Sunday, April 27, 2014


                                                                      (she was  over 18)

           I sat in the seat across the aisle
from her. Then I noticed her legs -
long legs, muscular and curvy. No,
first of all I noticed her high heel
boot nodding over the aisle.
       I'd been writing in a notebook,
so I wasn't paying attention to the
sights. I didn't see her come back on
the bus after the rest stop.
       I got on the bus at North Bay.
A crowd left the bus. I especially
noticed this older fella. He was crawling
across the parking lot, dragging
his duffel bag with a rope he held in
his teeth. He finally got to the bench,
sat down and threw two mickeys of brandy
into the trash can next to him.
        He looked like a biker, one of the
older guys, but still dangerous.
         I got on the bus before the rest of
the passengers came back with sandwhiches
and cokes from the restaurant.
          I looked up when I sensed movement
over my right shoulder. This gal was lying
back over two seats, relaxing.  And as I
say, the first thing I noticed about her
 was this boot gently bobbing in the aisle.
          Now I have foot fetish issues, but
I had a grip on myself that afternoon...
 I was trying to finish what was going
to be this article. But this article's 
          I stopped writing and started
staring at the boot. The gal wearing the
boot said:

          "Did you see that old fucker
who just got off the bus?"
          "Ah... what did he look like?"
          "He's hard to miss. He's
huge with a big stomache, and he kept
breathing heavy," she said.
          "Oh, yeah! Sure, I saw him.
He was hard to miss, yeah, because he wasn't
walking like most people. He was crawling
on all fours, dragging a duffel bag by a rope.
 He had the rope in his teeth!"
              "That would be him," she said.
"He was sitting right behind me. And he
was starting to really piss me off. I
was going to stab him with this!"
               All of a sudden a large,
vicious-looking hunting knife
appeared in her right hand.
               "Like this!" she said
as she made a fast stabbing motion
in my direction.
                "I see you're a writer,"
she said. She noticed that I was
looking up between her legs,
but it didn't worry her. She just
smiled at me as if to say, "Of course,
you're looking up my skirt. You're a
guy. What else are you going to do?"
        Then she tilted back a mickey
of brandy and poured a healthy
triple-shot down her throat.
         "Ya want a drink?" she asked.
          "Sure!" I said. "Where I come from
it's bad luck to turn down good booze.
It's almost sacreligious!"
           " Where d'ya come from?"
           " I come from North Bay."
            "Ha! Ha!" she laughed.
            I took a good slug from the
mickey, which was almost full. I guess
I drank about half of it.
            "Sorry," I said.
            "Don't worry about it!" she said.
"The old fucker had at least six mickeys
in his bag. He gave me two of them.
Have another drink!"
              "Twist my rubber arm!"I said and 
raised the bottle towards her, said, "Cheers!"
             "Thanks a lot ," I said, handing the
bottle back. And I meant it.

              " The reason I asked if you was
a writer, is because I write a bit, too.
If you're interested. I just wrote a sort
of stream of consciousness short story,
right here on the bus... I figured if I didn't
distract my mind from that annoying
prick in the seat right behind me, I was going to
stick him for sure!  And with his big stomach,
I wasn't going to miss."
             "Just as well you didn't" I said, "He looked
like an interesting fella."
              "Interesting my ass!" she shouted.
               The driver looked back at us.
               "What a co-incidence! I was just
thinking about you ass!" I said.
                "Ha! Ha!" she said, "Do you want
to read it?"
                 I had lost the thread of the conversation.
I'm getting forgetful these days and I can only
focus on one thing at a time.
                 "Hey," she said. She snapped her
fingers and said: "I'm up here!"
                  "What d'ya say?"
                  "The story I told you about, do you
want to read it?"
                 "Hell, yah!" I said, I was feeling the brandy.
I was feeling no pain."
                  "Do you mind a little sex?" she asked
                  " I don't mind one bit," I said, turning
to look at her.
                  "In the story!" she asked, "Do you mind
a little sex in the story?"
                   "Not at all. I prefer it!  Hand it over!"

                  She had the papers in her hand.
Her hand was up in the air above her head.
She said: "Before you read it, I'll bet you fifty
bucks you don't have the balls to publish it!"
                "That's a bet!" I said, and we shook
hands on it. I could smell her perfume,
as we shook hands. I also made the mistake
of looking down at her legs.
                 "God, you're a good looking woman!"
I guess I shouted it out, too! Not just the bus driver
but about ten passengers looked back
at us.
                  "You just noticing that now, are ya?"
                   I  stared at her. I didn't say a word.
Anything I could say would likely be a lie.  And If 
I told the truth, I'd probably get tossed off the bus!
                I'd have to be quiet about it. We were attracting
too much attention.
                   I took the papers and turned
to look at the seat in front of me. I stared at
the seat back for a while.
                   "Tell me if you like it," she said.

                    I've got the papers right in front of
me now. I'm not going to change a word.
After all, a bet's a bet!   And the story's pretty
          I think the title is:  OLD FUCK ON THE BUS

The story begins:

           "O gawd! Now the old
            fuck is chewing potato chips!
            Cracking them between his
             snapping teeth!"

            "and often every five
             chips, he cracks a
               bottle of brandy
               has a  snort and
              goes, "AAAAAHH!"
              Then he farts and chews
               some more!"

              "I want to stab
               him ( he's sitting right
               behind me) and breathing
               down my neck!
               But if I did, I think ... OOoooo!
                he'd do something  really
               nasty to me!"

                "Like  reach up under my
                chair close up behind 
                me  in the bus
                and feel...   my ass!"
                "Now he's pretending he's
                 dropped his big bag
                 of salt and vinegar
                 potato chips...
                 (I can smell them
                  from here!)
                   And  he's really pressing
                  up under the seat
                  of my chair...

                   "He's cracked the bottle
                   and he gasps and his
                   throat rasps
                    & he feels me thru
                    the cushion..."
                    "Oh, I'm really going 
                    to have to stab him
                     ( he keeps sniffing and
                       snorting and I
                       know there's no
                       way the nasty old
                       fucker can
                       afford cocaine)

                        or can he?"

                        "He's breathing right now
                        right into my ear.
                        He's tickling my middle
                         ear with his breath!"
                          (I'm afraid to look behind
                           If he keeps pressing the
                           seat cushion up under my ass...
                           If he keeps pushing the cushion
                           up under me...
                           If he keeps on pushing up that
                             seat cushion, pretty soon
                             he'll be tickling my fancy!"
                           "Oh, I hope he get's caught!
                            I'm really going to have to
                            stab him now.... ....  ....
                             stab him, yes?....or no?
                             (that feels so damn good)
                              ... .... ... stab him?
                              ...... ..... .... ... maybe not.

                                      *   *   *   *   *

( That's all she wrote)           


            "That's hot!" I say to her.
           "I thought you'd like it!" she says
            "It sure kept my attention!
              Through the entire story!"
              " I thought it would," she said
               She smiled at me.
               She crossed  her legs...
                 Then a bell rang up front!
                  She sat up fast, 
                 "Oh God! I gotta go! This is my stop!"
                  she said.

                  "You've lost the bet!" I said to her.
                 She stood up in the aisle, said:
                 "I'll believe it when I see it!"
                 "You're gonna see it tomorrow!" I said.
                   "What's tomorrow? Oh yeah, Sunday.
                    You're gonna see your story Sunday morning!
                    on my Roving Reporter site."
                     " I know your site, she said."
                       She was walking towards the
                       front  of the bus. She stopped,
                        turned around to look at me.
                       " I guess I'll owe you some drinks
                         then, won't I?"
                         "Yes, you will. You want my address?"
                          " I know where you live!" she said.
                  "Everybody knows where you live.  I
                   read your site already."

                     "You ever catch the old fucker's
                      name?" I asked.
                      " Oh, I know his name! He lives right
                        next door to me!" she said.
                        "What's his name?" I asked, 
       calling to her as she moved up the aisle.
                      Over her shoulder, she called back:                         
                       "He's my uncle!"

                         She walked to the front of
        the bus and stepped outside.

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