To be honest, I don't know what I was thinking that night. I didn't have a particular destination in mind nor was I meeting anyone.
Instead, just out of compulsion, I decided to go out that night. I wanted to look cute, experience some single night life, and enjoy myself just because I can. I've never been out at night for fun by myself before, but there was a first time for everything, so I thought that I should try it at least once. At the time, it seemed like a pretty good idea.
Scavenging my house for some cute clothes proved to be more difficult than I thought. The attire I usually wore were for work, hence were professional and extremely modest. My casual outing clothes were all jeans and blouses or sweaters. And at home, I'd usually stick to kitty pajama bottoms and baggy fundraiser t-shirts, if anything at all. My schedule never had a time for me to wear cute things, thus finding something cute in my apartment was like finding buried treasure.
But alas, I managed to find a white miniskirt with ruffles and a low cute black tank top with a gray shrug; all of which were from my high school days. Luckily, in terms of body shape and size, I haven't changed at all since then so everything fit perfectly.
Putting on those clothes brought me back to some high school memories. I was so much more idealistic and liberal back then, sometimes to the point where I could be a bit irrational. Although I'm still rather idealistic and liberal now, I became more modest in college as I was trying to impress top notch people for internships, recommendations, and so on. Well I guess you can say that even now, I still try to impress top notch people. Never again did I think I would ever do something so brash and compulsive like that night.
Well anyway, after getting all prettied up, I grabbed my purse and started heading out. But just before I left, I paused for a second and considered wearing underwear that night. Most days, I didn't wear a bra or any panties, a habit I surprisingly picked up in college where the weather was always so hot and humid. But tonight, I was showing so much skin and going commando wasn't exactly wise when your clothes are so revealing. I finally decided that it wouldn't really matter and went out the door without a second thought.
Outside, the sun had just set and traffic was crazier than ever. I waited at the bus stop in front of my apartment, hoping that it'll take me someplace interesting. The wind was very gentle that evening, but since it was my first time in a while wearing such a short skirt, I instead felt a strong breeze around my naked hairy pussy. The tickling feeling gave me a rush of adrenaline and made feel like I was doing something naughty.
The bus finally arrived after a few minutes. It was packed with so many people that I couldn't find a place to even sit down. I had no other choice but to stand in the middle of a crowd with no view of where the bus was going whatsoever.
Minutes later, more people entered the bus and I found myself squished and directly facing a dirty blond haired man. He was tall, mildly attractive, and didn't seem too much older than me. He was wearing semi-professional attire: a collared shirt, a tie, some nice black slacks, and a pair of dress shoes. I was too shy to look at his face, but when I did he was fortunately not looking at me at all. Instead he was looking off into the distance with a face of great of discomfort and distaste. And on a crowded bus like this, who could blame him?
The bus ride was bumpy and rocked the passengers back and forth. Unfortunately I was too squished to grab a hold of anything and I'd find myself almost falling over towards the man. It was during these falls that he'd look at me, smile a little as I apologize, and then get on looking discomforted again. After being mildly tossed back and forth on the bus, the driver made a quick and sharp turn, causing me to actually fall on him. If it wasn't for him holding on to the bar above with one of his hands, we would've hit the ground. But because we didn't fall all the way, our faces ended up close together and our lips touched. His other hand also so happened to be cupping my left breast, steadying me from completely crashing down on him.
We stayed in that position for a while, awkwardly looking at each other and not knowing what to do. I quickly pushed myself off and looked in a different direction, too embarrassed to face the man. He too stood back up and avoided my gaze. The bus continued to move us around and I couldn't help myself but bring my face closer to his. Even though I couldn't bear looking at him, I kind of wanted to feel his lips on mine again, to feel his gentle touch on my face. I waited until the bus moved me far enough to reach him, but I only ended up awkwardly bumping into him some more like a fish out of water. I was just about to give up when, fatefully, the bus made another sharp turn and my lips were once again touching his.
This time, instead of pulling away, I felt his lips moving closer towards my face. I then found myself doing the same. Our lips were no longer just touching, we were actually kissing. I closed my eyes, savoring his touch as our lips began to move more freely, involving our tongues and exploring each other's mouths. Then I opened my eyes and found that he had opened his as well. I could see the thrill he had in his eyes and I was sure he could see mine. I closed my eyes again and we continued to kiss.
Then his free hand -- the one that wasn't holding on to the bar -- found its way to my left breast again. He began squeezing it, rubbing it, and massaging it. The sensation of his touch sent chills down and up my back and I could feel my nipples hardening, poking through the thin fabric of my tank top. He then stopped kissing me and gave me a mischievous grin.
"No bra?"
