took her hand again, ' I sure have enjoyed this evening. I hope you'll get on my bus again, soon.' He smiled at her. 'And I hope your husband won't be rowing you for being late.'
'I'm not married!' The words shot out. Then, 'I was married. Twice. But... She paused. 'There is someone. A friend. He... that is... We don't live together... '
And suddenly her mind cleared and she knew exactly what she wanted and what to say. 'Clark', she squeezed his hand and craned her head back to look into his face, their bodies close under the umbrella, 'I know we've only just met but why don't you come home with me for a meal. It won't be much, I'm afraid, but it's in the slow cooker and it'll be ready to eat now. It'll save you having to cook when you get home.'
She stopped. Amazed at her own words. Fearful that he would say no. 'Unless you've got something... '
.... There is more of this story ...