When I was a student, I had a boyfriend in Hull. His name was Brett and I used to travel up to see him on the coach. Nearly a decade later, I stood in Victoria Coach Station as the sun began to rise and it all came back to me. The horror, the boredom, the smelliness of the journey and the fantastic sex when I got there.
Eight years on, I had given up Brett – who didn’t translate well from student life to the real world – and I’d become an Account Executive for an ethical advertising agency. This was my first real career move after several years working for an insane control freak of an Account Manager, and this new agency was fantastic. Except … “ethical advertising” meant carbon-neutral travel, so when we got a new client in Manchester, it was my job to get up there, on the coach, and pitch a campaign to them.
I took an aisle seat near the rear of the coach, spreading out my laptop and notes on the window seat. That much I’d remembered – if the coach wasn’t full, I’d be able to hang onto both seats. People wouldn’t ask me to pack up my stuff to make room, they’d just sit elsewhere.
A hen party in pink T-shirts colonised the front six rows – they weren’t going to make the journey any easier. I focused on my pitch, muttering it under my breath as I ran through the PowerPoint presentation. When I looked up, as the coach pulled away, the seat on the opposite side of the aisle had been occupied by the most beautiful guy I’d ever seen.
He was probably a good six or eight years younger than me, maybe even more, maybe a whole decade. Not a boy, definitely not a boy, but still not really a man. Let’s call him a lad. A lad with silky black hair that fell into his blue eyes and wide shoulders, barely trapped inside an old T-shirt with a rip over the left ribs that showed he was both tanned and muscular.
He caught me staring at him and winked. Bold lad!
I raised my eyebrows, trying for cool, although the heat between my legs suggested I’d be better off trying for tropical monsoon. He leaned over. ‘I like the way you say “rising sales” – it’s very sexy.’
He’d been listening to me rehearsing the pitch! I licked my lips, twisting round so that my cleavage rested on the arm I had nonchalantly slung over the armrest. ‘I like the hole in your T-shirt, it’s very … inviting.’
He looked down. ‘This?’ His fingers slid across his ribs and I shivered with lust. ‘Oh, that’s nothing, you should see the hole in my jeans.’
I couldn’t help but look and he was right: there was a worn white patch of threads, high on his left thigh, indecently close to the zip.
A hen girl blundered past. Obviously already drunk, she stank of cheap perfume, fresh nail varnish and vodkatinis.
‘Is the toilet down here?’ Her voice was slurred. We turned our heads and watched as she swayed towards the rear of the coach, “Trainee Bride” on the back of her top.
‘Bet that three of them throw up before Milton Keynes,’ said Mr Too Sexy For His T-shirt.
‘Only three?’ I laughed, but my spirits sank. It sounded like the journey from hell. He shrugged, the mood was broken, and I got back to work.
I wasn’t really concentrating, though. After a while I looked over. Too Sexy had propped his knee against the seat-back in front of him and fallen asleep. The way he was sprawled I could examine his body at my leisure: his strong neck and shoulders, so relaxed against the seat; his tanned arms, the narrow waist inside the crumpled
T-shirt; loose jeans slashed on the knees, and that frayed area he’d pointed out earlier had a very definite bulge, a real mound of flesh. Some men can be disappointing, not much bigger when they’re hard than soft, but I had an intuition that this one was a real crowd-pleaser.
Looking at him reminded me of something. One particular night with Brett came back to my mind. In fact, it was never that far away from my mind. I suppose we’d been together about six months at the time and I’d travelled up to the skanky flat he shared with three other guys. It was cold outside and there was nowhere else we could go. In other words, it was dude central or nothing if we wanted privacy.
Which we did. Brett had been on a field trip for a couple of weeks so we were keen to get some skin-to-skin time. So keen, in fact, that we were barely through the door when he body-pressed me against the wall and put his mouth over mine in a kiss that was more about possession than affection, more greedy than gentle, more demanding than requesting.
I gave myself up to it, feeling the fairground-ride weakness in my knees as a welcome first step on the path to total orgasmic surrender. Brett had one hand against the wall, steadying himself as he ground his hips into me, and the other was mashing my breasts, moving from one to the other with a needy, bruising roughness I found exciting.
So I grabbed his jeans, struggling to get my hands between our bodies, and began to unbutton his flies. He groaned and slid his mouth, hot and wet, from mine, to my neck, where he began chewing and sucking hungrily. By now I was so keyed up that my fingers were refusing to follow basic instructions so it took longer than I wanted to get them open and slide my hand inside the denim where it encountered his hot shaft which was ready to spring out. Obviously Brett had decided to dispense with underwear in the interests of speed.
I could feel his fingers lifting my skirt and shoving my knickers to one side as he angled away from me and then towards me again, my hand guiding him towards the condom I’d taken from its packet as soon as he’d closed the flat door.
A second later he was inside me, the slick speed of the lubed condom driving him so fast and deep that we both gasped. His hands slid round my arse and he pulled me towards him. I leaned my shoulders against the wall and let my hips move with his, feeling myself filled with the heft and solidity of his cock in a way I’d been craving. My back was against a rack of grubby male clothing: stinky, much-worn hoodies and ratty old anoraks. I settled into them like a vertical mattress. Brett ran his tongue along the tendon of my neck, making me shudder.
Then we heard the door rattling. The sound of a key being shoved in the lock.
‘Ah fuck!’ muttered Brett.
That’s exactly what we were doing and I had to stifle a giggle as he spoke.
‘Who is it?’ I whispered.
‘Probably Andrew,’ he grunted, still thrusting into me with single-minded concentration.
Andrew was the geek of the four: bespectacled and recovering slowly from adolescent acne. He played keyboards in a strange electro-jazz combo and carried them around on his back in a big square bag – it looked like he was being eaten by a giant bookmark. His was the anorak into which I was nestled.
The door opened into us, driving Brett’s shoulders against mine and pushing him so deeply into me that I gasped. His hand shot up and covered my mouth. The door closed again and I saw Andrew head up the hall, his huge backpack dwarfing him. Instead of going straight to his room, he paused and then trudged into the communal kitchen. We heard the tap running.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Brett’s hand was still over my mouth but he seemed to think it was fine to mutter under his breath. Then I realised he didn’t know he was doing it – he was so close to coming he’d lost track of his own behaviour.
It made me jiggle even faster, biting his hand to try and get more air into my lungs so I could pull him deeper inside me, clench tighter, shove my breasts more firmly against his flat chest and get to a climax before him.
I could hear Andrew gulping water and knew that if he turned around, or took off his pack, or switched on the light, he would be certain to see us. That idea tipped me over the edge and I sank my teeth into Brett’s hand, feeling my inner muscles grip him with uncontrollable force as waves of pleasure deluged me, each one leaving me shuddering with delight and anticipating the next.
‘Fuuuck!’ Brett moaned into my neck as he too came.
I freed my hand and grabbed his hair, forcing his face into my flesh so Andrew wouldn’t hear. As Brett panted through his orgasm I stared over his shoulder, watching the dark shape that was his flatmate framed against the lighter gloom of the kitchen window. Eventually, Andrew put down the glass and turned, backpack still looming over his shoulders, to plod into his room. Brett chuckled into my neck as we extricated ourselves from each other and the coat pegs.
I’d never forgotten it – in fact it had probably been the high point of our relationship. Although we’d stayed together for another year or so, the sex had never been so good again.
Now, looking at Too Sexy, I reviewed those moments of randy boy-man fucking with nostalgia. Eight years had passed since that night but I had still never had so good a screw, and I decided I wasn’t going to waste this chance.
The girl stumbled back. As she passed my buff guy, she banged her hip into his seat, jolting him awake. He glanced over at me, first startled, then smiling, and as
I watched, there was a distinct stirring under the patch of worn denim. That was something that couldn’t be faked and it couldn’t have been a clearer message that he went for older women in a big, hard way – but what could we do about it on a crowded coach?
Too Sexy had an idea. After staring at me, then dropping his eyes to his swelling jeans, then grinning at me again to be sure I’d got the message, he scooted over into the window seat next to him and patted the one he’d vacated.
‘Put this on your seat,’ he handed me his leather jacket. ‘Nobody’s going to be getting on or off until Milton Keynes, anyway.’
I moved across the aisle and sat down.
‘Jake,’ he held out his hand.
‘Emma,’ I replied, but as soon as I put my hand in his, he dragged it to his lap. I could feel his cock, hard and pulsing and hot, under my palm. He sighed, and
I squeezed, feeling the denim straining, and then nearly yelped as his free hand slid under my business skirt and closed around my thigh.
‘Jake!’
‘Relax, nobody can see.’
I looked around. The people diagonally opposite were asleep, or appeared to be, anyway – they were ancient, probably in their eighties. I wasn’t sure about the people behind, but I couldn’t see the ones in front of us, so they presumably wouldn’t be able to see us.
I began to work my fingers over Jake’s shaft through his jeans, hearing his breathing change as he tried not to make a sound that could alert anybody. He really was big, and I wondered if I’d get the chance to feel him properly. Meanwhile, his fingers were inching up under my skirt.
I hoped it wouldn’t crease too much, although I did have a spare in my suitcase. He found the elastic of my underwear and slid one finger underneath. I was immediately reminded of that gloomy hall and Brett, and I just flooded with arousal, and moisture.
‘Hot,’ he whispered, and grinned out of the window as though the rest of him had no idea what his hand was doing.
I returned the compliment, staring straight ahead as the frayed patch on his jeans got damp under my fingers.
‘Milton Keynes,’ announced the metallic voice of the coach driver.
‘Fuck!’ Jake sat up straight. ‘I lost track of time there. We should get a 15 minute pit-stop. You up for it?’
I nodded, although I didn’t see how we were going to fuck in a coach park.
‘Come on, then.’
I only just had time to grab my laptop from the opposite seat, so nobody nicked it, before he’d towed me down the aisle and outside.
The passengers were heading for the toilets or the café, but Jake went in the opposite direction, through the car park and into the woodland beyond. OK, I thought, a bit of rural bliss, a knee-trembler against a tree. But he kept going.
A few yards on we came to a clearing containing a low wooden hut.
‘Bird hide,’ he said. ‘School trips come here on nature visits.’
Inside was a wooden bench and, to my shock, the hut was completely open to the woodland on the far side. Jake sat down and put his hand over his zip.
‘Yeah?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely,’ I said and watched as his cock sprang out, long and solid. He was massive! He pulled a condom from his back pocket and grunted with concentration as he slid it on. I was glad he’d done it himself, as I couldn’t imagine how to get such a monster into a rubber.
I set my laptop on the bench and put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I stepped out of my knickers and straddled him, the jaunty head of his shaft bouncing against me until I reached down and guided it home.
The feeling was indescribable. Part of me was definitely worried that somebody would walk in on us – possibly an entire coachload of schoolkids who’d be traumatised for life – but most of me was focused on how to get myself around Jake because, for the first time ever, I was struggling to fit a guy inside me.
He wasn’t just long, he was wide and solid, as if his cock was made of something more substantial than mere flesh. And he was hot too – sitting down on him was the most difficult, demanding and satisfying experience of my life, and once I was fully down, I was struggling to breathe.
And then he twitched inside me: a big meaty twitch and I couldn’t help myself, I started to move, every cell of my body straining to get him deeper still, seeking out the most pleasurable pain I’d ever had.
Jake blinked and put his hand over my mouth. At first, I though it was some kind of kinky manoeuvre and stuck my tongue into his palm, but then I heard what he’d heard. Voices.
He didn’t shrivel. He didn’t even flinch, just winked at me again and tightened his grip on my mouth. Until then, I hadn’t realised I’d been moaning out loud.
The sounds became clearer: smokers having a quick cigarette. We heard the lighters flicking, the long inhalations, the sighs of pleasure as the nicotine hit their systems … and Jake leaned back a little, his eyes on mine in the gloom, and began to move.
I’d never understood the phrase love muscle before. Jake’s really was a muscle – and he could do amazing things with it. Not content with filling every crevice inside me, he now began to thrust and I found that by rocking back and forth, I could intensify the sensation.
The smokers continued to smoke and chat and soon
I knew I was going to come. I tried to express this with my eyes, worried that even Jake’s hand wouldn’t stifle my cries – I was vocal during ordinary sex and this was beyond extraordinary and into the sublime. I was also worried about the smokers realising that if they walked round the side of the hut, they could sit down and smoke in comfort inside.
Jake picked up something from my expression and grinned. My orgasm started and I screamed into his hand, but nothing like as loudly as I screamed a few seconds later when he arched his back and started firing inside me. It was as if the hide shuddered on its foundations. Or perhaps that was just me.
Jake took his hand off my mouth very slowly. Only then did I realise we had a problem. There was no sound from outside but that didn’t mean the smokers had left: they could still be out there, silently enjoying their cigarettes. And while I didn’t care that much, as long as they weren’t on the same coach as us, I wasn’t at all keen to step out there, all rumpled, sweaty and come-scented, to find myself in the company of a couple of oiks who’d keep turning to look and jeer at us all the way to Stockport. So what to do?
Jake put his mouth against my ear.
‘This is my stop, Emma. I don’t go past Milton Keynes!’ His voice was more laugh than whisper.
Bastard! I was going to have to go out there and face whoever I had to on my own. I dug my nails into his shoulders and he winced, then, I swear, I felt him begin to grow inside me again and this time I put my mouth on his throat, biting the strong tendon in the side of his neck to keep myself silent as we moved together slowly, a little more easily this time. I came slower too, more comfortably, feeling the length of him slipping in and out.
Then I climbed off, kissed the top of his head and left him sprawled there as I strode out, not even bothering to put on my knickers, just grabbing them, and my laptop, and running.
There was nobody outside.
I made it to the coach with no time to spare, the engine was revving to leave. As I walked to my seat I could feel the wet slide of juices running down my thigh. No matter what happened with the client in Manchester, this had been a voyage of discovery all right!