The Fluffy Ex

1.

I was looking through the window at the woods. The naked trees and colorful ground were a soothing view. Autumn at its finest, I thought -- a distracting picture from what was going on the bus seat next to me.

Yvette was one of the two girls that knew about my sweater fetish. Of course, a man could like many things when it comes to sexuality but wool was the best trigger for me. This is why I thought she was being very inappropriate according to my point of view at the moment.

Fifteen years had passed since I told my gorgeous curly girlfriend in high school that I was into sweaters. I meant that I liked them on women but she didn't let me finish. Instead she poured all sorts of mean things to me, giving me an end of our relationship among with other things such as unbearable depression from which I recovered hard.

Ironically, the person who brought me back from these dark times was my ex-wife. But still, when I think about it, the divorce wasn't even as harsh as Yvette saying what she said at that fragile age.

And now she was on the bus next to me -- in one of those expensive soft sweaters with reverse v-neck collar that was on the back, with a shoulder popped out on the side. The blue wool was mesmerizing to look at, not to mention the great contrast her short leather skirt added to her outfit.

I was trying to ignore the huge hard-on Yvette was fueling without even saying a word. Throughout the travel I took several glimpses of her dark curly hair falling freely onto her naked back. I was pretty sure I noticed a black bra showing from the edge of the reverse v-neck. Also one could see the base of her right breast, the closer to me, because of the long fallen sleeve below the off-shoulder.

This is why I preferred the autumn view. I could deal with it, unlike the view next to me. Sadly, my thoughts kept coming back to Yvette. Our three-day long vacation up the mountain -- being also the reunion of our high-school class -- brought me up to speed to her story as well.

Yvette was always the popular girl. That's why nobody was surprised with our break before the prom. I was one of the smart ones and we just didn't fit. She was incredibly beautiful, talented in more ways I could describe, but also too arrogant for a shy guy like myself. Still, tasting what the popular girl had to offer was an amazing experience for me. It seemed that, after me, Yvette had went down a rollercoaster of partners -- mostly businessmen that seemed to be more arrogant than she was. And like always -- life happens -- Yvette turned out to be single, just because she was betting on bad boys. But every time I felt sorry for her, the words "freak", "psycho" and "afraid to fuck properly" hit my memory. All meant for me, of course.

Probably because of this, we were sitting in silence, while the bus was driving down from the mountain cabin, where the reunion took place, to the closest town. One night was enough to drain our supplies so I volunteered to visit the nearest store. I had no idea that Yvette did the same. We realized what happened too late -- we found ourselves staring at each other on the bus door. Turning back was not an option -- the other would seem a winner. So we sat on the only empty seats -- the ones in the farthest corner on the last row. That put me near the window, at least until half the passengers went out to catch some train on a nearby station. Then Yvette moved to the farthest seat on the last row, three seats away from me.

I didn't care. Or at least I pretended I didn't. But the truth is that a sweater fetishist rarely gets lucky to see such a wonderful image -- Yvette was like drawn to reality from my very imagination. She was definitely the sexiest view I came up to since my wife stopped wearing sweaters for me a month before the divorce.

But Yvette knew how sexy she was. It was like her job -- instead of hunting down a career, she was into beauty. It was like an investment for her to hook the next rich guy. So she knew how to bring attention.

-- You got something to say? -- She suddenly spoke.

-- What? -- I almost jumped from my seat.

-- You're staring at me.

-- I'm not.

-- Yes, you are! Fifteen years and you're still afraid to say what's on your mind.

-- And what's on my mind? -- I could also be cocky. She laughed in a humiliating way.

-- Don't think I don't remember our last conversation. To this day, I've never met anyone like you.

-- I don't think you ever aimed that high -- this time I caught her by surprise. She looked at me with fiery eyes. Yes, I changed throughout the years, Yvette.

-- Really? And why not come back to the poor teacher? -- She meant me, of course. I was now teaching in a small town high-school.

-- Teenagers turned out to be great -- I lifted my shoulders.

-- Yeah, right! -- She laughed. -- Do you still fuck sweaters?

I sighed. Back to the subject. But I was in a mood, so I replied:

-- Want to show you?

Yvette looked down at her blue expensive sweater and then back at me.

-- I don't remember you being so bold!

-- You often called me "afraid of everything". In a way, you've helped me deal with it.

-- Really? -- I noticed how Yvette unintentionally brought up her off-shoulder collar to hide skin from me.

I stood up and looked around. There were about a dozen of passengers, mostly in the front half of the bus. I went and sat near Yvette.

-- What are you doing?

-- I've always wondered -- did you tell anyone about my secret?

She was staring at me for a while as if she was about to push me away with sight-powers. Finally, she nodded.

-- Have you ever been in a situation when someone shares a secret of yours without giving him or her permission?

She nodded again.

-- And how did it feel?

-- Wrong, I suppose. Look, I'm not going to listen to your lectures...

-- I've never shared your secrets: about your drunken daddy; about the blowjob to the physics teacher just to pass the test; about dreaming to be a singer...

-- OK, I get it! You're a nice guy and I'm a piece of filth.

-- You're not filth! That's the point. I remember your mean words to me -- they sent me down a dark path. But I also remember how you danced in the club, how you played the piano or when you sang. Do you know why I was with you for a whole year? Not because of your permission, but because I thought that maybe the girl who showed herself through music could overpower the hurtful popular half. I fucking believed in you, Yvette! You were really extraordinary! Especially, giving your hard childhood. Breaking up with me wasn't the hardest thing; it was knowing that people intentionally choose to be mean just for the image; just because it makes them popular. For the same reason you told your friends about my sweater fetish -- to mock me. Because you don't know what else to do.

I stood up, all fired up, and went to my end of the last row.

Yvette didn't say a thing. She was looking out her window, pretending I wasn't there. The silence was kept for about ten minutes. Then, to my surprise, she stood up and came next to me. I felt her wonderful perfume mixed with smell of wool on the next seat.

-- You really thought I was extraordinary?

I looked at her briefly. God, she was so sexy! The bulge in my pants grew back again when I felt Yvette's breath so close.

-- You were! Music opened you. I always thought the world deserved your voice.

-- Um... -- Yvette said, but then something interrupted her -- her eyes got wet.

She looked the other way and quickly regained control over her emotions. Then she turned back to me and whispered:

-- Listen: I may be a bitch, but I can say "thank you" properly.

With these words, her hand landed on my groin.

I looked at her, then at the other people on the bus. They were with their backs to us, one or two even sleeping. I looked again at my curly ex-girlfriend, trying to find words.

By that time my belt was undid and her hand was pulling out my boner.

-- You were indeed enjoying the sight of me, huh? -- She said while looking at my throbbing shaft. I didn't answer, afraid to be mocked on the "fetish" subject again.

But then her fingers slowly began moving in a way that was far from mocking. I was staring at my groin, unavailable to comprehend how on earth the hottest girl in my life was giving me a handjob after all these years.

But she wasn't stopping. Yvette knew how to be gentle, so she did. Actually, she knew many things about sex, even back in high-school. Her fingers were slow and curious. She was patient but provocative. Sadly, my breathing wasn't. I had forgotten what pleasure Yvette could give. I almost let a moan out but was afraid if anyone would look back at us. She felt this and her hand switched position and speeded up. With this the edge of her long blue sleeve fell on the top of my hard-on. Its soft touch almost made me cry but Yvette quickly removed it.

A bump on the road made her right shoulder to pop out again. With this the sleeve once again fell down on my intimates. More of her skin appeared. I could see her backside of the bra clearly. Yvette pulled the large sleeve and adjusted it above her wrist.

But I didn't like that. I reached and pulled down her sleeve, just a bit, so that it could land over her fingers. Its fuzzy fibers began tickling me. The off-shoulder collar showed even more skin.

Yvette looked at me. I knew she had never been in a situation when a thick sweater's touch was a sensation to the guy. She was confused. So I helped her get it and I pulled more of the sleeve onto my crotch. For a moment she was hesitant but kept jerking me.

With my left hand I reached from behind and caressed her naked back. She moaned slightly, not knowing that I gently pulled the edge of the reverse v-neck down. The sleeve fell even more on me.

A guy in the bus then sneezed. Yvette stopped and looked around. I smiled and moved my torso to make her go again. She looked at her half-naked right breast, and she laughed nervously. But she continued. And this time - quicker.

Yvette wanted to finish me. But I had something else in mind.

With my left hand I pulled the edge of her collar once again so that it could show her left shoulder as well. The nakedness was being too much for her, so Yvette tried to lift up the knit. But in this moment, I pulled her right sleeve harshly so that most of it could fall onto my boner. The blue wool completely hid her hand, reaching down to my balls. Yvette felt her right breast almost all the way out and she reached to pull the sleeve back. But I had already grabbed a hold of it tightly so she could only ask:

-- Danny, what are you doing?

But I didn't say a thing. Instead I started rubbing my balls with her gorgeous soft sleeve. I felt her pull it up again, not sure if it was the right thing to do. After all -- she was apologizing, wasn't she?

Anyway, her hand stopped. But I didn't want it to. So I escaped it and shoved my hard-on into as much wool as I could take in my hand. I felt the sleeve being pulled backwards. Yvette's hand was deep inside the wool, grabbing a hold of it as hard as she could. I looked up and quickly found out why -- her right breast was hanging only by its bra in mid-air because of me stealing her sleeve.

And then I recalled the image of her gorgeous tits. With my left hand, still behind her back, I pulled the reverse v-neck down to her waist. I caught her by surprise because she just looked helplessly at her wonderful chest pop out in bright daylight. I could see she wasn't happy with it, pulling the front of her sweater upwards as hard as she could. But this way she could only hide her left breast.

I wanted more. Yvette's struggling was so divine -- how could I stop there?

I pulled with what I got in both hands and while she was fighting to keep her sweater on, I reached and clicked her bra's lock. Then Yvette's movement did the rest so that her tits were out to the world.

-- Danny! -- She managed to say but I couldn't stop anymore; neither could she -- Yvette's right hand was inside her right sleeve, holding it as if her life depended on it. Her left hand had grabbed as much wool as it could, barely hiding her left nipple.

The closer to the end I was getting, the more skin I revealed by pulling her sweater down. Our fighting made her breasts to wave around, making it impossible for her to hide them.

Then, out of nowhere, the guy that sneezed stood up and looked around. I saw his eyes widen as he was suddenly a witness to the unexpected nakedness on the last row. Yvette's shame was like a Viagra. It was the last drop -- I felt the explosion in her right sleeve as I tucked in as tightly as I could so that she won't be able to ruin my pleasure. Thankfully she was too distracted by the unknown man staring at her bare breasts and realized what was happening in her expensive sweater too late.

Yvette pulled her sleeve as hard as she could and I felt my boner sliding inside it. After some great effort I felt too tired to fight her anymore. So I let go of the knit, which left my throbbing meat in mid-air. But unlike Yvette's mine was well hidden behind the seats.

The guy was blinking as if he was trying to figure out if he was dreaming. But until he was able to get it together, Yvette finally pulled her sweater up, hiding everything.

The bus stopped and the man went off. I saw him staring at my window, still confused about what he just saw.

I was smiling while tucking back in my relaxed boner. Yvette was holding her right arm in the air, disgusted by the dripping liquids inside the sleeve.

-- Ugh, Danny, what the hell?!

A tiny white drop squeezed through the knit, landing on the floor.

-- The sweater is ruined! How could you do this?

I just laid back and let out a big breath of relief.

-- My, god! Do you know how much it costs? Are you even listening to me? -- Her words were fading away. I was with my eyes closed, trying to savor the moment. -- Danny!

-- Yes? -- I finally replied.

-- This is gross! -- She pointed at her dripping sleeve. -- You're disgusting!

-- You've already told me that fifteen years ago.

-- Oh, so you're enjoying this? How about you pay for my sweater? I'm pretty sure your teacher's salary won't be enough for the sleeve itself!

-- Oh, come on, you've had cum in your mouth more than I had rice in mine! What's the issue with your sweater?

Yvette was looking at me with thunderbolts in her eyes.

-- You will pay for this! -- She finally said and moved to the far end once again.