The Bus Stranger I Never Forgot

When I was studying at university in Monterrey, things happened to me that I’ve never told anyone. I lived alone, far from my family, and every afternoon I came back from campus with my head full of notes and my body tired. This is one of those stories you keep to yourself, but that comes back every so often, intact, as if it had happened yesterday.

It was a Thursday, after afternoon classes, around seven. The sky was already starting to darken and I was waiting for the city bus at a stop packed with people coming home from work. When it arrived, it was completely full, so I got on through the back door, passed the fare from hand to hand up to the driver, and stood there holding onto one of the overhead bars.

One stop later, two or three people got off the back, but she got on. She wasn’t very tall, with brown skin and wavy black hair that fell to her shoulders. She was wearing a slightly tight gray skirt that outlined the curve of her hips and firm, well-shaped legs. Her blouse was immaculate white, with a green scarf tied around her neck, and she was carrying a folded coat over one arm along with a handbag.

By chance, she ended up standing right next to me. With every sudden stop the bus shoved us around, and those jolts arranged us in an awkward and at the same time delicious way: my chest ended up pressed against her shoulder, and my crotch was touching her hand, the one she was holding the coat with. Her other hand was busy, clinging to the bar.

Her closeness and the scent of her perfume, something warm and sweet, made my body start reacting without me asking it to. I tried to think of something else, of exams, of anything, but it was useless.

Even though I didn’t want it to, the erection became obvious against the back of her hand. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, slowly, as if measuring me, and then turned her face away. But she didn’t move her hand.

With the sway of the ride, her hand began brushing against me over and over, almost without meaning to, and the truth is I liked that more than I was willing to admit. Then, with all the discretion I could muster, I lowered my right hand to her hip and barely touched it. She looked at me again, without anger, without surprise, and turned back toward the window. I took that as permission. I started caressing her ass more firmly, feeling how fleshy and warm it was under the fabric. She checked around discreetly, making sure no one was watching us, and then she moved a little closer, just enough for her hand to press tightly against me.

That’s how we rode for several stops, in that silent game only the two of us understood, surrounded by people staring at their phones or out at the street.

When she moved toward the door to get off, I got down behind her. On the sidewalk, still with my heart racing, we struck up some ordinary conversation, like two strangers who happen to cross paths. She told me her name was Daniela, that she was twenty-three, and that she worked at a clothing store downtown.

—And do you always do that? —she asked me, half serious, half amused—. Take advantage of girls on the bus.

—This is the first time —I replied, and it was true—. I swear I’d never dared before. It all happened, I don’t know, without thinking. And when I realized I could, I didn’t want to hold back anymore.

She raised an eyebrow, as if she didn’t quite believe me.

—I like you a lot —I added, because honesty was the only thing I could think of—. I’ve wanted you since you got on.

Daniela smiled. It was a slow smile, one of those that stay etched in your memory, and seeing it gave me enough nerve to tell her I wanted to be with her that very night. The truth is I was hard as a rock and felt like I was about to explode.

—I can’t —she said in a lower voice—. I’m on my period.

I dropped my gaze, defeated, but she took me by the arm.

—But there are other ways —she added, and that smile returned.

***

We walked a block in silence, brushing our fingers together, until we reached a vacant lot between two half-built buildings. It was dark and smelled like damp earth, but there was a corner in the back, hidden behind a pile of bricks, where no one could see us from the street.

We embraced as soon as we got there. I kissed her neck slowly while my hands traced her hips and moved up to her chest. At the touch of my fingers, her nipples hardened and showed through the blouse. She was breathing harder, her mouth slightly open against my ear.

I unbuttoned three buttons of her blouse and lifted her bra up over her breasts. The little light that reached us from the streetlamp let me see two firm, well-sized breasts, with round, dark nipples, hardened by the cold and by desire. I didn’t wait any longer: I covered them with kisses and soft love bites, watching her reactions closely.

My caresses seemed to please her, because she only let out short, contained sighs, smothered by the fear that someone might show up. Every sound she made drove me hotter.

In an impulse I kissed her on the mouth, deeply, and pulled her against me while I lifted her skirt. I tried to pull down her underwear, but she stopped my hand firmly and reminded me in a whisper about her period. I don’t know what frustrated face I must have made, because she laughed softly and kissed me again.

—Relax —she whispered in my ear—. There’s a solution for everything.

Without taking her eyes off me, she slowly crouched down. She kissed the bulge in my pants, rubbed her cheek against it, playing, stretching out the moment. Then she unbuckled my belt, pulled down the zipper, and with one tug left my pants at my knees. I was exposed, fully erect, right at the level of her face.

She touched me first with the tips of her fingers, as if feeling out the terrain, and then leaned in to smell me. It was obvious she was enjoying the scent, that she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. When she got tired of looking, smelling, and caressing, she opened her mouth and, little by little, took all of me in.

She slid in and out of my mouth with a calm that drove me crazy. She played with her tongue on the tip, licked, sucked, and all the while her hands gently stroked me from below. Each time she took me deeper, until her nose was pressed against my body. She repeated that move several times; you could tell it took effort, but also that she liked the challenge, that she didn’t want to give up.

As I felt the wet heat of her mouth and throat, I felt like I was touching the sky. I had to brace myself against the wall so I wouldn’t lose my balance.

Daniela pulled away for a moment, her lips shining, and asked me to let her know when I was about to finish. It didn’t take long. The pressure became unbearable and, with a broken voice, I told her I couldn’t hold on any longer.

She moved away just a little and, with the tip of her tongue, traced the most sensitive part while looking me in the eyes. Seconds later I exploded. The first jet hit her hand, the second her open mouth, and the rest landed on her fingers, because she took hold of me and kept working me with her hand, squeezing out the very last drop as if she didn’t want to waste a thing.

When she saw there was no more coming out, she stayed still, staring at the semen in her palm. She smelled it for quite a while, first cautiously, and then tasted it with the tip of her tongue. Something changed in her face, a mix of curiosity and pleasure, and then she licked her whole hand, leaving nothing behind. After that she wiped her cheek with those same fingers and brought them back to her mouth.

I was left speechless, watching her.

—Do you like it? —I finally asked, still breathless.

—I always wanted to know what it tasted like —she confessed, straightening her blouse—. To smell it, to try it. But I never had the chance. All my boyfriends were too shy for something like that.

She stood up and kissed me, and there was still a trace of me on her lips. Then she laughed, with a slyness I hadn’t seen in her before.

—And I’m going to confess something to you —she said, fastening her scarf—. It wasn’t true about my period. I was perfectly fine. What I really wanted was this. To taste you.

***

I was left speechless, torn between pride and disbelief, watching her smooth her skirt back into place as if nothing had happened. We walked together to the avenue, in silence now, and before saying goodbye she gave me her number written on a little scrap of paper.

With Daniela I lived through many other similar afternoons during those university years. Each encounter had its own story, its own improvised setting, its own secret. Later, when I finished school and life took us down different paths, we gradually stopped seeing each other, without drama, as happens.

I never heard from her again. But every time I get on a packed bus at rush hour and feel the involuntary brush of a stranger, I can’t help remembering that afternoon, that vacant lot, and the stranger I never forgot.