Greyhound Girl - Sex Stories

Greyhound Girl

With the familiar hiss of air brakes releasing and a blast of diesel smoke, the bus pulled out of Des Moines, heading west again on Interstate-80 ultimately bound for Denver. I’d boarded late that morning in Chicago, and now, as evening approached, we were once again rolling westward… at least until the next small town with a Greyhound Bus stop required another detour. As strange as it might sound, I love riding the bus – or, more accurately I suppose, I despise flying; the cramped conditions, the rush-rush of a busy airport, lines everywhere, obnoxious security, the horrid pressure of takeoff and the bumpy landings… not for me! The bus, on the other hand, is calming, relaxing, and sometimes provides an opportunity to meet interesting people. Too, I can frequently get a pair of seats to myself and can stretch out and be comfortable. And that had been the case on this trip thus far, although a number of the seats had filled up in Cedar Rapids, then more just now, in Des Moines - but I was still, for the moment, living in solitary luxury. I turned sideways and leaned back against the window, stretching out across both seats as I settled in to read my book, munching an apple that I’d grabbed at the snack bar during our last stop. I caught the guy across the aisle - a nice-looking older man - checking out my legs as I stretched, and I smiled at him; he instantly blushed, his eyes darting away, and I ducked my head to hide my giggle. I didn’t think he could see up my skirt, but if ...

... he did… well, his lucky day! At twenty, I had become comfortable with my trim body and the fact that men looked at me, and I considered my legs – along with my long auburn hair – to be about my best features. To be honest, I enjoyed knowing that men found me attractive, vain as that might sound! On bus trips, like this one to meet my boyfriend at the University of Colorado in Boulder as his classes wrapped up for the semester, I dressed for comfort. For this trip that meant a loose-fitting, flowing floral-print skirt which ended just above my knees, a pale pink t-shirt top and sandals, and if that afforded men a better look at my legs, then so be it! I dress for me, not for them. Well, mostly. The bus had very comfortable seats, plug-ins for my electronic devices, and great air vents and reading lights. I’d settled in, engrossed in the book on my Nook, and lost track of time, so I was surprised when I looked up as we pulled in to our next stop and realized that it had gotten dark already. It was another insignificant town, another bus stop at a small gas station – closed, at the moment – and a single person waiting to board. I was on the right side of the bus, so as we pulled in I had a good view of our newest passenger; tall and lean with sinuous muscle rather than bulk, he was somehow instantly captivating. Dark, tousled hair, a four-day stubble, small, subtle smile, and the way he hooked his small travel pack on his finger over his shoulder all combined with his confident ...