Strangers on a long-distance night bus

A Stranger on a Long-Distance Overnight Bus

/ 1. Male

I didn't intentionally choose to board the bus on the night of February 14th.

In fact, for so many years, I had never realized that February 14th was any special.

Perhaps it's because I've never had a lover in the real sense.

So, when the strange woman sitting next to me finally couldn't stand the loneliness and
started a conversation with me with an old-fashioned, utterly meaningless line, I was momentarily taken aback.

—"Tonight is Valentine's Day, don't you need to spend time with your girlfriend or wife?" she said softly.

"Really? I didn't notice." I wiped non-existent sweat from my forehead and replied casually.

She looked at me with a mixture of surprise and amusement, and said, "You...don't have a girlfriend?"

Hearing this rather impolite question, I couldn't help but frown and suspiciously looked at the strange
woman .

By my standards, she wasn't beautiful, and she was clearly no longer young; her face, which seemed to have seen much of the world,
looked at least thirty years old.

But none of that mattered. The main point was that her body was unmistakably emitting a strange, foul
odor .

Even worse, she was wearing makeup, the kind of heavy
makeup . I didn't understand—who was she putting on makeup for on a long night bus?

Perhaps my expression betrayed me. She pursed her lips menacingly, turned her face away, and said
rather unhappily, "Let me tell you, I had an appointment before I got on the bus, but…"

She didn't finish her sentence, and I didn't press her, because I wasn't curious at all.

At that moment, the bus had entered the highway, and the clock struck nine.

I put on my headphones, closed my eyes, and tried in vain to fall asleep in the slightly swaying seat.

* * *

In the occasional gaps between the sounds of the bus and the music, I heard intermittent sobs. Opening my eyes, I
saw that the sobbing was coming from the older woman beside me.

From childhood, I've had a very embarrassing bad habit: I can't stand seeing women cry.

I handed her a tissue, saying with a hint of helplessness, "Auntie, I admit I was wrong. Please stop crying. If you
keep , people will think I did something bad to you."

She took the tissue, and just as she wiped away the tears from her face, new tears welled up in her swollen eyes. She sniffled
awkwardly , seemingly trying to force a smile, but instead,

she burst into tears again. It took her half a pack of tissues to finally stop crying, her makeup almost completely wiped away.
Looking at her face, which resembled a pear blossom after the rain, I said, half sincerely and half apologetically, "Auntie, you actually look
prettier without makeup. You look much more pleasing to the eye."

"What auntie? I'm not that much older than you," she said defiantly, her eyes red.

"I was blind. You should have called me 'sister'," I said, forcing myself to speak.

"Hmph, that's more like it." She wiped away the last remaining tears from the corners of her eyes one last time, finally managing a
bitter smile.

I had a feeling that her crying so hard couldn't simply be because of my offense, so I cautiously
asked her, "Sister, you're crying like this, it shouldn't be my fault, right?"

"How can it not be your fault? It's you, it's you who made me cry!" she said rudely.

I turned my head and made a face at the window. Damn it, what good would it do you to blame me? This woman
was too strange; it was best not to delve too deeply.

I put my headphones back on and was about to close my eyes when someone tugged at my sleeve.

"Hey, it's a long night, chat with me for a bit." She sounded like a spoiled little girl.

But, sister, you're not that age anymore, please!

I tried to suppress my pursed lips, silently giving her a "Are you crazy?" look, hoping she'd realize
her mistake and back off.

To my surprise, she completely ignored me and calmly said, "Who told you to make me cry? I'm
still very emotionally unstable right now, so you're responsible for comforting me."

I felt large beads of cold sweat forming on my forehead and couldn't help but mentally curse: Sister, the person with the most unstable
emotions —should be me!

Could it be that I've encountered one of those infatuated women? / 2.

Before getting on the bus, I did have a date. However, the other person didn't show up.

I didn't feel sad or resentful, just a little lonely.

That person was my ex-husband.

For the past five years, we had been together every Valentine's Day without fail. But last September, we
divorced .

Our daughter stayed with her father. According to him, this arrangement was for my own good, because it
would make it easier for me to find another man.

Perhaps he was sincere; I think he did feel some guilt towards me. Because of this vague
guilt, I actually harbored a glimmer of hope, wanting to find a chance to get back together with him.

So, on February 14th, without informing him beforehand, I traveled alone to
a city , ostensibly to see my daughter, and asked him to meet me.

He couldn't refuse, but he didn't come.

Until I boarded the train, I felt neither sadness nor resentment, only a slight loneliness.

Because of this lingering loneliness, I finally couldn't resist and took the initiative to flirt with the stranger sitting next to me
. Seeing his strange gaze, I knew what he was thinking.

His gaze insulted me; for the first time today, a fire of resentment surged within me, and I even
unconsciously almost blurted out my shame.

Thankfully, I quickly realized my slip of the tongue and immediately stopped my inappropriate words.

Then, for some reason, I suddenly felt an urge to cry. 　　Tears streamed down my face in front of the stranger, like a dam bursting under unbearable pressure. Tissue after tissue was soaked with tears, and my heart, finally

, slowly rose from the depths of despair. 　　I know that what's been weighing on my heart isn't so much sorrow as loneliness. 　　I can't even remember the last time I had a proper chat with someone; it was such a distant, prehistoric time. These days, the internet...

There are too many scammers online, I haven't contacted my old friends in too long, and I don't want my loved ones to worry, so I
've always pretended to be carefree and indifferent.

Actually, it's not difficult at all; you just need to fill your free time with various means to prevent yourself from
thinking about those melodramatic and nauseatingly trivial things. It's very simple, requires no skill whatsoever, and anyone
can do it.

I used to really believe that.

But after inexplicably crying tonight, I suddenly realized that it was just self-deception.

The resentment that accumulates won't disappear just because you deliberately ignore it; on the contrary, it will unknowingly
grow heavier and heavier until it suffocates you.

The truth is, I desperately need a safe space to
vent my overwhelming resentment. Otherwise, I will be torn apart, shattered, and devoured from within.

If I can't find a safe space right now, as a second-best option, finding a stranger
I meet isn't out of the question.

Perhaps, it will even be more effective.

I looked at the reflection of a lonely woman in the car window behind the stranger.

Her tears had stopped flowing without her noticing, while she was pouring out her heart to him.
/ 3. Male

After she started rambling on to me, I realized I hadn't encountered a lovesick woman, but a
complete and utterly resentful one.

"What's it to me?" I really wanted to interrupt her, but considering that she would likely
use up my remaining half-pack of tissues, I silently endured it, occasionally letting out a weak "hmm"
as a forced response.

"Do you find me annoying?" she suddenly asked.

I stared at her, blinking several times in surprise, before deliberately raising my voice and saying, "
You noticed that?"

She smiled seductively, "Hmph, I know you stinky men very well. Give me your hand."

Her sudden change caught me off guard; I only managed a blank "What?"

She directly pulled my hand away and placed it on her thigh without hesitation.

She was wearing a long skirt, the thickness of which seemed minimal, so that I could clearly
feel .

My mouth gaped open in shock.

Seeing my mouth, she suddenly blushed, half shy and half annoyed, and said, "Hey, don't try anything funny."

I quickly shut my mouth, swallowing hard, before explaining with feigned seriousness, "I didn't mean that."

She silently glanced at the strange hand that was no longer restrained on her thigh, the meaning clear: if you
really meant it, why not pull that wicked hand back?

Of course, I didn't pull it back; in fact, I secretly added a bit more pressure.
Why not , especially since I'm a lecherous devil.

She began her long, rambling monologue again, but I no longer cared about the suffocating boredom, because
all my attention was focused on the increasingly tight crease between her thighs.

She stopped her rambling at some point, and a
growing heat surged through the small patch of skin between my legs, which I was exploring deeper and deeper. She stared at me silently, then a warm little hand covered my lower body.

I opened my mouth slightly in pleasure and sighed softly. The next second, she kissed me.

Her smooth tongue was gentle and lingering, and a warm, wonderful feeling instantly spread throughout my body. On
the long-distance , I felt as if I were floating on clouds, intoxicated and blissful.

***

I have always been in a state of extremely intense sexual hunger.

But I have always been an incurable sucker for good looks. If a woman's appearance doesn't have a certain
quality that strongly attracts me, I will definitely choose to ignore her. And what's even more tragic is that my own qualities aren't
strong enough to make the women I admire throw themselves at me.

So, I can only wage an endless battle with desire alone year after year, and the result is always the same: I'm
covered in wounds .

In the past, there have been women of average looks who have made ambiguous advances towards me, but I have ignored them all.
To be honest , I haven't never regretted it. It's just that even knowing my long-held, ridiculous obsessions are utterly
meaningless , when I actually try to make a change, all sorts of terrible consequences involuntarily flood my mind.

In my life, I've seen far too many negative examples, and they terrify me. Because of this
shameful unspeakable reason, I've repeatedly chosen to run away.

However, with a stranger I met on a long-distance overnight bus, such obstacles didn't exist. For
me at that moment, nothing was harder to refuse than a casual encounter with no responsibility.

I even boldly lifted her skirt, slipping one hand under it, chasing her silky, snow-white skin.
Under my caresses, she gasped, releasing a large amount of sticky fluid, her whole body trembling.

I squeezed in from the edge of her panties, following the slippery pubic hair to explore her depths, my fingertips pleasurably parting her tender lips,
easily slipping into a moist, hot, alluring cave.

She clung tightly to my arm, her mouth open wide, her vagina contracting powerfully in waves.

Once she calmed down and her vaginal muscles stopped gripping my fingers so tightly, I used my other hand to slowly but firmly press her
upper body towards my groin.

She trembled as she unzipped my pants, laboriously pulling out my already rock-hard erection, and then,
without hesitation, took it into her mouth.

I felt a surge of pleasure as I leaned back in my seat, my whole body experiencing a frenzied, electric-like spasm,
before slowly relaxing.

I had ejaculated so quickly.

The strange woman was clearly caught off guard, coughing incessantly as she lay on my lap.

I gasped for breath, pulled out the remaining half-pack of tissues, looked at the blurry figure in the car window, and gave
a silent, bitter smile.

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