What Happened That Afternoon with the Men at the Bus Stop

That Friday, my shift at the office had gone on longer than usual. I left almost at seven in the evening with tired feet and a strong desire to get home to my apartment, take a shower, and forget about everything until Monday. I took my usual route to the municipal bus stop, the same one I’ve walked since I moved to the neighborhood two years ago, crossbody bag across my chest and my headphones on at half volume.

As I turned the corner off the main avenue, I heard music and laughter coming from one of the buses parked at the terminal. It was reggaeton blasting at full volume, and the laughter of several men who had clearly been celebrating something for a while. I took one earbud out to hear better. Among the voices, I recognized one that sounded far too familiar.

Don Rodrigo.

I’d known him for a long time. He was the terminal’s oldest driver, a man of nearly seventy, broad-shouldered, with a gray mustache and that slow, measured way of speaking that people get after decades of watching everyone pass by from the same seat. He had known my sister Daniela since the year before, in one of those stories she never told me all the way through but that I, knowing her, could imagine without difficulty. I knew he’d fucked her more than once in the cab of that very bus, because one night Daniela, drunk, confessed to me with a laugh that the old man had a dick thicker and harder than any guy our age. I’d never forgotten that detail.

I quickened my pace, looking straight ahead, hoping he wouldn’t see me. No such luck.

—Mónica! —he shouted from the bus door—. Hey, Mónica, wait!

I stopped. I turned slowly. Don Rodrigo was already on the step, waving at me with a huge smile, as if spending hours drinking beer with his friends were the most natural thing in the world.

—Good thing you’re passing by. Come on, let me introduce you to the guys.

—Don Rodrigo, I’m in a hurry. I’ve got things to do tomorrow —I said, not getting too close.

—Just for a moment. It’s Aurelio’s birthday, the one from route seven. Come on, don’t be mean.

I bit my lip. My hair was loose, still work-appropriate, and I was wearing a navy skirt that fell right to my knees. I knew exactly what image I projected: that of a woman who’s put together and just happens to be walking home. I also knew, though no one ever said it out loud, that this had a particular effect on a certain kind of man. And I felt that curiosity that sometimes gets me into the most interesting trouble.

—Just a moment —I said at last, and walked toward the bus.

Don Rodrigo took my hand to help me up the step. That hand, big and rough from years behind the wheel, was enough to put something in me on alert. I felt a hot tug between my legs before I’d even finished climbing the three steps.

Inside were six more men. All from Don Rodrigo’s generation, between sixty and seventy, with that calm but charged energy older men have when they really relax. Beer in hand, music in the background, the thick heat of the closed bus. They welcomed me with applause and soft whistles, that old-school flirtation that doesn’t hide itself but doesn’t push either.

—Gentlemen, let me introduce Mónica, Daniela’s sister —announced Don Rodrigo proudly, as if he were presenting me in society.

—My, but Daniela has such a pretty sister —said one of them, and the others laughed.

They handed me a cold beer. I took it without hesitation.

***

Don Aurelio was the birthday boy, a slim man with light eyes and fine hands, who shook my hand more gently than the others. I kissed him on the cheek and he smiled with genuine surprise, like someone receiving something he hadn’t expected.

—Happy birthday —I told him.

—Thank you —he murmured, with that sincerity men have when they no longer need to pretend anything.

The conversation was easy from the start. Men that age have stories, they have humor, they have that way of looking that says a lot without opening their mouths. They asked me about my job, about the neighborhood, whether it was hard living alone in the city. I answered and took sips of beer, feeling the heat of the bus and the alcohol loosening something inside me, something I normally keep well locked away during the week.

Don Rodrigo turned up the volume. One of the men, a big, cheerful guy who introduced himself as Esteban, stood up and started dancing with that funny clumsiness of someone who’s doing it very badly but doesn’t care in the least. He extended his hand to me with an exaggerated bow that made everyone laugh.

—Come on, dance for me. We’re celebrating.

I stood up. I started moving to the beat, slowly at first, with that sharp awareness of having all eyes on me. It didn’t bother me. On the contrary. There’s something about that kind of attention, several pairs of eyes following every move you make, that lights something in you that isn’t always easy to describe but is impossible to ignore once it starts.

I let my body go little by little. I moved with more confidence, back arched and shoulders loose, marking the rhythm with my hips. Esteban kept up as best he could, already completely sweaty and with a smile that never left his face. The others clapped and made comments among themselves that I pretended not to hear.

But I did hear them.

—Look at the way she moves that ass.

—Just like her sister, I swear. She knew how to shake it too.

—Hotter, I’d say. And she’s got better tits.

—I’d fuck her right here, in front of all of you, and I wouldn’t regret a damn thing.

Two beers later, I stopped pretending I was going to leave soon.

***

It was Don Rodrigo who came over first, as expected.

He did it slowly, with the confidence of someone who doesn’t need to rush. He got behind me while I kept dancing, not touching me yet, just close enough for me to feel his heat and his breath on the back of my neck. He smelled of tobacco and cheap cologne and something that, in that particular context, struck me as completely irresistible.

—What do you think of the celebration? —he asked in my ear.

—Pretty lively —I answered, without stopping moving.

His hand found my hip. Firm, without hesitation, without asking. I didn’t move it away. On the contrary: I pushed my ass back and rubbed it slowly against his fly, and I felt the hard, thick, throbbing bulge exactly as Daniela had described it that night. I held back a sigh. The old bastard had a cock that didn’t even seem like it belonged to him. It looked like a twenty-year-old’s, but with the patience a twenty-year-old doesn’t have by any stretch of the imagination.

—You felt it, didn’t you? —he murmured in my ear, smiling—. Don’t be scared, my love. It’s all yours if you want it.

—And if I do want it, Don Rodrigo? —I shot back, turning my face just slightly.

—Then tonight it’ll hurt to walk tomorrow.

We kept dancing like that, his body pressed against my back and his hand marking the rhythm on my hip, while the other men watched us from their seats as if they were seeing something they hadn’t expected tonight but wouldn’t interrupt for anything in the world. Don Rodrigo’s other hand slowly slid up my side and found a breast over my blouse. He squeezed it fully, with his whole palm, and pinched my nipple through the fabric until he felt it harden. A low gasp escaped me, and all the old men heard it.

The atmosphere charged with a different kind of electricity, denser, more serious.

When Don Rodrigo gently turned my head and kissed me, I’d already been waiting for him to do it for a while.

He kissed well. Calmly and without haste, like someone who knows perfectly well that he has time and prefers not to waste it in a hurry. He slid his tongue all the way into my mouth and I sucked on it as if it were something else, biting his lip, moaning softly so he could feel how wet I was getting from just that. His hand moved from my waist to my thigh, slipped under my skirt, and found my panties already soaked through.

—Look at you, little one —he whispered against my mouth—. I haven’t even touched you and you’re already dripping.

—Shut up and keep going —I told him, and bit his chin.

When we pulled apart, I saw the others’ faces. Some with their beer frozen halfway to their mouths. Others with a slow smile, almost disbelief, as if they’d just seen something they didn’t know was possible on a Friday afternoon at the bus terminal. One of them was already shamelessly stroking himself over his pants.

—Gentlemen —I said, looking at each of them in turn—, I think this is getting interesting. Or would you rather keep watching from your seats?

The answer was seven smiles and the sound of seven belts loosening almost at the same time.

***

What came next was neither urgent nor disordered. It was more like a tide rising very slowly, almost without you noticing, until suddenly you look up and the floor is no longer under your feet.

Don Rodrigo laid me back in the space between two seats in the rear of the bus and carefully took off my work jacket, folding it over the nearest armrest as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Then he unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time, without rushing, and opened it over my shoulders, leaving me in my bra. With two fingers he pulled the cups down and took my tits out. He stared at them for a second with his mouth slightly open, then lowered his face and took one nipple fully into his mouth. He sucked hard, like a man with years of deferred hunger. He took my other nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinched it in time with his tongue.

—Feels so good, old man, suck them like that —I moaned, grabbing his gray hair at the nape of his neck.

He started at my neck, those slow kisses that travel downward without haste, and his hands moved with a skill that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with the years accumulated and the attention a man pays when he really wants what’s in his hands. He lifted my skirt to my waist and yanked off my soaked panties in one pull. He raised them to his nose, smelled them without the slightest shame, and handed them to Esteban, who did the same and let out a rough laugh.

—The girl is soaking wet. This cunt smells fucking delicious.

Don Rodrigo spread my legs with both hands and crouched between them. He ran his tongue from bottom to top, one long, flat lick that made my hips jerk against his face. Then he opened my lips with two fingers and drove his tongue inside, while with his thumb he found my clit and rubbed it in slow circles. He knew exactly what he was doing. Seventy years of cunts, and it showed in every movement.

The others came closer one by one, without crowding, as if they had reached an unwritten agreement about timing and turns. Esteban was the first to position himself at my face. He’d dropped his pants to his knees and had his cock out, thick and veined, darker than the rest of his body, the head shiny with pre-cum. He put it to my lips without saying a word. I opened my mouth and he pushed in slowly, letting my tongue wrap around it before sliding it all the way in.

—That’s it, baby, suck it all —he growled, grabbing my hair—. Look at you doing that so well. Like it’s the only thing you know how to do in life.

I sucked it eagerly, all the way back, while Don Rodrigo below kept eating my pussy with that murderous patience that had me on the edge of cumming without his speed increasing a single degree.

I bit my lip so I wouldn’t make noise. I lasted exactly two seconds. When I came on Don Rodrigo’s tongue, I did it with Esteban’s cock still in my mouth, and the moan came out muffled, vibrating around the dick I had down my throat. Esteban let out a roar and pushed deeper, enjoying the way my throat tightened with the spasms of the orgasm.

The others laughed with that complicit laugh of men who’ve already seen a lot and know exactly what they’re looking at.

—This girl is going to finish us off tonight.

—The other way around, old man. We’re the ones going to finish her off.

Don Rodrigo stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and pulled his pants down. His cock came out in one stroke: Daniela hadn’t lied in the slightest. It was thick, long, with pronounced veins and a purple, throbbing head. He took it in his hand and ran it twice across my pussy lips, smearing it with my own wetness.

—Brace yourself, my love, because now I’m really going to fuck you proper.

He shoved it in with a single thrust, all the way to the hilt, and I screamed with Esteban still in my mouth. I felt him forcing his way into me, pushing at my womb, filling me in a way I hadn’t felt in months. He started fucking me slowly, deeply, at the same rhythm he’d used to mark the music on my hip before. Every thrust knocked my ass against his thighs and made me squeeze my eyes shut.

I gave myself over to the rhythm of all of it. A pair of hands, then another pair. One mouth on my neck and another lower down, on my other breast, sucking on it while Don Rodrigo rammed into me harder and harder. The reggaeton in the background mixed with my own ragged breathing and the low murmurs of those waiting their turn without hurry, talking among themselves with that astonishing calm that felt as disorienting to me as it was arousing.

—Harder, Rodrigo, don’t be gentle with her.

—She’s asking for it, look at her.

—I’m next. I’m going to split this bitch’s ass open.

One of them, a white-bearded man who’d introduced himself as Conrado, knelt beside me and brought his cock to my mouth from the other side, pushing Esteban aside for a moment. It was shorter but very thick, with an enormous head, and it filled my mouth at once. I sucked it alternating with Esteban’s, going from one to the other, letting them brush against my tongue, spitting saliva over them, while Don Rodrigo below kept fucking me with that veteran’s patience who wasn’t rushing for anyone.

I came again, squeezing down around his cock, and he didn’t even flinch. He kept up his rhythm, deep and steady, changing my position. He flipped me face down over the seats, lifted my ass with both hands, and slid back into me from behind, fucking me doggy-style while I braced myself on my elbows and kept sucking Esteban and Conrado in turns.

—Look at this little ass —Don Rodrigo said, spanking me hard enough to make me jolt—. I want this for myself later.

—No, Rodrigo, that ass is mine —protested another one, a fatter guy named Ramiro—. You already got the pussy first, at least leave me the ass.

—We’ll share it and that’s that —Aurelio threw in from behind, laughing.

And so they did. Don Rodrigo finished first inside me, with a long grunt, emptying himself completely, squeezing my hips until his fingers left marks. I felt his hot load filling me from within and then dripping out down my thighs when he pulled away. He stepped back, breathing hard, and gestured to Ramiro, who was already holding his hard cock in his hand, waiting his turn.

Ramiro spat on my ass, spread the spit with the head of his cock, and entered my other hole little by little, pushing carefully but without stopping until he was all the way in. He split me open like nobody ever had before. I screamed against the seat, tears filling my eyes, while Aurelio came and slid his cock into my soaked pussy, still smeared with Rodrigo’s cum. The two of them started fucking me at the same time, coordinating without speaking, alternating in and out, and I completely lost my mind.

Older men know how to do that. They know haste is for the twenty-year-olds who act as if the world is going to end in ten minutes. Men past sixty have patience, they have rhythm, they have that calm certainty of people who don’t need to prove anything to anyone.

—Delicious, little one, like that.

—Look at how she squeezes it.

—Your sister wasn’t even as much of a slut as you, did you know that?

—Yes —I said, biting my lip with my eyes closed—. I’m sluttier. Keep going.

I went from one to another in that cramped space on the bus with a fluidity I would never have imagined before it happened. There was something in the variety, in that succession of different hands and different ways of touching, that added up to something of an intensity I hadn’t expected. The heat, the partial darkness of the terminal outside, the music someone kept looping. They finished in my mouth two more times, three times in my pussy, once in my ass. I lost count. I swallowed what I was supposed to swallow, let the rest drip down my face, my tits, my thighs.

At some point I lost track of who was who. There were only cocks, some thicker, others longer, some more patient, others rougher, and all of them ended up inside me somewhere.

***

There was a moment, already late at night, when I stopped for a second to look at everything from the outside. I was on a bus at a bus terminal, with seven men who were practically triple my age, with my cunt and ass dripping the cum of at least four of them, and I felt completely in control of the situation. That was what I found curious. Not the situation itself, but that sensation of total control in the middle of something that might, at first glance, seem like the opposite.

Don Aurelio, the birthday boy, was the most surprising of them all. It turned out he was the most careful, the one who took the time to ask what I liked before doing anything. I answered him honestly, pointing out exactly what I wanted, and he took note attentively as if it were the most important information he’d received in a long time. He asked me to sit on top of him, straddling him, and he made me ride him slowly, hands on my waist, guiding me without rushing me. When he was about to cum, he asked permission to finish inside and I told him yes, to blow his load, that it was his birthday and he deserved it. He came with a long moan, burying my face between my tits, and I stayed on top of him feeling him empty out.

—Definitely the best birthday present anyone’s ever given me —he said when he finally caught his breath.

The others burst out laughing. I laughed too, my face still flushed and his cum sliding between my legs.

We kept going for a good while longer. Time moved differently in there, without the pressure of the clock or any other obligation hanging over us. Just the heat, the low music in the background, and that slow, satisfied circulation of bodies rotating through with a calm I would never have expected from a situation like that. Those who were already done sat back down with beer in hand and watched me from their seats like someone looking at a work of art he’d just signed himself. Those who still wanted more came over slowly, without urgency, and asked politely, with old-fashioned courtesy, if they might finish once more.

In the end I lay sprawled across the seats in the back row, staring up at the bus ceiling, completely exhausted, my skirt a rag around my waist and that kind of stillness that only comes after you’ve given everything. I had dried cum on my cheeks, on my neck, between my breasts, and I was still slowly dripping between my thighs. Outside, the terminal was just as quiet. Inside, the men settled in silence, some finishing the last beers, others simply sitting with that expression of someone who has just lived through something he hadn’t expected this week.

Don Rodrigo handed me a napkin and helped me wipe my face without saying a word, with that strange tenderness that sometimes appears after the dirtiest sex.

***

When I finally got off the bus, it was almost eleven-thirty at night. My legs were just about cooperating, my hair completely undone, and my skirt a little twisted. Inside the panties Esteban had the decency to give back to me, I could still feel the warm dripping of everything that had been left inside me. Don Rodrigo walked me to the terminal entrance without saying much for a while, with that serenity of someone who doesn’t need to fill silence.

—You get home okay? —he asked.

—Yeah. I live three blocks away —I said.

There was a brief silence between us. The kind that settles after certain things, when there isn’t much to add and both people know it perfectly well.

—Your sister doesn’t know what she missed tonight —he said at last, with a crooked smile.

—My sister has her own history with you —I replied—. I have mine. And mine was with six more.

Don Rodrigo let out a long laugh, the kind that comes from deep in the chest, and squeezed my shoulder before turning around and heading back toward the bus where his friends were finishing the night’s last beers.

I walked the three blocks to my apartment alone. The air was cool and the neighborhood quiet, as always at that hour. I still carried in my body that dull, satisfied vibration left behind by a night like that, that feeling of having followed an impulse to the end without regretting a thing. With every step, I felt a warm thread slipping out of me and running down the inside of my thigh.

I didn’t regret stopping to listen to the music.

I never regret things like that.