The Bus to Pleasure Town

I've often thought that having the ability to take a bus in stormy weather was a godsend. I wouldn't have to contend with dangerous, treacherous road conditions, the inevitable slipping and sliding, helplessly sitting still, wasting gas, instead of moving.

I haven't had the need to take the bus for some time simply because the winter weather had been holding up pretty well this season. An unexpected, fast moving storm blew into the North East and furiously dropped twenty-nine inches of heavy wet snow over a period of just under twelve hours.

You can imagine the horrifying situation. Cars were abandoned on every major thoroughfare and just about every secondary road as well. Falling snow, treacherous sheets of ice, howling whipping winds creating quite a dreadful prospect. The roads were blanketed with no less than three to four inches of slush, the end result of the countless swipes made by the despised, yet very necessary, motorized shovel, the snowplow.

Massive, expertly maneuvered plows can clear a country road with one single pass. That snow, the gigantic boulders of ice, is seditiously spit right back into each and every driveway that with great distress and backbreaking pain had previously been hand shoveled to its former pristine condition.

Standing at the end of your driveway with the last shovel full of snow in hand you hear the monster roaring in the distance, callously warning you of its impending attack. Looking out into the street you see the fire breathing demon quickly approaching, helplessly standing by realizing you're about to get screwed.

The unsympathetic callous mammoth, jaws open wide, cruelly spits all that snow back into each and every clean driveway along it's vicious path. There's every reason to believe that obvious declaration of war will provoke a rebellion that will incite every once law abiding citizen, countless hordes of malicious rabble risers to take to their trusty soap box, instigating people to rebel and damn the authority of the state municipality that sent the trucks out in the first place. It could get downright terrifying.

Unfortunately, I realized I needed to make a trip to the market for some necessities. Knowing my driveway was in fact blocked and the snow had most likely turned into an almost solid block of ice, I opted for the safer, less physically demanding, considering the road and weather conditions, readily available mode of transportation, the bus.

Public transportation riders are an exceptional and interesting group. You have the youth, who probably don't have the luxury of a driver's license or simply don't have a car. Mix in the people who had a license at one time but for various reasons lost that privilege or their car is in for costly repairs.

The largest group seems to be the elderly, senior citizens. Men and women who no longer feel safe driving or their families decided it was time to take them off the road, willingly or not. Many of the senior travelers have medical problems, poor hearing, limited sight, mobility limitations. There are those who never drove or in some cases really enjoy riding the bus. I suppose if you're stuck at home, often alone, a short trip in the midst of fellow riders is a pleasant diversion.

Add to the list the occasional traveler, such as myself. The driver has to contend with the inexperienced rider not having the correct fare, not pulling the cord for their stop, a myriad of ineptitude's. I would suspect by the end of a drivers shift, the need for a stiff drink and some serious quiet time would most definitely be in order.

I was very fortunate; the bus runs on a rural schedule, meaning all you have to do is wave it down to be picked up. The route the bus runs on was a mere quarter mile from my front door, or the equivalent of perhaps five city blocks. I'm a dedicated walker, getting up each morning, weather permitting, and walk a three-mile stretch which aides in keeping mind and body in fairly good shape. I simply plug my MP3 headphones into my ears, turn the volume up and lose myself in the music. I thoroughly enjoy the feeling of getting close to nature. It's a pleasant frame of mind and I really do appreciate the bounty mother nature has seen fit to grace our lives with. Each season has its own special features. The spring is filled with new life and new growth, taking the gray winter from dark and dismal to spectacular sound and color. Thankfully, Spring was almost here, but not quite yet.

The prospect of trudging through a quarter mile of snow and slushy ice had its drawbacks. However, understanding that if I didn't make that pilgrimage, I would have to forego my usual habits of a hot bubble bath in the evening, I ran out of bubble stuff, a glass of sherry after dinner, I finished the last glass watching the snow fall, pretty much made it impossible not to make the trip.

Dressed in the appropriate snow apparel and having previously checked the bus schedule I left the warmth and comfort of my home and had about fifteen minutes to get to the bus route. It wasn't pleasant walking through the snow and ice, it was horrible! I managed to stay upright just barely. There were a few slips and slides that I was sure were going to take me down. Nonetheless, in about ten minutes I was standing at the bus stop, praying it would arrive on time. Glancing at my cell phone I saw that I still had a few minutes to wait and the wind was picking up. I was already tired and now getting cold, this absolutely stunk, big time.

There were three or four people anxiously looking up the road waiting to see the bus coming down the hill, knowing it would be here in about a minute. Sure enough, there it was, and in less than three minutes we were all aboard, fare paid sitting in a warm seat, enjoying the ride.

Each one of us was heading to the local shopping center or desired destination, wherever our intended stop was, smiling and feeling grateful I would hope for the driver taking responsibility to safely take us to our desired location. Because this is a rural service you simply had to signal the driver and your and arrival to your destination was guaranteed.

We were about a mile or so down the road, the bus began to slow down, no doubt to pick up yet another rider. The bus was crowded, or at least to me it appeared to be. All of the passengers were seated when we came to a halt and the doors swung open, inviting the next person to come on in, pay the fare and take a seat.

An elderly man, kind of bent over, a well-worn cane steadying his gait, stepped up, paid his fare and looked down the aisle for the closest possible seat. I'm sure he was a frequent passenger and clearly knew that safety meant planting yourself in a seat ASAP, or run the risk of being jostled and jerked around while the bus was in motion. Looking up to the front of the bus it soon became clear that the seat next to me would be his first choice. Sure enough, he barely made it down the aisle before the bus once again got underway. And just as I thought, he sat down next to me.

Now, you all know my secret, not so secret, affection for older men, old men, dirty old men being my personal box of luscious decadent chocolate. I own it, I don't apologize for it and I embrace it.

There's a notable television psychologist who would certainly view me as a well-rounded woman (I am a very curvy well rounded woman) confidently in touch with her inner child. A healthy mind with a mature sense of responsibly. I would be deemed a clinically sound person. I know what fuels my passions and I accept it. I don't harbor a single doubt that the gentlemen who have graced my life would enthusiastically agree with that assessment.

I consider every opportunity to interact with an older man a gift, on many levels. Contrary to popular belief, older men are a cache of untapped pleasure. I'm not speaking solely of their sexual prowess. Older men with their years of experience traveling through this life can teach us all a thing or two about living.

Seizing each occasion, making the best of every chance encounter to do so that comes my way, I can seriously say, that I didn't have a single naughty thought in my mind when the man sat down next to me. I was concentrating on the bus ride and making sure I signaled the driver when my desired stop was approaching. My only thought was getting what I needed and getting home.

"It's a hell of day isn't it?"

The gentleman was speaking of the remnants of the snowstorm I surmised.

"Yes, it certainly has caused a few problems getting around, that's for sure." I couldn't very well be ill mannered and not respond to his statement.

"I haven't seen you on the bus before, new in town?"

I smiled, "No, I've lived here most of my adult life. My driveway was plowed in so I decided to take the bus to the market."

"Damn snow plows. My place is at the end of a cul de sac, it's a dumping ground for every damn flake that falls to the ground. By the time the plow has done its damage I have at least six feet of snow in my front yard, which covers most of the end of the pathway out my front door to the road. Luckily, a few kids came around early this morning offering to shovel me an access point. Jesus, I remember those days, leaving the house as soon as the ground was covered, making deals for a few bucks, or less to shovel driveways. Christ, I haven't shut up since I sat down."

He smiled and shook his head, in acknowledgement of his ongoing narrative as if to concede his rambling was in fact, nonstop.

"Well, thankfully you were able to get out."

"I wouldn't have even attempted it if I didn't run out of coffee. I can't get the old ticker pumping without a few cups of Java in the morning."

Not being a coffee drinker, I couldn't really relate to his self-medicating jolt of adrenaline. Nonetheless I'm sure he had a dietary routine that gave him the required energy to get up and move. It was a small price to pay to find some sense of salacious satisfaction.

"Today being Wednesday, it's senior discount day, gotta save every penny when you're on the dole."

The dole being what I imagined was Social Security or a pension. Commonly the "Dole" is actually a term that originated in England to depict those who were unemployed and receiving state aid. Judging his age, a youthful seventy-eight, give or take a year or two, I seriously doubted he was receiving unemployment, but, I've been wrong before. I didn't think he was employed. As far as predicting his age, in that area I was usually right on target.

"Yep, gotta count every penny when you're an old retired guy, Social Security ain't social and it sure as hell ain't security. I'm seventy-seven, and hell bent on living till at least ninety, so I make sure I squirrel away a few pennies each month for emergencies."

Yes, ma'am, still got it Layla, seventy-seven, you're incredible. I smiled sheepishly.

"Jeez, I still remember the days when I drove, been a few years. I had a stroke a few years back and decided that I'd better give up the car. I take the bus or bum a ride from a buddy now and then if I need something. I can't carry much but I make a couple of trips a week, making sure I get there on discount day. Getting old stinks, little lady, it sure does."

I was sure being unable to do what you want to do, when you want to do it, truly does stink.

"Jesus, I'm running my mouth and forgot my manners, my name's Stephen, Stephen Collier, and you are?"

"Layla, nice to meet you Mr. Collier."

"Hell, you know you're an old fart when a pretty lady calls you "Mr. Collier". How about you gimme a thrill, call me Stephen."

He laughed and I do believe I could detect a bit of a blush in his wrinkled cheeks.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Stephen."

"Trust me Layla, the pleasure is all mine, I don't think I've talked to a woman this long in god knows how long." His eyes soften, his smile became a thought of days long ago when his life was different.

"There may be a ton of snow on the roof, but this old furnace can still put out some heat, if you catch my drift?"

"I have no doubt that your furnace is in excellent working condition Stephen."

He was sweet, in a raucous, gruff sought of way. There was no question that he spoke his mind.

"It's a goddamn waste of good wood if you ask me."

"I'm sure there are more than a few lovely ladies who would be more than happy to sit by your fire and warm up now and then, if you catch my drift?"

"You're alright Layla," he laughed. This time a hearty, happy, deep down enthusiastic silly laugh.

"These days' pickings are pretty slim or nonexistent. I like a little slap and tickle just as much as the next guy. When you get to my age there doesn't seem to be any women who are all that ticklish."

His use of euphemisms was commendable, and really very funny. In his own way he was surely getting his point across.

The bus was fast approaching the shopping center and this short but enjoyable interlude was coming to an end. Stephen reached over and playfully squeezed my knee, actually tickling me, I giggled.

"Ticklish are ya?"

I smiled at him in a "you have no idea just how much" sought of way. There was a definite gleam in his eyes.

"Unfortunately, we'll have to leave that question unanswered, we have arrived at our destination. It's been fun Stephen. Maybe we'll run into one another again some time and discuss the finer points of tickling. You be careful on the ice, wouldn't want to see you damage that fine furnace."

I got up and began making my way to the front of the bus. I was pretty confident that my travel companion took the opportunity to check out my kindling.

The market was surprisingly packed for the weather and road conditions. It has always confounded me that when the weather was as bad as this that people became hoarders. You could see scores of people with full carts. The common belief was buying several loaves of bread, gallons of milk and various other excessive quantities of perishables. Knowing full well that the distinct possibility of losing power was not only a foregone conclusion, it actually often happened. Instead of being prudent and leaving enough for the next person the mindset was grab all you can as fast as you could, only to throw it away when the electricity died. Made absolutely no sense to me.

I made my way around the store picking up what I came for and a few extras. I suddenly had a craving for some steamy hot chocolate, piled high with clouds of sweet whipped cream. My plan was to go home, start a fire, curl up on the sofa, listen to some music and sip that sweet decadence in hopes of quelling the smoldering between my legs. The image of Stephen, building a fire in that furnace of his, made an impression in my lascivious, salacious mind that was quickly becoming scandalous.

Looking up at the clock I realized I had less than ten minutes to get back to the bus stop. With my purchases safely double bagged, securely in hand I made my way through the parking lot with not a second to spare. People were already boarding and I was clearly at the back of the line. The prospect of standing the entire ride was daunting to say the least.

Once I finally got on the bus, I headed for the first vacant seat I saw, thankful that there was one. As I was about to take it I heard a familiar voice coming from the back of the bus.

"Layla, I saved you a seat."

There, at the very back of bus, I saw Stephen waving his hand excitedly, then pointing down to the seat next to the window, beside him. I couldn't very well ignore his kindness so I made my way back and barely made it as the bus was already in motion. I grabbed the hand rail and gave Stephen time to shift his body outward so I could squeeze in beside him and take the seat he had kindly saved for me.

The bus suddenly lurched forward and I lost my footing, literally falling against his face. My upper body was smack dead pushing against the poor man's entire face. I tried to pull myself up and step around him to plant myself securely in the damn seat. The bags were literally strangling my hands from the force of the bus moving before I was able to get them in front of me. In an effort to get me upright, Stephen reached up, grabbed the front of my jacket, as well as a handful of my breasts and pushed me back. I was finally standing up and was able to get around his legs and make it into the seat.

"I'm so sorry, the bus moved before I could get to the seat and I had nowhere to go."

"Jesus Layla, I haven't been that close to a woman's titties since I can't remember when."

He certainly didn't pick and choose his words. The smile on his face clearly expressed happiness.

I looked around and was hoping no one heard him. There was so much noise from the bus moving that I doubt anyone would have understood or heard anything but muffled sound. I had to laugh, he surely wasn't shy.

"Honey, you can fall on this old man anytime." His smirk was lecherous and lewd, in a sweet and comical way.

"I got through pretty quick and saw the bus filling up. I figured you were gonna make this bus back so I saved you a seat, good thing I did, I wouldn't have gotten the thrill of a lifetime."

Choosing to ignore the obvious innuendo I smiled and decided a simple acknowledgement of his kindness was in order.

"Well, in any case, thank you for the seat."

I couldn't help smiling, he was really quite funny and certainly appreciated the unexpected, albeit, short lived, nuzzle into the "thrilling" valley of my twin peaks.

"I believe we were discussing the finer points of tickling before we had to end what was becoming a pretty interesting conversation. I wouldn't mind picking up where we left off, and seeing just how ticklish you are?"

I had to give him his due, he wasn't about to let what be perceived as a viable opportunity go by the wayside.

Clearly, the thought of tickling me had become more than just a play on words. I had the distinct impression that Mr. Collier was making a serious effort to tempt me. I was more than willing to explore his interest in seeing just where this conversation was headed.

"I'm extremely ticklish."

His eyes opened wide, he took a deep breath, trying to get his wits about him I had no doubt.

"Do you like to be tickled for a long time, or do you like a quick giggle?"

I decided to play along.

"That depends on the tickler's technique."

"Jesus Christ." A brush across his head and a nervous shift in his seat told me I was most definitely tickling him. He needed a few seconds to collect his wandering thoughts, looked out the window, turned and looked back at me, not quite sure what he was going to say. I threw him a lifeline.

"In my experience, tickling is an art form. You have to know exactly how much pressure to exert, where the best possible point of contact is to get the reaction you're hoping for, wouldn't you agree?"

I could see small beads of sweat appearing on his brow. The nervous excitement was taking its toll and we were both enjoying every minute. I was aware of the people around us and realized they weren't paying one bit of attention to the conversation. I seriously thought they wouldn't have been able to hear a single word, even if they tried to eavesdrop

.

"Oh, yeah, exactly. And you have to be willing to take your time, slow and steady tickling is the only way to go."

So he was a slow and steady man. I was definitely a slow and steady woman.

"Do you agree that there are several places on the body that one can effectively tickle and completely lose themselves in the sensation?"

"If you could see what I'm thinking right now, you wouldn't have to ask me that question."

I had a pretty good idea of the images that were popping in and out of his mind. I would have to be honest and say I was seeing quite a few possibilities myself.