12th
Rolling with this - where does it end?
**I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I’m having fun** She was soft. He hadn’t even touched her, but he could tell. She seemed to radiate it. He wanted very much to reach out and feel it for himself, but it seemed a shame to besmirch the perfection of her skin by running his own coarse hands over it. As they zoomed down the road, even in silence he felt a growing bond between them. He had never felt this way about anyone before, and it seemed so right. Her smile was infectious. Inviting. He wondered if everyone she knew felt this way about her, or if this surge of affection was only for him. He thought of reaching out again, but again he stayed his hand. Only now, it seemed the faint hope he could touch her blossomed into an urge to take her into his arms and kiss her passionately. He did not put it from his mind. He dwelled on it. Lived there. He felt his desire become tangible, and in his mind’s eye he ravaged her body. Thrusting. Pumping. Screaming for release. He watched her as she idly picked up a magazine and began to read, oblivious to his burgeoning need. He began to squirm in his seat from the building pressure in his head. He had to have her. She had to know. Did she not feel it too? He had to know, but still he recoiled from voicing it. He couldn’t touch her. He shouldn’t. He knew this. He knew he may take it too far. But in his mind he was insatiable, and so with her blind to his action, he slid his hand slowly under his trenchcoat… he would have his release, even if only for himself. “Take me,” she moaned in his head. “Yes,” he groaned back to her, thrusting now violently. His passion was animal. Slowly she turned the pages of the magazine, completely unaware of the storm brewing in him. His love was a hurricane, ready to destroy all in it’s path when he heard a small voice in the back of his mind.. “Mommy, why is that man pulling on his penis?” The boy’s mother shrieked for the bus driver to stop the bus, and he obliged, concerned for what emergency may need his attending to. As the bus came to a halt and the bus driver asked what the trouble was, the mother shrieked again, “THIS MAN IS MASTURBATING!” as she pointed at him. But there was no stopping the hurricane once it had been unleashed… Shouts of alarm pierced the air. Many grabbed their belongings and fled. Others just stood and screamed. All to no avail. The hurricane raged on. In the eye of the storm he continued, the fury of his desire drowning out the world. All he could see was her eyes, searing him with their gaze. The only sound he would entertain was her moans of pleasure as they echoed in his head. He slipped in and out of her like a child going down a waterslide. He knew that he would explode soon… “SIR!” a voice rang through the hurricane and into his head, “SIR, IF YOU DON’T STOP THAT RIGHT NOW, I’M CALLING THE POLICE.” The storm began to fade. It swirled and shrank and funneled itself into a lockbox, and took her with it. Slowly, he became vaguely aware of his surroundings. People were pushing their way out of the bus. Some sat dumbstruck, watching him. The bus driver stood over him, irate. He removed his hand from the inside of his overcoat. He wiped the sweat from his brow. His eyes darted around the bus, scanning for her. But he did not see her. He removed his other hand from his overcoat. “SIR, GET THE HELL OFF MY BUS RIGHT NOW AND WE WON’T HAVE A PROB-” Before he even realized what had happened, the driver was staring at a 357 Magnum buried in his chin. Terrified gasps filled the bus, and those who were staring blankly now joined those still pushing their way out the door until no one remained save for the man and the bus driver. For a few minutes, they remained still. They remained silent. He spoke first. “You took her away from me.” L-l-listen, buddy,” the driver sputtered, “y-you don’t want to do this.” “I… want… her. You took her away.” The man darted his eyes toward the empty seat to his left. “She got up. Left. Didn’t take her nowhere,” the driver said, now sweating profusely, “come on, man, I got kids, I-” “Shut. Up.” The man stood up, buttoning his trenchcoat with his free hand, pressing his weapon deeper into the bus driver’s chin as he rose. “Turn around.” “What?” “TURN. AROUND,” he repeated forcefully. The bus driver did as instructed. Tears rolled down his cheeks, mingling with the abundant sweat. In one swift stroke, the man slammed the butt of his pistol across the back of the driver’s head, who fell to the ground with a thud. As he fell, his foot kicked a purse that lay at the base of the seat she occupied minutes before. The man quickly stowed his pistol inside his trenchcoat and grabbed the purse. He quickly rifled through the purse. Noticing an envelope inside marked “Fun-Foto Fotography” he removed it, throwing the purse aside, spilling various makeup items across the unconscious body of the bus driver. He quickly looked through the photos in the envelope. The beach at sunset. A hilly landscape. Children digging gleefully in the sand. A man helping the same children fly a kite on the beach. A sand castle evidently half washed away by the waves. Then he saw it. She lay on a bed adorned in generic hotel bed dressing. She wore a purple bikini beset with sparkles. She smiled that smile that melted his brain. He felt the storm brewing once more, and once more he reached under his trenchcoat. He had found her again, only now she waited for him on the hotel bed, her legs opening, closing, teasing, inviting him to find his way back into her.
