What My Sister and I Experienced on That Bus

This happened to us a few years ago, when the summer was really pressing down and we still thought we knew our own limits. I’m telling it now because I’m not embarrassed anymore, and because my sister insists it’s the best story we have.

Lucía and I lived alone in a rented apartment. We were always very close; as little girls we told each other everything, so sharing a place when we moved to study was the most natural thing in the world. Our mother, single and with a fairly open mind, supported us however she could, but the money was never enough.

To cover expenses we worked as waitresses and, when the opportunity came up, as brand promoters. Those odd jobs were paid in cash, and that weekend we had to go to some offices downtown to collect three days’ pay. The problem was we were broke: we had more money on our transit cards than in our bank account.

The offices were about twenty blocks away, too far to walk and too close to bother with a taxi. There was nothing to think about: we had to take the bus.

My name is Renata, and back then I was twenty-two. I’m the one with light brown curly hair, pale skin, and wide hips. Lucía, two years younger, has straight dark blonde hair, even paler skin, and a bust that always made me a little jealous.

Since it was scorching hot, we dressed lightly. I wore a lilac miniskirt; she wore a mint-green one. Both of us with short white sleeveless blouses, hoop earrings, and matching costume-jewelry bracelets. We finished the look with white sneakers and no socks, more for comfort than to show off, although we knew perfectly well that way our legs looked better.

—We’ll get paid and then go somewhere for dinner —Lucía said as she closed the door—. We look this good, someone’s sure to buy us drinks.

—Deal —I answered, not imagining how far from any dinner that afternoon would end up.

***

The bus was packed when we got on. We couldn’t find two seats together, so we stayed standing, holding onto the aisle rail, convinced the ride would be short. Big mistake.

The bus filled up until there wasn’t room for a pin, and because we weren’t used to the route, we took the wrong one. It started looping through streets we didn’t know, landmarks disappeared, and without realizing it we stopped knowing where we were. In a way, we’d gotten lost.

Around us were mostly men, rough-looking but not unpleasant. Behind us stood a couple of guys in their thirties. At first I didn’t pay them any attention.

It didn’t take long before I felt a hand sliding over my bare back. I knew right away where it was coming from, but I thought it wouldn’t be long until we got off and I preferred not to make a scene. I told myself it was just the sway of the bus and looked out the window.

The problem was that the contact stopped being accidental. The hand moved down my back too slowly to be an accident, deliberate, until there was no doubt about what it wanted. It slipped under the thin fabric of my skirt and my whole body went rigid at once.

I turned my head just enough to look for my sister and understood she was going through the same thing. The guy behind her had slipped his hand inside her blouse and was stroking her breast with a calm that had her red as a tomato. Lucía pressed her lips together, eyes half-closed, and didn’t move away.

I should have been outraged. And yet what I felt was a surge of heat rising from my stomach. It was an uncomfortable mix of shock and arousal that I hadn’t asked for, but couldn’t stop either.

It’s only for a while. No one knows who I am. No one knows me here.

That thought, instead of scaring me, set me free. The stranger pulled the fabric of my underwear aside with two fingers and started to stroke me over it, gauging the rhythm, attentive to how my breathing responded. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound. The space was tiny, the silence in the aisle absolute, as if the entire bus had shrunk around us.

***

With a firm yank he tore the garment off me and tucked it into his pants pocket like a trophy. I felt his body press against mine from behind, his hardness pressing through the fabric of my skirt, rising and falling slowly. By the look on Lucía’s face, they were doing exactly the same to her.

When his fingers found me inside, there was nothing left to ignore. I had to close my eyes and cling to the bar so I wouldn’t lose my balance. Then I felt a second pair of hands on my breasts: another one of the men had managed to reach me from the side. I felt used, exposed, and the worst part was realizing how much I liked feeling that way.

What snapped me out of the trance was feeling the tip of his cock making its way in. I was so ready that it went in effortlessly, and my body did what my mind no longer controlled: I started moving with it, up and down, holding onto the rail to ease each thrust. I felt it go in and out, thick and hot, while the bus kept rattling through unknown streets.

I looked for Lucía and found her in the same state: her back against another man, eyes closed, mouth open in a look I’d never seen on her. Seeing her like that, my little sister completely surrendered, shook me deeply, and that image, far from stopping me, finished setting me free.

I felt lips on my neck and turned my face until I found them. They tasted like beer and tobacco, but I didn’t care. I kissed him, feeling his tongue sink into my mouth while I kept swaying against him.

***

At some point I stopped keeping count of how many there were. One would pull away and another would take his place, the hands changed, the rhythm changed, and I held onto the rail as if it were the only solid thing in all of that. Lucía was moaning softly beside me, no longer trying to hide it, and hearing her I let go too. Not too loud, just enough, but there was no point pretending to be discreet anymore.

That was when I understood something that made my whole skin prickle: almost all the passengers were men, and almost all of them were watching us. Some didn’t even touch us; they just looked, intent, and knowing they were watching us turned me on in a way I couldn’t even name.

The two of us ended up marked, disheveled, our clothes out of place and our breathing out of control, two sisters moaning on a city bus heading who knows where. In a gesture that still surprises me, Lucía put a hand on my shoulder, squeezed it, and we looked into each other’s eyes as if to tell each other we were in that madness together.

The bus braked hard. As if on a prearranged signal, the men straightened their clothes, shoved some crumpled hundred- and two-hundred-peso bills into our hands, and started getting off in a rush. It seemed that had been their usual stop, their routine, and we had been a fortunate improvisation.

We tried to sit down and couldn’t. Between our trembling legs and our messy clothes, we stood there speechless, looking at each other without knowing what to say.

***

A few minutes later, the driver stopped the bus in a dirt lot on the outskirts of the city, full of parked trucks and drivers smoking in the shade.

—This is as far as my route goes, ladies —he said, looking at us in the rearview mirror with a crooked smile—. You have to get off.

We got down as best we could, still dazed. The drivers gathered there turned to look at us and said something to each other, because they came over right away. There were four or five of them, straightforward looks on their faces, and we, with our rumpled clothes and smeared mascara, must have looked like anything but two students going to collect a paycheck.

What followed there, in a circle, under the sun, was another story my sister and I still tell each other in a low voice. When they were done, they took out more folded bills and left them in our hands, laughing, with no malice, almost gratefully.

—Just because you were good sports —one of them said, and the others cheered.

By then we were exhausted, sitting on the dirt floor, not knowing what to do or what to think. We had enjoyed it, that was undeniable, but we also felt a strange kind of guilt, the kind that takes a long time to go away.

***

One of the younger ones came over, a bit chubby and not handsome at all, but the only one who showed any kindness. He helped us up, took a hose, and warned us:

—It’s cold, okay.

It wasn’t cold: it was freezing. We both let out a yelp and started laughing at the same time, and that laughter, I’m not quite sure why, brought us back to reality. He handed us some rags to dry off with and a couple of old T-shirts to put over our blouses.

—Come on, I’ll take you —he said, and we, still in shock, followed him without a word.

He drove us in his car, a pretty old green Beetle, and asked where we were headed. We asked him to drop us off at the offices downtown. On the way we barely talked; he told us his name was Damián, that he drove for the owner of several cars, and that he knew people who paid very well for company at private parties.

—If you’re interested, I’d like to get to know you better —he said, looking at us in the mirror.

Lucía and I looked at each other. We didn’t answer right away, but we both knew the answer was already there.

***

When we got to the modeling and promo agency where we were going to collect our pay, Damián asked for our phone numbers and we gave them to him without thinking twice. We told him where we lived and invited him to come see us sometime. He handed us our bags, we gave him a kiss each, and got out of the car covering ourselves with our jackets, because we were still a little wet.

—What a little party we had —I blurted out to my sister, still disbelieving.

—Yeah —she answered, smiling—. We should travel by bus more often, don’t you think?

I just nodded. Inside, as we put the cash away, we noticed our IDs were missing. We assumed Damián had kept them in case we’d given him a fake address. Strangely, we didn’t care.

The office was almost empty. The receptionist and the cleaning lady looked at us with twisted faces, probably because of the way we looked and smelled. But we did the math: in less than a few hours we had earned more than in a week of going table to table carrying trays. That alone made us rethink a lot of things.

***

Not long after, Damián looked for us with a clear proposal: to work as escorts for him. We accepted. We quit our waitress jobs and, with what we earned, for the first time we could pay the rent, the books, and tuition without worrying.

When our younger sister finished high school and found out what we did for a living, instead of judging us she wanted to join in, and that’s how she was able to pay for a degree at a good university. Damián had several girls working for him, but his favorites were the three of us sisters, because together we were worth more at high-end parties.

Even our mother ended up tangled up in all this. She came to visit us some time later and, despite the years, she was still in very good shape. It took Damián no effort at all to convince her when she saw the numbers we were making. So, without meaning to, the four of us ended up in the same business.

From time to time, out of pure nostalgia, the four of us dress the way we did that day: loose pastel miniskirts, earrings, bracelets, and matching underwear. We get on any bus, hold onto the rail, and glance sideways at one another, remembering that absurd trip that, against all odds, ended up changing our lives.