The Cool Boys In The Back Of The Bus

The Cool Boys In The Back Of The Bus The Cool Boys In The Back Of The Bus

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

For all those nice boys and girls who never knew what happened in the back of the bus.

Summary

For all those nice boys and girls who never knew what happened in the back of the bus.

Content

Submitted: May 27, 2013

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Content

Submitted: May 27, 2013

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Literotica would like me to tell you the age of everyone. In German high school back when I went there, there were thirteen grades from kindergarten to college instead of the international twelve. So, everyone in the last year of college was nineteen or twenty. I don’t know how old the teachers were. However, we can safely assume that they had to finish college before teaching. They must have been older. If necessary, I’ll invent an ago for them. Though, I’d prefer to stay truthful.
 
Everyone was old enough. There is no underage sex. Okay, the spider that crawled down the wall in the hostel room was only two month old. However, nobody even noticed her. She was never touched, let alone involved in anything sexual. She also only saw us fully closed.
 
To understand our class, you have to understand a little about the German education system. Up to grade eleven, everyone is stuffed into a class. There was 11a and 11b. We had separate classes. At the beginning everyone is thrown together into one big pool. Rather than having a fixed class schedule, anyone can choose the classes they want. It’s a little taste of college, where people specialize on subjects.
 
Our earliest taste of choice was choosing between French and Latin as a second foreign language. 11a had French. 11b had Latin. The choice was super easy for me. Who learns a dead language? There is no country to visit that speaks Latin. Everyone else in my class thought so as well. The kids in 11b were serious nerds that learned Latin simply to understand the principle of language better.
 
The first thing I remember about class 11b was the incredible stench. When we walked into their room, a horrible, nasty stench hung in the air. That day I learned that working hard makes people stink. All the stress of thinking hard made them sweet with stress. They were crunching complicated grammar rules, while we learned to crack jokes in French. We brought cake to French class and learned about social trends of French teenagers. It was a blast.
 
Naturally, there was a clash between the two classes. We were the cool kids that went out to bars and clubs. They were the nerds that only talked in hushed sounds with each other about homework. They wanted nothing but be left alone by the crazy, out-of-control bunch that we were. We thought of them as losers that we couldn’t care less about.
 
One of the leaders in our class was Sonya. She was blond. She dressed every day in a new set of clothes. Most of us kids had to cycle through a set of five or so outfits. Her parents were loaded. One day, she told us about how she got a piano. The piano was so big that it didn’t fit up the stairs. So, they had to remove the window and door from her balcony to hoist the whole thing with a crane into her room. Crazy! My ma wouldn’t even pay drumming lessons for me.
 
What she was most loved for was how outspoken and articulate she was. Even the nerd kids loved listening to her arguments. For example in ethics class, we talked about abortion. My opinion was cut and dry. It’s the woman’s body. She has the absolute choice over aborting or not. Sonya vehemently disagreed. She said that in a relationship, it is important what everyone thinks and feels. I argued against her in class. However at home, I thought about it. The whole concept of something caring what I think and feel and even talking about it was so mature. It was a whole new thing that I hadn’t thought about.
 
You should also know about our teacher Sparrow, because she accompanied us on the school trip (more later). She was a young, liberal teacher that cared with a super trendy haircut. She had black hair that was cut to look like a feminine paige haircut – a long line of hair hanging down the side that started at the chin level and tapered shorter toward the back. She really cared about us kids engaging and was personally offended, when we goofed off.
 
One day, we were particular loud and engrossed in talking amongst ourselves. She stopped talking. She simply didn’t say anything anymore. It took a minute or two until anyone noticed. Well, that is anyone originally from class 11a. 11b were quiet as lambs as always. From the first person pointing it out to everyone noticing that person pointing out, it probably took another minute or two.
 
And then we sat there in silence, not quite sure what was going on. She starred at us. We starred at her. She crossed her legs and arms and dug in leaning way back in her chair. We figured that she’d talk after a few minutes and lecture us. When she didn’t talk after ten minutes, we grew very pale, because we were in deep shit. We didn’t dare whisper or breathe. We thought that this time we had fucked up for real.
 
The silence went on for half hour. Then some geek from class 11b raised his arm. She only gloated at him. He weakly said that he was interested to hear the end of her argument on the composition of poems during the literary epoche of “Sturm und Drang.” I have no fucking clue what that even meant. I had stopped paying attention a few classes back. Ms. Sparrow nodded slowly and then gave him the answer.
 
When she finished, she asked us about what had happened and that she was really hurt. Sonya was the first to talk and make up with the teacher. After class, Sonya championed that we buy chocolate for the teacher as an apology. Sonya was a leader. Most of the kids listened to her.
 
The few kids that got barely any pocket allowance from their parents to have lunch food were hesitant. However, my buddies and I had a talk with them. We weren’t mean bullies. However, the light disappeared when we towered over the nerd kids. And they were simply questioning if their own belly had really all that good of an argument. They realized that they had nothing going on at home. They didn’t have cool haircuts. They had no friends. And we had friends. We had cool haircuts. We knew about fashion. We knew about music. That’s a lot of social pressure to stand up against. And those little geeks didn’t have a backbone. So, they handed Sonya their lunch money to buy a box of chocolate.
 
Next class, Ms. Sparrow was so touched that she cried a little. She looked at the box of chocolate and said that as a state worker she could not accept gifts. So, she passed the chocolate out to us, not before picking out her favorite with pointed finger and a glorious sunshine smile on her lips. That’s Sonya. That’s why she is a leader. That’s Ms. Sparrow. That’s why we love her and voted for her to join our final class trip.
 
For our final trip of high school, we petitioned to go to Berlin, the amazing metropolis with world class bars, clubs, and museums. Mr. Shepherd was in charge of organizing the class trip. He was cut from an entirely different cloth than Ms. Sparrow. He had a PhD in chemistry. Having a PhD, he always felt better than the other teachers and was way too ambitious. Substance abuse was his pet cause.
 
He was trying to force every student for zero drug and alcohol use. When he gave us a talk about drugs, he glared into the class while asking if anyone had any experience with drugs. Class 11a over the years had been infamous across the entire town for being potheads. We were tensely quiet. A geek guy from class 11b raised his hand, “I have a friend that I think might have tried marijuana once.” The joke was that the geek was so innocent that he was talking about a real friend, not a hypothetical friend. Mr. Shepherd having only this guy talk to him, spent an entire hour talking about that guy’s friend. At least two guys from 11a must have still been high from recess behind the bushes.
 
Mr. Shepherd gave us a choice about the final trip. We could go to Berlin. However, he would keep us on a very tight leash without any unsupervised free time and early curfew. The big city was too dangerous to let us roam wild. On the other hand, we could go with him to a kayaking trip in the South of France. In the rural safety, he’d give us free run to explore the provincial cities and country side. He said that he realized that they were over sixteen and that there would be drinking. He’d let us go to bars and order wine in the restaurant.
 
You have to know a little bit about drinking laws in Germany. Drinking age for soft alcohol like wine and beer is 16. Had liquor requires 18. Here in America, drinking laws are strictly enforced by the bouncer, because the bar owner risks losing the liquor license. In Germany, people are very rule driven. So, there is no need to enforce such laws. However, bar owners aren’t as hardcore terrified about making a mistake, at least back then. They’d eye ball you and never ask for a driver’s license.
 
So, we teenagers would all file into bars with sixteen. We’d drink until we puked. Once we puked the toilet full, one time a buddy left a puke trail from the restroom entrance to the toilet, we’d go back to our buddies. With an empty stomach, we’d sober up after half hour or so. At which point, we’d drink again until puking. Going through two or three cycles was a good night. Going beyond that was hardcore. The waiter didn’t give a fuck. If you were lying under the table, could still raise a hand, and pay, you’d still get served.
 
Here in America, bars are supposed to keep people on premise until they are sober enough to leave. If a patron gets into an accident drunk, the bar can be held liable for letting him leave. Spending a few years of my youth in Germany was quite an experience.
 
Naturally given the choice between Berlin under house arrest and Southern France with freedom, we chose freedom. Mr. Bernd was the third teacher to chaperon us on the trip. He was a math teacher. He was a geek that had never really grown into an authority figure. His hair was a tangled mess. He dressed sloppy. He was engrossed in math on his black board. He ignored any fighting or arguing that might be going on in the class room. He just wanted to get along.
 
One time, he joined a few of us inner tubing on an inner city water canal. Our city used to be a textile manufacturing center during the industrial revolution. Textile manufacturing required a lot of water that would get heavily polluted. The industry is offshore now. However, the water canals remained. They made for wonderful fun during summer.
 
As we drifted down the water canal, we spread out. We’d eventually all meet up under the big reservoir under the railroad bridge. This part of town was an abandoned inner city park with wonderfully tall trees. The light filtered through in between the crown of the trees. You could feel peace under the canopy of trees and the pacifying water sound. Up ahead, we heard screaming.
 
Mr. Shepherd’s afternoon routine was to patrol the channel. There were certain sections of the water canal that were reserved for kayak clubs for serious competitive training. Mr. Shepherd was screaming at our buddies to get out of the water now. He threatened with detention in school and calling the police. Back then, we didn’t have cell phones. He’d have to walk for at least twenty minutes to reach the boundary of the inner city park. Any random guy, we would have flipped off. With Mr. Shepherd, we weren’t sure, because we had to face him back at school and during grading time.
 
This time, Mr. Bernd was with us. He was smiling like a happy Labrador, oblivious of Mr. Shepherd’s patrols. When Mr. Shepherd saw Mr. Bernd drifting along on the inner tube, he was silenced. All the yelling energy turned into redness in his face. His face turned so red that it turned purple. Mr. Bernd jumped off his inner tube and got out. Mr. Shepherd walked away without saying a word. The two never talked about it. We kids talked about Mr. Shepherd having eaten it all the time.
 
Before I get to what happened in the back of the bus, let me tell you a little bit about myself. Now, that I’m older, I know how to do things, and I have learned what not to do. It’s simply a function of age. When we are young, we don’t know better. We get these crazy ideas. We try them out. We get consequences. We stop doing it. Back then we do things for the first time. We try anything. It’s rough. It’s awkward. We either give up on it or get smooth about it. Life gets boring that way.
 
Back on our trip, we had spent an entire night on a bus driving from Germany to the South of France. The bus was pulling a wagon with kayaks across half of Europe. We arrived on a cloudy rainy day. The river had swollen high. On the first day, the teachers canceled our kayaking tour that day. They wanted to evaluate the river. So, we drove along the river in the bus. The river meandered among steep hills. There was nothing but bushes and trees on those hills. We watched the brown mass of water swirling way down.
 
In the afternoon, the teachers made a stop middle in nowhere for a little walk. It was a wasteland of weed, river flooded land, and road side. The front of the group found a walnut tree. Everyone started picking walnuts from the ground and crushing them. It was local custom to snack wild strawberry patches and raspberry bushes.
 
I had always been ambitious. I saw three water melons growing nearby. I figured that they were snacking, I might snack as well. So, I pulled a big water melon off the ground. There was a tangle of vines holding the water melon down. I got it free. I was very proud of myself to be a leader and bring the prize home. When Mr. Shepherd said, “you better quickly get on the bus, before a farmer comes running with a pitchfork,” I realized that I had committed a theft.
 
I felt so tormented by guilt for being a thief. I couldn’t even hide the water melon. It was large and heavy on my lap. I could not toss it out of the window, because the bus windows did not open. I was trapped with my sin for hours. Mind you, I went through a phase of been a born again Christian. I had sent letters to anyone whom I had ever wronged. Now, I was a thief not even knowing whom to apologize to. I felt horribly rotten.
 
When we finally arrived at the youth hostel in the evening, I did not know what to do or how to get rid of the water melon. The water melon was even too large for the small trash cans in the room. Mentally, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t think straight anymore. One of my buddies luckily had a knife and opened up the thing. It was entirely white inside. I was shocked. It was hard to grasp that there wasn’t even a hint of red inside. I was so stupid that I had even stolen an unripe water melon.
 
Luckily the buddy thought it would be fun to toss it off a bridge and watch it drift away. That made me feel so much better, because he was the only one not judging me for it. I had seen those eyes of everyone looking me lugging that big ol’ watermelon around everywhere I went. So, we stood in the rain and tossed the thing over the railing of the bridge. I felt so relieved.
 
The buddy was Steve. He was a quiet guy. He didn’t quite align with the rest of our clique. Yet, he was part of it. He had a metal tooth which he was fond of demonstrating. He’d bite into hard things to show that his metal was tougher than a natural tooth. The metal tooth was from a fight. Randomly, he’d just start punching people. He never had a mean thing against us. He usually picked a random, spaced out guy and let him have a few bone crushing blows. Twenty seconds later, he’d walk away as if nothing had happened and was his usual quiet self. He was never out of breath or riled up, when he’d walk back to our circle. It was just his thing. One time, a guy had fought back and knocked out his tooth. He never complained about it. It never bothered him, when his victims fought back and even hurt him. He was very accepting that way.
 
To give you a sense of what happened on that trip outside of kayaking, which was awesome, let me tell you about our first free afternoon. The first stop was of course the supermarket. We had to walk down a long tree-lined rural street from the youth hostel. Remember, Mr. Shepherd had made sure that we were rural. After half hour of walking aside the road with no sidewalk, we arrived at a small supermarket.
 
Of course, it had beer. We had planned on getting a six pack or two. They had eight packs there. Mark found a twenty-pack! Those French are crazy. Mark bought it of course. A twenty pack was completely weird. The bottles were even weird. They were big round bulges rather than a bottle shape. They had blue glass. God knows he came up with that idea. Mark had to have it.
 
Mark was one of the cool guys. It mostly had to do with his dad who was a banker. Being a banker, his dad had the coolest car. It was a BMW with twelve speakers. He was the first to use a cell phone. He called all of us from his dad’s cell phone to tell us that he was standing in a wide open field, while we were attached to the telephone wire. His dad also bought him a Playboy subscription. Naturally, all of us guys were hanging out at his house, when the new Playboy came out.
 
With all the beer at the cash register, I saw the cruelest thing of the whole trip. French baguette is not simply food. It’s a symbol of joie de vivre. Anytime, we have French baguette back in Germany, we think of how the French know to enjoy life, their famous hour long family banquettes. We celebrate the awkward long shape. Any time, a baguette sticks out of a grocery bag, we nod knowingly. Any time, a baguette is put crosswise on the back of a bicycle to hit everything along the side of the bike road, we give the rider a thumbs up. At the checkout, the cashier mindlessly took the baguette of a customer and folded it in half to make it fit into the grocery bag. I nearly fell over for witnessing such sacrilege. Baguettes were normal loafs of bread here. And seemingly, people believed that the inventor of a baguette should have been shot for coming up with the idiotic shape!
 
We brought back our loot to the youth hostel. There was an abandoned ruin of a medieval building next door to the youth hostel. Someone had put a table and bench into it. That’s where we put down all of our beer packs. Pretty quickly, there were bottles everywhere spread out. We spend the whole afternoon drinking. We freely shared with any classmates that wondered by. Ms. Sparrow came by and with pride about being cool enough to hang with the youngins, asked us for a beer. We were stoked to give her a beer. She sat down. We had a good chat.
 
Mr. Bernd came to check us out as well. He had brought his own beer. It was a special local microbrewery. He told us the story of how a knight was given the brewery for leading some medieval charge into a battle. It was awesome. Middle in it, Mr. Shepherd visited. He saw Mr. Bernd and said nothing. His face said everything to him. He turned to us, “I know that there would be drinking. Simply keep it tidy.”
 
We had snacks, magazines, empty bottles spread all over the table and floor. We made a fuzz of cleaning up until the moment Mr. Shepherd turned around. Mr. Bernd had waited for that moment as well to slink away.
 
Okay, it’s time for the story. The story happened at the end of the trip. We were back on the bus on our 10+ hours trip to Germany. It was late at night. Everyone was quiet, mostly sleeping. The light in the bus was dimmed. The freeway lights were spaced out far. Every time, we passed a freeway street light, the orange light would trail from the front to the back of the bus. The teachers were up front. Then, were the original students from class 11b. The few of them that were awake were either reading a serious book or playing chess. And the original 11a students were in the back. Us as the leaders of 11a had the back to us.
 
While everyone else was fatigued from the trip, we were even fired up by all the social interaction and adventures. Mark, Steven, and I had claimed the row of five seats at the very end of the bus. Sonya was one row ahead of us and turned back to talk to us. Next to her was Jones.
 
Jones was a black girl. She was the only black girl in the entire school of about 700 kids. We were not only white, but one kind of white. Here in America, we have red headed Irish. We have tall, blond Swedes. We have whites with meaty big heads. We have whites with slender facial features. Back in Germany, there was only one kind of white. We totally respected her. So, we let her freely join our circle. However, we didn’t reach out to her. She was different in a way that we didn’t really know what it meant. We guessed that her parents had adopted her from Africa. Though, nobody would ask her.
 
Sonya stunned us all, when she said that she thought one of the guys from 11a was hot. That guy was a total tool. One measure of coolness was how good you were in physed. This guy was heavy and out of shape. When we had to run and jump over obstacles, he failed to pass the obstacle. He full on hit the obstacle. Because he was so heavy, he threw over the obstacle.
 
What made him a tool is that he kept talking about joining the Marines. His biggest passion in life was to one day dive out of a torpedo tube of a submarine in the cold of the North Sea. We couldn’t see him passing the entrance exam, let alone join special forces.
 
So, Sonya insisted: “Look at his ass. It’s really hot and in shape. He started running every day to prepare for the marines.”
 
Steve took a pen and threw it down the aisle of the bus. Then, he yelled out for the tool to pick it up. Being the helpful lackey that the students from 11b were, he got up, bent over with straight legs to pick it up. Steve looked at Sonya: “Do you really think that ass is hot?” Sonya’s eyes rolled with excitement: “Totally.”
 
“Yo, bend over again.” Not realizing that he was played with, he bent over again and showed his ass. Sonya made a sound with her mouth. We raised our eyebrows, because she was really into his body. And he was a total tool. She was openly salivating about him. Without taking the opportunity, he sat down in his seat.
 
Sonya and Jones were both on their knees in their seat, leaning against the backrest of the people in front of them. With their heads over their backrest, they faced us. Jones had her black hair in tiny little braids that were running along her scalp. Her lips were large. Her skin was very brown. Her palms were bright pink. Her lips were lush, full, and red. She was wearing a sweater and jeans with converse shoes that she wore barefoot to be hip.
 
Jones exclaimed with a wide open mouth and excited brown eyes: “Our business teacher is such a perv. He always leans against the projector with his crotch and rubs against. (I had never realized. Perhaps, I should pay more attention in class.) And when one of the girls wears a revealing top or tight skirt, he’ll drop his chalk. Right in front of him. ‘Ugh, Lizzie, could you pick that up.’ You can’t say no to the teacher. You can’t say you just want to stare at my boobs. So, when us girls kneel down to get the chalk, he stares down our boobies. When we bent over, he stares at our ass. It’s a catch-22.”
 
Mark replied with a smirk, “I’ll give you my last bottle of beer from that microbrewery that Mr. Bernd told us about it. It’s the last bottle that we’ll ever have.”
 
Jones looked to the front of the bus quickly. Everyone was sleeping or in very quiet activity. The light was very dim. Even if a teacher would look, he would not see any details in the dark. She pulled down the zipper of her brown cotton hoodie. The fabric was very soft and clinged to her figure, as fabric for women does. We guys leaned in closer to get a good look. I grabbed her head rest firmly under my forearms.
 
Her t-shirt was fitting her body shape snuggly. She had big round boobs. We leered at them. Simply the permission to take in the shape and ever roundness of it was a joy. She pulled the front of her t-shirt to her throat to reveal the white bra with lace trimmings. Her belly was smooth and slender.
 
One of the guys up front felt that something was going on. He full-on turned around to look aback. I yelled at him with a pressed-hushed voice, “look forward. You are drawing too much attention. The teachers might notice.” He quickly disappeared back into his seat.
 
Sonya adjusted her knees to become a little taller. She was wearing a colorful Bohemian skirt and blouse. Her face got excited. Her tongue looked wicked as she stuck it outside of the side of her mouth and bit on it in concentration. The buttons came undone on her blouse. The blouse dropped to the side to reveal her smooth, black bra. “Underwire,” she proudly proclaimed.
 
This was the first time that I had seen bras on a girl before. Note, this was before the Internet. Getting naked photos of females required getting magazines, which were not easy to get. Forget about getting a girl naked. That required having a girlfriend. I was really studying the details and how it made me feel.
 
Mark pulled his sweater over his face to show his chest. Steve did so. I followed. It added to the fun of everyone showing their chest. Jones got the excitement bug. She dropped her boobs out of the embrace of the bra without taking the bra off. The skin was so soft. I have never seen anything so delicate again. Her areolas were big round and black. It was amazing. There were little dots around her main nipple. She laughed so hard and made her boobs heave around. Even Sonya starred at her with an open mouth fully engrossed in studying her body.
 
When Jones snapped down her t-shirt and bra, everyone wanted more of her. She felt the desire. She bathed in the joy of being wanted. Her face looked over happy. Her cheeks were radiating. Mark was the first to react. He quickly got the microbrewery beer out of his backpack from the ground and offered it to her. Everyone could feel the intention of getting her drunk. And Jones joked about it, “you guys are trying to get me drunk to have your way with me. That might be very sexy.” And she let a sultry smirk linger in the back of the bus.
 
Jones shared half the beer with Sonya. As soon as she passed the beer with the fancy label of a knight with a snake, Steve offered her a shot of vodka from his half empty bottle. “Why not!” she said and threw her head back. Steve carefully filled the bottle cap with vodka. Because the bus was swaying, he didn’t move his arm, but his whole body to get the cap to Jones. Jones kicked the cap back like a pro.
 
Sonya wanted a shot as well. We kicked shots as well to join them. A frantic energy broke out. We tried to keep it quiet, because of the rest of the bus. Our faces were going stark loud with laughter, teases, and tension. I asked Jones, “Have you ever done an elephant?” “What’s that?” “Elephants have long trunks. An elephant is when your buddy pinches your nose shot and you have to drink a whole bottle of beer.” “Bring it on!”
 
Jones was giddy with herself for trying it. Sonya held onto her arm in excitement. Mark kept punching me on the shoulder with excitement.  My hands were shaking, when I got a leftover bottle out of my bag. Steve cracked it open with a bite of his metal tooth. Jones lifted the bottle to her lips. I hovered my hand in front of her face with those big brown eyes and the bright white of her eye looking at me begging for safety. “I’ll count to three and pinch. (She nodded.) 1 – 2 -3.”
 
I pinched her nose. I felt her gentle skin. Her nose was flat and round compared to a white nose. It felt so delicate. I loved touching her skin. Our eyes locked. At first, she looked like a running deer with her throat moving up and down as fast as possible. Then her eyes widened with fear as the air started running out. Her eyes started watering. The little, red blood vessels in the white of her eye turned bright red. There was panic, a survival struggle for air. I felt that we had a moment of deep connection, when she was ringing with death and my eyes supported her to face her fears.
 
Jones ripped the empty bottle from her mouth. Her nose slipped out of my fingers. She had a weird cough-sneeze that shot beer out of her nostrils. It was a mixture of snot and beer. The mess fell onto her t-shirt. We all laughed and threw tissues at her.
 
Steve got a bag of gummy bears out to do gummy bear shots in the vodka cap. We showed those girls any drinking game and trick we had to keep them drinking. They drunk so fast that they didn’t even have a chance to get drunk. After fifteen minutes, they had three bottles of beer, various shots with candy, and sampled any leftover liquor that we had smuggled across the border.
 
The blood slowly seeped from the stomach into the blood. Sonya got supper talkative. She started talking about the influence of drinking on social behavior, how all the students drinking in bars were so much more social, and how getting ahead in a career depended more on social skills than job skills. We didn’t even notice Jones, who had slowly sunken lethargic and into drunken apathy until Steve pinched her nipples.
 
Steve pinched her nipples really hard. Her eyes were droopy. Her mouth was gaping open. There was no reaction at all from her. After we looked at her for ten seconds in shock, she slowly raised her arms to push his hands away. However, her arms were so uncoordinated that she did not even manage to touch him. Steve pinched her again – no reaction, just slow breathing. Sonya was the most stunned, because she had been so stuck into what she was talking about.
 
Mark reached over the backrest to get behind her torso. He undid her bra strap. No reaction, He started tucking on her under the t-shirt. His hands went over her buck, under her shoulders, over her boobs, pushing her elbows up, moving her arms, pulling hard on the bra. He got it off her without taking the t-shirt off. He threw the bra to the middle of the bus.
 
It ended on some geek’s head from the original class 11b. He immediately turned around to look at us. So, we could see his face. His face was in terror. He was truly frightened by encountering the inside of a bra for the first time. Reactions ran across his face as he digested so much feminine information. When he got a handle on himself, he looked at us for directions. We pointed for him to pass the bra on. So, he woke up the nerd from 11b in front of him. The two were really confused. I can only imagine how they were trying to use their mastery of math to comprehend the bra. The bra eventually disappeared with someone. We lost track.
 
Jones was still looking at us. Her hands moved looking for the bra. However, she couldn’t even fully raise them to her boobs. Her mouth occasionally opened and closed in a week effort. I undid her pant button and zipper. I remember my hand shaking as I undressed a girl for the first time. Girl pants were smaller. The whole dimension of the zipper was different. I guess girls don’t have to get a penis out of the zipper to pee. It’s more decorative to have a zipper. She was wearing pink panties.
 
Sonya ripped the t-shirt over the head of Jones. Jones’ hands flopped around to let it happen. Sonya threw the t-shirt to the middle of the bus. Some more 11b nerds were woken up by that. The t-shirt was like the starting bell for Steve. He got off his seat, slipped into Jones’ seat, pulled her pants down. To pull the pants down, he had to lift the girl up. He moved her around. The pants were tight to her legs. He had to really pull them section by section. And then he ripped them over her barefoot Converse sneakers.
 
He didn’t stop there. He was in one of his rages. He ripped down her pink panties. I could see the panty sides cutting into her flesh as he yanked on them. The panties curled up. He threw them to the front. The geeks of 11b were amazingly silent. Her clothes were being passed around and always disappeared with someone holding onto them to keep them.
 
Jones was naked except for her shoes, kneeling on her seat, slumped against the seatback in front of her. Her mouth was gaping open. Her body slouched. The only thing slowly moving was her big black eyes watching us. The alcohol had widened her pupils to give her big black eyes. The big black eyes gave the illusion of her being deeply in love.
 
We couldn’t see her snatch. I learned that a penis is in front of the hip. A pussy is beneath the hip. With her sitting with closed legs, I could only see her pubic bone and the black curly hair. Those were the days before pubic shaving had gotten popular.
 
Mark was the first to feel her boobs. Steve went fingering for her pussy. I touched her belly. Her skin was so soft. I could not get enough of feeling that soft warm skin under my hands. Jones watched six of our hands caressing her body with drugged eyes and severely slow breathing. For the first time, I was touching a naked girl. I felt her belly, her navel, abdominal muscles, and her ribs. Mark shared her boobs with me. There was so much detail to her boobs. Feeling the squishiness of her nipples under my thumb and index finger was amazing. I did not want to hurt her. Yet, I wanted to get a good feel for pinching it.
 
A random moan escaped Jones lips. Sonya was silent. Her face and body posture mimicked that of a super excited dog. Sonya wanted to see boys in action. The alcohol in her system had removed all inhibitions. “Finger her to orgasm,” she said with excitement.
 
Steve got into rage mode again. He grabbed the naked Jones and threw her on the back row of five seats. Because the last row didn’t need an aisle, seats covered the bus side to side. He pushed her on the left side of the row, so that her torso was covered with the seats in front of it. Her bare legs were hanging in the middle of the aisle unhidden for a moment. He lifted them up and folded them over her torso. He slipped his pants down his butt and started fucking her.
 
Now, Steve is the last guy that I would want to be fucked by. He is rough. He doesn’t talk. His face looks ugly. Like when he beat up other guys, we let him fuck her. We faced the front. Sonya crawled onto Jones’ original seat, hugged the backrest and watched unabashedly how her friend got fucked in the back of the bus.
 
I calmed down a bit, because we were all quiet to avoid drawing attention. That gave me a little time to breathe and reflect. For whatever irrational reason, I assumed the three of us would fuck her. She would pick the guy whom fucked her the best as a boyfriend. Because we had this connection in the eyes during the elephant drinking game, I felt a crush for her. I was so clueless about girls and romance. I had learned most from movies, half true locker room debates, and lots of my own fantasy. So, I started rehearsing in my head what I’d do to her.
 
Steve only took a couple minutes to come and roll off her. He turned matter of fact to us, “do I have to worry about AIDS?” “You should have thought about that before!” “Hey, none of us had much sex and only with other young people. You need an older person with HIV to start the chain reaction. We are still safe.” The last thing settled it for me. I had been biting at the chomp to start my performance, to get my shot at becoming her boyfriend.
 
Without much ado, I threw myself on her body. I started soul kissing her. My lips opened her half parted lips further. I licked her teeth, chewed on her upper lip. Like a jokey during a horse race, I was rushing. I loved the feel of her little teeth and her saliva. Because she wasn’t responsive, I licked all of her front teeth in two runs. Then I was afraid that she was getting bored. So, I walked my hips closer to her mouth. It was a little hard, because there was only very little space between the seat and the backrest in front of it. I got my hardon in between her lips. It kept falling out. It wasn’t all that easy to bend my penis low enough to get it into her mouth. Because her cheeks didn’t hold onto it, I had to keep pushing it back in. Her lips and mouth were so soft. It felt so good. I loved it.
 
“Watch it,” hissed Mark at me. I had let her legs dangle down, visible to the aisle. He pushed her legs up. I grabbed them under my arm pits and dove my head onto her pink pussy. The pink stood out strongly against her brown skin. The first taste was vivid. It reminded me of shrimp that had gone a couple days old and was soaked in runny liquid. It was that kind of strong taste. From that day on, every time I ate shrimp, I got happy. It’s amazing how the memory stuck with me. My tongue was lapping along her lips like a dog.
 
Mark knocked on my shoulder, “teacher – hide her.” In the panic, the only thing that came to my mind was to push her onto the ground. I flipped over to sit on the chair. I pushed her legs onto her with my feet. The chairs in the bus were mounted on two brackets, one on the bus wall and one on the aisle. So, there was space under the seat. All week, stuff had been sliding underneath the seats with a strong stop. They don’t make busses like that anymore for that reason. For the use of pushing Jones under the seat, that was perfect.
 
I noticed that my shoes left dirt marks on her skin. So, I kicked of my shoes at the heels without untying them. My feet were pushing down on her butt, her shins, her boobs, and her heads. It was the messiest fast precision work ever. By the time, the Mr. Shepherd grabbed two head rests on either side of the aisle to position himself with authority, Jones was in place. One of my feet was pushing down on her mouth. Her lips were distorted by my foot. I could feel her drool on my sock.
 
“What’s going on here?”
 
“Just chatting. Are we too loud?”
 
Mr. Shepherd seized us up.  He carefully eyed on after the next. I did not dare looking down at Jones. He would have followed my gaze. So, I had to feel her face with my foot – feel her nose, cheeks, eyes, forehead, chin, and teeth – to keep my foot covering her mouth without suffocating her. Mr. Shepherd sniffed the air.
 
“Alcohol,” he said heavily.
 
Mark and Steve started handing over beer and liquor bottles. They even found a pack of cigarettes. When the embrace of Mr. Shepherd was full, the tension went out of his body. He shook his head, “am I to assume that this stash is within the maximum two bottles per person at the border? You guys won’t get me in jail. This all goes into the trash at the next stop.” We had never given up that easily on booze.
 
Mr. Shepherd walked away. I looked down at Jones. She was really squished in there. However, she was mostly fine. Mr. Shepherd sat down in the front. Mr. Bernd said audibly across the quiet bus, “can I have that bottle. That’s actually really good.” “No,” answered Mr. Shepherd.
 
The guys helped me get Jones pulled up. It wasn’t easy getting the hands around her, because everything was so tight. We put her back on the seat. Mark told me, “Hurry up, I’ve been waiting too long.” So, I told myself not to bogart the joint. I got my dick into Jones. I hugged her legs in between us.
 
The odd thing was that I could barely feel her pussy. It was so super soft and slippery that there was barely a sensation. Yet, I felt super awesome. That first moment of feeling my dick disappear and being embraced is something that vividly drew itself onto my mind to stay there forever
 
 The next thing that I registered was how slippery and wet her whole groin was. It took only a few thrusts to get myself covered in wetness. At first, I thought that Jones was super horny to fuck me. Then I realized that it was probably Steve’s semen. That was disgusting. Steve’s teeth are yellow. He has curly hair on his chest. He eats disgusting food. I loved fucking Jones so much. However, Steve was in my head.
 
All the while, Sonya kept watching my ass thrust up and down. She watched heave with heavy breathing. She took in everything. Seeing the white girl behind me and the black girl under me, it hit me, racism. Everyone had this experience of racism at some point in their lives. Everyone felt that some group was less deserving or needed to be kept out. We have that experience. And then we learn that it’s not a good thing. We learn that all people are equal and deserving of equal treatment.
 
For me that was my racism moment. I looked at Jones black skin. I looked how everything about her was different. Her nose, her shoulders, her ears, her eyes. And I felt the Africa in her, the poor and uneducated continent. And I thought her as this poor African not deserving of culture. She only deserved to be fucked and used. That’s what made it okay that we were all fucking her.
 
All this disgust that I projected onto her – that I was defiling her with my pure white man semen – that she deserved that – that turned me on. That got my pecker to perk up. I nailed her with passion and intensity her lifeless limb body with semen of Steven pooling into her.
 
And then when I ejaculated in her, when my penis pulsed, when I lost control, when I could no longer breathe on my own, at that point, I lost all reserve that I held. I fell softly onto her as lifeless and uncontrolled as she was. Her soft, warm body caught me. We melted into an embrace. I could smell her.  I suddenly felt this deep love for her. I wanted to make her my girlfriend. I wanted to buy her flowers. I wanted to surprise her. I wanted to do anything to make her happy. I could feel my own cum seeping out of her and dripping down on the bus seat.
 
Mark pulled me off of her. I was in too tender of a state, feeling my heart burn. It literally burned with love. There was this tingle in my heart like it was on fire, a slow burn. Mark just pushed me out of the way and started fucking Jones. He dove his cock into her cave filled with our cum.
 
I packed my penis that was dripping with Steve’s cum, Jones’ pussy juice, and my own cum into my pants. The first thing that I managed to say was “I want to fuck her again.”
 
Mark was riding her hard. It made my sides sting with pain of jealousy, when I heard Jones gulp and reach her head up. Fuck, Mark must have given it to her so good that she liked it the most. And then her head turned sideways and a big stream of gray vomit shot onto the floor and the back rest. A second shot of vomit launched from deep in her gut out onto the floor and backrest.
 
“Fuck, I’m almost done. I’ll turn her over to finish.”
 
“Mark, move to the side,” said Sonya leaning forward to check in on her friend. “Stop fucking her for a moment.” Sonya pushed Mark angry into the side. After a long glance at the vomiting girl, she turned to us, “we need to get her to a bathroom.”
 
“No way, we’ll just cover up the puke.”
 
“Fuck, the whole bus will smell it in a minute. It’s a horrible stench.”
 
“Damn, guys, get her clothes back! All our spare clothes is in the suit cases in the bus’s loading bay.”
 
I was going to save Jones. So, I quickly made my way forward the bus, holding onto the ceiling to steady myself. The first 11b nerd that I saw, I woke him up, really shook him.
 
“Where are her clothes?”
 
“I don’t have any of it.”
 
“Exhale all the air out.”
 
“Why?”
 
“I’ll tell you in a moment.”
 
He exhaled. I knew that no matter what someone told me, I wouldn’t give up those panties. Words are soft air. I did not have any leverage with him. The only leverage I had was pain. So, I punched him hard in the side ribs. Because all the air was out of his lungs, he could not scream. By his sharp exhalations, I could tell that he had seen heaven and returned.
 
The nerd was smart enough to not challenge me. “He’s got the pants. She’s got the t-shirt.” He pointed.
 
I walked two chairs ahead. The nerd from 11b was already rifling through his pack to look for her pants. The thing that I learned about violence is that you only need to do it once. That one time is enough to establish credibility. I learned that from history class, when I still paid attention. During the 30 year war, they would torture peasants to give up their stash of food. The first peasant had his stomach force filled with warm cow vomit until it burst and he died a horrible death with lots of screaming. The other peasants would see it and voluntarily hand over their food stashes. Now, I don’t advocate violence. This was a desperate situation. I was young and hadn’t learned to use my words yet.
 
The pants were easy. The t-shirt was harder. The girl that had it was the daughter of Mr. Shepherd. Without explanation, Mr. Shepherd had brought along his daughter. She was older than the class, perhaps twenty-two. She was beautiful in a classical sense. She dressed really nice. She had sunbathed often to let us see her beautiful body. Yet, she never wore anything revealing, always toeing the line of her daddy carefully. She wore an ankle bracelet. It was the first time that I had ever seen an ankle bracelet. I thought it was so sexy. I kept starring at her feet so much during that trip. Despite her definitely being super cool, we didn’t dare talking to her, because of her dad, Mr. Shepherd.
 
“Can you give me that t-shirt?”
 
(Silence and an appraising look.)
 
“Okay, we were playing a little bit. But we are good now.”
 
 
“Do you promise to give it back to her?”
 
“I really promise. She wants it back.”
 
“Okay.”
 
That could have gone so wrong. Though, she was cool about it.
 
On the way back, I stopped by the guy whom I had to punch: “Hey, I’m sorry. You were innocent this time. You got a punch good. Anyone, anytime, someone’s bothering you, let me know. I’ll punch ‘em for you.” I patted his shoulder in camaraderie. His face was struggling with the terror of my presence and the glee for the gift that he had received.
 
I didn’t bother finding her bra and panties. She’d be covered up enough with the clothes that I had. We quickly dressed her – pushed her feet through the pant legs, squeezed her naked butt into the tight pants, put a hand over her crotch to avoid zipping her pubic hair with the zipper. Then, Mark walked to the front to say that one of us had gotten car sick. We needed to pull over at the next stop to freshen up. I’m so glad that he went. I saw him walking all coy and holding his hands in front of him like a little school boy. That could have gone wrong in so many ways.
 
The bus pulled into a freeway stop five minutes later. Those places were super lit up at night to make people feel safe. Yet, the design of the building was super sterile and cheap. We put one arm of Jones’ around one of us. Then we dragged her down the steps of the back exit. Ms. Sparrow called after us.
 
“Why isn’t she walking on her own?”
 
“She feels weak.”
 
“It looks like you are dragging here!”
 
“She just feels dizzy.”
 
There was no arguing. The only way out was to walk as fast as we could. We got through the glass door to the fast food restaurant. Sings pointed to the second floor for the restroom. So, we had to drag her up the grimy stairs. We went into the women’s restroom. There was a middle aged woman with her hair in curls. She looked at us exasperated. Her face burned into my mind. She just had no clue how to react to this situation. We dragged Jones into a stall.
 
I helped her puke up some more. Steve told me to put my finger down her throat. He had learned from some homeless bums to treat alcohol poisoning like that. Fuck, there was so much pressure fixing this up. I got my finger plopping through her lifeless lips. I felt her hard teeth resting against it. I fingered for the end of her tongue, the narrow hole. I tried not to scratch her with my finger nail.
 
Her stomach tightened with violence. Adrenaline shot into me and made me shiver. Grey vomit shot out of her mouth over my hand. The toilet water turned putrid. Sticky slime ran down my forearm. I shuddered in my gut and almost vomited. I wished to vomit, because with the actual vomit there is release. I only had the repulsion as burst two and three followed out of the depth of her.
 
I full body hugged her as best as I could as she was helplessly shuddering vomit bursts out. With my free hand, I carefully held her forehead over the toilet rim. There is something about taking care of someone that makes them love them. With all the booze in me and all kinds of emotions running through me, I honestly thought out our wedding vows. I figured that mentioning how the beginning of our relationship was vomiting in a public restroom and caring for each other, we could get through anything. It sounded really soapy romantic to me in that moment.
 
Mark flushed the toilet for us. Steve talked to the lady that was trying to hit him with a comb. The lady eventually calmed down and got really concerned about Jones. Steve got her out of the restroom by the time, Jones was resting in my arms recovering from the purge and shivering. I tried to hold her warm and loved as best as I could. Mark was cleaning up her face with a wad of toilet paper that he dipped into the bowl.
 
Steve had done a great job putting his foot behind the restroom door. Someone tried to open it. A loud knock followed. Mr. Bernd’s voice raised across the door: “Is everything alright in there?”
 
“Yeah, we are good. Everything is out. We are just cleaning up right now.”
 
“Open the door.”
 
“It’s really messy right now. We want to clean up first.”
 
“Okay. But if you need help, you call for us.”
 
Mr. Bernd’s steps faded down the stairs.
 
Jones was looking pretty clean again. Sure here t-shirt was wet with water drops. Mark yet rubbed the toilet paper over her chest as best as he could to get the vomit out. Jones even had some strength again. Her arms were holding fast to me now. She was pulling me into a closer hug. She nestled into me.
 
The problem was when we picked her up and walked out of the stall. We three faced the mirror over the sinks going along the whole wall. We saw our pale faces. All of us saw Jones’ wet crotch. Our semen had poured out of her pussy and wetted her pants. It looked really obvious.
 
“Fuck, get her pants off!”
 
“I still managed to finish when she was vomiting. It doesn’t seem like a good idea anymore.”
 
Jones was sprawled out on her naked butt resting against me. I had her arms around her. Her brown legs were naked on the floor. Thus, half undressed below, she looked even more naked than when she was fully naked.
 
Steve ran to the blow dryer that the restroom had instead of towels. He lifted up the inside crotch of her pants as close as possible against the blow dryer. He felt against the underside of the crotch. “It’s only getting superhot. It’s not getting dry!”
 
Jones grabbed me harder. Her body writhed around mine. It was such an unguarded and deeply emotional hug that it touched me deeply. Mark said, “look she is really taking to you.” Encouraging me at this point was a bad idea. I believed even more that Jones was falling in love with me. In hindsight, she was simply looking for warm tenderness feeling raw from the puking. We did nestle together into a clothes warm embrace, like lovers. Her body curled against me felt so much better than the sex. It was so much love and connection in it.
 
The strong smell rudely pulled me out of my lullaby-like state. The hot blow dryer had singed the semen in her pants. The semen was burned. It smelled like unwashed boys squared. The thread in her pants had started melting to a horrible chemical stink. It was the most intense stink that I had ever in my life. Steve put a finger on the thread of her pants and pulled it away with a long melted string of thread clinging to his finger. “Fuck!”
 
Steve swung the pants in a circle overhead to cool it down. When we packed her back into her pants – the shoving of her feet through the holes, covering her pubic hair with the hand, squeezing the butt in, and all – the pants were even tighter, because the heat had made them shrink. She had a camel toe. We could clearly see her vagina lips in the pants. “Fuck it. It’s too dark for people to see.”
 
Jones did not want to let go of me. So, I carried her on my arms out. Her arms were clutched tight around my neck. Her chin was riding on my shoulders. Her lips were touching the bare skin of my neck. I was convinced that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Jones.
 
Back in the bus, Mr. Bernd visited us in the back of the bus. He sprayed his cologne liberally all around the back. “I don’t want anyone else to get sick from the smell,” he explained. And that was pretty much it. Jones fell asleep in my arms. I listened to her breathing. It was the most happiest moment of my life to that point to feel her breathing against me, smell the scent of her breath, even if it smelled a little like vomit, it smelled a lot like her.
 
When the sun slowly lit up the sky to turn baby blue, the landscape became familiar. We were close to home. Mark stirred with a sudden panic that I did not want to get into, because I was in a quiet, peaceful bliss with Jones slipping in my arms like an innocent baby.
 
“Jones is going to meet her parents soon. We have to sober her up. We have to get coffee into her. We have to brush her teeth, get a breath mint into her. She’ll be so fucked, if her parents find her drunk.”
 
I didn’t really get into it. I was in a bubble with Jones. The guys and Sonya got all our money together. They went up front with a ruse. They asked the teachers to stop, so that they could buy them a coffee as a thank you. The teachers surely needed to be awake enough to drive home from the school. Mr. Shepherd was immediately suspicious. It smelled of typical addict behavior to him. Ms. Sparrow was touched by the appreciation. Mr. Bernd was immediately thinking about his favorite gourmet bakery being on the way and open at this time.
 
While I stayed with Jones, Sonya and the guys handled everything. They came back with coffee. It was a little awkward to brush the teeth of sleeping beauty. I didn’t want to use too much tooth paste, because she wasn’t going to rinse. Her lips were still relatively lifeless. She started chewing on the tooth brush like a little baby. One time, she bit my finger for fun. She was definitely coming around now that her stomach was empty and she had slept a couple hours. I actually really liked taking care of her, exploring her mouth, and all.
 
I bit the breath mint into tiny pieces to avoid her choking on it. I carefully held the coffee against the inside of my wrist, a tender spot, like testing milk temperature for a  baby, before I carefully put the coffee on her lips.
 
By the time that we pulled into the school yard at 7 am bright and early, she was softly talking. She had inquired about her panties and bra. Being still groggy, “a long story” was enough explanation. At some point she mumbled, “why am I hugging you. Oh, it feels so good. I don’t want to know.”
 
I helped her walk to her parents. We explained that she took car sickness pills and had gotten really drowsy from it. The parents bought it. They took her with concerned faces to the family car.
 
We never recovered her panties and bra. Some nerd from class 11b is probably kept them to whack of nightly for years, because he wasn’t going to get near a real pussy.
 
We talked about the whole events a few days later. Sonya was a good leader. We learned a lot about each other during the talk. We learned that Jones had felt really shunned and alone by everyone who had politely ignored her. We learned about Steve’s dad. Steve’s dad would only show up every once in a while in a guilt-driven approach to be a father. Like, he’d take Steve fishing. On the way his father would get horny and leave Steve in the car, while he whacked off in a porn booth. We were all fucked up somewhere, except for Sonya’s parents. They were these super self-aware people that did yoga and saw a family therapist every week to talk about the important things. They themselves grew up in a really healthy family.
 
My fantasies of marriage or even romance never even got off the ground. Pretty soon after the final class trip, we had graduation ceremony. Everyone moved to different cities for college.
 
The thing that I miss is the unguarded love that I felt with Jones. I also miss the out of control messiness of being young.
 
 
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Because there are a lot of literal minded people out there: This story is complete fiction. Think Blair Witch Project, a story that is told as if it were real, yet isn’t. Don’t date rape anyone! Fantasize about it. Role play it with a loved one as a fantasy. Don’t do it for real.
 


© Copyright 2017 cowboy109. All rights reserved.

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