The bus ride – A teenage love story
A high school wimp has a final chance to get to know the boy of his dreams or forever live in regret.
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The bus ride – A teenage love story
I’m standing on the bus with my back to the seats facing the aisle with my right arm raised holding the vertical hand rail to keep my balance. Then he gets on. The most perfect boy in the world. Today is the last day of the semester; probably the last chance I’ll ever get to see him. He’ll go on to college or a job or whatever he plans to do with the rest of his amazing life and I’ll never see him again. It makes my heart ache to know that he’ll soon be away from my world. I could almost cry at the impending absence. If only I could make him notice me or if I was brave enough to speak to him. I watch him as he moves with the flow of people, then, as they stop shuffling up the crowded bus, he continues to move through the crowd, his powerful body jostling them aside.
I don’t know whether I was in lust with Dean, or in love; a bit of both I guess. I felt my balls tighten at the sight of him, and just the sight of him brightened my day. But I also felt a deep longing that made me feel incredibly lonesome.
He lived in the same apartment complex as me. His family moved in somewhere above mine during the summer of last year. I first saw him in the elevator on my way down to school the first day of the fall semester. I hated the ride down. All the other kids leaving for school, as well as their parents and other commuters leaving for work. The elevator was always so crowded that we couldn’t even move, but at least the journey was short.
On this day, there was the usual mix of people, and I stepped in, distracted as other folks shuffled in behind me, when I saw him: a new face standing in the corner. He was maybe five ten tall – a good six inches taller than me. He was in the corner, his arms raised in front of his face holding a cell phone and doing something on the screen. He had a strong jaw line and raven-black hair, and even though he was crunched into the corner, there was something about him, like he could just shrug and all the people around him would be thrown off, and he only allowed himself to be squished up as an indulgence to the rest of us.
I stared up at him, between a few of the other bodies on the elevator, drinking in his image. He seemed so much better than all the other people on the elevator: too handsome, too special. I’d never felt like that about anyone before, but I felt almost light headed; mildly intoxicated by his presence.
He looked up directly towards me, and he had startling green eyes with amazing bright, complicated irises that seemed to reflect more light than there actually was in the elevator. My own eyes widened and I blushed, a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I felt my cheeks glowing and went to look away but I couldn’t. He held me with a steady gaze. My mouth gaped just a little, almost dumbstruck by the moment. It felt like ten seconds, then his mouth twitched on the left side into just the slightest hint of a grin and he looked away.
My heart was pounding, my mouth open and I was actually breathing heavier. Something mystical had just happened.
Then the elevator binged and we were on the ground floor. We all spilled out and I walked the quarter mile to the bus stop, my thoughts whirling like a tornado. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
As I got onto the bus, it was even more crowded than the elevator – it always was. It was standing room only, full of kids and commuters. I took up a place surrounded by younger kids, all chattering excitedly. I hated this journey. 15 minutes without a stop, crammed together like asparagus sticks on a grocer’s counter. Sometimes you were sweaty before you even GOT to school. But today I didn’t mind because the new guy was on the same bus. I spent the whole journey nonchalantly sneaking glances at him. I felt stalkerish but I couldn’t help it. He was just so… I couldn’t be my finger on it. Not hot, although I’m sure that girls WOULD think he was damned hot. Tough? No, but there was an air of physicality about him that made me think he could probably look after himself. No, it was more than either of those. He was just effortlessly beautiful. He didn’t have a haircut that you imagined took 2 hours each day to get ready, and he wasn’t wearing expensive designer brand clothes. Standing on his own, looking at his phone, he somehow exuded cool. He didn’t have to try; just his presence, masculine and relaxed, told me that he didn’t care what anybody thought about him.
When we got to the bus stop, I was overjoyed to find that he was going to the same school as me. It meant that I would get to see him more often, and I did. But he was a senior and I was a sophomore – one of the youngest in my year. Our school lives were worlds apart.
I did see him of course, almost every morning on the way to school, and a couple of days a week on the way home. I was mesmerised by him. He was lean but muscular. He made friends easily, but never tried to ingratiate himself. I watched from afar, an insect in the world of this 18 year old god; a moth dangerously drawn to his flame.
I suppose you could say I stalked him. I was desperate to be a part of his world, and I would have given almost anything if he would invite me in. But I was shy at the best of times, and in the presence of this Adonis, I was almost crippled by insecurity. I was skinny as a rake, short, even for my age. I’d never had a girlfriend. I barely had any friends at all. I didn’t make friends easily. And Dean was confident, popular, powerful. Not a lion, the ostentatious king of his world, nor a tiger all aggression and danger, but a leopard, sleek, lean, functional and ready for action.
Now, on the last day before summer, he was making his way through the dense crowds along the bus. I wondered who he was going to all that trouble to reach. I glanced around me to see if I could see any of the other seniors I’d seen him associating with, but I couldn’t see any. Then he stopped right in front of me as though that was the logical place for him to go. He reached up with one arm and grabbed the horizontal overhead rail. He was wearing a short sleeved school shirt. He looked down at me.
“My pit’s not in your face is it?” he asked.
“Uh, n… nooo,” I stammered.
He nodded then turned his attention elsewhere. I was too trivial to waste another second of unnecessary attention on.
It took me a few days after the first week of school to find out who he was. It’s hard to find out about people when you hardly speak to anyone, but one day I overheard someone address him and that gave me the start I needed.
In spite of my shyness, I made an effort to participate in school life. I considered it important. A kind of therapy to ensure that I didn’t fade completely into the walls. I was on the swim team. Too short to be really good at it, but I was committed and I swam 5 days a week. I was glad I did because Dean was on the athletics squad. They trained after school most nights too. After practice, I would dress as quickly as possible, barely bothering to dry, then I would run to the bleachers so that I could watch him train. He was a decathlete – he competed in multiple events; track, discus, shot, high jump, triple and more. I loved to watch him. He was as much at ease soaring over a high jump bar five or even six feet off the floor, as he was powering down a track during the sprint. I loved to see him in his thigh-hugging spandex shorts and silky top. They showed off his powerful legs and lean torso. And his bulge.
For months, I planned a way to open a conversation with him. I would be preoccupied with my phone and would casually bump into him after practice. Me in my sports tracksuit and him in his shorts. I would apologise, comment that he and I lived in the same apartment block, then we’d start a conversation about our respective sports and the door to our friendship would be open.
The first part went to plan: I bumped into him and launched into my pre-scripted apology. But before I could get five words into it, he flashed me a dazzling smile, ruffled my hair with his hand like I was a little kid, told me it was no problem and walked off, stopping the conversation dead in its tracks.
To be honest, at that time, I had never even considered that I might be gay. I never thought of my feelings for Dean in sexual terms even though I had more than an athletic fascination for his bulge inside his stretchy lycra track shorts. I know it sounds crazy. I mean, I jacked off thinking about him dozens of times goddamn it, but I just never made the connection. I just knew that I wanted to spend time with him, more than anything.
As summer drew near, I forced myself to speak to him. Nothing epic, just a “hi” in the elevator or a smile as we boarded the bus. He was always very pleasant in return. He didn’t shut me down straight away but nor did it spark my desperately hoped-for conversation. I mean what would we talk about? We were too different. He was nearly a man. He went to parties and hung around with people his own age. Girls loved him, guys liked to be around him. And me, what was I? An undersized, boney little runt too shy to even make friends his own age.
I looked at his chest as the bus started to move. 15 minutes till our stop. The last chance I might ever have to see him. He had made my world brighter but also sadder. Knowing that he existed made me feel good, but my inability to connect with him made me feel even more lonely. I was determined to say something to him. I’d wait till we were off the noisy bus then I’d walk alongside him and start a conversation. Not one of the short exchanges of pleasantries that were over as soon as they began – an actual conversation. I promised myself.
Then I noticed him looking around as though searching for someone. I prayed that he didn’t find them. My plan depended upon him being alone. Please God, don’t let him find whoever he’s looking for! To my relief, he stopped looking.
The bus was so crowded that we were all pressed nose to nose. Absolutely no room to move. I felt his right hand moving between us. Between my legs. I expected that he would quickly realise that his hand was touching my privates and move it away. I had no room to flinch away but I wouldn’t have even if I could. His inadvertent touch might be the last thing I had to remember him by.
But his hand remained where it was. When I didn’t push it away, he turned it so that his palm was facing me. He lightly gripped my bulge. I opened my eyes wide, shocked, and looked up at his face. He looked down and me with a miscievous smile, flashed me the fastest little wink, then looked out of the window, his expression returning to neutral.
Between my legs, his hand continued to work, kneading my soft bulge through my nylon school trousers. I looked from side to side to make sure that nobody else could see what he was doing, but the bus was so crowded that nobody could see much below chest height. I understood now, he had not been looking for friends, he was making sure that he was safe to begin. To touch me.
For a while, I was too nervous of getting caught to respond down there, but the feel of his touch was enjoyable. More than enjoyable, it was electric. I felt excitement in the pit of my stomach. He started to explore the outline of my genitals. I felt him tracing the shape of my penis, curled in my underpants. Wearing speedos does you no favours in the dick department. Most swimmers have small dicks as a result of the endless hours of tight confinement. I felt Dean find the root of my still soft cock then work his way along its length, squeezing me between the tip of his first and second fingers and his thumb to explore the extent of it. I hoped he wasn’t too disappointed at what he discovered.
My mind was all over the place. Why was he doing this? Was it a prank. Was he going to laugh over it with his friends later. The little faggot runt who he gave a boner in the bus? But I didn’t dare to second guess his intentions. Whatever his motivation, he was touching me now.
I felt his fingers gently groping around for my balls. I was surprised at how patient he was being, and how thorough. If I’d had the chance to get him naked, I would have immediately started jacking him off. I lacked the sophistication or the desire to do anything more. Well, maybe I would have kissed him as I did it. My virgin mouth pressed against his sensuous lips as I pulled on his undoubtedly huge dick. I’d never seen it, but I had often pondered what it looked like. It was hard to tell just by the look of his bulge. He filled his shorts well but he might just have big balls. I had stood in front of my own bathroom mirror in my speedos to see if other people could tell much about my cock and balls from the small bulge when I was wearing them but there was little to see. A dishearteningly small, soft lump.
As I thought about his dick, my own started to get hard. I panicked, irrationally fearing that he would tell I was getting a boner. Then I reasoned that that was his purpose. But I was still apprehensive as I felt my dick swelling in my pants. It had been resting with its head facing downwards, but now as it got hard, it unfurled and reached upwards towards the sky. I looked at Dean’s face, and he allowed the briefest trace of a smile to appear and disappear, still pretending to look out of the window.
Now he rested his palm along my stiff dick, with his finger tips underneath my balls. He very slowly started to rub his hand up and down, knowing that he still had at least 10 minutes to work me over. I’d never really been aware of my fraenulum before but now as he dragged the soft brushed cotton of my briefs up and down along the base of my dick, I realised how sensitive it was. I couldn’t help but lift my pelvis on each languid upward stroke of his hand, as much to minimise the incredibly teasing friction, as in an unconscious fucking motion.
I wanted to rest my head against his chest and mmmmmm my gratitude as he stroked my cock, but of course that was impossibly out of bounds on the crowded bus. Instead I simply stared straight forwards at his chest as he slowly masturbated me surrounded by nearly 50 people.
He stopped brushing me now, and instead started to tickle my balls with his finger tips. My ballbag was tight at the best of times. Maybe it was all that time spent in cool water or maybe just because they were not all that big. I felt his fingers slowly tickling beneath my sack, rolling my balls around in the slippery skin. Although I was not all that mature down there, my bag felt plump, and my briefs felt too tight. I gulped at the delicious sensation. I felt him slide the edge of a finger between my balls, separating them then he used his finger tip to lightly massage first my left ball, then the right.
To my immense disappointment, he pulled his hand out from between us and used it to grip the support handle on the back of the chair beside me. I almost had to suppress a little whimper of disappointment. Was that it then? Throw the runt a bone then leave him straining and desperate? If that was the case then it was still better than nothing. Much better.
Dean leaned closer. To the other passengers it probably looked as though he had been pressed against me by the crowds. But I felt a lump against my belly. His hard dick. I was overjoyed; a horny little kid breathless with excitement. He subtly lowered his height, as though trying to keep his balance until our dicks were touching, laying alongside each other. His cock pressing against my belly, mine too thin to touch his. I could feel the bulge of his soft nuts beneath pressing into my smaller bag. My mouth was inexplicably full of saliva and I took a huge gulp, almost theatrically over the top, as my horniness threatened to overwhelm me. I looked around, certain that it must be obvious to everyone what we were doing, but everybody was preoccupied, as eager as I usually was to get home. I looked over my shoulder to see what was happening behind me. A man in a suit browsing the internet on a ridiculously oversize cell phone, and next to him, a woman looking out of the window bored. Behind them, two women engaged in a conversation.
Dean stood for 30 seconds, content to allow our dicks to press against each other, then with a barely perceptible motion, he started grind against me. I nearly jizzed right then and there. If the bus had crashed and I died, I would have gone out happy!
It was hard for Dean to stay crouched without eventually attracting attention, so all too soon, he returned to his normal height, sliding his dick up my stomach as he did so. It was hard to judge its length from the way that it was pressing against me, but it was definitely a lot thicker than mine. I wondered if that bothered him. Me, with my gnarly little pencil dick compared to his tree trunk. If it did, he never showed it.
His right hand moved from the hand grip back between my legs. He adjusted his body so that he was slightly off centre now so he didn’t have to reach around his own boner, but I felt it pressing against my stomach to the side continuously. I wanted to leap up, throw my arms joyfully around his neck, wrap my legs around him, and smother him in kisses whilst grinding my own boner against his stomach. But I didn’t. I played it cool. I’m very good at not attracting attention.
I felt the tips of all four fingers hook behind my dick, and then his thumb started stroking from side to side over my dick head. I was so hard it was almost painful. My dick didn’t like to be confined. When it was hard it stuck out at more of a 45 degree angle, and it was equally uncomfortable to be bent down or as now, up inside my pants.
I could feel the head swelling as he tantalised it. My dick is not all that thick, and the head is quite a bit thicker than my shaft. The head has this rim around the back edge of the corona that’s kind of has a squared off edge. I don’t think many guys have a boner quite like mine. I assume it’s because they don’t get as hard as me. Anyway, Dean found that hard rim around the base of my dick head, and he started teasing it with his thumb. I lit up like a candle. It’s my most sensitive part and I really did gasp involuntarily then, my body straightening up as he discovered it. I looked up at him and he was gazing over my head out of the window, but he had a smirk on his face. Get the little dorky kid all hot and bothered!
He continued working on my dickhead as we got closer to our destination and I stood, my mind in a haze of ecstasy, my thoughts whirling out of control, feeling closer and more in love with him than I ever thought possible.
We passed the old garage, abandoned now as people moved closer to the city centre. Only two minutes until our stop. He switched his grip so that he held my dick head from the top between his thumb and first two fingers. Then he started doing this thing; kind of twiddling my helmet like it was a radio dial. It was another new sensation, and so stimulating! I felt myself getting close. I reached down to move his hand away before I jizzed in my pants, but he ignored me and intensified his diddling. My body wanted him to finish me but my rational mind didn’t want me to have to get off the bus with soiled underwear and a wet patch.
Dean carried on relentless and soon I was at the point of no return. I thrust my pelvis towards him and he worked his fingers faster in response, carrying me over the edge and beyond. I held my breath, rolled both lips deep between my teeth, closing my mouth hard on them to keep from crying out, but I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep out the world as I had the best orgasm I had ever experienced. It went on and on as my balls pumped themselves dry with all the power that they had. If anybody had been watching my face at that moment, I don’t think they would have been in any doubt what I was experiencing. Eventually it was over and my legs felt weak, like I was going to buckle at the knees. I could feel my fresh load sliming inside my underwear as Dean twirled his fingers over my dick. I just prayed that it wouldn’t leave a visible sign on the outside of my black school trousers. Dean kept working me, forcing my body to give up its entire load. And even when my balls finally stopped pumping, he continued to tease for a good minute more, making my knees tremble as his fingers teased a glans that just wanted to be left to recover.
He finally stopped and I opened my eyes, blinking like I had just come out to daylight from a darkened room. I looked up at his face and although he was still looking out of the window, he was grinning widely.
“Good?” he said in a voice just loud enough for me to hear.
I didn’t dare to speak. I was afraid that I would ruin the moment with tongue-tied exuberance or by saying the wrong thing. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, especially at that moment. Instead I simply gave a small curt nod and a “Huh.”
My voice sounded hoarse, even more adolescent than usual.
“Good,” he repeated, this time with a different inflection.
I could see him put his hand into his pocket and move it around. From his motion, I suspected that he was wiping my jizz off. I hoped against hope that it was not the case. I surreptitiously reached down and felt the front of my trousers. They were covered in slime. It had oozed right through the nylon. I couldn’t believe it. I’d never cum that much before, and we were just pulling up our stop. I rubbed at myself nonchalantly hoping to smear my cream into the fabric. Better a non-descript wet spot than a creamy, incriminating mess.
The bus pulled up and people started to shuffle off. I let them move ahead and dropped my backpack to cover my groin then I followed Dean off. I lingered to allow all of the passengers to move away from the bus. Dean lingered with me. The bus pulled away and we stood in silence. I was timid but he was smiling gently and looking at me.
When the nearest passenger was 20 yards away, Dean reached down and grabbed the arm I was holding my backpack with, and pulled it away. We both looked down. The front of my black trousers was a creamy mess. I blushed and stared at the floor, embarrassed. Dean grinned hugely.
“A good one huh?”
I looked at the floor and nodded bashfully.
He put his hand on my shoulder.
“You’re cute. You looked like you would enjoy it.”
“I did. A lot.”
I couldn’t believe he actually gave a damn about me, and he said I was cute. Me. Innncredible! Maybe I wasn’t beyond hope.
He laughed and reached into his bag and pulled out a T-shirt.
“Better clean yourself up.”
I accepted the shirt and examined it. The Killers. I liked them too, even though they were past their heyday. Something else we had in common.
“It’ll mess your shirt up.”
“No problem. It’ll clean up.”
I was touched by his generosity. I wiped at myself until all that remained was a dinner plate sized dark patch then I offered him the shirt back. He shook his head.
“Not like that Ethan.”
He knew my name!
“How did you…”
“I’ve been waiting all year for you to say something.”
I was floating. He knew my name!!!!
He smiled at me. It was all for me. I looked back at him, unable to suppress my own goofy, awkward grin. There was so much I wanted to tell him but I was not good at sharing my emotions. My mouth opened and closed but I couldn’t find anything to say that suitably expressed the magnitude of my happiness. I wanted to leap up and down and howl my joy. I looked down, he was still hard. There was a big lump at the front of his pants. He looked down at me. My boner was even more obvious.
He moved closer.
“Why don’t we hang out over the summer?”
I died and went to heaven.
He playfully twanged the lump tenting my pants.
“And I can show you some more things to do with that…”
A few days later Dean called and invited me to his house. I was happy beyond words.
We hung out in his room, and I was happier still when his parents announced that they were off to the movies then left us in the apartment alone.
We played video games and chatted for fifteen minutes before Dean turned to me and asked, “Wanna get naked?”
My eyes must have grown as big as saucers as I looked at him to see if he was serious.
He started to undress, but I was naked long, LONG before he was. Like an excited puppy getting ready to go out to the park.
Dean grinned at me, looked down at my already hard dick, and grinned even wider.
I gave him my goofy, happy grin again; a mixture of sheepish embarrassment and joy.
He raised an arm and invited me to him. I didn’t waste a second and moments later I was nestled against his side, my boner resting along the front of his leg. He smiled down at me as I rested my hand on his powerful pectoral muscle.
I looked down at his dick. It was everything I had fantasised it would be and more. It was thick, powerful, with balls that dwarfed mine. My dick head brushed against them. And best of all, he was hard. Hard for me.
I snuggled against him and he pulled me closer. He reached down and cupped my dick in his right hand. I gasped, fearful that I would blow my load on the spot.
He lowered his left hand towards my rear, middle finger extended.
“Have you ever had anything in your butt?” he asked…