The Bus

All participants are over 18. This is a fantasy that was inspired by a real encounter.

*****

The old man got on the bus at exactly eleven p.m.

Neal remembered so exactly because he checked the time on his phone to confirm the bus was still on schedule. Sure enough it was.

He still had a seven hour ride in front of him to reach his destination. It was faster by car, of course. This was one of those circuitous routes that seemed to stop at every village and small town between his point of origin and his final destination. But his wife needed the car at home, so the bus was his only option to get to the conference in the big city.

The old man was the only passenger embarking here. He by-passed all of the front seats and walked slow and steady past the ten or so people scattered through the bus. He made a bee-line for the back of the bus and sat down in the back seat. Right beside Neal.

Really? Neal thought. Out of this whole bus full of empty seats, you have to sit right beside me?

The old man said nothing and did not make eye contact with Neal; he only sat staring straight ahead as Neal looked at him in disbelief. He was not particularly well-groomed. His thin, silver hair was scattered across his brow as arranged by chance, not a comb. He was a few days unshaven. He had a large unsightly mole on his right cheek. His pants and jacket were wrinkled and untidy. Neal's irritation at the man quickly melted into pity.

Poor fellow. Looks like he's had a hard life.

Then the fellow's odour wafted over him. Rank sweat. Neal could have done without that, but what was to be done?

I guess he has to sit somewhere.

Neal shrugged. At least he had the window. He hoped he wouldn't have to use the bus's rest room, a stall behind the seat he now shared. He didn't want to disturb the old gentleman.

Maybe he should try to get some sleep. He wanted to be well-rested for the conference tomorrow afternoon. Neal curled up in his corner against the window.

The bus started up again, right on schedule, and the driver flipped off the overhead lights to make it easier for passengers to drift off.

The gentle sway of the bus rocked Neal off to sleep within minutes. The humming of the running engine was a white noise back-ground.

Neal was conscious that some time had passed when he opened his eyes. It was still dark. He looked at his phone and groaned; he had only slept an hour. He noticed that the old man's right hand had fallen on his leg. It made Neal uncomfortable and he looked over at the man.

It was hard to make out the man's features in the dark and Neal couldn't hear his breathing over the bus noise. He must have been asleep.

Neal didn't want to wake the man. The poor guy looked like he needed every break he could get.

Oh, well, that's what you get when you ride the bus.

He dozed off again, this time only for a few minutes. He wondered what had woke him up until he realized that the old man was propped up against him and his head was on Neal's left shoulder. Neal could feel the man's sharp stubble through his thin shirt. This also made Neal uncomfortable, but what was to be done? He couldn't even move to another seat without waking the poor guy.

At least one of us is getting some sleep.

The bus hit a slight bump and the old man's right hand bounced across Neal's lap. Neal sighed. Then the old man's position shifted again: his head slid down Neal's arm and stopped in his lap.

Neal looked around the bus. Everyone seemed to be facing forward. Most of the riders would be sleeping. Neal didn't want to be seen with a man's head in his lap, but he didn't want to wake the old guy either.

He might be a veteran.

Neal sighed. There was no chance he'd get any sleep like this. He had gotten used to the man's odour but now that his nose was right above his body, it assailed him again. A strong, manly, musky scent.

A period of time passed and the old man didn't move. At all. Neal became slightly alarmed. What if he wasn't sleeping? What if he was dead? He still couldn't hear the man's breath over the engine noise and in the dark he couldn't see any sign of life.

There was only one thing for it. He had to touch the old man.

Neal's left arm was pinned by the old man's bulk, so Neal put his right hand down on the man's head. The man's skin was still warm, but that wasn't conclusive, so Neal moved his hand to the man's back and left it there. He could feel the steady rise and fall of the man's breathing.

Thank God.

Absent-minded in his relief, Neal left his hand on the man's back.

Time passed again and this time when Neal snapped out of his half-sleep it was to a strange sensation.

The man seemed to have reoriented himself while Neal was napping. He was now partly hunched down on the floor of the bus and leaning over with his head directly in Neal's crotch.

And he was apparently licking it.

Neal felt great warmth there. The man's tongue seemed to be lapping much as a cat would lap up milk. Already, the front of Neal's pants were wet with saliva. Inside his pants, there was a sense of steam rising. The old man's tongue was strong enough to push against his privates.

The old man must be dreaming, acting out in his sleep. I mean, nobody does that.

Neal felt torn. On the one hand, he felt it would be rude to wake the old gentleman up, but on the other hand, the fellow would surely appreciate being extracted from an embarrassing situation.

The old man's right arm, which after his reorientation had been sitting on the seat, slowly slid onto Neal's side of the seat, climbed the side of his left leg and went under the man's still licking face. It deftly unbuttoned and unzipped Neal's fly.

This isn't happening. I'm the one who must be dreaming.

The old man never stopped licking as his hand pulled aside Neal's underwear to expose his cock to the open air. After the concentrated heat caused by the man's hot breath, his cock felt momentarily cold in the open air, but it did not contract as cold penises are inclined to do.

Quite the contrary, it began to expand.

The man lapped his way along the veined top of Neal's shaft and into his pubic hair. Neal reluctantly admitted to himself that it felt good, but he fought this by asking himself what anyone would do in an unlikely situation such as this.

This is so... seedy. A married man being licked by a dirty old stranger. I must stop this...

And then the glans of his penis popped into the old man's mouth. Neal cringed with horror, or possibly pleasure.

What were the old man's teeth like? Did he even have teeth?

The man's right hand was fully alive now. He held Neal's erect penis tightly as he began to suck it in earnest. His left hand was above Neal's left knee, gently kneading his flesh through his pants.

Neal inhaled sharply as the old man spent a few seconds for extra work on his glans and was rewarded with a nose full of the old man's animal smell. Where it repelled him before, now it aroused him further.

Neal could feel his breathing quicken under the old man's efforts. Sweat broke out across his brow. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. But mostly he felt the incredible stimulation of his cock. It all but burned with pleasure. It was bliss. He could feel his balls contracting and a heat in his penis. His semen was working its way toward the mouth of the man who inflicted this delightful torment.

When Neal came, his hips bucked and he almost rolled his oral benefactor onto the floor, but the old man simply held on tight and rode through wave after wave of Neal's release.

Neal snuck a look over the top of the seats in front of him. Nobody seemed to have noticed his strange ordeal.

Then, as Neal began to come down, the old man released his suction lock on his cock. He leaned back on his knees, tucked Neal's cock away in his pants. Then he stood and straightened out his rumpled clothes. He gave a little stretch before sitting down again beside Neal, as if nothing had happened. He stared straight ahead as before.

Neil, in turn, stared at the old man, or at least his indistinct silhouette in the darkness.

These things don't happen.

Five minutes later, the bus pulled in at its next stop and the bus driver called it out. Neal only stared as the old man stood up, stepped into the aisle and walked off the bus. It was five-fifteen a.m. in Nowhere.

Right on schedule.