Jenny On The Bus

I’m a nice girl, and that’s why thirty-eight guys have cum in the palm of my left hand in sixteen weeks. Thought I could average one a day, but there just aren’t that many nice guys left who wear overcoats. Today was good though. Just got off the bus, and my hand is still sticky. Thought I shook all of his cum off my hand into the garbage can at the station, but I can still feel some of it on my fingers. I mean, he really came. Seven or eight spurts. Huge fucking balls. I know I didn’t get it all. Tried to keep it in my hand so it wouldn’t stain his pants, just in case he’s married, but I mean shit, I’ve never seen so much cum. He was cute, but they haven’t all been. Guy on Tuesday must have been somebody’s grandfather. Three weeks ago Friday the guy was so fat I could barely find his cock under the big flap of skin hanging down from his stomach inside his pants. When I found his cock he came quick. So did grandpa. There is absolutely no connection between being polite and being handsome. Some of the nicest guys are the ugliest.

Every day I get on the bus at the last stop before the freeway. Every day it’s packed. And every day I stand there, reaching for a handrail I can barely touch, while suits sit on both sides of me on the bus and ignore me. I’m not ugly. I get laid every weekend, sometimes both nights the same guy. But I almost never get a seat on the bus. So sixteen weeks ago, in the middle of December, I came up with this plan. If I guy gave me his seat I’d give him a handjob. Right there on the bus. I would reach up under his overcoat, unzip his fly, stick my hand in his pants, grab him by the cock, and stroke him until he came. Doesn’t take long. Less than a minute. Seems fast? How long would you last with a cute stranger with nice tits stroking your cock on the bus? How long would it take you to cum, bub? I can tell you, it would take under a minute. I have very soft hands and very big brown eyes. If I get to forty-five seconds and you’re not cumming yet, I look up and lick my lips while I stroke you — and then you close your eyes and cum right away. Guess you’re thinking about me putting my lips on your cock when I do that. Not that I’d ever do that on the bus. Even the priest came, and it took him less than thirty seconds, cause the bus only went three blocks. He even gave me a “God bless you” before he got off the bus. I thought about skipping him, but I’m agnostic and if there is a God I don’t think he minded much.

It’s a formula, really. Bus has to be wall to wall people. I squeeze to the back of the bus through the smell and the suits until I get to the four single seats by the right rear side door. I stand beside the guy in the second single seat — or the third single seat if there’s a woman or a boy in the second seat — I stumble once as the bus takes off, apologize to whoever I push, and stand back up. If my guy gets up right away, and if he’s wearing an overcoat, and if the guy standing in front of him is close enough that I can squeeze my hand up under the nice guy’s jacket and grab his cock without someone seeing what I’m up to, I do it. Lately, it’s been the best part of my day. Looking forward to it while I answer phones and take messages. Wondering if the guy I’m talking to will be on the bus.

It’s always the same. Today was no different. Can’t even remember the first guy, and after the next guy, maybe tomorrow, I’ll forget this guy. But the memory is as fresh as the cum on my fingers, at least for now. When I wash my hands I’ll probably forget his face. Too bad. He was cute.

I’m stone cold now — thirty eight handjobs can do that to a girl — but the first time my heart was hammering so hard I thought it was going to burst. Not today. Was already looking for my guy. Walked to the back of the bus. Didn’t even look at the faces, just realized a guy was in the second seat by the side door. Didn’t look for cute, or color, or wrinkles. Just turned right beside him, and stumbled as the bus took off. Pushed the guy behind me, who pushed me back. Before I could flip him a “Fuck you, asshole”, Mr. Nice was on his feet and ushered me without ceremony into the seat. Didn’t make a show. Didn’t ask. Just did it. And I knew, in that moment, that it wouldn’t have mattered if I was a nun or a hooker. I was a woman, and he was Mr. Nice. And cause he was nice, I was gonna grab his cock. I sat there in his seat for a second, looking straight ahead, but seeing him standing beside me out of the corner of my eye. Waited until the bus got moving. Guy in front of him was so close I could smell him. My guy smelled better, even nice. And so I moved my left hand out from my lap until it was under the hem of his jacket and lifted my hand until the back of my fingers slid against his slacks near his balls.

He twitched. He twitched so hard I thought he was going to fall over. But he didn’t. He stood up, eyes wide and lips open, and held very, very still. I think he thought I had brushed him by accident, but what guy pulls his cock away from a girls hand, even if it’s there by accident, right? Raised my hand and slid my fingertips up on his leg, over his balls and up to his fly. He took a long, quivering breath that sounded like a yawn. I looked straight ahead and brushed the back of my hand up and down the front of his slacks. No one noticed. His overcoat covered my arm to the elbow, and no one could see the motion of my hand. But my guy felt it. He was quivering pretty bad.

Closed my eyes. I can work quicker that way, when I can paint the picture of what I gotta do in my head. Lifted my fingers, tracing the line of his zipper until I touched the small steel tab just under the clasp of his belt. Fumbled with it for a sec, Caught it between two fingers, and pulled it down. When their zippers are down it fees nice. Knowing I’m gonna feel his cock in my hand in a couple seconds. Like I mean something to somebody. Mr. Nice hadn’t moved, but he was getting a chubby. Raised my hand, turned it sideways, and slipped it into the open vertical slit in his pants. He was wearing boxers. Button slipped open with a twist. Pressed down with the ball of my hand, felt the skin of his cock slide past the back of my fingers, and caught it when it popped over the web of my thumb. Wrapped my fingers up and around his cock, turned him down so he would point down the leg of his pants, and started stroking.

Big, hairy balls. Back of my hand itched as I pumped him. He held his breath. I don’t even remember what size he was, but his cock felt nice. Soft. He coughed once and held his breath, then his cock bucked and I knew he was gonna cum. Mostly they cough when they’re ready to cum. Moved my hand down to the head of his cock and took his cum in my hand. Grabbed the ridge of his cock with my fingers and massaged him there to finish him, warm cum spewing all over my fingers. I mean, he really really came hard. Fucking St Helens. Moved his hips once, so gentle nobody saw. Kept grabbing his cock while he came in my hand till his dick stopped twitching and he started to go limp. Closed my palm into a fist and tried to keep his cum in my hand. Pulled my hand out of his pants. Wiped most of his cum off of my hand on a damp cloth I had my purse. Left his fly open. Figured his overcoat would do until he could zip himself up.

Felt him look down. I didn’t look up. Three stops later, in the suburbs, he stepped off and he was gone.

Thirty eight. Started in December, and now it’s the middle of April. Still cold, but I figure I might have a week until the overcoats get put away for the summer, then I gotta wait until November to start over. Wonder if I can do twelve more in a week if I try. Maybe if I start doing it on the way to work and the way home, both ways.

It would be real nice to hit fifty.