The last bus from Newcastle to Berwick on Friday night was absolutely rammed. Everyone piling out of the Toon, heading for their weekend in the sticks. I'd paid nearly two quid for my ticket, bloody daylight robbery, leaving me with exactly thirteen quid to last until Monday when I got paid at Asda.
Being nineteen and stacking shelves wasn't exactly glamorous, but it beat being on the dole. Plus Sophie from the checkout said she'd give me a lift from Berwick tomorrow. She was mint, Sophie: bit of a laugh, always taking the piss, and was making the trek to Newcastle more enjoyable when we worked the same shifts.
I squeezed myself onto the bus, pushing past pensioners with their shopping bags and lads still stinking of the ale. The only seats left were right at the back. Course they were.
I slumped down on the right hand side, and pulled my walkman out of my bag, which was full to the brim with reduced price groceries and some books I was trying to read. Blur's “Song 2" quickly drowned out the noise of the bus crowd and the engine.
He appeared through the crowd just as we pulled away from Haymarket. Tall, early twenties, carrying that "I've just finished work" look: faded brown jacket, tatty blue jeans and heavy workman's shoes. His dark hair was slightly damp with sweat, and there was a streak of grease on his cheek he'd missed trying to clean off. He carried a copy of the Auto Trader magazine under his arm.
He looked around the bus desperately. Every seat was taken.
"Alright if I sit here, mate?" he asked, gesturing to my row.
What could I say? I moved closer to the window, and he dropped into the aisle seat. The bus lurched forward, throwing him against me. His shoulder pressed into mine, solid and warm through his cotton shirt.
I kept my eyes fixed on my reflection in the window, watching the lights of Newcastle fade behind us. He was picking at his fingernails, looking out the window, doing everything except talking. The silence was awkward, made worse by how close we were sitting. Every bump in the road pressed us together, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.
People started getting off at Ashington. Then more at Widdrington. The bus groaned up the hill, and I felt every vibration through our connected shoulders. By the time we hit Amble, the bus was less than half full.
A bunch of lasses in short skirts stumbled off at Alnwick, giggling and shrieking about some club night. We still hadn't spoken. I glanced at him in the reflection. He caught my eye and half-smiled. I looked away quickly.
He stretched his legs out, bumping mine. "Sorry," he mouthed.
I took off my headphones. "It's alright," I replied, my voice sounding too high.
We were down to maybe ten people on the bus now. The pensioners had mostly gone. A couple of students were dozing. I could see the bus driver tapping merrily on his steering wheel through the driver mirror.
I realised he could spread out now if he wanted. So could I. But neither of us moved.
"What's your stop?" he asked finally.
"Berwick."
"Me too." "We've still got a bit to go."
I nodded, then silence fell again. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, smell his aftershave mixed with something earthier.
"You don't smell like a mechanic," I blurted out before I could stop myself.
He raised an eyebrow. "Who says I'm a mechanic?"
Shit. "Erm… the Auto Trader. But mainly because you've got grease..." I gestured to his cheek.
"Ah shit. Right." He grinned. "What do I smell like then?"
My face burned. "I dunno. Just normal."
"Normal? That's it?"
"Like... good normal. Nice. Sorry.”
“Ha. Alright, I'll take that then.”
I shrugged and smiled, trying to play it off. But in the window reflection, I caught him looking at me differently now. His eyes dropped to my mouth, then lower.
The bus hit a particularly deep pothole, throwing us together. His hand shot out to steady himself, gripping my thigh. He pulled it away immediately.
"Sorry," he said quickly.
"No problem," I managed, though my skin was burning where he'd touched me.
The air between us felt quite charged all of a sudden. Every small movement seemed significant. When he shifted in his seat, our arms pressed together. When I adjusted my position, our knees knocked. I sat there, with adrenaline coursing through my body.
"You always take the late bus?" he asked.
"Depends on my shift.”
"You work at Asda?"
I looked at him sharply. "How'd you know?"
"Your polo shirt is sticking out of your bag.”
I blushed. He smiled and looked straight ahead.
We were almost alone at the back of the bus now. The few remaining passengers were scattered up front, lost in their own worlds.
"What about you?" I asked. "Late finish?"
"Yeah, then a pint with a mate." He ran a hand through his hair.
I nodded.
Another bump in the road made my bag shift, and one or two of my groceries fell out. He leaned down to get them at the same time I did. Our hands brushed. Neither of us moved away immediately.
"Cheers," I said, pulling back first.
“You're welcome.”
He sat back up, and suddenly the space between us felt smaller. My heart was hammering. I could see him watching me in the reflection again. He placed his hand down by his side such that it brushed against mine more substantially. I moved it away but only slightly. He moved it again towards me. I kept it there.
Something in his voice made me look at him properly for the first time. His eyes held mine.
“You can spread out now if you like,” I offered halfheartedly, gesturing towards the empty rows on the bus.
“I'm alright here to be honest,” he replied. The side of his leg was pressed firmly against mine. “Unless you want me to, obviously.”
“No no, you're alright.”
We sat again in silence. The bus chuntered along the dark quiet roads of Northumberland. I felt like he was pushing his leg more firmly against mine. Perhaps against my better judgement, I kept it there.
“Your leg is keeping me warm,” he said. “It's getting cold outside.”
“Yeah,” I replied nervously. “My mum says I radiate heat.”
“She's right. It's nice.”
I blushed again. I looked across to see him smiling.
“I think this is the first conversation I've had with a stranger on a bus.”
He continued to smile, but this time he looked at me eye to eye. “Yeah? Is it alright for you?”
“Yeah,” I said awkwardly. “It's… nice.”
He shifted slightly, so that our legs were even more firmly pressed together. I glanced towards him. He just kept looking straight ahead, smiling.
He placed his hand on my thigh. Gently and calmly. I jolted in my seat, away from him towards the window.
“You alright?” He asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“If you're not, you can just say and I'll move.”
I shook my head. He smiled.
He gently circled his palm around my thigh. I should have told him to stop. I should have moved my leg away and asked him to move. I should have made some excuse. But I didn't. I just sat there.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Twenty."
"Bit young for me."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty three."
"That's not old."
He laughed softly. "No?"
"No."
His thumb traced circles on my thigh. "You ever done this before? With a bloke?"
I shook my head. "No. Not with anyone, really."
“Do you feel okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
His hand moved up and down on my thigh. Just resting there, heavy and warm through my jeans. I was already breathing faster. My heart was hammering through my chest.
"Relax," he murmured.
“I'm trying,” I replied.
I tried, but every nerve in my body was alert to his touch. He began stroking my thigh slowly, his fingers creeping higher with each repetition.
“Keep looking straight ahead.”
“What if somebody sees us?”
“They won't. Just look straight ahead.”
I tried to hold his hand with mine, as much to stop him rubbing my thigh too much. It was unbearable. He moved my hand away and went back to stroking my thigh.
“Just relax and look ahead, okay?”
I nodded weakly.
His hand moved in circular motions down towards my knee then back up towards my inner thigh. He eventually pressed against my bulge through my jeans. I bit back a moan.
"Fuck," he muttered. "You're hard."
"Sorry…"
He smiled.
He slowly unzipped my fly, the sound seeming impossibly loud in the quiet bus.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked.
“I'm very sure.”
I laughed nervously. He never stopped grinning. His hand slipped inside my zipper, gently stroking my cock over my boxers. The contact made me shudder.
"Christ, you're dripping," he mumbled.
I couldn't form words. His hand was inside my jeans now, wrapping around my cock through my underwear. I had to grip the seat to keep from bucking into his grip.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked again.
He smiled. “I think you're absolutely sure about this.”
He started a slow rhythm, his hand moving up and down my cock. I dropped my head back against the seat, fighting every urge to make loud noises.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
I opened my eyes to find him watching me intently. His own breathing was becoming a little ragged.
"You're beautiful, you know that," he murmured. My eyes opened widely as he spoke to me.
“Nobody has ever called me beautiful before.”
“You need better people in your life.”
His thumb swiped over my tip through my underwear, spreading the precum. The sensation made my hips jerk involuntarily.
"Sensitive," he noted with a grin.
"Oh my god. This is intense. I'm worried I'm going to come," I admitted.
“Yeah? Don't worry if you do. Don't worry if you don't. Just relax.”
He tightened his grip, picking up the pace of his stroking. With his other hand, he unbuckled my belt and undid my jeans. He pulled my underwear back with one hand and now for the first time completely grabbed my cock raw with the other.
“Wow. Nice.” He said.
He glanced around quickly at the rest of the bus, and moved across the row so that I was slightly shielded by him from the rest of the bus. “Just keep acting normal,” he said.
“That's easier said than done,” I breathlessly replied.
“Just look out of the window,” he gently suggested.
It was torture. The best possible torture. I stared at my own reflection, watching my face go red as his hand gently worked me. I could just about see him in the window. He was still grinning.
I turned around and looked at his crotch. I could just about make out a nice little bulge towards his right jeans pocket.
“Are you…?” I began to ask.
“Hard too? Yeah. But don't worry about me. This is about you.”
Something about that made me feel warm. This was fucking mental. It was brilliant.
“I think I'm getting close,” I whispered.
He reached down to my balls with his other hand, and I jolted forward as he began to tip me over the edge. His thumb brushed against the head of my cock and that was it.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, I'm gonna come” I said tamely. I buried my head into his chest to stifle my moans and I could feel his heart beating as he finished me off.
I began to shoot, and shoot hard in a way I'd never really felt on my own. He kindly pointed my cock as much as he could away from my body. But it was still going everywhere. Over my bag, over my jeans, over the back of the row in front of us. White spots danced through my vision as he just kept stroking me through my first ever orgasm with another man.
When I finally came back down to earth, the reality hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd just let a random bloke I'd never met before wank me off on a public bus. Jesus fucking christ.
“Shit…”, I muttered embarrassingly as I tried to wipe it up with a useless solitary tissue from my pocket. I looked across to him and he was just smiling. He did up his jeans. When had he undone them?
“That was really nice,” he said eventually.
I looked around nervously, searching for some sign that somebody had seen us. Nothing. I started to breathe again and regain my composure.
The bus was slowing as it was drifting into Berwick town centre. Only a few passengers remained to get off with us.
Outside, the cold night air hit my flushed skin. We stood on the pavement, suddenly uncertain as to what to do next.
"Thanks," I said awkwardly.
"No problem." He grinned. "Worth the bus fare."
We started walking in the same direction, our strides matching.
"Can I ask you something?" I said after a moment.
"Sure."
"How did you know? That I might want… that?"
He was quiet for a moment. "I caught a glimpse of what you were reading earlier. When you shoved those groceries in your bag."
"Oh." I felt my face redden.
"Giovanni's Room is a bold choice for a bus to Berwick on a Friday night."
"You know it?"
"Yeah.” He glanced at me. "Not many straight lads carry James Baldwin on the bus."
I laughed nervously. "I guess not."
"Plus, you kept checking me out in the reflection."
"I did not!"
"You did. And I didn't mind."
We turned another corner. I needed to go left, but I didn't want him to go yet.
"Which way are you heading?" I asked.
"Left, towards town. My sister's giving me a lift home.”
"Oh cool. Me too.”
As we walked, our hands brushed. He caught mine, interlacing our fingers.
"I'm Mike,” he said, “by the way."
"I'm James. Though everyone calls me Lefty."
"Why Lefty?"
“My surname is Wright, but I'm left handed.”
He groaned. "That’s terrible. But nice to meet you, James Wright. I'd shake your hand, but we've kinda already done handshakes.”
I laughed and smiled.
“Would you maybe wanna see each other again?” I asked, quite nervously.
“Yeah, that'd be really nice. I'll give you my number.”
He wrote it down.
“Yooooohoooo!”
A woman was yelling cheerily and waving as she walked down the high street.
“That's my sister. She doesn't know about me doing this so I better run.”
“Oh my god,” I said.
“James! Fancy seeing you here.”
It was Sophie.
“You know each other?”
“We work at the same Asda.”
She came over and gave me a hug. “Oh my god! I didn't know you were working so late. I see you've met my brother?”
Mike laughed. I smiled. “Erm, yes. Yes I have.”
THE END.
