The melancholy woman on the bus

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

It feels like every Friday morning is more crowded than other days, and I still don't understand why.
Work is a bit boring now, and I hope for an unexpected romantic encounter on my commute. I like to get close to younger women. Even though there are two layers of clothing between us, and I can't make any obvious moves, the feeling still gets my heart racing. Most of the time, they don't seem to mind; sometimes they even enjoy it and take the initiative, perhaps they like this feeling of having an affair. At that moment, my heart beats even faster because it's more exciting, and I become bolder.
Like last weekend on my way home from work, the bus was packed. If anyone else wanted to get on, they had to go through the back door. I was standing at the back door when five or six men and women got on. One woman stood behind me. I didn't look closely, but she was probably a little older than me, dressed young in tight jeans. At first, she had her back to me, and her buttocks were pressed against mine. Her buttocks weren't big, but they felt round, perky, and shapely. At first, I didn't move, just carefully feeling the contours of her buttocks. After one stop, some people got off and some got on. The cowgirl behind me turned around and stood to my left. She was carrying a bag in her right hand and pulling a handrail with her left. Because the handrail was close to me, she was facing me somewhat. I glanced at her sideways. She was pretty, with heavy makeup and a slender figure. Her breasts were on either side of my left arm. They were small, and her bra was a bit firm, but not the thick, padded kind; in short, they were perky. I tried to tuck her right breast under my arm. She seemed to feel it. I used a bit too much force, so she definitely sensed what I was doing, but she didn't pull away. At that moment, my heart started racing. This was exactly the exciting scenario I was hoping for. If she avoided it or seemed disgusted, I would find it boring. The worst part was that my left hand was holding the bag and hanging down to my side. If I moved my hand even slightly, I would touch her thigh. As the bus swayed, I deliberately swung my left hand, touching her thigh again and again. I wanted to touch the area near the center, and she seemed to have the same intention, so she moved a little closer to me. With that slight movement, I touched her labia, which I wanted. Her labia, encased in thin jeans, were soft. I touched them gently, my fingers secretly tracing the outline of the slit between her labia. She seemed to enjoy this feeling, moving even closer, thus increasing the area I could touch. Actually, everyone was aware of it, but the bus was so crowded that everyone pretended it wasn't intentional, acting as if they hadn't noticed.
Just as we were about to stop, someone tried to get off and squeezed past from behind. The woman in jeans behind me thrust her hips forward, and I quickly flipped my hand over, cupping her entire vulva in my palm. Her large vulva was tightly gripped in my hand, and I squeezed hard, stroking it with my fingers. She glanced at me in alarm, then quickly turned back to look at the people squeezing past to get off. She thrust her hips forward, and I rubbed downwards with my palm, feeling the roundness and softness of her vulva. It was really large; she was aroused, so it grew bigger. I was getting off at this stop, and as I turned to leave, she seemed a little reluctant. As I half-turned, I touched the inside of her thigh with my right hand. She looked at me resentfully, and I got off the bus and left.
[The End]

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The melancholy woman on the bus

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