Bus Girl

I don't normally look up skirts, but from my seat on the bus it was impossible not to notice that she wasn't wearing any panties. I looked up to see if she had caught me peaking, she smiled when we made eye contact. Embarrassed that I had been caught I immediately glanced down at my hands. Much to my surprise I could see in my peripheral vision that instead of closing her knees she opened them slightly wider.

I thought she must be bored or maybe even a little crazy because there was no reason for a twenty something to even look my way. Instead of feeling aroused I was perplexed. Being forty years older than her I shifted to full grandpa mode. But instead of verbally chastising her or throwing her a disgusting look I had smiled and quickly looked away.

On the way to the next bus stop I stared out the window fearing that she would make a scene. In the current social-environment she could have confronted me verbally and accused me of being a pervert. I was hoping that she would get off the bus at the next stop, but she didn't. I thought about getting off the bus, but it was across town from my stop and I would've had to wait twenty minutes for the next bus.

As the bus pulled away from the curb I felt the presence of a person sitting down next to me. To maintain my personal space, I didn't look to see who it was, I just continued to stare out the window. As the bus traveled along its route to the next stop I thought, "Is it her? Did she just sit down next to me?"

How many times in my life had I fantasized about such an event happening to me. During my teen years maybe a million times. She was pretty, she seemed to be willing and more importantly she made the first three moves. She chose to wear a black pencil skirt that was short enough to make every mom on the bus wince: chose not to wear underwear: and spread her legs instead of closing them.

O.K., now I was beginning to feel like a pervert. Was she into older guys? Was she just being a flirt or a tease? The more I thought about her the more erotic my thoughts became.

The only shaved pussies I'd ever seen were in a strip club almost thirty years ago. However, I didn't jump to the conclusion that she was a stripper. I knew from reality talk shows that women her age were quick to comment on how smooth and clean they felt after a spa treatment and bikini wax.

I conjured up a vision of her unbuttoning the old-fashioned white blouse she was wearing. Even though I was still staring out the window of the bus I clearly remembered what she was and was not wearing. The clean white blouse was long sleeved with one button barrel cuffs. It was buttoned to the top of its strait-pointed collar. Old fashioned because I remembered thinking it odd that a young woman would be wearing a blouse with a starched collar and cuffs.

But I digress. I couldn't keep my mind off the stripper image. I envisioned her up on a stage slowly unbuttoning that old fashion blouse to sexy music. The bus stopped just as bus girl, now topless, was starting to unzip the side zipper on her black, very tight pencil skirt.

Without looking back at bus girl, I kept one eye on the front exit door as people got off the bus. Again, she still wasn't one of them. I could smell perfume and sensed that she was sitting next to me. I returned my gaze to the cityscape out my window.

My mind's eye was back on the stage as rain began to splatter against the window. After she unzipped it, bus girl still had to give the skirt a little push to get it to slide down off her hips. I marveled at her beauty as the naked contours of her skin from her neck to her ankles burned into my vivid imagination. The sensory memory in my hands from years of exploring the love of my life's contours assisted my subconscious in touching my vision on the bus.

The bus rumbled through the streets, stopping for lights and traffic as I slipped back into my daydream. Bus girl stood quietly smiling on stage while I gently caressed each of her breasts before my hands moved downward. My eyes darted from nipple, to ankle, to clit, while my hands lingered behind as if they were enjoying a completely different experience.

I thought, isn't it amazing that my hands could superimpose the feel of my wife's beautiful body while I fantasized about bus girl. Even though my wife wasn't shaved my fingers didn't miss a stroke. They knew the full length of her neck and roundness of her butt. The firm smooth feel of her breasts and the perkiness of her nipples. They lingered over the full curves of her hips and they knew exactly what would cause her inner thighs to quiver.

"Christ", I murmured to myself. The lust of my fantasy had switched from bus girl to my wife.

In all this foolishness I finally realized that I didn't know anything about bus girl. Maybe she was wearing a uniform. She could have been a waitress getting off shift too tired to think about anything except getting home herself. She might have only smiled at me as a courtesy, unaware of my visual intrusion. In fact, she might have just relaxed her knees instead of intentionally giving me a better look. And as for her underwear, I was old enough to know that women had practical reasons for removing them.

I mustered up the courage to turn and see if she was still watching me. Except for the drunk man sleeping in the seat next to mine the bus was empty.

"Crap," I muttered under my breath as I looked out and didn't recognize any of the buildings. I had missed my stop.

As I waited for the return bus I didn't daydream about bus girl. Instead, I chuckled to myself over how I still got horny thinking about my wife even while I was fantasizing about a complete stranger.

I boarded the bus that would take me home. I again chose an empty seat next to a window and resumed thinking about when I got home. I wasn't thinking about what my wife was cooking for dinner. I was thinking about what she was, and would not be wearing.