9:30 Bus from Abilene

I looked up as we climaxed—and into Tex's eyes and then down to his naked, tattooed chest. He'd come back to watch the second fucking and was leaning over the seat, knees in the seat bottom, and face almost touching mine. His pale blue eyes were alight with lust and he leaned in and took my lips with his as I spouted off onto the back of the bus seat in front of us.

Dusty pulled out from underneath me and, after a little whispering session with Tex, moved back up the aisle. When he got to my seat, he picked up the blanket and brought it back and draped it over the aisle between two seats a couple of rows up from the back. Now, in the darkness anyone from the front of the bus couldn't see what was happening in the aisle beyond that blanket, and the interior of the bus was so dark they couldn't even have told the aisle was blocked unless they were coming back to use the bathroom in the rear corner.

Tex pulled me over and planted my butt in the center of the backseat, lifted my ankles to the tops of the separated aisle seats in front of the backseat, crouched between my thighs, and fucked me long and deep. Dusty sat there, turned around in an aisle seat in front of the backseat, and watched the action. And when Tex was done, Dusty replaced him again, turning me and pressing my head and chest into the center seat of the backseat, my rump pointed up the aisle, and doggy fucked me.

They left me wondering if maybe they hadn't had any success in getting their rocks off while they were in Abilene. And leave me they did, to stumble back to my seat on my own, exhausted and stretched and sore—but well-fucked and happy. This wasn't anything I hadn't endured on any given night in Dave's clubs.

The next morning, after breakfast at a small way station where there was another change in drivers and the two elderly ladies got off—in the middle of nowhere, as far as I could tell—Tex followed me back to my seat and sat with me and jacked me off again while murmuring in my ear about how nice I was—and how really sweet I'd been the night before.

"We'll be in Durango this afternoon," he said when we were finished and I was laying back in the seat, mellow and satisfied.

"Will we?" I murmured.

"It's pretty expensive in Denver, you know," he said from out of the blue.

"Is it?" I asked.

"Sure you got enough to get started there?"

"There's never enough, I've found."

"Could you make good use of, say, two hundred more?" he asked.

"Who couldn't?" I responded. I was just making small talk. Tex gave great hand jobs.

But Tex wasn't just making small talk. "You know you can stop off in Durango and get on the bus later on the same ticket?"

"Can you?" I said.

"Yes you can. You know, I've been thinkin'. Dusty and I had promised to bring something back to the boys at the ranch from Abilene and we plumb forgot to do that."

"Did you?"

"Yep. We got a pole in the middle of our bunk house. You could stop over for a day or two and give them guys a pole dance. I'm sure I could collect at least $200 for that. What do ya say to that?"

What I was thinking was that no matter how far down the road this bus had taken me, I was still in Abilene. But what I said was, "Sure, why not?" As I said, Tex gave the best of hand jobs and there he was, hand on my belly, stroking my rosebud tattoo with his thumb while he was making his proposition.

The ranch was a good hundred miles out of Durango in the direction of nowhere, but the bunk house did, indeed, have a wooden pole holding up the center of it. There were six interested cowboys out there in nowhere in addition to Tex and Dusty. I danced for them to a scratchy record on an old-fashioned record player, wearing one of the sparkly gold G-strings I'd brought with me from the Rapier. I wowed them and then they fucked me—all eight of them in succession over a three-hour period. A few had seconds.

I heard Tex telling them how turned on I got when my rosebud tattoo was rubbed, and they all made sure to give it attention, and thus they all got enthusiastic fucks.

They may have gone another exhausting round, but the foreman broke up the party and extracted me and helped me hobble out of the bunkhouse and into his cabin—where he bent me over a chair and satisfied his own need.

I made $350 off that afternoon of work, and Tex suggested that I stay on for a while—that the cowboys worked harder with a daily fuck and that there was plenty of money from where the $350 had come from.

But I really, really wanted to get out of Abilene.

Tex was good for his promise; he drove me back to the bus station in time to catch the next bus rambling through from Abilene to Denver. We left early, though, because he stopped behind a rock formation before dropping down into Durango and fucked me again in the backseat of the ranch's station wagon. He gave me another fifty for that, though.

The bus between Durango and Denver was more crowded than it had been on its initial leg into Durango. We were getting closer to big towns. And there was much more of a variety of people getting on and off as we rumbled along.

In Colorado Springs, a middle-aged guy in a business suit got on. He caught my attention, because he looked like someone who should be driving a Mercedes rather than riding in a Greyhound bus. He was smartly dressed; was in good, and obviously pampered condition; and was flashing a big diamond ring. It struck me that this looked like just the sort of guy I was looking for in Denver.

He looked around the bus as he got on. It was half full, although most of the passengers were in the front half. His eyes caught mine, and thinking what I had been thinking about how he was the type that filled my Denver bill, I probably gave him a more welcome smile than was absolutely necessary. I thought I saw his eyes sparkle up and he returned my smile, and then he was moving toward me. I was surprised when he came all of the way back to where I was sitting and sat down in the aisle seat next to me. There were lots of vacant seats back here, but he was sitting next to me. He'd taken his suit coat off and slung it into the overhead bin before he sat down. His warm arm was rubbing up against mine, and his thigh was touching mine, and I felt like I was going to hyperventilate. I looked down and was somewhat distressed that if he looked in my lap too, he'd see that I was tenting up.

But he wasn't looking at my lap, or so I thought. He came on with a briefcase and had taken some papers out of it and was sifting through those, looking for something.

The bus was out on the highway now.

"Wouldn't you know it?" he was muttered.

"What?" I asked more out of politeness than curiosity.

"They gave me a receipt back there at the garage, and now I can't find it. It had their telephone number on it. I'll need that to find out when the car will be fixed."

"The car?" I asked. He was on a bus.

"Yeah. My Merc broke down back there in Colorado Springs. God, I haven't had to ride a bus in years. But I needed to get back to Denver by this evening and the bus station was right there by the garage. It would have been more complicated to get a rental car. You come from far away?"

"From Abilene," I answered.

"Working there, were you?"

"Yeah, a place called the Rapier." I have no idea why I told him that. Being disconcerted by him touching me put me off center, I guess. That and assuming he'd have no idea what the Rapier was.

"Ah, I see," he said.

And, for a moment, it seemed like he did, indeed, see. He had turned to me and was looking at me real hard.

To try to cover, I asked him about where he lived and what he did for a living.

"I'm a few miles out of Denver. Out toward the mountains. Run a specialty service of sorts."

I didn't pursue the question further.

But then he settled back in his seat and started talking to me about his family.

"Adolescent girls," he snorted as his monologue moved along. "Daughters are such a challenge. You have any girlfriends with tattoos?"

"No girlfriends," I answered. I was trying to keep my answers short. I was sure that he was able to hear my arousal in my voice if I said too much.

"Well then, boyfriends perhaps?" He'd let it come out straight, as if there was nothing behind it. But I saw him eyeing my tented lap now, and I was beginning to figure out he was building up to something. I said nothing, but I know he could feel the intake of my breath and how tense I'd gotten.

"Tattoos aren't so bad," I said after a pause.

"Oh, you got any?" he asked.

"One," I answered.

"Somewhere I can see it?"

"Just here, near my navel," I said, and I raised the hem of my T-shirt to show him my blue rosebud tattoo. And he touched it with his finger, and I fell apart and my gym shorts tented up even further—and noticeably. And he was looking now. No doubt.

He looked into my eyes for a moment and then said, "Go back to the restroom at the back of the bus, and enter, but don't latch it. If I'm wrong just stay here and I'll move to another seat."

Dumbly, knowing already what would happen, I stood up and walked by his legs as he swung them into the aisle and unsteadily—not only from the rolling gait of the moving bus—walked back to the compact bathroom at the back corner of the bus and entered it.

Shortly afterward, the door opened, and he was inside with me. He'd rolled a condom on before coming back and he merely unzipped himself again, reached down and pulled my gym shorts and briefs off my legs and pulled my T-shirt over my head. I was naked. He wasn't but he unbuttoned his shirt so that our chests would be my bare skin against his hairy chest, and then I climbed his hips with my legs and he was holding me there against the back paneling of the bus restroom, his legs straddling the toilet basin, and he fucked me hard and deep by pulling me up and down on his cock with a broad hands palming the small of my back.

I turned my face toward the mirror over the basin and watched his other thumb strumming my rosebud tattoo, and I ejaculated up his belly.

I returned to my seat first, leaving him to try to clean up the damage to his shirt. I looked around the bus as I moved up the aisle, but no one was showing any interest. No one had noticed.

Soon thereafter, he plopped back down into the seat next to me and reached into my gym shorts and pulled out my cock and slowly stroked me.

"That was nice," he said. "You know what you're doing. You mentioned the Rapier in Abilene. A professional are you?"

"A dancer. A professional dancer, yes," I answered between sighs brought about by what he was doing with my cock.

"And other things too?"

"Yes . . . OK . . . yes. I've done other things too."

"You're good. You're really good. I like that little thing you have going of turning on quickly when your tattoo is touched. Genuine is that, or an act?"

"It's what happens," I said.

As if he was rechecking, he reached over and pressed a finger from the hand not working my cock into the tattoo, and I shuddered and collapsed into myself and moaned for him.

"Sweet. How well can you give head?" He was unzipping himself and pulling my head down to his cock, and I showed him that I was an expert in that.

"Very nice," he said when I was done. "That special service I said I operated in the hills above Denver. It's a men's club. A special men's club. Would you be interested in working for me up there. At, let's say, $1,000 a week plus any tips you get, for starters?"

As far away from Abilene as I traveled, I still never could leave Abilene, it seemed.