The Cool Boys In the Back Of TheBus

For me that was my racism moment. I looked at Jones black skin. I looked how everything about her was different. Her nose, her shoulders, her ears, her eyes. And I felt the Africa in her, the poor and uneducated continent. And I thought her as this poor African not deserving of culture. She only deserved to be fucked and used. That's what made it okay that we were all fucking her.

All this disgust that I projected onto her -- that I was defiling her with my pure white man semen -- that she deserved that -- that turned me on. That got my pecker to perk up. I nailed her with passion and intensity her lifeless limb body with semen of Steven pooling into her.

And then when I ejaculated in her, when my penis pulsed, when I lost control, when I could no longer breathe on my own, at that point, I lost all reserve that I held. I fell softly onto her as lifeless and uncontrolled as she was. Her soft, warm body caught me. We melted into an embrace. I could smell her. I suddenly felt this deep love for her. I wanted to make her my girlfriend. I wanted to buy her flowers. I wanted to surprise her. I wanted to do anything to make her happy. I could feel my own cum seeping out of her and dripping down on the bus seat.

Mark pulled me off of her. I was in too tender of a state, feeling my heart burn. It literally burned with love. There was this tingle in my heart like it was on fire, a slow burn. Mark just pushed me out of the way and started fucking Jones. He dove his cock into her cave filled with our cum.

I packed my penis that was dripping with Steve's cum, Jones' pussy juice, and my own cum into my pants. The first thing that I managed to say was "I want to fuck her again."

Mark was riding her hard. It made my sides sting with pain of jealousy, when I heard Jones gulp and reach her head up. Fuck, Mark must have given it to her so good that she liked it the most. And then her head turned sideways and a big stream of gray vomit shot onto the floor and the back rest. A second shot of vomit launched from deep in her gut out onto the floor and backrest.

"Fuck, I'm almost done. I'll turn her over to finish."

"Mark, move to the side," said Sonya leaning forward to check in on her friend. "Stop fucking her for a moment." Sonya pushed Mark angry into the side. After a long glance at the vomiting girl, she turned to us, "we need to get her to a bathroom."

"No way, we'll just cover up the puke."

"Fuck, the whole bus will smell it in a minute. It's a horrible stench."

"Damn, guys, get her clothes back! All our spare clothes is in the suit cases in the bus's loading bay."

I was going to save Jones. So, I quickly made my way forward the bus, holding onto the ceiling to steady myself. The first 11b nerd that I saw, I woke him up, really shook him.

"Where are her clothes?"

"I don't have any of it."

"Exhale all the air out."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you in a moment."

He exhaled. I knew that no matter what someone told me, I wouldn't give up those panties. Words are soft air. I did not have any leverage with him. The only leverage I had was pain. So, I punched him hard in the side ribs. Because all the air was out of his lungs, he could not scream. By his sharp exhalations, I could tell that he had seen heaven and returned.

The nerd was smart enough to not challenge me. "He's got the pants. She's got the t-shirt." He pointed.

I walked two chairs ahead. The nerd from 11b was already rifling through his pack to look for her pants. The thing that I learned about violence is that you only need to do it once. That one time is enough to establish credibility. I learned that from history class, when I still paid attention. During the 30 year war, they would torture peasants to give up their stash of food. The first peasant had his stomach force filled with warm cow vomit until it burst and he died a horrible death with lots of screaming. The other peasants would see it and voluntarily hand over their food stashes. Now, I don't advocate violence. This was a desperate situation. I was young and hadn't learned to use my words yet.

The pants were easy. The t-shirt was harder. The girl that had it was the daughter of Mr. Shepherd. Without explanation, Mr. Shepherd had brought along his daughter. She was older than the class, perhaps twenty-two. She was beautiful in a classical sense. She dressed really nice. She had sunbathed often to let us see her beautiful body. Yet, she never wore anything revealing, always toeing the line of her daddy carefully. She wore an ankle bracelet. It was the first time that I had ever seen an ankle bracelet. I thought it was so sexy. I kept starring at her feet so much during that trip. Despite her definitely being super cool, we didn't dare talking to her, because of her dad, Mr. Shepherd.

"Can you give me that t-shirt?"

(Silence and an appraising look.)

"Okay, we were playing a little bit. But we are good now."

"Do you promise to give it back to her?"

"I really promise. She wants it back."

"Okay."

That could have gone so wrong. Though, she was cool about it.

On the way back, I stopped by the guy whom I had to punch: "Hey, I'm sorry. You were innocent this time. You got a punch good. Anyone, anytime, someone's bothering you, let me know. I'll punch 'em for you." I patted his shoulder in camaraderie. His face was struggling with the terror of my presence and the glee for the gift that he had received.

I didn't bother finding her bra and panties. She'd be covered up enough with the clothes that I had. We quickly dressed her -- pushed her feet through the pant legs, squeezed her naked butt into the tight pants, put a hand over her crotch to avoid zipping her pubic hair with the zipper. Then, Mark walked to the front to say that one of us had gotten car sick. We needed to pull over at the next stop to freshen up. I'm so glad that he went. I saw him walking all coy and holding his hands in front of him like a little school boy. That could have gone wrong in so many ways.

The bus pulled into a freeway stop five minutes later. Those places were super lit up at night to make people feel safe. Yet, the design of the building was super sterile and cheap. We put one arm of Jones' around one of us. Then we dragged her down the steps of the back exit. Ms. Sparrow called after us.

"Why isn't she walking on her own?"

"She feels weak."

"It looks like you are dragging here!"

"She just feels dizzy."

There was no arguing. The only way out was to walk as fast as we could. We got through the glass door to the fast food restaurant. Sings pointed to the second floor for the restroom. So, we had to drag her up the grimy stairs. We went into the women's restroom. There was a middle aged woman with her hair in curls. She looked at us exasperated. Her face burned into my mind. She just had no clue how to react to this situation. We dragged Jones into a stall.

I helped her puke up some more. Steve told me to put my finger down her throat. He had learned from some homeless bums to treat alcohol poisoning like that. Fuck, there was so much pressure fixing this up. I got my finger plopping through her lifeless lips. I felt her hard teeth resting against it. I fingered for the end of her tongue, the narrow hole. I tried not to scratch her with my finger nail.

Her stomach tightened with violence. Adrenaline shot into me and made me shiver. Grey vomit shot out of her mouth over my hand. The toilet water turned putrid. Sticky slime ran down my forearm. I shuddered in my gut and almost vomited. I wished to vomit, because with the actual vomit there is release. I only had the repulsion as burst two and three followed out of the depth of her.

I full body hugged her as best as I could as she was helplessly shuddering vomit bursts out. With my free hand, I carefully held her forehead over the toilet rim. There is something about taking care of someone that makes them love them. With all the booze in me and all kinds of emotions running through me, I honestly thought out our wedding vows. I figured that mentioning how the beginning of our relationship was vomiting in a public restroom and caring for each other, we could get through anything. It sounded really soapy romantic to me in that moment.

Mark flushed the toilet for us. Steve talked to the lady that was trying to hit him with a comb. The lady eventually calmed down and got really concerned about Jones. Steve got her out of the restroom by the time, Jones was resting in my arms recovering from the purge and shivering. I tried to hold her warm and loved as best as I could. Mark was cleaning up her face with a wad of toilet paper that he dipped into the bowl.

Steve had done a great job putting his foot behind the restroom door. Someone tried to open it. A loud knock followed. Mr. Bernd's voice raised across the door: "Is everything alright in there?"

"Yeah, we are good. Everything is out. We are just cleaning up right now."

"Open the door."

"It's really messy right now. We want to clean up first."

"Okay. But if you need help, you call for us."

Mr. Bernd's steps faded down the stairs.

Jones was looking pretty clean again. Sure here t-shirt was wet with water drops. Mark yet rubbed the toilet paper over her chest as best as he could to get the vomit out. Jones even had some strength again. Her arms were holding fast to me now. She was pulling me into a closer hug. She nestled into me.

The problem was when we picked her up and walked out of the stall. We three faced the mirror over the sinks going along the whole wall. We saw our pale faces. All of us saw Jones' wet crotch. Our semen had poured out of her pussy and wetted her pants. It looked really obvious.

"Fuck, get her pants off!"

"I still managed to finish when she was vomiting. It doesn't seem like a good idea anymore."

Jones was sprawled out on her naked butt resting against me. I had her arms around her. Her brown legs were naked on the floor. Thus, half undressed below, she looked even more naked than when she was fully naked.

Steve ran to the blow dryer that the restroom had instead of towels. He lifted up the inside crotch of her pants as close as possible against the blow dryer. He felt against the underside of the crotch. "It's only getting superhot. It's not getting dry!"

Jones grabbed me harder. Her body writhed around mine. It was such an unguarded and deeply emotional hug that it touched me deeply. Mark said, "look she is really taking to you." Encouraging me at this point was a bad idea. I believed even more that Jones was falling in love with me. In hindsight, she was simply looking for warm tenderness feeling raw from the puking. We did nestle together into a clothes warm embrace, like lovers. Her body curled against me felt so much better than the sex. It was so much love and connection in it.

The strong smell rudely pulled me out of my lullaby-like state. The hot blow dryer had singed the semen in her pants. The semen was burned. It smelled like unwashed boys squared. The thread in her pants had started melting to a horrible chemical stink. It was the most intense stink that I had ever in my life. Steve put a finger on the thread of her pants and pulled it away with a long melted string of thread clinging to his finger. "Fuck!"

Steve swung the pants in a circle overhead to cool it down. When we packed her back into her pants -- the shoving of her feet through the holes, covering her pubic hair with the hand, squeezing the butt in, and all -- the pants were even tighter, because the heat had made them shrink. She had a camel toe. We could clearly see her vagina lips in the pants. "Fuck it. It's too dark for people to see."

Jones did not want to let go of me. So, I carried her on my arms out. Her arms were clutched tight around my neck. Her chin was riding on my shoulders. Her lips were touching the bare skin of my neck. I was convinced that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Jones.

Back in the bus, Mr. Bernd visited us in the back of the bus. He sprayed his cologne liberally all around the back. "I don't want anyone else to get sick from the smell," he explained. And that was pretty much it. Jones fell asleep in my arms. I listened to her breathing. It was the most happiest moment of my life to that point to feel her breathing against me, smell the scent of her breath, even if it smelled a little like vomit, it smelled a lot like her.

When the sun slowly lit up the sky to turn baby blue, the landscape became familiar. We were close to home. Mark stirred with a sudden panic that I did not want to get into, because I was in a quiet, peaceful bliss with Jones slipping in my arms like an innocent baby.

"Jones is going to meet her parents soon. We have to sober her up. We have to get coffee into her. We have to brush her teeth, get a breath mint into her. She'll be so fucked, if her parents find her drunk."

I didn't really get into it. I was in a bubble with Jones. The guys and Sonya got all our money together. They went up front with a ruse. They asked the teachers to stop, so that they could buy them a coffee as a thank you. The teachers surely needed to be awake enough to drive home from the school. Mr. Shepherd was immediately suspicious. It smelled of typical addict behavior to him. Ms. Sparrow was touched by the appreciation. Mr. Bernd was immediately thinking about his favorite gourmet bakery being on the way and open at this time.

While I stayed with Jones, Sonya and the guys handled everything. They came back with coffee. It was a little awkward to brush the teeth of sleeping beauty. I didn't want to use too much tooth paste, because she wasn't going to rinse. Her lips were still relatively lifeless. She started chewing on the tooth brush like a little baby. One time, she bit my finger for fun. She was definitely coming around now that her stomach was empty and she had slept a couple hours. I actually really liked taking care of her, exploring her mouth, and all.

I bit the breath mint into tiny pieces to avoid her choking on it. I carefully held the coffee against the inside of my wrist, a tender spot, like testing milk temperature for a baby, before I carefully put the coffee on her lips.

By the time that we pulled into the school yard at 7 am bright and early, she was softly talking. She had inquired about her panties and bra. Being still groggy, "a long story" was enough explanation. At some point she mumbled, "why am I hugging you. Oh, it feels so good. I don't want to know."

I helped her walk to her parents. We explained that she took car sickness pills and had gotten really drowsy from it. The parents bought it. They took her with concerned faces to the family car.

We never recovered her panties and bra. Some nerd from class 11b is probably kept them to whack of nightly for years, because he wasn't going to get near a real pussy.

We talked about the whole events a few days later. Sonya was a good leader. We learned a lot about each other during the talk. We learned that Jones had felt really shunned and alone by everyone who had politely ignored her. We learned about Steve's dad. Steve's dad would only show up every once in a while in a guilt-driven approach to be a father. Like, he'd take Steve fishing. On the way his father would get horny and leave Steve in the car, while he whacked off in a porn booth. We were all fucked up somewhere, except for Sonya's parents. They were these super self-aware people that did yoga and saw a family therapist every week to talk about the important things. They themselves grew up in a really healthy family.

My fantasies of marriage or even romance never even got off the ground. Pretty soon after the final class trip, we had graduation ceremony. Everyone moved to different cities for college.

The thing that I miss is the unguarded love that I felt with Jones. I also miss the out of control messiness of being young.

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Because there are a lot of literal minded people out there: This story is complete fiction. Think Blair Witch Project, a story that is told as if it were real, yet isn't. Don't date rape anyone! Fantasize about it. Role play it with a loved one as a fantasy. Don't do it for real.