When people ask how I met June, I smile and reply, “On the bus.” Of course, I can’t tell them the whole story. June and I grin at each other and enjoy our sexy little secret. My first dinner with her parents was embarrassing. I had to think on my feet that night, I can tell you.

We’ve been married nearly two years now, and our first child is on the way. Life is good, and even though we’ve got a reliable car these days, we still take the bus every now and then, just for old time’s sake.

I waited at the bus stop at the end of the street, just as I had every morning that week. It was raining and my umbrella provided very little protection from the gusting north wind that blew the raindrops sideways. I was cold, wet and miserable. The sooner the garage fixed the damn car, the better!

I knew I should have gone to the main dealer rather than that dodgy back street outfit when I took it in—but like I could afford main dealer prices. Still, they would have got hold of that elusive flexi-hose easier and fitted it days ago. But the car was a clapped out piece of junk, it wasn’t worth the extra money, even if I could afford it. Jim’s Autos, on the other hand, were cheap. And Jim was a decent enough guy. I knew he’d do a good job once I did manage to get hold of the part.

So while the car awaited salvation from the great scrapyard in the sky at Jim’s, I’d been forced to take the bus to work. I glanced down at my watch, then up at the electronic display on the bus stop that said the bus was due in one minute and finally down the road in the direction the bus was due to come from and sighed.

The sooner the damn car was fixed, the better.

It wasn’t that I hated riding the bus. In fact, I’d found it quite relaxing in the morning. Since it was so early, I had the bus almost completely to myself—normally there were only half a dozen other people yet the bus could easily seat forty. I usually got a double seat to myself and was able to read the morning’s news on my phone whilst listening to some music—something I couldn’t have done if I’d been driving. But I did hate waiting for the bus. Especially as they were never on time.

And especially when it was raining.

When it finally did arrive, I climbed aboard, flashed my weekly pass and let the driver ferry me into town. I stayed on board until the bus reached its last stop—the main depot next to the shopping mall in the centre of Westmouth. I worked in a computer games shop in the mall, so this was even more convenient than driving and having to find a space in the staff car park—a trying experience at the best of times.

It was a slow day in the shop—weekdays always were. Our target market was young professional men with money to spend or teenagers whose parents had money to spend. And on weekdays, the young professionals were at work and the teenagers were at school—or at least they should have been, but there were always a few truants hanging around. Still, the advantage of working in a computer games shop was that I could always play some of the games when I got bored.

“Paddy,” the manager said at five that afternoon, “you may as well go. I can lock up.” He always said the same on weekdays but I had to wait for him to say it before I could leave.

“You sure boss?” I also had to make it sound like I really wanted to stay and help lock up.

The manager nodded. “Sure. You go. See you in the morning.”

“Cheers, boss.”

He got my coat from the back room and headed for the bus station. While riding the bus in the morning had been relaxing, the journey home always proved anything but. I’d found myself heading home at the same time as most of the shoppers and, unfortunately, my bus took one of the main routes out of Westmouth town centre to the surrounding villages and so it was always full.

I joined the line of people waiting and shuffled forward as each person got on, paid their fare and found a seat. When I got to the front of the queue I climbed aboard the bus, flashed the weekly pass at the driver and looked down the bus for a seat only to find that there weren’t any.

“Bugger,” I said under my breath. “Got to bloody stand again.”

I glanced at the sign stuck on the driver’s cabin.

STANDING PASSENGERS

PLEASE MOVE TO THE BACK OF THE BUS

I rolled my eyes, sighed and trudged towards the back. I took my phone from my pocket, plugged in my earbuds and tapped the play button on the screen. While I’d been doing that, I hadn’t noticed the girl who’d got on the bus after me. But I noticed her when I looked up and her eyes met mine as she walked towards me laden with bags from some of the fashion stores in the mall. She held my gaze for just a second before looking down. I was instantly smitten. I didn’t even realise such perfection existed. And I wasn’t sure why such perfection would be riding the bus.

An inch or so shorter than me—although she was wearing heels that added to her height—she had the most mesmerising eyes full of hope and promise. Promise of what, I could only dream. A man could easily lose myself in eyes like those.

As she turned her head to look behind, her golden locks tumbled around her neck and shoulders, bouncing the way hair only ever does in shampoo commercials.

This girl wasn’t real, was she? I was imagining her, I had to be.

My eyes travelled down her body as she got closer and I had to force them north again lest she catch me checking her out. How would she react if she did? Would she be mad? Would she find it amusing? Tiresome? I bet she had men looking at her all the time. She was bound to get bored with it. So with a force of will that I didn’t know I had, I stopped myself from admiring those perfect tits under her sweater and her long, lithe legs extending out from that short skirt.

Our eyes met again—oh, her eyes, what amazing eyes—and she gave me a small smile before turning her back to me to face the front of the bus. This presented her peachy round arse for my inspection. It was all I could do to keep from reaching out and cupping it. It looked so firm and inviting.

I shook my head to clear it and concentrated on the music playing in my ears. Unfortunately the next song was by the pint-sized Scottish sexpot, Tina Thomson, who had only the week before been awarded the title Sexiest Voice in History by Ladz magazine. Of course, if Ladz magazine had their way Tina Thomson would be awarded every title going regardless of what it was, but they did have a point—she certainly had a sexy voice. And the powerhouse song she was belting into my ears was one of her sexiest.

The girl in front gripped the hand-hold on the seat beside her—a seat occupied by a rather large black woman and her screaming toddler—as the bus driver started the engine and pulled away.

The bus was so full that the driver had been forced to leave some of the passengers behind. The blonde was just a few inches away from me. I’d normally have been uncomfortable having someone else invade my personal space like that, but my only worry now was that this example of what God was striving for when I took one of Adam’s ribs would cause me to bust my nut before I could get home and do the job properly.

I breathed deep—Tina Thomson’s sexy Scottish brogue still thumping in my ears—and her scent flooded my nostrils. I recognised the perfume but couldn’t put a name to it. But there was something else. Something musky. It couldn’t be, could it? The scent of her arousal? No, I was imagining it. I had to be.

Try telling that to my cock, which was forming a significant bulge in the front of my jeans.

Damn, I thought, she’s so close that if I took my dick out now I could slap her arse with it!

That errant thought only added strength to my erection, which was getting uncomfortable in its confinement.

Suddenly, the bus lurched to the left and the blonde girl lost her balance, stepping backwards and treading on my foot. She turned to look at me with angelic, apologetic eyes and said in a voice so rich it could have caused a sugar rush, “Sorry. Are you okay?”

I nodded and swallowed before answering. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

The bus lurched again, this time to the left, and I lost my balance, stepping forward and bumping into the blonde girl.

My voice was like gravel as I said, “Sorry. Are you okay?”

Looking at me over her shoulder, she offered me a smile that could have ended wars and said, “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”

The bus stopped lurching and I regained my balance. But the movement had left me standing closer to the blonde girl than before. My crotch was perilously close to the glorious curve of her arse and every bump in the road caused me to rub against her. I should have stepped back, I knew I should, but something kept me rooted to the spot.

For her part, the blonde girl never said a word or showed any acknowledgement of the ever increasingly hard bulge rubbing against her.

The rubbing was bad, and her scent only made things worse. She filled my senses and the images rushing through my mind could well have gotten me arrested.

I could feel my cock getting harder all the time—straining at the confines of its cotton prison. I desperately tried to think of the most boring things I could to make it go down. Cricket. That was boring. I thought about cricket. But I knew very little about the sport or any players other than the one whose affair with a Ladz model had filled the Sunday Echo at the weekend. She’d given an interview claiming I was great in bed—complete with accompanying photoshoot of her in lingerie.

That did nothing to help my condition.

I tried again. Snooker. That was boring.

Except I recalled how I’d tried to teach an old girlfriend how to play once and it had meant leaning over her to help her line up shots, my crotch pressed up against her bum.

It was getting silly. Despite my best efforts to think of something non-sexual and solve the problem of my ever-strengthening stiffy, my over-stimulated brain always came up with some tenuous connection to sex.

I knew the girl in front would be able to feel it. I knew I should step back. But I couldn’t.

The bus stopped and some people got off, including the large woman and her toddler, which allowed the blonde girl to sit down.

I breathed a sigh of relief.