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From: Malinov <malinov@mindless.com>
Subject: {ASS} Bad Sex by Lord Malinov
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Bad Sex
by Lord Malinov

~~~

Ben looked up from his book, a thick black Penguin with age tinted 
pages.  The silver bus, a dusty behemoth with black tinted windows 
and a guttural engine, pulled into the small station drive.

"There she is," said a man to his wife.  Ben turned to look at the 
couple, the only other people waiting for the bus.  The silver-haired 
man looked at his watch and then pulled their tickets from his jacket
pocket.  The wife, a small, tight-lipped woman, held a big orange bag 
with a hug in her lap.  "C'mon, Beth," said the man, rising.  The 
woman stood slowly, trembling slightly.  

Ben closed his book and pushed it into his jean pocket.  Diesel fumes 
belched into the stale summer air as the driver shut off the engine.  
Ben coughed and stood up, stretching his long limbs high toward the 
pale blue sky.  The sun blazed over the gas station building across 
the street, starting the early morning with a bright stroke of heat.  
The driver, a sturdy serious looking man in a blue cotton shirt, 
opened the door of the bus with a pneumatic rush and stepped out.  
The couple stood waiting at the bottom.

"Make yourselves comfortable," the driver said.  "We'll be leaving in 
about ten minutes."  Clipboard in hand, he walked into the station.  
Ben watched the driver pour a cup of coffee before he leaned over the 
counter to speak with the big red-headed woman.  Ben walked down 
toward the street, away from the thick blue-grey cloud of hovering 
smoke.

"I'm going to be in that trap long enough," he said, squinting as the 
sunshine bit his eyes.  "No reason to rush in."  The grey-haired man 
helped Beth mount the steps into the bus.  Ben looked down the long 
empty road.  "Damn," he said.  "I'll be glad to get out of here."

"All right," the driver said loudly.  Ben turned to see him wave.  
Walking back up the drive, he pulled the old book from his back 
pocket and clutched it familiarly.  The tall silver bus roared to 
life.  Ben lifted a foot up on the black rubber mat as the machine 
shuddered.  "Ready to roll?" asked the driver with a smile.

"Let's lose this place," said Ben, climbing into the dark, cool 
cabin.  "Next stop, Paradise."  The driver chuckled and closed the 
door behind him.

The couple sat in the third row back on the right, behind the driver, 
close enough to see the road and far enough to have some privacy.  
Ben nodded to the man as he passed and kept moving down the aisle 
until he reached the very back.  Plopping down on the bluish-grey 
seat, Ben leaned back and ceremoniously opened his book.  At least, 
he thought, there would be plenty of time to read.

Ben quickly lost himself in the tale of old Russia as the dusty 
American plains rolled past the tinted windows.  The heat of the day 
slowly infected the faintly cooled cabin of the bus until Ben could 
feel his t-shirt begin to cling to his chest.  He sat up and looked 
out the window.  Flat fields stretched out for miles, broken only by 
the rhythmic cycle of three oil pumps and a thin line of oaks near 
the white farm house.  The dusty plume of an unseen pickup, hidden by 
the silver shimmers of wheat, traced a intersecting course toward the 
highway.  Ben shifted to the left and opened his Turgenev.

Twenty pages more had gone by when the bus stopped.  Ben looked out 
the window to see the small station, very like the one they had 
just left.  A sign above the door read, "Rotenburg".  Ben smiled, 
imagining the abuse such a name would incur.  A dozen passengers 
began to embark.  Ben opened his book and stared intently at the 
yellowed pages.  More than anything, he feared the companionship of 
some talkative yokel during the next three hundred miles.  Ben exuded 
anti-social vibes.

Ben didn't dare look up, but he could sense the presence of someone 
nearby, and felt them sit down across the aisle.  Sneaking a peek up 
the bus, Ben relaxed slightly.  Everyone had taken a seat.  The bus 
bounced over a curb as the angry engine growled and Ben stared again 
into the old tale of the disrespectful son.

Miles drifted by and the chatters of quiet conversation began to 
drone in Ben's ears.  The words seemed to stop and linger as his 
thoughts faded into a lethargic descent toward sleep.  Ben closed his 
eyes and let the cool pause comfort him.  The bus jumped as it 
changed lanes to pass, and Ben could feel the stiffness growing in 
his back.  Ben shook his head vigorously and stretched.

She sat across the aisle, scribbling in a notebook perched upon her 
thigh.  Ben stopped and stared for a brief moment at the pretty girl. 
 Thick, fine hair of a pale brown that flirted with being blonde hung 
down past her shoulders.  A bony knee pushed out of a tattered hole 
in her faded jeans.  Her dark painted lips seemed to recite something 
as she wrote.  She hunched over her work, shrouding her chest between 
her thin bare tanned arms, cast in a dull pink t-shirt with a faded 
tiny bow at the end of her short sleeve.

Ben looked back into his book, holding it so that the title would be 
visible to the girl across the aisle.  He didn't want to talk to her 
as much as he wanted her to admire his literary choice.  She popped a 
bubble.  Ben looked up.  She looked the other way, stretching.  Full 
breasts, firm and round as ripe citrus, pressed forward, clad tightly 
in dull pink.  Ben's eye's widened and focussed.  The circular 
impression of underlying nipples in the cotton of her shirt sparked a 
burst of fire in Ben's blood.  She turned back and Ben buried himself 
in his book.

Ben couldn't read a single word of _Fathers and Sons_.  It might as 
well have been written in Russian.  He peeked back across the aisle, 
unable to contain himself.  The nipple of her right breast 
seemed like a shadow under the faded t-shirt.  Ben looked back at the 
book.  His heartbeat pounded in his ear.  He looked back over, to see 
the profile of her breast as it jiggled in the steady gentle bounce 
of the bus ride.

"Magnificent," he thought, his gaze enchanted by the vision.

"Good book?" she asked, smiling.  Ben jumped slightly.

"All right," he said.

"I can't read in a bus," she said.

"Yeah," Ben said, turning over the book to look at the cover.  
"Usually I can, but I can't seem to concentrate today.  Probably 
should have brought something lighter."

"I just can't," she said.  "It gives me a headache."

"I've heard people say that," Ben said.  "I don't have any trouble."

"You're lucky," she said.  "Reading would be a good way to kill this 
ride."

"Yeah.  But you can write?"

"Well, the bouncing ruins my handwriting."

"I'll bet," said Ben, smiling.

"Besides," she said.  "I just jot down words.  It's not really 
writing."

"Sounds like writing."

"Yeah," she said.  "I guess so."

"My name's Ben," he said, reaching across the aisle.

"Kathy," she replied, grabbing her purse and scooting over. "Do you 
mind?" she asked.

"Come on over," he said, pushing over toward the window.

"Going anywhere?" Kathy asked.

"Yeah," said Ben.  "I have a friend in Des Moines."

"Hey, me too," she said.  "I guess this is a good time for visiting."

"Long overdue," said Ben.

"You know what I think," said Kathy in a hushed voice.  "Long bus 
rides remind me of bad sex."

"Really," said Ben, flushed and eager.  "I can't say I ever made that 
comparison.  How do you mean?"  His eyes cast a glance down, to see 
Kathy's nipples tighten.

"Well," she said, laughing.  "It's a bouncy ride which seems to last 
forever.  It makes my butt sore and I feel lucky just to get it over 
with."

"The scenery is dull and it makes me sweat," Ben added.

"The noises are awful," Kathy added.  Ben laughed.

"I guess you're right," he said.  "The bus to Des Moines is a lousy 
lay."

"But good company can almost makes it worth while."

"I don't know about that," said Ben.  "I guess we do what we have to 
and enjoy what we can."

"I like that," said Kathy.  

"You have a lot of bad sex?"

"More than I want to remember.  You?"

"Hell," said Ben.  "All I can remember."

"Why do we do it?"

"Bad sex is better, on the average, than no sex."

"Just barely," said Kathy.

"Besides, we can't tell it's bad until we get there."

"So you leave a relationship if the sex is bad?"

"No," said Ben, thoughtfully.  "I guess I don't always.  I'm always 
hoping, I guess, that one of these days she'll relax and have some 
fun."

"Frigid?"

"I wouldn't say that.  Just unimaginative."

"Wow," said Kathy, "that's it exactly.  Boring."

"How boring?"

"Bam, bam," Kathy said, jerking her pelvis up with each stroke, "bam 
bam bam."

"Ooh," said Ben, "what a waste."  Kathy blushed and laughed.

"Some guys think a hard dick push is all a girl wants."

"You want variety," said Ben.

"Variety," said Kathy.  "Imagination."

"I've had girls reject anything that even smacks of creative."

"So stupid."

"You know what the bored cannibal said?  'Missionary?  Again?'"

"Good one.  Really?  Just lay back and spread their legs?"

"You know it, sister.  I have this one friend," Ben paused.  "She 
absolutely refused to get on top."

"No," said Kathy.  "I love to be on top.  Control the beat."

"Yeah.  I wanted to see those titties bounce."  Ben felt the sweat 
roll down his cheek and looked at Kathy.  She turned away, shyly, and 
he stared as her nipples hardened beneath the damp cotton shirt.

"You like tits?" she asked in a whisper.

"I love them," Ben said seriously.  "Sometimes I think I could 
squeeze and suck her tits all night.  Just loving them."

"Oh," said Kathy gently.  She squirmed slightly.

"She won't let me behind her, neither."

"Wow," said Kathy.  "But at least guys can get blowjobs."  Ben shook 
his head slowly, smiling.  "Jeezus," she said.  "I didn't know there 
were girls like that still running around."

"More than you'd guess.  I've had a few who would suck my dick, but 
they hardly even know how to get started.  Only one or two really got 
into it.  None of them will swallow, anyway.  I'd love to have a girl 
who would.  One always spit it out.  I hated that worst of all.  It 
made me feel filthy."

"I can't believe it.  I mean, I love giving head.  Really and truly.  
It's like playing a musical instrument.  You hit the right notes and 
. . . I love the taste."  Kathy licked her lips.  "I swallow," she 
said softly.

"Mmmm," said Ben.  "I would, I mean, I love to drink a girl's juice.  
The taste of a hot pussy is one of the best things I know.  And I've 
known girls who wouldn't let my tongue near them."  Kathy struck Ben 
on the arm.

"You're lying," she said with a laugh.

"No, I'm not," said Ben, rubbing his bicep.  "She will not let me 
lick her.  She tells me it's just gross."  He mocked her shrill 
voice.

"Wow," said Kathy.  "I've had head once, I mean real make me squeal 
head.  He left me.  I've regretted that one ever since."

"Yeah, good sex is hard to find."

"Damn hard," agreed Kathy.

"It's not just the dull ones, either.  Some chicks are just a little 
weird, you know lots of leather and rubber and shit."

"I've known some creepy guys," said Kathy.  "Although I don't mind a 
little spanking and tying, you know, if I really know the guy."

"I understand," said Ben.  "I don't think that's weird.  I've done a 
little spanking myself."

"What bugs me is the power games."

"Like?"

"Well, some guys seem more interested in being the guy that fucks me. 
 You know, showy stuff, dominating stuff."

"I had one girlfriend who always wanted to do it in public.  You 
know, at picnics behind the bushes, or at ball games or in the 
theatre.  Once she gave me a blowjob at a restaurant, getting under 
the table."

"No shit?" asked Kathy, her nipples tight, the aroma of her musk 
permeating the bus.

"It was wild.  I think the waiter knew, but he kept cool.  She was a 
trip."

"I'll bet.  Imaginative."

"Definitely imaginative."

The bus rolled rapidly down the long, even highway until it reached 
the outskirts of Des Moines.

"Look, Kathy," said Ben.  "Do you think maybe you would want to get 
together, you know, while we're in town?"

"It's probably not a good idea," said Kathy.  "I mean, I came to see 
this friend of mine for the week, and I don't think I'll be able to 
get away."

"Yeah," said Ben.  "I guess that's true.  Still, I've really enjoyed 
our talk.  We should really get together sometime."

"Are you taking the bus next Saturday?" she asked.

"Sunday."

"Change buses and go back on Saturday,"  Kathy suggested.  Ben 
smiled.

"I'll try."

The bus pulled into the station, a slightly larger replica of the 
others.  Ben looked out the window.  Standing on the platform, he saw 
Susan standing patiently in a soft white frock.  He smiled quietly.  
It had been so long since he had seen her, and Ben tried to feel 
enthusiastic.  Kathy leaned over him, pushing a firm breast 
softly against his cheek.  Ben kissed the supple cotton.

"Ooh," said Kathy.  A tall, muscular boy with sandy blonde hair stood 
waiting in a white t-shirt and jeans.  Kathy leaned back into her 
seat.  She opened her notebook and ripped out a page.  Scribbling 
furiously, she handed the paper to Ben.

"I'll be at my uncle's place," she explained.  "Call me in the 
morning and we'll see what we can manage."  Kathy put her hand on 
Ben's lap and squeezed his stiff prick.  He kissed her.  Kathy shook 
her head.  "I don't know how much bad sex I can stand.  Call me."

Ben folded the paper and pushed it between the pages of his old 
Penguin.  He followed Kathy, watching the smooth circles of her 
bottom as she walked down the aisle.  As he reached the doorway, the 
blast of July heat steamed in.  Ben took a quick glance at his 
book and caught a glimpse of the scrap of white paper hidden within.  
He nonchalantly pushed the paperback into his pocket, confident.  
There wasn't a chance unimaginative Susan would ever read between the 
lines.

 ~~~

Malinov


-- 
Power belongs to those who dare. . . Sapere Aude

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