The Old Drivers at the Terminal Invited Me onto the Bus

That Friday afternoon I got out of university late and had to walk to the old bus stop, the one three blocks below the faculty, where the intercity buses that leave me near home stop. At that hour, almost eight, the place was practically empty. All you could hear was the murmur of a few drivers drinking beer inside one of the parked buses, with the door open and the radio at low volume.

Among them was Don Rufino, the old driver who years earlier had had something going on with my older sister, Camila. She had told me one night, drunk, laughing, saying the old man had bear hands and handled her better than any boy her age. I’d grown up hearing that story with a mix of disgust and curiosity I never quite knew how to name.

I walked past the bus trying not to look. But Don Rufino saw me. I heard him say to his friends, without lowering his voice much:

—Look, boys, who’s coming over there. She’s just as hot as her sister, and I fucked the sister right here, in the back seat.

—Don’t make shit up, old man —said another, laughing.

—I swear on my mother’s life. And I’d bet this one’s even fiercer.

I quickened my pace. I felt my face getting hot, I don’t know if from shame or from something else. Married old men always made me nervous, but in a way I didn’t want to admit.

—Bet you can’t bring her over —I heard one of them say.

—Five hundred pesos each if I get her on the bus —Don Rufino replied.

—Deal, old man. We’ll bet on it.

I was about to reach the corner when Don Rufino got off the bus and stepped in front of me. I knew him from the neighborhood, so saying hello wasn’t strange. What was strange was the way he looked me over from head to toe, as if he were calculating a price.

—Hello, gorgeous. You’re Camila’s sister, right?

—Don Rufino, yes, it’s me. Good afternoon.

—So you’re all grown up now. Damn, you look real good in that skirt, baby. It suits you perfectly.

—Oh, Don Rufino, don’t say things like that. Your wife has a lot of friends around here.

I said it smiling, with that crooked smile a woman learns to use when she knows she’s flirting and wants to act like she isn’t. The truth is I liked men like that, older, with bellies and big hands. I had never told anyone, but it had been that way since I was eighteen. I was twenty-one now and it had only gotten worse.

Don Rufino didn’t even flinch. He came closer and lowered his voice.

—Look, we’re celebrating Don Lisandro’s birthday, a buddy of ours. Come have a beer with us. Just for a little while.

—I can’t, Don Rufino. I’ve got an exam tomorrow.

—Come on, gorgeous. We work tomorrow too and here we are, celebrating. Just a little while. I promise.

I hesitated. I looked at the bus. I looked at the street, dead already at that hour. I looked at the old man’s smile and thought that if I went home I’d keep thinking about this all night.

—A little while. But you have to put on reggaeton.

—Whatever you say, baby. Come on.

He took my hand and led me to the bus. The other drivers, when they saw me get on, fell silent for two seconds and then burst into murmurs. There were seven of them, counting Don Rufino. All of them were over sixty. Don Lisandro, the birthday boy, had to be close to seventy, with his belly spilling over his belt and a smile missing a tooth.

—Turn up the music —Don Rufino shouted—, the girl likes to dance.

They handed me a cold beer. I toasted with them, clinked my can against seven more, and took a long swallow that went down halfway through the bottle. I was thirsty, I’d walked a lot, and that first sip fell like a blessing.

—Cheers —they said in chorus, looking at me in a way that made my legs feel weak.

Don Lisandro came over so I could greet him. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and bent down a little more than necessary. I noticed perfectly well how the other six were staring at my ass. My skirt rode up and I did nothing to pull it down.

A song I liked started playing and I began dancing in the bus aisle. I moved my hips slowly, side to side, barely dipping and rising, knowing I had them hypnotized. It wasn’t me behaving that way; it was another woman living inside me who only came out when nobody knew me.

—You dance so damn sexy, baby —one of them told me in my ear, standing behind me.

I felt his belly against my back and, a little lower, something hard pressing into me. I didn’t move away. I kept moving to the rhythm of the music while he held my waist with both hands.

Between one song and the next, between toasts and laughter, three more beers and a shot of tequila Don Rufino poured me in a plastic cup disappeared into me. The bus had become a tiny nightclub, hot and smelling of sweat and warm beer, and I no longer knew whether I was dizzy from the alcohol or from the hands that, one after another, were brushing against me without bothering to hide it.

—Well, boys, I’m going now —I said when I realized I’d been there almost two hours—. I’ve really got an exam tomorrow.

—But the party’s just getting started, queen —Don Lisandro protested.

I got off the bus unsteadily. The street was dancing a little. Don Rufino came down after me, caught up in three strides, and grabbed my arm.

—And the dance you promised me?

—You never danced with me, Don Rufino. You spent the whole night talking with your friends.

I said it like a spoiled little girl, and the old man noticed. He took me by the waist and pulled me against his body. I felt all of him. His broad chest, his hard belly, and between his legs a bulge that made my mouth open a little without meaning to.

—Then let’s dance now, baby.

—Don Rufino, it’s late already.

—One last dance.

And he kissed me. Just like that, without warning, in the middle of the dark street, two meters from the bus where the others were still shouting. His mouth tasted of beer and cheap cigarettes, and yet he kissed me with a patience I wouldn’t have expected from a man his age. He wasn’t devouring me. He was uncovering me, slowly, with a sure tongue that wasn’t in any hurry.

I kissed him back. God knows why, but I kissed him back. I put my arms around his neck and returned the kiss with everything I had. I felt his hands slide down my back and settle on my hips, and from there, shamelessly, under my skirt, gripping me through the fabric until the friction made me moan against his mouth.

—Baby —he said when we broke apart for a second to breathe—, you’re asking for this.

—Don’t keep going, Don Rufino. You’re making me feel bad.

—I’ll make you feel bad if I stop.

He shoved me against the side of the bus, warm metal against my back, and lifted my blouse up over my shoulders. He bit my neck, my shoulder, my cleavage, like he’d been hungry for years. One hand squeezed a breast over the bra; the other had slipped under my skirt and moved my panties to the side.

When his fingers entered me I was already soaking. He fingered me slowly at first, then with more confidence, knowing exactly where to press. I closed my eyes and let myself fall against the side of the bus, clamping my mouth shut so I wouldn’t scream. I couldn’t help it. The orgasm buckled my knees and I stayed on my feet only because he held me up with his free arm.

—That’s my girl.

I dropped to my knees. I don’t know if it was because my legs were weak or because something inside me simply told me to do it. He unzipped himself and took it out right there, against the bus body, and put it in my mouth before I could decide whether I wanted to or not. Turns out I did want to. It was big, bigger than I expected for a man of almost seventy, and hard as a rock. I closed my eyes and started sucking with a dedication that surprised me.

—That’s it, baby. Show me that mouth —he said, holding my hair without hurting me, just guiding me—. Suck it good, because you’re making me crazy already.

I wrapped my lips and tongue around his cock, feeling the weathered skin, the foreskin pulled back, the wet head bumping my mouth. I opened wider to take him as far as I could, and he let out a rough groan, the kind that comes from the chest and not the throat. He held my head firmly and started setting the pace, pushing in and out slowly, then faster, until he filled my tongue with that salty, aged taste only men who have lived too long have.

—That’s it, damn it... look at me while you suck my cock —he growled, and when I obeyed I saw his face undone, sweaty, his eyes closing in pure pleasure—. What an obedient little whore you are.

I was wet again, dripping down between my legs, and without realizing it I rubbed myself against the edge of the bus to relieve the pressure growing there. I noticed he was looking at me, that all of them were looking at me, and that humiliation turned me on even more.

—Hey, boys —I heard suddenly behind me—, come see this.

I opened my eyes. One of the drivers had stepped out to pee and caught me on my knees. He was telling the others out loud, and I heard perfectly the sound of six pairs of shoes coming down from the bus.

—Look at this baby, look at those tits. She’s fucking gorgeous, we need to get in on this.

They gathered around us. I didn’t look at them right away. First I finished what I was doing with Don Rufino a little longer, feeling how the other six had taken theirs out and were stroking themselves waiting their turn, as if they were standing in line at a bank.

When I finally looked up, I found seven older men, potbellied, wrinkled, with hands roughened by years behind the wheel, all of them staring straight at me and all of them, without exception, ready. I had never seen so many men at once, much less so many men like that.

—The little slut wants to try them all —one of them laughed.

I said nothing. No need.

Two of them helped me stand and got me back on the bus. They settled me on the back seats, the long ones, the ones they use for sleeping on overnight trips. Don Rufino yanked off my blouse and bra. Don Lisandro took care of my skirt and panties. In less than a minute I was naked on the hot vinyl, with seven old men surrounding me and the smell of beer and old cologne seeping in everywhere.

Don Lisandro, since it was his birthday, was the first. He lay on his back and made me climb on top of him. The others settled around us. One put his cock in my mouth, another took my hand and closed it around his. The one underneath me I rode slowly, getting used to the size, while I felt another mouth nibbling at a breast and other hands roaming my back, my hips, my neck.

—That’s it, just like that, don’t stop —Don Lisandro told me, gripping my waist with surprising strength for his age—. Move slower, I want to feel you nice and open.

I rose a little and let the cock push up into me from below, thick, hot, brushing my depths and forcing me to breathe deep. I could feel myself opening for real, the vinyl seat creaking under both our bodies, my tits bouncing in front of the hungry faces of the old men. One sucked my nipple until it went hard; another put two fingers in my mouth and told me to wet them; another squeezed my ass with both hands, digging his fingers into the flesh.

And then the turns. They rotated with a patience only older men have. None of them was in a hurry. None of them came quickly. Each one took his time, asked me what I liked, put me in the position he preferred, and treated me like I was the last woman he’d ever be with. Maybe I was.

The first one to take me from behind had me on all fours on the seat and spread my ass cheeks with his thumbs before entering slowly, measuring every inch. I bit my lip as he filled me and he patted my ass, satisfied.

—That’s it, doll. That’s how I like it: hot and taking everything.

Then another sat me on his face while the one below kept thrusting into me, and I ended up gripping the seat back so I wouldn’t fall, with one man’s tongue licking my clit and another man’s cock pounding me from behind. The impact of both made my whole body tremble. My moans came out on their own, ugly, uncontrolled, and I didn’t care that they heard me. I wanted them to hear me.

I lost count of the orgasms. I lost count of the mouths. There was a moment, I think with the fourth or fifth, when I stopped thinking and devoted myself only to feeling. My body became a place where hands, tongues, breath, stubble, all passed through, and I resisted nothing because nothing hurt me. It was exactly the opposite.

Don Rufino was last. He had waited, had taken his time watching while the others took their turns, and when it was his turn he grabbed my waist with both hands, put me on all fours on the seat, and whispered in my ear:

—Now I’m going to give you what I gave your sister.

He gave it to me. And damn if he didn’t. He grabbed my hips with controlled violence, coming in and out with deep thrusts that made the seat bang against the wall of the bus. He filled my pussy until I felt there was no room left for anything else, and then forced me to arch my back to take him even deeper. His fingers squeezed my waist so hard I’d surely have marks the next day. I came screaming his name, and when he finished he did too with a rough grunt, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot inside me.

I ended up sprawled on the seat, naked, hair stuck to my forehead and breathing broken. Someone handed me my blouse and I put it on without buttoning it. Another brought me a glass of water. Don Lisandro kissed me on the forehead, the kind of kiss a grandfather gives, and told me thank you, baby, thank you for the birthday.

When I got off the bus, the street was completely empty already. It was very late. I walked home a little unsteadily, with my legs still trembling and a smile I couldn’t wipe off my face.

The next day I passed the exam.

And when I walked by the bus stop the following Friday, Don Rufino was sitting on the bus step, smoking, waiting for me with that same smile.