Bus Back Seat Bang

The last bus home was always an adventure. Drunk people, weird people, occasionally dangerous people. But tonight's adventure came in an unexpected package.

She got on at the stop after mine, stumbled up the stairs to the top deck, and dropped into the seat right next to me despite the whole deck being empty.

"Alright?" she said, like we'd known each other for years.

"Alright."

She was a bit drunk—cheeks flushed, eyes bright—but not wasted. Mid-twenties, curvy in a denim skirt and cropped jacket, hair messy from a night out, makeup slightly smudged in a way that was more attractive than it should have been.

"Where you heading?" she asked.

"End of the line. You?"

"Dunno. Missed my actual bus. This one seemed like it was going somewhere." She grinned. "I'm spontaneous like that."

"Clearly."

The bus lurched into motion, taking us further from the town center, into the residential darkness of the suburbs.

"I'm Leanne," she said.

"Jake."

"Nice to meet you, Jake." She moved closer, close enough that her thigh pressed against mine. "You always ride the late bus alone?"

"Usually. You always sit next to strangers when there's a whole deck free?"

"Only the fit ones." She was definitely flirting now. "What's the point of public transport if you can't be sociable?"

We talked as the bus wound through estates I didn't recognize. About nothing important—her night out (disappointing), my night in (boring), the general state of things (shit). But she kept moving closer, her hand finding my knee, my thigh, staying there.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered, lips close to my ear.

"Go on."

"I'm not wearing knickers."

I nearly choked.

"I was," she continued, "but they were uncomfortable. So I took them off. In the club toilet. Been commando ever since."

"That's..."

"Hot?" She grinned. "Yeah. I thought so too."

Her hand moved higher on my thigh. The bus was empty—we'd passed the last of the stops with passengers, now just trundling toward the depot.

"We're the only ones up here," she said quietly. "Driver can't see us from his mirror."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I think you know."

She kissed me before I could respond—tasting of rum and something sweet, her tongue confident and demanding. Her hand found the bulge in my jeans, squeezed.

"Knew it," she murmured. "Knew you were interested."

"Hard not to be."

"Hard being the operative word." She was working at my zipper. "Let me help with that."

The bus rumbled on through dark streets while Leanne pulled me free, stroking with a grip that was just right.

"Fuck, you're big." She looked up at me with wide eyes. "Want to feel you. Can I?"

"Yes."

She straddled me right there on the back seat of the 42 bus, her skirt riding up to reveal she hadn't lied—no knickers, just bare skin and heat as she positioned herself over me.

"Condom?" she asked.

"Wallet. Back pocket."

She retrieved it herself, rolled it on, then sank down with a moan that echoed through the empty deck.

"Fuck yes. That's what I needed."

She rode me on the back of the bus, her hands braced on my shoulders, her skirt hiding what we were doing—mostly. The occasional streetlight illuminated her face, her expression of pure pleasure, and I burned those images into my memory.

"So good—keep going—"

I thrust up to meet her, my hands on her hips, helping her rhythm. She bit her lip to stay quiet, but little moans escaped anyway, lost in the engine noise.

"Close—already—touch me—"

I slid a hand between us, found her clit, rubbed while she rode. She came with a shudder and a gasp, clamping down on me hard enough to see stars.

"Your turn—come on—"

She rode harder, faster, chasing my finish. When I came, I pulled her down, holding her tight, feeling her pulse around me.

We stayed there for a moment, connected, catching our breath.

"Attention: this bus is terminating at the depot. Please disembark."

Reality returned. We separated quickly, adjusted clothes, tried to look innocent as the bus pulled into the depot.

"Well," Leanne said as we walked off the bus, both slightly unsteady, "that was the best commute I've ever had."

"Same here."

She pulled out her phone, handed it to me. "Put your number in. I want to do that again. Preferably somewhere with more legroom."

I typed in my digits, handed it back. "Same time next week?"

"Or sooner." She kissed my cheek, leaving a lipstick mark. "Night, Jake."

"Night, Leanne."

She walked off toward whatever street she actually lived on, and I called an Uber from the depot, grinning like an idiot.

The 42 bus had just become my favorite route.

She texted at 3am: Home safe. Still thinking about you.

Same. Let me know when you want round two.

Tomorrow too soon?

It wasn't.