It was just the usual dull bus journey to work for Kieron, who had recently begun work after leaving school. However, things livened up after about two miles. A quite superb looking West Indian got on the bus. He was tall -- about 6' 3" - , slim, in his twenties, and with the physique of an Olympic rower. He was also very handsome, with a pleasant face and close cropped hair. There didn't seem to be an inch of him wasted. It was the middle of a particularly hot summer and he was dressed only in singlet and shorts, which showed off his body to its best advantage.
The man sat in one of the front seats. Just two seats behind, Kieron was transfixed by him. Even though Kieron was attracted to handsome men, it was very rare that a man grabbed his attention like this. He stared admiringly at his finely muscled thighs and long legs, clearly the result of athletic activity, and felt weak inside. He got off a few stops before Kieron's, and strode away confidently down the road. Kieron's eyes didn't leave him until he was out of sight.
That night Kieron couldn't get the vision of this bronzed Adonis out of his head. He masturbated while thinking of the West Indian taking him firmly in his arms and making love to him. It was the same over the next few days. The man got on the bus at exactly the same stop and again Kieron couldn't help himself from looking at him, although he tried to do so discreetly. Kieron not only fantasised about him continually during the day; Kieron's dreams were haunted by him, always in a lurid, sexual way. He would wake up every morning damp between the legs from several nocturnal emissions.
Kieron resolved that he would have to at least talk to him, otherwise he would go crazy. Kieron walked the two miles or so to the stop where the man got on every morning. He was there as usual, looking as attractive as ever. He found a pretext for talking to him, although he was by nature timid and not one to talk to strangers.
"Excuse me. Has the number 48 been yet?" asked Kieron.
"No, that's the one I'm waiting for," was the reply. "It should be along in about five minutes." The voice was polite, well enunciated and very correct, reflecting an educated upbringing.
"That's good. Lovely weather isn't it?" In the absence of anything else to talk about, Kieron resorted to the time-honoured English tradition of commenting on the weather.
"Well, to be honest, this is usual where I come from" was the reply. Good, Kieron thought. At least he had got a conversation going.
"And where is that?" enquired Kieron.
"I'm from Trinidad. I've only been here three weeks. I've just started work as a physical education instructor at the Colosseum. Do you know it?"
The Colosseum was a newly built sports and leisure complex at the edge of town. "Of course," said Kieron. Do you like your new job?"
"I love it," replied the man. "But I'm not looking forward to your winters. I hear they're pretty cold in the north of England." Already Kieron found him not only physically attractive but also charming, even at this very prosaic level of conversation. They continued in a similar vein for the next few minutes until the bus came. Kieron felt bold enough to sit next to him on the bus.
"Oh, by the way I'm Kieron."
"I'm Jerome. Jerome Rhodes." They shook hands.
"Welcome to England, Jerome." Already Kieron sensed that a little warmth had developed between them. He was probably the only one so far that had spoken to Jerome in a friendly way since he had arrived in the country. They chatted pleasantly as the journey continued. Kieron said "see you" as Jerome got off. Kieron had every intention to. Jerome raised his hand and smiled as he left for work.
Kieron did the same thing every day for the next three weeks. He would walk the two miles to Jerome's stop, talk to him and sit next to him on the bus. Kieron's masturbatory fantasies became more intense and vivid. They got on very well, but their conversation never really progressed beyond the everyday level. Kieron knew he would have to force things a little but didn't really know how to. He also had a bit of an inferiority complex with regard to Jerome. Did he really believe that a hunk like Jerome, even if he liked boys, would be interested in a 5' 7", 130 pound, skinny wimp like him?
Kieron hatched a little plan, which was slightly clichΓ©d and rather desperate, but it was all he could think of. He would leave Jerome with a polite little note. This was how it was worded:
Dear Jerome,
I hope you will not be offended by this note. During the three weeks I've known you I've grown to like you very much. I am gay and, if you are so inclined, I would like to go out with you. Whether to the cinema, to a concert or just for a drink, I'll leave the choice up to you. If you are not interested, then I apologise and again trust that you are not upset by this. My telephone number is at the bottom of this note. Please ring.
Best Regards,
Kieron
Kieron took his courage in his hands and handed Jerome the note as he was getting off the bus one morning. Jerome gave him a puzzled look but accepted it. On getting home that evening, Kieron spent an agonised two hours wondering if Jerome would call and, if he did, whether he would be the target of an outraged stream of invective. After all, a man with Jerome's looks would in all probability be a magnet for women.
The telephone rang. Kieron's heart skipped a beat. He picked up the receiver. Jerome's dulcet tones came down the line. "I'm just ringing to say I read your note and I'm not the least bit offended. In fact, it was very sweet, if a bit old-fashioned." He laughed. "I should like to take you out, if want to."