Considerate Boyfriend
Torby is Doomed
"Excuse me sir. Do you mind if I sit next to you?"
It was a soft, cautious voice. I slowly closed the book I had just opened. I had been saving this novel, looking forward to reading it on this long cross-country bus ride. It was by my favorite author. Now, out of the blue, someone wanted to sit next to me. Probably a talker, I thought. Probably a nonstop talker who believed in their horoscope and faithfully gobbled up every word from the latest, greatest combination nonstick frypan-slash-duck-call commercials they had ever seen advertised on TV. Before I even looked up, I knew was DOOMED to hours of endless chatter. I was stumped. Out of all the seats on a nearly empty bus, they wanted to sit next to me.
I looked up slowly from my window seat and decided I might be mistaken. In the aisle beside me stood a young girl who looked to be perhaps eighteen or nineteen. She was petite, with short blonde hair that had been streaked a light, bright, cotton-candy blue in the fashion that was popular among young people. Blue hair was not one of my preferred hair colors in women, but it was becoming on her. She was slender, clad in a simple shapeless sack of a dress and wearing simple leather sandals. In her hands were a pair of matching grocery store bags -- the kind advertised as environmentally responsible to people who felt they were responsible for such things, and for many other people, these bags served as a durable, inexpensive means for toting all of their worldly possessions. I concluded I may have been surveying all of this young lady's worldly possessions.
I stared a moment longer, then stuttered out, "W-w-ell, yes. I suppose so."
"Oh, thank you! Thank you! My boyfriend Tommy told me to find the friendliest looking person on the bus and sit next to them! Thank you!"
All of these words spilled out as the young lady hurriedly stashed one of the bags behind us in the empty seat and settled into the seat beside me. Though we did not make physical contact, I could feel the warmth radiating from her slender frame immediately.
"I'm Sydney," she announced with her next breath and thrust her hand out at me for a shake.
"Torby," I said simply as we shook. This whole scene had taken me by surprise. I wasn't so much upset by the interruption as I was startled by her appearance and her forwardness. "You can call me Torby."
The bus had begun to lumber away from this stop by now. We were slowly picking up momentum on our westward haul across the plains. Our bus was still almost empty. My new travelling companion had just gotten on at what I thought was to be our last stop for several hours to come. I was looking forward to a couple of hours of time for reading.
"Torby," she repeated and immediately set about rummaging through the bag between her knees for something. With her head now down in the bag she called out, "Is that
Mr.
Torby or just Torby?"
"Torby," I replied.
Just as suddenly, she straightened and brought her hand up bearing a bright yellow banana.
"Time to practice," she announced, looking in my direction, "My boyfriend Tommy keeps telling me I need to improve my 'technique,' whatever that means."
I watched as she slowly, carefully peeled the fruit. It was a particularly long banana, and bore the usual amount of arc in it from end to end. Sydney balanced it gently in the palm of her right hand and then began to explain her meaning, "Tommy says I need to learn how to slip the whole thing in my mouth and down into my throat without choking and without leaving any teeth marks on it. And I need to do all that while I make it look easy."
She rolled the pale, creamy colored fruit in her hand a moment longer and added, "Tell me what you think."
A split-second later she settled a bit lower into her seat, tipped her head backward slightly and put the banana to her lips before pausing, "Timing my breathing is important."
After taking a measured breath, she slipped half the fruit into her mouth and paused a long moment before slowly withdrawing it. I glanced nervously to the front and then the back of the bus and discovered the two or three other passengers sharing our ride were either settling in for sleep or twiddling their time and attention away on their cell phones.
Sydney wasn't doing any of that. She was focused now on the task before her and plunged the banana back into her mouth once more, this time inserting it a tiny bit deeper.
She extracted its length completely from her mouth, paused, examined the full length of it carefully, and commented, to no one in particular, "Managing my gag reflex and not scraping my teeth over it were the hardest part in the beginning, but I've got that down now."
The banana entered her open mouth once more, traveling even deeper this time before she slowly withdrew it. It was coated with a copious amount of saliva by now, dripping bits of her spit back onto her lips. The young lady groaned this time and then eased the phallic piece of fruit back down into her waiting throat. She showed every sign of embedding her now soggy fruit down to the dainty little fingertips of her hand with only one or two more dedicated thrusts.
I looked on in total fascination. I didn't know if Tommy would applaud Sydney's technique or not, but I personally would have appreciated hearing the raucous sound of her gagging on something --
anything
shaped like the banana now lodged in her throat. Imagining my own cock in place of that lucky banana, I wouldn't have complained at al if she had chafed my cock a bit roughly with her teeth either.
I took a deep breath and simply let my jaw hang slack as I gazed wistfully at the spectacle of her mouth and throat working to down the full length of her 'practice tool.' I had been celibate now for two whole years. I was travelling west for a job interview. My divorce had been finalized at last after much too long a struggle with a difficult ex-wife and I wanted a change of scenery. Teaching English in a junior college more than fifteen hundred miles away from my ex-wife was just what I needed, I decided. However, watching Sydney master the ins and outs of her technique reminded me of yet another very important something I had been missing for the past two years.
I let out a little whimper when Sydney's fingers also disappeared inside those lovely lips of hers. She seesawed her hand in and out, playing with it in her throat, even twisting it a little. I swear I could see her throat swelling and contracting with each dip and twist of the fruit.
Her practice apparently over, she gingerly withdrew the long, curving fruit, examined its full length carefully and muttered, "Darn! I scraped it a little right there at the base!"
She then turned it in my direction and held it up for me to see. It positively glistened with her saliva. She pointed to just the slightest of scrapes where her lower teeth had left their mark. "I'm getting better -- but like Tommy says, I shouldn't leave marks like that."
"Don't be so fast to criticize yourself," I told her when I was finally able to close my mouth and breathe again, "A banana is much softer than... than... well
most
things. You -- and Tommy need to take that into account. After all, it's not as if you don't want to leave
any
mark at all!"
