She was reading a paper at the bus stop the first time I saw her. To be honest, I didn't really notice much beyond the really snazzy boots she wore. It went on that way for a few months- every so often I'd spot her walking across town or waiting for the bus. I started to look for her during my morning commute, and I started to notice a few other things as the weather got warmer.
For starters, she had fantastic legs. The first warm day in April I spotted her in one of those floaty sundress things and nearly missed my green when the image of her legs wrapped around my waist flashed across my mind. Whoa. Where had THAT come from? I tried to put it out of my thoughts, but as always happens in that case it just kept drifting in at inopportune moments.
Within days, I had given up and started actually checking her out. Discreetly, of course; didn't want to seem like I was anything other than a bored commuter. Small, firm breasts; lightly tinted full lips; hips that rounded ever so slightly before becoming those fantastic legs. Jeans and t-shirts... dresses... sweats... there wasn't an outfit on earth that could hide how sexy she was. My mind could strip her, taste every inch of her, fuck her senseless... all in the space of a red light.
Then it happened. Driving home, I was cut off by a moron in a pickup and wham, no car for a week. I prayed to every god known to mankind that she wouldn't be at the bus stop, convinced that the mere act of standing next to her would make me cum on the spot and reveal me as the pervert I truly was. I was sending silent thank-you's as the bus closed its doors, only to open them again and admit Her.
Up close, she was even more stunning. She sat 2 rows ahead of me and I could see the smattering of delicate freckles on her shoulders, the slight curl in her honey hair as it swept up into a loose knot, the faintest tracing of her bra straps underneath an ordinary blue tank top. She was a student, as evidenced by the sociology and history texts peeking out of her bag. I guessed her age to be mid-twenties... a bit old, perhaps she was a grad student. Another image of her naked body flashed through my mind, and I blushed.
I stared out the window and hid behind an unassuming paperback I'd picked up on my way out the door, then looked up as someone sat down next to me. Some guy in a 3-piece suit bitching about this and that and how much it was beneath him to take the bus... I got up, pretending it was my stop, and found myself standing in the shade, miles from work, next to Her. I vowed to become an atheist on the spot, then forced myself to smile.
"Hi. This isn't your stop, is it. " Her voice was filled with warmth and amusement.
"Uh... no. I just kind of wanted some fresh air. I'm, uh, gonna catch the next bus. "
"Yeah, Gary's a real jerk. Rides the bus every day in his one business suit... works at Stop &Shop. Probably a bag boy. Probably lives in his parents' basement, too. But now you've got 45 minutes to kill, because I guarantee the next bus is sitting in the middle of a traffic jam as we speak. "
"Oh. " I sat down, concentrating on looking as normal and un-stalker-like as possible.
"My name's Susan... look, I gotta jet, but just sit with me tomorrow. It's supposed to rain, and you're gonna look awful silly standing here again. "
She was right, it was a good 45 minutes before another bus appeared over the crest of the hill. I was late to work, and on top of that I was thoroughly bug-eaten and itched like mad. After barely surviving the day, I went home and tried to distract myself with insipid TV and failed miserably. I went upstairs to obsess about what I would wear, how I would act...
I stood in the shower to soothe the bug bites and found my thoughts drifting to Susan.
I could smell the faint apple scent of her hair, see the sunlight just peeking through her summerweight skirt and illuminating the shape of her legs, the delicate impression on her shirt of nipples that I would swear on my grandmother's grave would be shell pink in color.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to take one in my mouth, to dig my fingers into her buttocks as I kissed a trail down her stomach to tease out her inner softness from between honey curls.
Nobody ever pegged me as a lesbian. Never. Quiet, unassuming, not a cat in sight in my not-quite-Martha Stewart apartment. But as the water streamed down my stomach I wished desperately that it was Susan's hands stroking me until I throbbed with need instead of yet another fantasy I wouldn't dare act on. I steadied myself by leaning against the icy tiles of the shower and rinsed my black hair like I could wash away the image of a naked, glorious Susan at the same time.
I slept poorly all night, tossed between erotic dreams that left me aching and hours of wakeful fear that she would sense my desire and be repulsed. I groaned as my alarm sounded and hoped for the flu, sudden blindness, the sniffles- anything, as long as it would keep me home from work. Nothing happened, and I shook as I pulled on the outfit I had finally chosen. Yellow rayon wrap skirt, white cotton short-sleeve blouse, yellow and blue marled cardigan. I despised nylons, and alternately pulled on and then abandoned the thigh-highs I had always worn in their place, finally conceding that they were necessary if I was going to wear my new sandals and not regret it.
