The College Student Who Touched Me on the Night Bus
This happened quite a few years ago, when I was twenty-five and still surprised by the things life put in front of you without warning. I met her in an English course I took one summer so I wouldn’t get stuck in a rut. Her name was Carolina, and she came to class with the disorganized energy of someone who had just left one stage of her life and hadn’t fully entered the next.
She was a medium-height woman, slim but with pronounced hips and broad shoulders that showed whenever she leaned over her notebook. Her skin was very fair, almost paper-white, and her wavy hair was a warm brown that fell over her shoulders. She spoke quickly, laughed loudly, and sometimes said things that threw the teacher off. But what I remember most was her gaze: a restless look that always seemed to be searching for a little more than the conversation offered.
Nothing happened during those weeks. We spoke in English about silly subjects, practiced textbook dialogues, and said goodbye at the door. I knew that in the fall she would be attending the same university as me, but I didn’t think much of it. Carolina was one of those people who stay in your memory without you really knowing why.
The course ended, and I lost sight of her for a couple of months. When classes started at the university, I would occasionally run into her in the hallways. A greeting, a smile, and each of us went on our way. Until one afternoon in May, when we happened to meet outside.
***
She was with a friend, a girl shorter than her, friendly and quick to laugh. They were both weighed down with folders and laughing about something I didn’t quite catch. I joined the conversation almost without thinking, and the three of us walked to the bus stop. That was where we discovered that Carolina and I took the same line. Her friend, on the other hand, said goodbye with a quick gesture and left us alone.
We got on together. Luckily, there were empty seats at the back, and no one was standing near us, just other students scattered through the rows in front of and behind us. We sat next to each other, our forearms brushing whenever the bus stopped. The conversation drifted from academic matters to personal ones, and from the personal into that ambiguous territory where words begin to have a double meaning.
I don’t quite know how we got onto the subject, but at some point I made a provocative comment, half joking, about how uncomfortable a certain anatomical detail could be for a man at the least opportune moments. She opened her eyes wide and laughed.
“Why?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“Because when you come, you lose your aim,” I replied, lowering my voice. “Your cum shoots all over the place. Everything ends up splattered: the wall, your belly, your face if you’re not careful.”
She laughed again, but this time she didn’t look away. She bit her lip and kept her eyes on my pants a second too long. This is going somewhere, I thought.
With every jolt of the bus, my arm pressed against the side of her breast. She didn’t move it away, and she didn’t pull back either. I felt the heat of her body through the fabric, her nipple hardening beneath her blouse every time I brushed against her, that tension that grows silently when two people pretend nothing is happening.
“Do you want to see how hard my cock gets?” I asked her quietly, almost unable to believe I was saying it.
She nodded yes without thinking. I took her hand and carefully guided it to my crotch, checking from the corner of my eye to make sure no one was watching. She began squeezing me through my pants, slowly, with a curiosity that aroused me more than any expert caress. Her fingers moved over the bulge, squeezed it at the base, weighed it, and returned to the tip as if measuring me. I was already completely hard, my cock rigid against the fabric, and she noticed.
“Fuck,” she whispered. “You’re so hard.”
“That’s what you do to me,” I replied in her ear, biting her earlobe.
***
The bus kept filling up, and the overhead lights were too bright. Every time someone walked down the aisle, she didn’t let go, and I ended up covering that area with a sweatshirt I had across my legs and my backpack on top. Beneath that makeshift shelter, she dared to do more: she lowered my zipper a few inches, slipped her hand inside my underwear, and grabbed my cock against my bare skin. I closed my eyes for a second. Her hand was cold, and it made me shiver. She began moving up and down slowly, squeezing the base and running her thumb over the tip, which was already beginning to leak.
I took the opportunity to slip my hand beneath her blouse. I unclasped her bra with one movement and grabbed an entire breast. It was firm, soft above and hard at the nipple, which turned into a little pebble between my fingers. I pinched it, rolled it, and she squeezed her thighs together and accidentally dug her nails into my cock.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered in her ear. “Keep touching me like that.”
It was a dangerous game. The lights, the people, the swaying bus. Any extra movement would have given us away. And yet that was exactly what made it irresistible: the risk, the secrecy, the certainty that we were mutually jerking each other off surrounded by strangers who had no idea. I slipped my hand inside her pants, over her panties, and felt the soaked fabric. She was dripping wet. I pressed my middle finger against her slit through the cotton, and she let out a low moan that she disguised with a cough.
We stayed like that for several minutes, my finger pressing into her through her underwear while her hand silently milked my cock, until Carolina leaned toward me.
“I’m getting off here,” she murmured, hurriedly rearranging her clothes.
At that moment I decided the night couldn’t end there.
“I’ll walk you,” I said, tucking myself away as best I could in my pants.
“But you don’t live around here,” she replied, surprised.
“I know. I can get home later. It’s fine.”
We both got off and started walking along narrower streets. Night had fallen, and hardly anyone was out. At the first dark corner, I stopped her gently, pushed her against the wall, and kissed her. It was a dirty kiss, all tongue and excess saliva, while I opened her jacket and slipped my hand directly beneath her blouse to grab her breasts without the bra, which had remained loose since the bus. She put her hand down my pants again, this time without trying to hide it, and pulled my cock out into the open in the middle of the street. She began jerking me off right there on the corner while I bit her neck.
“You’re crazy,” I said breathlessly.
“You made me this way,” she replied, spitting into her hand and gripping me again with her slick palm.
Whenever someone approached, we separated and pretended to walk calmly with our hands in our pockets. As soon as they passed, we latched onto each other again. We moved on, looking for somewhere with more shade and privacy. We ended up in a small, poorly lit park, with a bench hidden between two trees.
***
We sat very close together. The street was a few yards away, close enough for us to feel safe but not completely.
“You always hid it very well,” I said, my hand already beneath her blouse, kneading one of her breasts.
“And you always seemed like the quiet one in the group,” she replied, laughing as she opened my pants again.
“I’m more discreet than quiet,” I clarified.
We touched each other at the same time: she was holding my cock, already out of my underwear, while I ran my hand up the inside of her thighs until I reached her crotch over her pants, which was still burning hot.
“I was so horny all summer,” she confessed, biting her lip. “I fucked way too little. I needed a cock like this.”
I asked her to lift her blouse right there, in that open place where anyone could appear. She did it without hesitation. She pulled up the fabric and finished taking off her bra, which had left red marks beneath her breasts, and her tits were left bare in the middle of the park: two white, round breasts with pink, pointed nipples reacting to the chill of the night. I caressed them with both hands, squeezed them, pressed them together, lowered my mouth, and took one entirely inside. I sucked it slowly, tugging at the nipple with my teeth while pinching the other one with my free hand. She threw her head back and stared at the treetops, breathing through her open mouth.
“Suck them harder,” she moaned. “Bite them.”
I did as she asked. I left her nipples reddened and glistening with saliva while my hand pushed inside her pants, inside her panties now, and found her soaked pussy. I parted her lips with two fingers and searched for her clitoris. It was swollen, hard as a button. I began rubbing it in circles, and she spread her legs as far as her pants allowed.
“Put them inside me,” she whispered in my ear. “Put your fingers inside me.”
I pushed in my middle finger first, then my index finger, and began fucking her with my hand while I kept sucking her tits. Her pussy made wet noises; she was that soaked. Moans escaped her, which she tried to muffle by biting my shoulder over my sweatshirt.
Suddenly, we heard footsteps on the path. Carolina leaned over quickly and lay against my leg, pretending to rest, her face right above my bulge. I pulled my hand from her pants as best I could and wiped it on my jeans. The person passed a few yards away and continued on without looking at us. When silence returned, she looked up at me with a smile that was anything but innocent. Her eyes were shining.
“Stay still,” she said.
She finished opening my pants, which were already halfway down, lowered my underwear to mid-thigh as well, and pulled my entire cock into the open, hard and pointing at the sky. She looked at it for a second, licked her lips, and took it into her mouth in one sudden motion, halfway down. A moan escaped me, and I had to choke it back by clenching my teeth.
What followed was slow and deliberate, as if we had all night instead of a dark park with neighbors liable to turn on their lights at any moment. She sucked me all the way, as deep as she could, until she gagged and her eyes watered. Then she came back up and played with just the tip, circling it with her tongue, sucking it like a lollipop and spitting on it so it would slide more easily. She went back down, swallowing me, and squeezed my balls with her other hand. Saliva ran down her chin and onto her breasts, which were still bare, swaying with every movement of her head.
I held her by the hair, setting a slow rhythm, feeling every movement of her mouth travel over me from my balls to the tip. I ran my other hand over her thigh, trying to go farther, trying to put my fingers back inside her pussy, but she stopped me firmly.
“Not my pussy,” she said without letting go of my cock, her voice thick with saliva. “Not yet. Tonight you’re coming in my mouth or on my tits. Choose.”
I didn’t argue. There was something about the boundary she imposed that made it even more exciting: she gave me everything except the last thing, leaving me certain that this wouldn’t end that night.
“In your mouth,” I told her. “Swallow it all.”
She sped up. She began sucking me faster, both hands at the base, twisting her wrist in time with her mouth. I felt the tingling rise from my balls and tense my whole body. I gripped the back of her head, and she understood. She took me all the way down and let me explode there, inside her throat. I came in thick spurts, one after another, while she swallowed without pulling away, eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration. When she had drained me, she moved back up the shaft, sucking up whatever remained, ran her tongue over her lips, and smiled at me.
“Yummy,” she murmured. “You were really desperate, huh?”
“Your turn,” I said, still panting, and tried to put my hand back down her pants. She let me for a while. I undid her button, lowered the zipper, and pushed three fingers into her pussy while my thumb kept working her clitoris. She grabbed the back of the bench, spread her legs, and began moving her hips against my hand, shamelessly fucking herself on my fingers. I made wet sounds inside her until her whole body began to tremble. She came biting my neck to keep from screaming, her pussy squeezing my fingers like a fist.
She stayed like that for quite a while afterward, catching her breath, her breasts still bare and my sticky hand between her legs, until the windows of the nearby buildings began lighting up one after another. It was the hour when people returned home, and the park stopped being ours. More people walked along the sidewalk: a couple with a dog, a man carrying grocery bags. We straightened up and hurriedly fixed our clothes—she stuffed her bra into her bag because she didn’t have time to put it back on—and looked at each other with a mixture of nervous laughter and unfinished desire.
***
I walked her to the entrance of her building. On the way, I told her without holding back how much I’d enjoyed it, how she had sucked me, how tight her pussy was, everything that crossed my mind. She laughed and lightly hit my arm, but she didn’t let go of my hand and every so often guided it back to my bulge over my pants.
When we reached her door, I kissed her one last time, slowly, and let my hands run over her breasts through her clothes again. She still smelled of me, of saliva and semen on her breath.
“Next time I want you to fuck me,” she whispered before letting me go. “Really hard.”
“See you at the university,” I replied, and she disappeared up the stairs laughing.
The next day I ran into her between classes. She looked half amused and half embarrassed. She told me that same night she had written to her friend—the girl from the bus stop—to confess what we had done.
“And what did she say?” I asked, curious.
“That I’m crazy,” she replied, biting her lip just as she had in the park. “That she can’t believe I sucked some guy off in a park. And that she’s dying for it to happen again. I think she wants me to tell her every last detail next time.”
“Or come along,” I said, half joking.
She laughed and didn’t say no.
What happened afterward is another story. But that night—the night of the bus full of lights and the dark park, of her hand milking me among strangers and her mouth swallowing everything beneath the trees—was the one that taught me that the most interesting people are always the ones who hide best how slutty they want to be.
