Since so many of you have expressed an interest in seeing more of my writing I thought I'd put this page to better use. From time to time I will post new works here either in their entirety, if it is a short story, or just a sample for longer pieces like this one.

The following is a work in progress. If you'd like to see the rest of what I have so far, check out my blog. I will also post anything new there, as well as here, so if you miss an update you can still read it. If you want to see more of this, or any other piece on my Blog, just search under the tag "story".

Meanwhile enjoy this fanciful work of fiction. I hope it helps stimulate your day.

SLUT

I found him on the bus. I knew he was mine 10 minutes later when I pressed up against his back and felt him stiffen. I'd noticed him the moment I got on. It was a rainy day so the bus was full. A little old lady with a shopping bag had gotten on right before me. And though the other seated passengers were trying determinedly to not see her, he stood up and gestured her over. It was such a boyscout thing to do. A very good sign.

Once he's standing I have a better opportunity to examine his other worthy traits. Not too tall but solid. I love how many well maintained male physiques one comes across in this town. Dark hair, a little shaggy, but it looks like it's a choice and not just low maintenance. Clean cut features. I like that. It goes with the good behavior which will prove all the more charming if it hides a deeply perverted libido.

I used to go for the alterna looking bad boys. The leather jackets, the tattoos, the always slightly inconvenient piercings. I'd mostly given that type up and had only recently strayed and been unpleasantly reminded that you really can not judge a book by its cover. The most rebellious of appearances can easily hide a prudish mind.

I'd actually been downtown commiserating with the girls over the unfortunate affair. Much alcohol was involved of course. You can't properly bitch about an ex-lover while sober. Blasphemy! So refreshed from the emotional purging, and a bit tipsy, I'd been torn between trying to grab one of the much in demand cabs or hopping the bus for the few blocks back to my apartment. After watching two well dressed corporate types almost come to blows over a Gray Top I decided the bus was the lesser of two evils. Downside, it was raining, so the bus would be packed.

Upside, it was raining, so the bus would be packed.

If you're a certain type of person, the type that might be labeled predator, you are constantly on the look-out for unexpected places to hunt. Any lonely yahoo can go to a nightclub. I leave that type of mating dance to the amateurs. Nope, the best game in town is to find someone in the last place they'd ever expect. And what could be more unexpected then the #8 at 5:30pm on a miserable, wet Tuesday.

Even if the bus wasn't so full as to provide me ample cover for my brazen perusal, he doesn't appear to notice. We're all a little moist but he looks like he's been standing out in it for awhile. He looks tired and distracted. Cruising for chicks is definitely the last thing on his mind. Which works out fine, since there's a hot one right here looking for him.

I wait until a few more stops pass before I make my move. The bus gets considerably more full. The new passengers force him farther back and I allow myself to be moved forward. Once I'm standing right behind him, I pause to savour the moment. My petite frame surrounded on all sides by the bodies of others. Each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts, most tying to block out the effects of casual contact with so many strangers. But I doubt that I'm the only one on the #8 that finds it a turn on. It doesn't hurt that I'm on the make anyway. Or that I'm standing close enough to my target that I can smell the clean citrus scent of his shampoo as the heat from the bus starts to dry his hair.

I'm usually pretty good at spotting them. The molest-able. We, society, like to joke about men being so ruled by their sex drive that an advance, from any type of woman, is likely to be accepted. It's been my experience that no one who is that much of a walking hard-on is worth having. Besides, it isn't a quick fuck I'm looking for here.

So I give him a small test. I know this route and know the drivers like to hit the next intersection faster than necessary. Maybe to build up momentum for the hill ahead. What ever the reason, my boyscout will probably sway back when we hit it. Everyone standing will. Except me of course. I can't see the traffic light but I hear the familiar rev of the ancient engine and feel the movement passing into the bodies around me and I brace myself. As predicted his ass makes contact with my hips. He turns quickly to say he's sorry and sees me for the first time. He doesn't stop in the middle of his sentence, but he does instantly look flustered. Maybe he wasn't expecting to see such loveliness on the shame train. Or maybe it's the sly smile and the raised eye brow in response to his standard apology. He does seem confused about what to do next so he turns away from me, facing the front of the bus again. But he only has a second to process the experience because our transport hits another hill and he slides back into my waiting hips again. But this time, as if trying to help steady him, I place a hand on his hip letting my fingers curl around the bone. Then I bounce my hip back up against him almost playfully, only a little too slow. I feel his body tense.

The engine revs again and I repeat the gesture, firmer this time, and I let my other hand slide up the outside of his thigh. I caress the swell of his ass where it meets his thigh and when I feel him start to relax into it I pinch the cheek. I pinch it quickly but just hard enough to be mean. He jerks a little bit but he doesn't move away. And he doesn't turn around after that first glance. He's waiting, rigid in my hands. Confused but definitely aroused. One last bit to the test though and we're almost to my stop. I'll have to time it just right. And the traffic lights are working in my favor.

We stop at a light half way up the hill which leaves us parked at what feels like a 90 degree angle. Everyone is distracted trying to make standing at a tilt look normal. Ever so slowly and without letting my body break contact I place my right thigh against the cleft at the back of his legs and press forward so that his legs part slightly. And I wait for the inevitable lurch when the light turns green. Gravity moves through our mass of bodies in a wave. My boyscout falls back onto my thigh and I press my hip bone forward and up hard against his ass, using both hands to pull him back and hold him while I grind up once more.

I can feel him try to turn and speak to me but with my hands still on his hips I hold him face forward. He tries again and I give him a small shake. I can see out the foggy window that we are seconds from my stop. The bus slows and the crowd starts shifting toward the door. I'll hold him till my path is clear and then make my parting shot. Only a moment and it either works or it doesn't but it's moments like this that make the hunt worth while. Standing on my toes I lean my chest into his back and place my mouth close to his ear. I whisper into his anticipation "Dirty. Little. Slut."

I feel the shudder pass thorough him and then I'm gone, turning suddenly and slipping out the rear door. I don't even look to see if he makes it off in time. To see if the doors trap him. See if his sweet wholesome face is pressed against the cloudy window for one last glimpse.