Real bus experiences

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 11:12:12

At first, I didn't know or dare to make any physical advances. Even when I was squeezed next to a woman, I was careful not to touch her. What a waste of a good opportunity! Looking back, I really regret it. Back then, I would just stare at pretty women. The train was a great place to look at beautiful women. There were many people, you were close, and the time was long. Gradually, I started paying attention to their specific parts: breasts, thighs. I looked for any accidental exposure or exposed skin.

I started by looking at their breasts. Of course, looking at breasts doesn't mean looking at the outline under their clothes, but seeing the skin or the bra. Although those tight-fitting tank tops looked like they showed off curves, because they were elastic, they usually clung to the body too tightly, which was not conducive to my purpose.

I liked sleeveless clothes, with a fabric that didn't drape too much, and the key was that the opening under the armpits should be large, especially the bottom edge. This way, because the opening was large and the fabric around the edges had a certain stiffness, it would naturally form a loose circle around the body. As long as you paid attention and got the angle right, you would get something. If she raises her hand to grasp the armrest, that's perfect.

I usually choose a slightly back side position, where I can usually see the side or upper part of her bra. If the bra is made of thin material, has cutouts, or is small, then the skin on the side of her breasts can also be seen.

This is assuming both of us are standing. If she's sitting and I'm standing next to her, I'll definitely start from her neckline. The conditions are similar, but since women are usually more careful in this situation, I haven't had any particularly memorable experiences.

Another scenario is when I'm sitting and she's standing. If she's facing sideways towards me and a little in front, I can also peek through the gap between her blouse and collar. However, in this case, the gap is usually very small, and you can't see much. But that's the pleasure of voyeurism. Although in summer, women's clothes are thin, and you can often see the shape and even the color of their bras through the fabric, seeing even a tiny bit through the gap between the clothes and skin is very satisfying.

A couple of days ago, I was taking the bus home. I had my fun like that. The woman was wearing a white shirt, and looked like a sales clerk leaving work. She was standing right in front of me, and because of the crowd, she had to face the window and bend slightly. That's when my chance came. The front of her shirt was parted between the second and third buttons, creating a gap about an inch long and half an inch wide, right in front of her chest. Through this gap, I could see she was wearing a pink bra, a light pink, the kind that's most arousing. And the top of her bra cups was rather low and flat. I suspected it was an oval shape. So, not only could I see the bra, but I could also see part of the skin above her breasts. How lucky!

Speaking of breasts, there's one woman I have to mention. I first saw her on a bus. There weren't many people around, and I was about a meter away from her. I was just casually looking around, but when I saw her, I couldn't take my eyes off her. The sleeveless cuffs of her dress were just too exaggerated. The exposed fabric at the bottom was a good three inches long; it was obvious the dress was homemade—so careless. It was cool, but unfortunately, someone else got to enjoy it. This was such a great opportunity! I only tilted my head slightly and saw her bra. It seemed quite conservative. White, with wide side panels. Taking advantage of the car's bumps, I leaned back a little and saw her breasts, completely covered by the bra. No wonder she didn't care about her clothes; the inner protection was quite thorough.

Why have I been talking about this somewhat unsuccessful experience for so long? Haha, because later, I actually saw her breasts—completely bare, without any covering. As fate would have it, she turned out to be the daughter of the owner of a bookstore near my house. I didn't know at first, but later I discovered she often looked after the bookstore for her mother so her mother could go home for lunch. A great opportunity! That summer, I went there every day around 1 pm. Although it was hot, there were fewer people, and she was always there. However, I usually just stole a few glances at her; nothing special. But one day, I got a real treat for my eyes.

That day, when I went there, she was the one tending the stall. Perhaps a lot of books had been returned recently, because she was sorting them and putting them back in their place. I first looked at the books that others had just returned on the counter. She sorted a few, then turned to put them back on the shelf. Because there was a chair between us, she was in a semi-bent-over position. I was just glancing casually when suddenly something caught my eye. It shocked me. It was one of her breasts! She wasn't wearing a bra! Wow. It turned out that the dress she was wearing was different from the one I'd seen in the car last time. Actually, the armpit opening was smaller. But because she was leaning over, my gaze, angled from top to bottom, passed through the opening that parted from her body, revealing her breast. Her breast wasn't large; it was cone-shaped and looked quite firm. Perhaps the way her breasts sagged as she leaned over enhanced this impression. Her skin was quite fair, and her nipples were also quite pale. It was a small bump.

Looking back now, it was probably a virgin's breast. She was young then, and quite pretty. This scene made my heart race and my muscles tense. The breast of a young woman in the prime of her youth was displayed before me without any cover. Luckily, no one else was around. I continued pretending to look at the books on the shelf, and she kept putting them back after tidying them up. Every time she turned around, I would shift my gaze. I watched like this several times until she finished tidying up, and I had to go to the shelf next to her to find a book. But that scene occupied my entire mind, and I just borrowed a book and left.

Later, that kind of good thing never happened again; maybe she wasn't wearing a bra that day and it was just a momentary oversight. Later still, the bookstore moved away. She was the only woman whose breasts I saw besides peeping at my neighbor.

Now, I'm finally going to talk about my first intimate encounter. That time, I was passive. I was in junior high school then. One afternoon, I was walking home. There were many people on the bus. There was a young woman in front of me. When I ride the bus, I always carry my backpack by hand, letting it hang down naturally. Because when it's crowded, carrying the backpack on my back is very inconvenient. So, I held onto the handrail with one hand, and with the other hand holding the backpack hanging down, it was right at her hip. At first, I subconsciously tried not to touch her. Suddenly, she bent down to pick something up, causing her hip to thrust backward. I had nowhere to go, and my backpack hand was pressed against her hip, but she didn't seem to mind, continuing to grope around on the floor. It suddenly dawned on me that in a crowded bus, this kind of contact was considered acceptable.

When she straightened up, instead of carefully backing away as before, I subtly moved forward a little. As the bus swayed, my hand repeatedly touched her hip and then moved away. That time, I didn't even care what her hip felt like. My mind was completely occupied with the thought that I had touched a young woman's buttocks, but nothing happened—how wonderful! My hand, which was holding the backpack, was initially clenched into a fist. Gradually, I used only my thumb and forefinger to hold the backpack, extending the other three fingers. This way, not only the back of my palm, but almost the entire back of my hand was pressed against her buttocks. Time seemed to fly by; soon I had to get off the bus, and my first intimate encounter was over. However, this also marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life. Soon, I decided to take the initiative. At that time, I was using a student monthly pass, so the fare wasn't a problem.

One Sunday afternoon, I made my move. I changed buses several times but didn't find a good opportunity, perhaps due to inexperience or timidity. It was getting late, and I was ready to give up and wait for another time. But fate intervened. On the last bus home, my chance came. The bus was crowded, and after boarding, I quickly glanced around and saw a pretty girl. I slowly squeezed behind her and stopped. But then I realized that her boyfriend was right next to her. No way. Oh well, I'll just stand here. Anyway, I was almost home. Even if I couldn't touch her, looking at a pretty girl would be fine. But with the intention of showing off my skills today, and a beautiful woman in front of me, the impulse was uncontrollable. They say lust knows no bounds. So, I adjusted my position. I stood on the side furthest from her boyfriend, half my body overlapping with hers, so that one of my arms was right behind her.

I slowly moved my hand forward, touching her buttocks, then pulled it away. It was as if the car's swaying had caused an accidental contact. I touched her a few more times like that, thankfully, she didn't react much, nor did she move from her position. Okay. I placed the entire back of my hand on her buttocks, the side closest to me. Then I left it there, motionless. It was probably spring or autumn then, and she wasn't wearing many clothes. She was wearing a pair of very ordinary, thin, stirrup-style leggings. Therefore, I could feel the softness and elasticity of her buttocks, and that delicate sensation. I don't know if she thought it was just a normal, unintentional touch, or if she was just embarrassed, but her behavior didn't seem unusual.

I took it a step further, moving the back of my hand towards the center of her buttocks. My middle finger landed precisely on the cleft of her buttocks. Then I curled my middle finger, letting it sink into that warm and mysterious deep groove. I think she must have realized it was intentional by now, but she still didn't say anything, only that she was embarrassed. Haha, convenient for me. But I didn't dare to go any deeper, after all, her boyfriend was there. And so, my middle finger nestled in her buttocks, while the back of my hand pressed against her full bottom, enjoying the sensation until they got off the bus. It lasted for about ten minutes. It was truly a worthwhile trip. Only after I got off did I feel a little scared. After all, it was my first time, and I'd gone too far. Actually, most of my later experiences weren't as intense as this one. That's why I remember it so clearly.

This attack heralded the arrival of my era of finding pleasure on buses. Of course, I wouldn't go for it on every bus; I generally only considered women who were reasonably attractive. There also had to be suitable conditions, so even with a satisfactory target, things didn't necessarily work out. The most common scenarios were as follows: I stood behind or beside the woman. Then, as I described earlier, I used my hanging hand to feel her buttocks or thighs. Or, if the conditions were good, I could even use my penis to press against her buttocks—of course, the season was important, and I couldn't wear too many clothes. If I was bold enough, I could even unzip my pants, take out my penis, and make even more intimate contact.

If I was standing in front of someone, then I had a different target—breasts. I shifted my position slightly so that the woman was behind and to the side of me. Then I used my elbow to touch her breasts. Besides using my entire body to lean and press against her breasts, I also pretended to carry a bag. This way, my elbow would bend and strike her breasts.

When I was seated, I wasn't idle either. First, I could touch the thighs of the person sitting next to me. At first, I would keep our thighs touching and then separating. I would place my hand on my own thigh and then slowly slide it down between our thighs. Then I would move my thigh to the side until our thighs were pressed tightly together, so my palm would naturally be on the woman's thigh. If I felt it was possible to go further, I could move my palm downwards until it was under the woman's thigh, at which point it would be as if her thigh was pressing against my hand. Sometimes, I could also move upwards. If there weren't many people in the carriage and no one was paying attention, I would place my palm on top of her thigh. And this way, with my palm against her thigh, the sensitivity of touch was greatly increased. I could carefully feel and experience her thigh. If I had a backpack, I would put it on my lap to block other people's view.

I remember once, in my first year of high school, I went to catch the bus around 6 a.m. There weren't many people on the bus then, and I sat on a long bench at the back. To my right was a girl. She seemed a little older than me, quite mature, and very pretty. At first, there was no one in front of us, so I did what I mentioned before, placing my hand on her left thigh, using my backpack as cover. Seeing that she didn't react much, I decided to move. Actually, I didn't dare turn my head to look at her face, but I sensed that she neither moved her leg away nor tried to block me. I gently raised my hand slightly, maintaining contact, and slowly moved it back and forth. Now I was essentially caressing her thigh; it felt like a young girl's touch—warm, elastic, and slightly trembling. I didn't know if it was my nervousness or hers. Perhaps we were both nervous. Slowly, I increased the pressure, pressing my palm harder against her thigh, continuing my back-and-forth caresses.

Two stops later, the crowd thickened, and a woman in her thirties stood about a meter away from us. My backpack came in handy, blocking her view. I was able to continue my enjoyment. Later, I noticed the woman glancing at us occasionally; perhaps she sensed something was amiss. However, since the girl didn't react, she probably decided to mind her own business. Unfortunately, two more stops later, the girl got off. As she waited by the door, looking at her curvaceous figure and pretty face, I felt even more that this opportunity was rare, something you could only dream of.

After she got off, I looked back a few more times, reluctant to leave. Actually, later on, to avoid running into my classmates, I rarely made advances towards girls around my age on my way to school. Sitting in my seat, I could still touch the thighs of the women standing next to me. If there are many people and the woman is squeezed next to me, that's easy; it's similar to touching the person sitting next to me. If there aren't many people and I have a particularly desirable target, then I have to take the initiative. I usually do this: I put my hands on my knees, then sit with my back slightly turned towards the window, so my knees are in the aisle next to the seat. The goal, of course, is to stay near the target's thighs, and then look for an opportunity. First, I touch them, then move away; after a few times, I stick close and don't move away. However, in this situation, because there aren't many people and the hand movements are far from the body, there's no concealment, so I usually do it on the bus home at night, when there are no lights.

The above all refers to hands; now let's talk about something less common—touching breasts with your head. This only works when you're sitting. When there are many people, people standing close to seats often have their lower bodies blocked by the seats, while their upper bodies have space above the heads of seated people, often causing their upper bodies to lean forward. If she's a woman, then you have the opportunity to touch her breasts with your head. Usually, they are very careful, trying to support themselves with their hands to prevent their bodies from leaning forward too much, especially careful not to let their breasts touch anyone. But sometimes, whether it's because they're not strong enough, or because they feel it doesn't matter if they're touched in this situation, some women will still squeeze their breasts right next to my head.

It's best in the summer. Back then, clothes are less plentiful and thinner. I like wearing cotton t-shirts, and it's best if the woman is a little plump, so that when you touch her, it really feels like a tidal wave. When this happens, I straighten my neck, even tilting it slightly outward, anticipating the collision with those big breasts. Of course, if the woman isn't satisfactory, I'll still turn my head towards the window to avoid it.

Here are a few things I remember very clearly. First, a very pleasant thing. Back then, buses were divided into two sections, connected by a turntable. On the left and right sides of the turntable were railings, with canvas canopies above for rain protection. That time, after I got on the bus, I walked to the vicinity of the turntable and found a beautiful woman in her early twenties by the railing. Taking advantage of the crowd boarding at the next stop, I squeezed next to her. When standing close to the railing, you usually have your back to it, or face the dusty canvas canopy. More and more people were getting on the train, and the roundabout area was becoming increasingly crowded, almost impossible to move. Haha, I started making my move too. At first, I did what I usually do: touch her thigh with the hand holding my backpack. Since we were basically parallel, normally I'd just touch her thigh. But that day, for some reason, I was in a high mood. After touching her thigh a few times, I pulled my hand behind my legs. Because I was leaning against the railing, my legs weren't pressed tightly against it, but rather leaning at an angle, so there was a gap. She was doing the same, of course…

Then I moved my hand sideways to the gap between her legs, and pulled it up, so now her whole bottom was pressed against my hand. And no one could see it. Haha, now it's perfect. I can savor it properly. She struggled a few times, seemingly trying to get rid of my clutches. Unfortunately, there were too many people, and she couldn't break free at all. I saw her struggle a few times, so I turned to look at her. She was looking at me too. Her face showed a very shy expression, a little unhappy, and a little evasive. It seemed like she was the shy type. Okay, let's take a gamble. I looked at her expressionlessly, as if I didn't know what had happened, and then turned my head back, but my hand didn't stop. When I was about to get off the bus, I suddenly reached my hand to her other side, as if I had grabbed her bottom, and then pulled it back. Of course, it was just a quick movement. People thought my backpack had been accidentally tripped by her. Little did they know it was all my initiative.

As I walked in front of her, she turned her head away disdainfully. Hmph, I pretended not to see and moved to the car door. Anyway, I got the better deal. Actually, after her buttocks pressed down on my hand, it was too tight, making it difficult to move my hand around. However, her expression and behavior gave me a greater sense of accomplishment, so I was quite pleased.

However, pushing your luck too far always leads to trouble. One night, I was sitting in the last row next to a woman around 30 years old. At first, I just touched her thigh, and then slowly moved to her buttocks. Actually, at that time, it was just the edge of her buttocks. Unexpectedly, she lifted the leg closest to me and placed it on top of the other leg. In this way, half of her buttocks was lifted off the seat, and thus away from my hand. It was probably a kind of voluntary withdrawal. That day, I don't know why, but I impulsively thought, "You lifted your buttocks, fine, I'll stick it in." Her body leaned more and more, the gap under her buttocks got bigger and bigger, and my hand went in deeper and deeper.

Suddenly, she started cursing. She didn't directly accuse someone of harassing her. She just vented her anger like a shrew. A woman in her thirties, when she starts cursing, it's unbelievable. She doesn't repeat herself for several sentences. Everyone on the bus turned to look at her, and at me too. People could definitely tell that someone had done something to her. But they didn't know if it was groping or picking her pocket. I could only stare blankly ahead, as if no one was around. The people on the bus watched her cursing alone, and no one said a word, so they slowly turned their heads back. I finally escaped a disaster. Later, I thought, maybe her buttocks were raised too high, and when I put my hand in, I might have touched her genitals, which crossed her line, so she exploded. However, I really didn't know what her genitals felt like. Sigh, I lost out this time. I should be more careful next time. Now,

let me tell you something happier. It's quite exciting. That time, I was sitting in my seat, and next to me stood a so-called OL (office lady). She was wearing a business suit and a knee-length skirt. Because it was crowded, I easily placed my hand on her thigh, slightly above her knee. I left it there for a moment, and seeing that she didn't react, I moved my hand up her thigh a little. It was already inside her skirt. I felt a surge of excitement. Pretending to look behind me, I glanced up as I turned my head. Hmm, she stood there expressionless, looking out the car window as if nothing was wrong. Perfect, if you're alright, what do I have to be afraid of?

Originally, because she was facing me at a 90-degree angle, my hand, which was at my side, was facing her leg. I slowly started to turn my wrist upwards to a 90-degree angle, so that it made contact with the inside of her thigh. At the same time, my palm became the contact surface, making the sensation more sensitive. The upward movement of my hand didn't stop. Finally, it stopped at the middle of her thigh. Because my upper arm had been close to my body, with my forearm making the movements, if I wanted to go further up, my upper arm would have to leave my body, which would require a larger range of motion. Besides, the current position was already quite inside; having learned from my previous experience, I didn't want to cross the line again.

My palm stopped there, and the feeling was noticeably different. The skin on the front of her thigh, just above her knee, was very smooth and firm, and my hand moved along it without much resistance. However, the skin on the inner side of her thigh was noticeably thinner, more delicate, and slightly looser, making my hand move more slowly. At the same time, I felt a warm sensation. Could it be the heat emanating from the office lady's genitals? Or maybe it was just my own nervousness making me feel hot.

Just then, the bus got stuck in traffic. Haha, a golden opportunity! I was reluctant to take my hand out. Her leg was slightly twisting, trying to get rid of my hand. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Later, after being stuck in traffic for a while, the driver, unable to bear everyone's demands, opened the door and let everyone take care of themselves. When I got off, I squeezed behind her again. Just as I put my hand on her buttocks, she suddenly turned around and said, "Why are you pushing? Hmm, why are you angry now? What happened earlier?" I thought maybe now it was just my buttocks that were touched, and everyone didn't care. Just now, I put my hand inside her skirt. If everyone finds out, she'll be so embarrassed. Sigh, so obsessed with saving face. Next time, if she still doesn't scream, what if someone touches her underwear?

Another time, I was standing behind a girl. First, I touched the edge of her buttocks. Then I gradually moved towards the center. Suddenly, I realized that where there should usually be underwear, there was no feeling at all. Until the middle of her buttocks, the entire buttocks were smooth. Since she was only wearing a thin, floral-dyed skirt, it was basically like touching her buttocks directly. Whether she wasn't wearing underwear or something like a thong, I don't know.

Now, I touch her much less on the bus. I usually only pay attention to situations where there's no risk, like someone accidentally exposing themselves. I take the bus less often now, and public transportation has improved; it's not as crowded as it used to be. Also, in recent years, there's been so much talk about sexual harassment. Everyone's become more vigilant, and women are more willing to fight back, unlike before when they were so shy, conservative, and silent. When I started, neither the harasser nor the harassed knew such a thing existed, so I was ahead of my time again. Haha.

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