Chapter 2

I thought I detected a significant characteristic in what had just happened, but put the thought aside for later evaluation with more data.

I like to ride the public transportation system in Europe. It isn’t like the US, where the only trains and buses that serve the general population are in the metropolitan areas. With adequate transportation, there is no need for the parental taxi or special school buses. Students merely hop on the line that goes by their school. The result is that anyone who enjoys rubbing shoulders with students can choose which age level is preferred and jump on the line that passes the appropriate school.

There is a particular school I enjoy in this city. The bus line that stops there is loaded with teenage girls. There are always a few teenage boys, but it appears that more of them have other transportation choices, whether it is their own or a shared car or whether they have an after school job, who knows?

Now that I was beginning to believe the reality of my newly discovered powers, I knew exactly where to go. I boarded my favorite bus.

As usual, a gaggle of giggling girls stood or sat around me. I like to stand in the baby carriage area, leaning against the hand rail. There is room for maybe half a dozen people who like to maintain a personal space and perhaps a dozen who don’t mind the occasional contact with another human being.

I had ridden this bus long enough to recognize some of the girls as my favorites. One was obviously in the same age group as the others, but much more petite. I noticed that she managed to stand fairly close to me more often than not. Had she picked up on my silent admiration signals on previous trips?

Today I resolved to test my hypothesis. When she moved to stand with her back to me, but perhaps a foot away, I began broadcasting to her. “Back up against me and rub that sweet tush on my lap.”

Nothing happened. I repeated the thought louder, “BACK UP AGAINST ME AND RUB THAT SWEET TUSH ON MY LAP!”.

Still nothing. I was beginning to lose patience. My possible newly discovered power was too precious to just let it slide away. I bore down. “BACK UP AGAINST ME AND RUB THAT SWEET TUSH ON MY LAP!”. “BACK UP AGAINST ME AND RUB THAT SWEET TUSH ON MY LAP!”. “BACK UP AGAINST ME AND RUB THAT SWEET TUSH ON MY LAP!”. “BACK UP AGAINST ME AND RUB THAT SWEET TUSH ON MY LAP!”. “BACK UP AGAINST ME AND RUB THAT SWEET TUSH ON MY LAP!”. “BACK UP AGAINST ME AND RUB THAT SWEET TUSH ON MY LAP!”. “BACK UP AGAINST ME AND RUB THAT SWEET TUSH ON MY LAP!”.

The girl standing beside her leaned over and whispered loudly, “For God’s sake, Linda, do it and get it over with, It’s not like he’s going to fuck you. He’s an old man!”. Then thinking it through better, she looked at me somewhat fearfully and asked, “It isn’t, is it, Sir?”

Ah! Now I felt better and had managed to flush out a bit more of the mystery. It wasn’t that women didn’t hear my thoughts. They all did. What normally happened was that they were so accustomed to the high quantity of male thoughts concerned with their sexual desires that they grew accustomed to ignoring them whenever possible, as if it were merely static on their radar signal. Here was evidence that they were all hearing my command and were becoming impatient with my chosen girl to acquiesce to my desires.

Did this mean that I could expect better cooperation when I made it clear that I was serious? I mentally growled, “DO IT NOW!”.

“I’m sorry, Master”, she said, over her shoulder. “Please forgive me”, and backed up against me. It was heaven! It also wasn’t as if the old prunes in the bus approved or were unaware of what was happening. I could sense that they all knew damned well what was going on and accepted it as my due. They were more upset with the girl for making me wait after my having made it clear what I wanted.

So much for the horseshit we are taught about the relationship between the sexes. I was quickly learning that women were simply programmed to say, “No”, regardless, but to yield to the male when ordered to do so. I had initially thought that I was discovering a few isolated submissives. Now I was learning that the “No” was a mere formality. It was a device to weed out the weak. Those too weak to insist on their right to reproduce did not deserve to do so. It was an integral part of survival of the fittest.

All teachings to the contrary, I was beginning to comprehend. My mother taught me to respect all people, but especially women, and I never questioned whether it was the proper thing to do. It struck me as being completely in line with the Golden Rule, which she had also taught me and I continued to respect it as the best way to happiness for all.

Now I was beginning to understand those rape fantasies some women admit to. The ones where they are captured by pirates, preferably Moorish pirates, with great bulging pecs and long, long, long knives. A long time ago, I had come to understand the fascination of young girls with horses--preferably stallions. I think I understood it better than they did.

I really don’t think that most girls who are horse crazy make the mental leap that it has anything to do with that huge thing sliding out the sheath while they pretend to look somewhere else. Indirection--always be indirect. Never look directly at the thing that fascinates you. Never admit that you also want the exact same thing that he is begging you to do. Make him accept all the responsibility or go home with blue balls. If things go wrong, it wasn’t your fault, was it?

My head was almost hurting as I began coming to grips with these thoughts. Meanwhile, my companion was not only pressing her sweet tush back against my rapidly hardening business, her classmates were trying to make it up to me for her reluctance so that I would not be angry.

“May we, Master?”, one asked, as she slid alongside me, rubbing her firm tits against my arm and reaching between me and the girl in front to give me a good squeeze. Another was on the other side, copying her friend’s actions. In addition, the others in front of the first girl were forcing her back against me, harder and harder.

All the women in the bus were looking not quite at us, but were fully involved in what was happening and watching to make sure nothing got out of hand. The men were as clueless as ever.

Who can fault women for being convinced of their superiority over men when they all have a capability that very few men have at all? After all, if we could read minds as they do, things would be quite different.

How many bulls are there in a pasture? Answer: None. Bulls aren’t left in with the cows, but there may be only one bull for the herd, or even none, with the hard part handled in a test tube or by a visit.

On the other hand, how many women does it take to keep every sailor on the ship happy? (Or surrogate woman? )