What Happened Under That Blanket on the Return Bus

I’ve been reading stories on this site for years and never thought that one day I’d write my own. But what happened to me that night on the bus home deserves to be told, if only to get it out of my head.

My name is Daniela and back then I was twenty years old. I’m not tall; I’m five foot one, brown-skinned, with a curvy body, wide hips, and big breasts that had caused me more than one problem since I was eighteen. That day I was wearing a tight cream-colored tank top, an open denim jacket, and black Lycra shorts that reached mid-thigh. I had spent the weekend at my aunt’s place in Cali and was taking the bus back to Manizales, a trip of about five hours that would begin at dusk.

The bus left on time. I sat by the window, put in my earbuds, and started listening to music. The seat next to me was empty and I was hoping it would stay that way so I could stretch out in peace. But at the last stop before leaving the city, he got on.

He was a man about fifty years old, well put together. Light linen shirt with the top two buttons open, dark, neatly pressed trousers, gray hair with a few dark strands still left. He carried a leather briefcase and a folded blanket, which he put in the overhead compartment before sitting down. He looked at me as he settled in and greeted me with a calm, almost formal, “good evening.” I answered the same without taking out my earbuds and went back to looking out the window.

During the first hour nothing happened. The bus got on the highway and it grew darker outside. I watched the scenery and he read something on his phone. But I started to notice that every time I moved, he would glance away toward me. Not obviously. Just out of the corner of his eye, for a second, and then back to the screen.

I realized he liked what he was seeing. And that he was already hard right there in his seat, staring at my tits.

That’s when I made my decision. I leaned forward under the pretext of taking something out of my backpack and let my top slide down. Not enough to be indecent, but enough for him to see half a nipple from his angle. When I sat back down, I crossed one leg over the other and rested my elbow on the shared armrest, barely brushing his. I managed to see the bulge in his trousers. He was rock hard.

He put the phone down.

***

—Is your trip long? —he asked me.

—All the way to Manizales —I replied, taking one earbud out.

—What a coincidence. I’m going there too.

We started talking. He told me his name was Rodrigo, that he was a civil engineer and had gone down to Cali for a construction meeting. I told him I’d been visiting my family. He was easy to talk to, with that quiet confidence some older men have, without any need to impress or fill the silence with too many words. He spoke while looking me in the eyes, but every so often his gaze would drop for a second to my cleavage. Just a second, discreetly, and then back up.

I wondered how many years he’d been married. I pictured him in a big house, with a stable routine, eating at the same hours, sleeping in the same position for twenty years, fucking his wife once a month with the lights off. I wondered when the last time was that a girl my age had made his dick as hard as I had right then.

At the halfway stop, the bus pulled over for fifteen minutes. Rodrigo got off, and when he came back he had two empanadas wrapped in a napkin and two mango juices.

—I wasn’t sure if you’d want anything, but the trip is long —he said, offering them to me.

—Thanks —I replied, smiling at him with every intention in the world.

He smiled back. For the first time that night, it wasn’t a polite smile.

***

The bus started up again and ten minutes later the driver turned off the aisle lights. Most of the passengers were already asleep or had their eyes closed with their heads against the window. The darkness changed everything.

Rodrigo stood up, took the blanket down from the overhead compartment, and draped it over himself. I was a little cold, so I started rummaging in my backpack for something. He saw and, without saying a word, lifted one end of the blanket.

—If you want —he said quietly.

I looked at him for a moment. Then I moved closer and covered myself with it.

That was the first clear sign. Neither of us said anything else.

A few minutes passed in silence. The blanket covered us from the waist down to our feet. His leg was next to mine, and neither of us made any effort to move away. I could feel the heat of his thigh against mine and pretended to watch the darkness through the window. My pussy was already throbbing, wet, tight inside my shorts.

Then his hand moved.

Slowly, without any roughness, he laid it on my knee. He didn’t squeeze. He just left it there, as if waiting to see what I would do.

I did nothing. I didn’t move it away.

Or I did do something: I opened my leg by barely an inch.

His hand slowly moved up my thigh, fingertips brushing the skin on the inside. It stopped right where the shorts ended, his thumb tracing the edge of the fabric. I was looking straight ahead, at the back of the empty seat in front of us. My breathing had gotten shorter and I could feel my hard nipples pressing against my top.

—Are you okay? —he murmured near my ear.

—Yes —I answered just as softly.

He slipped his fingers under the hem of my shorts. He ran them over the cotton of my underwear and found the hot, soaked spot. He let out an almost imperceptible sigh when he realized how wet I was. I opened my legs a little more. Enough.

He started touching me over my underwear, searching for my clit with his thumb, drawing slow, precise circles that made me clench my teeth so I wouldn’t moan. He knew what he was doing. He wasn’t clumsy or hurried. He knew exactly where to put his finger and how much pressure to use, and he did it with a calm that drove me crazy. With every movement a current shot through my belly and made me swallow.

I turned my body a little toward him, as if I were just getting comfortable, and slipped my hand under the blanket to find his trousers. His dick was hard as a rock before I even touched it. When my fingers wrapped around it through the fabric, he let out a very slow, controlled breath through his nose. It was thick, long, and the bulge took up the entire length of his thigh.

I kept touching him over the fabric for quite a while, feeling him pulse against my palm. Then he guided my hand himself to the zipper. I unzipped it without a sound, undid the button, and slipped my hand inside his boxers. When I pulled his cock into the warm air under the blanket, I almost let out a gasp. It was big, thick, with the tip already wet with pre-cum. I took it in my whole hand and still had plenty left to stroke.

***

We stayed like that for a long time. He pulled my underwear aside with two fingers and slid his middle finger inside me, very slowly, to the knuckle. My hips trembled. He started moving it in and out, not taking it all the way out, while his thumb kept pressing my clit. I was jerking him off at the same slow pace, my hand closed firmly around his cock, pulling the foreskin up and down over the slick tip. The blanket soaked up any movement. Two seats away, an older man snored softly.

I was completely soaked through my underwear. You could barely hear it, each time he pushed in another finger, the sticky sound of my drenched pussy swallowing his knuckles.

At one point I leaned forward under the pretext of putting something in my backpack, and while I was at it I brought my lips to his neck. I gave him a very soft kiss, barely any contact at all, just heat. I felt him tense and his cock give a twitch in my hand.

—Careful —he whispered, but he didn’t move me away.

I went back to my position. He glanced at me from the side and for the first time that night I saw something different in his eyes. It wasn’t courtesy or curiosity anymore. It was something more direct, completely undisguised. He wanted to fuck me right there.

He pulled my underwear completely to the side and slid two fingers into me all the way, curling them upward, searching for the spot that made me suck in air. He began moving them with more determination, in and out, soaking his whole hand with what was dripping out of me, while his thumb kept hammering my clit. I had to rest my head on his shoulder and bite my lip hard to stay quiet. Every time he pulled his fingers out, the wet sound was so obvious I prayed the bus engine would cover it. The bus rocked in a curve and the vibration ran through the whole seat and through the fingers inside me and I almost lost my mind.

—That’s it —he murmured against my hair—. Nice and wet like that.

I came for the first time without making a sound, my whole body shaking under the blanket and the fingers of my free hand clenched around his wrist. My pussy clenched in spasms around his fingers and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. He didn’t stop. He kept going, slower now, pulling his soaked fingers out and rubbing my swollen clit with them, letting me catch my breath, then sliding them back in and picking up the pace. I didn’t let go of his cock for a second. I kept stroking him slowly, feeling him throb, feeling the liquid at the tip slide across my palm and act as lube as I worked my fist.

At some point I tried to climb on top of him. I needed more, I needed to feel his dick inside me, to spear myself on it to the hilt. I let go of his cock for a second, tugged my shorts aside, ready to mount him and shove that thing into me all the way to my womb. But someone moved a few rows back, the unmistakable creak of a seat straightening up, and he held me back with a firm hand on my hip.

—No —he said very softly—. Not here.

He was right. I breathed slowly and stayed still, my pussy throbbing, desperate. He squeezed my thigh under the blanket and slipped his fingers back inside me, now three, stretching me open, making me feel the stretch. I took his cock in my hand again and stroked it with my closed, slippery fist.

I came a second time when there were about forty minutes left to Manizales. The three fingers went in and out of me with a low, wet slapping sound only I could hear, and it was driving me crazy. This time I had to turn my face into his shoulder and press against him to smother any noise, biting the fabric of his shirt, while the orgasm shook my legs and tightened my stomach. He slipped an arm around me without saying anything, holding me until the trembling passed and carefully sliding his fingers out, dripping.

After that, once I’d recovered a little, I looked around. Everyone was still asleep. With a quick movement I slid down, folded under the blanket, and lowered my face to his lap. He sucked in a sharp breath when he realized what I was about to do. I ran my tongue over him once, slowly, from base to tip, tasting the salty liquid that was oozing out of him. He held his breath and his hand went to the back of my neck under the blanket.

—Jesus —he murmured barely audibly.

I took him in my mouth. The tip first, sucking it like a piece of candy, playing with my tongue around the head, then going lower, as far as I could without choking, feeling the hot dick fill my mouth all the way to my throat. I started moving my head up and down slowly, careful not to make a sound, sucking hard on the way out and letting it slide back in wet. Saliva gathered in my mouth and ran down his shaft. His hand stayed on the back of my neck without squeezing, just resting there, his fingers trembling.

I felt his whole body tighten, felt his cock swell even more between my lips, and I knew he was about to come. I sat up abruptly, pulled him out of my mouth, and finished him with my hand, aiming him toward the handkerchief I’d already prepared, without rushing, feeling every time he tensed. He came silently, his whole body contracting for several seconds and thick streams of hot semen filling my palm and the handkerchief. I kept stroking him slowly, squeezing from the base, until he got the last drop out and then stopped my wrist with a gentle gesture, unable to take any more.

I wiped my fingers with another tissue from my bag, tucked his cock back into his boxers, pulled up the zipper, fixed my shorts, and rested my head back on his shoulder. I still had the salty taste in my mouth.

During the last thirty minutes of the trip we barely spoke. He put an arm around me and I stayed still, listening to the bus engine and the steady breathing of the other sleeping passengers, thinking about how strange desire is and the places where it appears.

***

The bus reached the Manizales terminal after midnight. They turned on the aisle lights and everyone started moving, stretching, looking for bags, speaking in low voices. Rodrigo folded his blanket, put it away in the briefcase, and looked at me.

—Can I drop you somewhere? —he asked.

—No, thanks, someone’s waiting for me —I lied.

We exchanged numbers anyway, with the naturalness of two people who know they probably won’t use them. We got off together onto the platform and there, waiting with a bored expression and a thermos in her hand, was his wife.

I watched him walk over to her. He kissed her on the cheek, picked up the briefcase, and walked away without looking back. She didn’t look at me either. To her, I was just part of the platform, a twenty-year-old girl waiting to be picked up.

I stood there until they disappeared into the crowd and then I got a taxi.

***

He called me four times that week. Monday afternoon, Tuesday night, Thursday at noon, and early Friday. I didn’t answer any of them. Not out of regret, but because I didn’t know what to say to him, I had no interest in getting tangled up in messages with a married man I’d met six hours earlier on a bus, and because what had happened between us was exactly what it was: a perfect secret, sealed shut, needing no continuation to be worth what it was worth.

Over time he stopped calling.

Sometimes, when I take a night bus and the driver turns off the lights, I remember that blanket and those patient hands sliding their fingers into me all the way, and the hard cock throbbing in my palm, and the darkness moving outside the window. And I think it was one of the strangest and most exciting nights of my life, and that the best possible ending was getting off at the same platform and disappearing in opposite directions.

Although, if I’m honest, I also think that if I ran into him again on another bus, on another long night, I’d get under that blanket again without thinking twice, and this time I really would let him put it all the way in.