I was done with my stint in the Job Corps, a mission to learn the arts of cooking so that I’d have skills to not only feed myself properly but also with the hopes of making a decent living, a mission that sent me to the state of Utah and while I enjoyed my time there, it was time to head home. Those of us who were leaving had a choice of how we wanted to return to our places of origin: By plane, by train, or by bus… and I chose to return home by bus so that (1) I could visit parts of the country I’d otherwise not see and (2) my last trip on a plane left me with such a horrible headache that only the strongest painkillers could abate.
I thought spending three and a half days on a bus would be fun; little did I know that from the moment I boarded the bus and took my seat, there would be fun I wouldn’t have ever expected. I hadn’t settled into my seat near the back of the bus for more than a few seconds when another guy approached and asked if I minded if he sat with me; I absently said that I didn’t because my mind was three and a half days into the future when I would be home again and, besides, having someone to talk to would make the trip less boring.
By the time the bus backed out of the station, we had exchanged names and some of our personal histories and I felt buoyed by “Steve’s” statement that the two of us were going to have a lot of fun during our long ride across the country. We hadn’t been on the road for thirty minutes as we headed toward Wyoming when Steve reached into his backpack and pulled out a long-necked bottle with a label that identified its contents as “Passafleur,” which was, as Steve said, an interesting drink made with passion flowers. He produced a couple of plastic cups and poured us both a generous helping, saying that he had plenty more of this concoction in his bags below us in the luggage bay.
“It won’t get you drunk,” he said in response to my worried look, “but it’ll make you feel pretty good! Don’t worry, dude, it’s not gonna hurt you – trust me!” Then he belted back the contents of his cup and, not wanting to look like a pussy, I followed suit… and was surprised by the taste of it, sweet but not too sweet and rather smooth, like drinking fruit juice. I have to admit that three cups later I was, in fact, feeling pretty good… but not drunk or otherwise impaired.
It was dark by the time we crossed into Wyoming; most of the people on the bus were snoozing but Steve and I were wide awake and having fun talking about a whole lot of things when he leaned closer to me and said, “Hey, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to suck your dick…”
I don’t know whether or not my sexuality or this really interesting drink influenced my response or not but I looked at him for a second or two and said, “Sure, okay…” even as I was trying to drop my pants in the confining space, feeling grateful that we were the only two people that far back in the bus. Steve smiled at me and without another word, swooped down onto my cock hungrily at first before slowing down to enjoy what he was doing. As he sucked me, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a lot of years – the fear of getting caught and that spike of ‘terror’, along with that drink, just added to the pleasure he was affording me, just as the bus’s bouncing and swaying added something to the mix as well.
Steve was getting me very close and it was already all I could do to keep as quiet as possible; I had already bitten the inside of my bottom lip enough to taste blood but I had to let him know so I leaned down as much as I could and whispered, “Steve, I gotta cum…”
Steve responded me just tapping me on one exposed thigh, which somehow told me that this was exactly what he wanted me to do and moments later, I exploded into his mouth so hard it made me bit my lip again so that I could remain as silent as possible as Steve swallowed down all I had to offer before sitting back up and smiling at me.
“I sure needed that,” he said into the darkness of the bus, the nighttime atmosphere of the bus broken every so often by a passing street light.
“That was great,” I managed to say. “So now it’s your turn…”
“You don’t have to,” he said, giving me an out.
“Oh, I’m going to,” I said – again, was it my sexuality coming full to the front or whatever the fuck was in that drink? “Besides, this won’t be my first time…”
We actually switched seats so that he’d be by the window but able to see if anyone came down the aisle to the lavatory – he even managed to drop his pants during the switch somehow so that by the time his ass hit the seat, his cock was nicely exposed and quite erect. I took a moment to look at him, to see the look of surprised delight in his face before leaning over and taking his boner into my mouth.
He tasted sweet with just a hint of saltiness and, yeah, that muskiness that’s unique to men; his cock was the perfect size and thickness for sucking, even in such a confining and restricting space; I found myself once again being mindful of restraining my normal reactions so that our actions would remain inconspicuous although it did cross my mind that the scents of sex had to be wafting all over the damned bus by now… but no one had ventured to the back to see what was causing the heady smell.
He was yummy, much more tasty than some of the guys I had just left mere hours ago; I liked the way his body responded to me as he gently fucked against the suction I was applying to him. He tasted so good, felt so good in my mouth that I wanted this moment to go on forever… but his body had other ideas. I felt his prick swell in my mouth and his nuts tighten within the gentle grip of my hand before I heard him gasp softly, my mouth suddenly filled with his spunk. I gulped down every sweet drop he had to offer and even spent a few extra seconds milking his prick with my hand, making sure I got every delicious drop.
I sat up and looked around – no one was stirring except the driver and once again I felt like a kid again knowing that I just did something and got away with it. I looked at Steve and found him looking at me and smiling widely.
“Wow, dude, that was amazing,” he said as we once again switched seats. “How long…?”
“How long have I been doing this?” I asked, finishing his question. “Well, it’s a long story but since we have the time…”
By the time we rolled into Cheyenne, we had both revealed our bi origins which, along with that damned juice (or whatever it really was), promised to make the rest of our trip interesting. After an hour long rest and meal stop, we couldn’t wait to get back on the bus and find out what other kinds of devilment we could get into.
We found that it was possible for us to fuck each other without having to resort to sitting on each other’s lap and drawing obvious attention to ourselves and I had to admit that I loved feeling him inside me and hearing him whispering in my ear how good fucking me was making him feel, a sentiment that was backed up when he flooded my butt with sperm in a space of time that I would say was just right; long enough for it to feel damned good but not so long enough that it was bothersome.
Then it was my turn to fuck him and I couldn’t wait to slide my cock into him as he had done to me. Thanks to the lube Steve had the good foresight to get during the stop, I slid into him easily causing him to gasp as I pressed into him as far as our odd positions would allow.
“Damn, you feel bigger than you look,” he whispered and all I could do was laugh softly as I began to move within him. It was difficult to concentrate on the illicit feeling being in another man’s ass with our bodies contorted on our paired seats, part lying down, part sitting up, and part leaning to one side. It made thrusting inside him difficult since I was taller but I did the best I could do and, really, because I couldn’t use long strokes to fuck him, it made things a lot more intense.
The pressure built within me until I couldn’t stand it and I whispered into the night, “Damn…” – then I exploded with a barely muffled grunt… but a sound that got the attention of a woman sitting three rows up and to the right of us.
“Are you okay back there?” she asked.
“I’m just fine, thank you,” I replied as evenly as I could, my cock still pumping jizz into Steve’s bottom. “I just hit my funny bone, that’s all.”
“Ow – that had to hurt!” was all she said before going back to whatever she was doing.
We took turns in the lavatory cleaning up before deciding that getting some sleep was in order. Yes, indeed, the next couple of days were going to be very interesting! Over that time, not only did Steve and I spend time doing each other on the sly, we both got to nail a couple of girls who sat in the row in front of us. Steve had offered them some of his ‘happy juice’ and two cups each later, Steve was up with “Laurie” while “Jennifer” was with me and having her first Black experience.
I wish I knew what was in that damned juice; what I do know is that Steve and I went through quite a few bottles of it and with no ill effects that I was aware of. Somewhere in Montana, we offloaded most of the people on the bus, including Laurie and Jennifer, leaving only five other passengers other than the two of us, which between the good weed Steve had and and plenty of that juice, made us both pretty bold with our actions; we didn’t do much in the way to hide what we were doing in the back of the bus and if the driver knew it – and I can only assume that he did – he never said anything although at one stop, he looked at me with what I’d have to call a knowing smile.
Steve was blowing me when this guy peeked over the seat in front of us; the funny thing was that I tapped Steve to get his attention – he stopped, looked up at the guy, smiled, and went right back to what he was doing! The guy looked at me and ask, “Hey, do you think I can get some of that?”
“What, you want my friend to blow you?” I asked, just loud enough for Steve to be aware of what was going on.
“No – I want to suck your dick when he’s done with it,” the older man said with a sly wink. “Then I want to such his dick because you guys have been really going for it and I figured it’s time for me to cut in and have some fun, too!”
Steve and I looked at each other and shrugged in unison; Steve looked at the older guy and said, “First, join us in a drink of juice!” Four cups later, the older man was eating my cock furiously until I creamed his tonsils; the man then went to where Steve was sitting in the row in front of where we were sitting and, seconds later, I could hear Steve’s now familiar moan as the older man sucked him. I have to say that this older guy, whose name escapes me, was truly an old pro at sucking dick; during the time he did me, I had some idea of how a cow might feel having one of the suction tube attached to its teats for milking; it was if he were literally trying to suck my spunk out of me like my cock was a meaty straw.
When the guy got off at the next stop, Steve and I compared notes and we both agreed that the old guy could really suck a bone; Steve had said, “Dude, it was like he was trying to suck the white right off of me!”
It was one hell of a road trip for me and, after three and a half days traveling with Steve, we finally parted ways in Philadelphia; I was heading south while he was heading north. Our time together was filled with weed, juice, sex and, most of all, companionship because it’s better to travel with someone than to travel alone at times. We tried to stay in touch but as what often happens, we lost track of each other… but it’s a bus rider I’ll never forget…