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Archive name: mexbus.txt (Mf-teen, ped, mast, true)
Authors name: The Hombre (c) 1995
Story title : Mexican Bus Ride

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Mexican Bus Ride (Mf-teen, ped, mast, true)
by The Hombre (c) 1995

***

It was time for my vacation again. Either take it of lose 
it was the motto or our company. I'd been without a good 
lay for almost 10 months now so Mexico was my route and a 
curvy Mexican girl was my mission.

The last time I'd had a piece of ass was on my last 
vacation in Mexico, and I was hoping to repeat the 
experience.

I wasn't looking forward to the bus ride though. It had 
all the markings of being just like the last one, bad. 
Eight hours of being cramped into a bouncing old bus 
filled with working-class Mexicans, mostly farmers and 
their families, those who could not afford the "Plus" 
service. I had learned to adjust to the crowding but the 
noise of children's mayhem was hard to get used to.

All this because I had waited until the last minute to 
get my ticket and the "Plus" service was all sold out. 
The "Plus" service is a big Mercedes bus with 
comfortable, reclining seats. Movies are shown and soft 
drinks are gratis. The toilet, not even available in some 
of the older buses, are larger and nicer, not to mention 
the smell. All in all, not unlike an airplane flight 
(tourist class.) 

Well, that may be taking it a bit far, but it really 
isn't bad and worth an additional fifty percent fare. 
With the "Plus" bus sold out I had to take the "Express" 
which isn't express at all. Fortunately they no longer 
tied the chicken coops on top. I was less than 
enthusiastic. It seemed a hell of a way to start a 
vacation.

I stood outside the bus finishing a Benson and Hedges, 
delaying the ordeal as long as possible. The smell of 
diesel hung in the air and was even visible in small 
clouds of black puffs when buses started or impatient 
drivers revved their engines. People continued to get on 
and off the bus. There were fat ones and skinny ones, but 
considerably more skinny ones.

I watched them mill to and fro, dragging their kids, 
until the driver appeared in his white shirt and I 
figured we were about ready. I should have known better. 
About ready south of the border doesn't mean much. Giving 
him my ticket, I stepped on the bus, wondering who I 
would have to move out of my assigned seat, that someone 
would be in it was a given.

As expected, it was occupied. There were two teenage 
girls, one asleep on the arm of the chair, the other 
laying against her sister. They were obviously tired 
little kids, having arrived with the bus and continuing 
on to God knows where.

I felt a twinge of compassion and looked around to see if 
any other seat was available so they could continue 
together. There were none and my compassion wasn't such 
that I was going to stand for the next eight hours. The 
girls belonged to the lady in front of my seat. She also 
had a little girl asleep beside her. The lady didn't stir 
but I doubted she was asleep, more like hoping I wouldn't 
bother her.

After I nosily cleared my throat, the woman acknowledged 
me standing by the seat and asked if I wanted the girls 
to move. I said, "Yes, I do want to use my seat." For a 
moment there was a pleading look, then she shuffled the 
little girl around and, after waking the smaller girl, 
managed to get her in between her and the little girl.

I hated to see them jammed up that way but she obviously 
had not paid for four seats and I was not going to ride 
the next eight hours with three people in two seats built 
for midgets, although I admit I considered the idea 
briefly. They appeared to be beautiful little girls, so 
far as the dimly lit bus would allow, and either well 
mannered or just worn out.

We finally finished the round of Mexican musical chairs 
and I settled into my aisle seat. The driver walked down 
the aisle satisfying himself he had everyone or at least 
all he wanted and we were underway. Underway is like 
about ready. He got off the bus and I went back outside 
for another smoke. When we entered the second time he did 
indeed start the bus, backing out in our personal fog of 
diesel smoke.

It took us about thirty minutes to leave the city. This 
was not so much a function of distance or traffic, as it 
was horrible streets. At this time of the night traffic 
was light but the streets had potholes that could compete 
with the Grand Canyon. As the driver picked his way 
through the craters, I studied the girl beside me. She 
was settled in and looking out the window.

The passing streetlights and neon lit shops illuminated a 
smooth faced girl of delicate features with typical black 
hair. In the strobe of passing lights I could only tell 
her eyes were dark. Most Mexican's eyes are black and 
readily sparkle with emotion. She was slender but not 
skinny in the way of street children. The opening and 
closing of her eyes was more from the exhausting ride 
she'd had from Mexico city than from actual sleep. I 
figured that she could have been more than 13 years old 
from the look of her.

The bus was still warm inside but the air from the open 
window was cool and blew directly on the girl. She drew 
herself into a little knot against the cool air. Being 
from a cooler climate I was still quite warm and had 
taken off my windbreaker. I would get warmer. I asked her 
if she was cold and offered my jacket. She said, "Yes," 
but reached her travel bag. This time she did not draw up 
her knees but settled back into her seat, pulling the 
jacket around her shoulders.

I was becoming enchanted with this little night sprite 
next to me. Realizing she was not likely to start a 
conversation I got the ball started by asking her name. 
She replied, "Maria," returning my smile.

I figured she was intimidated by my size and because I 
was an American so I patted her hair and told her that 
Maria was the name of a girlfriend of mine in the states. 
She asked my name and I told her my name was Jose in 
Spanish. We talked for a while about school and what 
grade she was passing too. She moved her head "yes" when 
I asked if her grades were all nines and tens, the 
equivalent of our A's and B's. I had the feeling she was 
fudging just a little on that one.

As we talked I sensed she was becoming comfortable with 
me and I patted her leg, telling her I was going to take 
a nap. My hand remained on her small firm thigh. This 
move was crucial in my attempt to "feel her out" in more 
ways than one. Her response to this first move of mine 
would tell me a lot.

The incoming signals were indeed rich. Maria said she 
would nap too. I reclined the seat and she did like wise, 
then put her head against my shoulder, delighting me that 
she was this bold with her new American friend.

I squeezed her thigh again, testing for the muscle 
tension that would indicate any discomfort with the hand 
that now caressed her inner thigh. She seemed quite 
content and if anything, seemed to further relax. I 
patted her leg again but did not move my hand. She 
responded by rearranging her jacket to better cover my 
hand before moving her leg slightly in my direction, 
which had the effect of sliding my hand toward her 
crotch.

My little nurocircuits were fairly glowing with the 
increasing probability of mutual eagerness. The 
probability coefficient was "hot" but not quite 100%. 
Cautioning myself against haste I relaxed. There was 
still a lot of trip ahead of us. I would wait for the 
100% indication.

We rode in silence for the next half hour, her thick head 
of hair brushing my cheek as she rested her head on my 
shoulder, my hand more or less on her lap. We didn't talk 
but that is not to say we didn't communicate. Mexican 
highways are notoriously rough and we were constantly 
being jostled against each other. Her leg was relaxed 
with the near one pressing against mine, the bouncing 
motion of the bus shifting my hand across her lap.

Like an Ouija board, its seemingly random movements were 
in fact quite purposeful. My fingers slid across her lap, 
finally resting atop the center of her jeans. Her jeans 
had a zipper fly, just like a boy's jeans. I guess with 
the meager status of this family, they wore whatever they 
could get. I pressed slightly, making little circles with 
my fingertips, until I had laid out the boundaries of the 
crease inside her jeans.

She stirred in the darkness, rearranging her jacket, 
again covering my hand. Then I felt her hand fell between 
us and pressed against my thigh, matching the pressure of 
my hand on her crotch. I took her hand, feeling each of 
her long, thin, fingers. I cupped it easily in mine, 
rubbing her palm with my fingertips. When I wrapped her 
fingers around one of mine, there was a gentle squeeze. 
It was very subtle but enough to quicken my already 
shallow breathing. Needless to say my pulse pounding by 
this time.

We were exploring, probing, looking for boundaries of 
comfort, limits of permission. A universal ritual between 
the sexes, ageless, changing form but never content. I 
wanted inside her pants and she knew it. She too was 
anxious for the encounter and in her unsophisticated and 
juvenile way trying to tell me. The power of my emotion 
raced along trembling nerves, and synapses crackled, as I 
forced myself to deeper breathing and restraint. A surge 
of swelling in my crotch announced the almost pre-
orgasmic passage from exploration to confirmation.

She knew I wanted to fondle her and was doing everything 
but pulling down her jeans to help. She wanted the tall 
American's anxious hand inside her pants and on her 
teenage pussy, my fingers caressing her slit through the 
material of her jeans, and sending inquiring probes into 
the warmth of her young sex. I swallowed to wet my throat 
which was dry from my breathing through my mouth. I 
reminded myself I was on a diplomatic journey. Who was I 
to impede cultural exchange?

With a probability coefficient of 100% I moved with more 
boldness. Bringing my hand to a point where her legs 
joined, I pressed below the double layer of her fly and 
could feel a small quiver flow through this girl's body, 
but almost immediately she relaxed her muscles. I was 
millimeters above her youthful prize and she had to know 
what I was after.

Even though the material of her jeans was much too thick 
for me to actually feel her, knowing what my fondling was 
likely doing to her was enough for me right then. Indeed, 
the warmth now emanating from her crotch told me that she 
was feeling something, even if I wasn't. Still, I wanted 
more for myself, and undaunted (more like frantic) in my 
efforts, I explored the area completely, searching for a 
crevice, any opening that would let me sneak inside and 
touch her directly. There was none. Her twat was buttoned 
up, well hidden beneath the thick double ply fly of her 
jeans.

I was not willing, yet, to literally assault her fly and 
barge into her pants to satisfy my urges. I wanted the 
assurance from Maria of participation but it was time to 
move along, so I inserted my little finger between the 
lower two buttons of her fly. It was a tight fit and I 
had to wiggle my finger back and forth until I could get 
it inside her pants. I was rewarded with a surprising 
feel of her moistness on her cotton panties, and I now 
knew that Maria was as much into this "touchy feely" 
affair as I was. Only the thin cotton fabric of her 
panties now separated her mysterious little pussy from 
me.

Having but one finger inside her jeans I could only rub 
along the outside of her slit and didn't have much room 
to maneuver. In the space I had, I rubbed up and down 
about two or three inches before the restrictions of her 
jeans and underwear forbid deeper exploration. I could 
tell that she was becoming more than moist, the crotch of 
her panties was in fact slippery wet now, and I could 
feel the cloth sliding into her young slit.

The bus had entered Tepic, a fairly large city, and both 
oncoming traffic and occasional streetlights served to 
illuminated Maria's face. She pretended sleep but I knew 
she was very much alert. As expected, she relegated the 
pace and progress of our game to the adult. I did not 
realize the pace wasn't fast enough to suit her.

Our jackets covered my arm and hand but the now steady 
city lights were illuminating the bus, arousing the 
passengers. Her mother, in the seat in front of us 
stirred, in turn arousing her sister. When I returned my 
gaze to Maria she was indeed awake and watching me. The 
young teenager, trusting, friendly, questioning her new 
friend if everything was OK. Had she done good? Was her 
new amigo, Jose, pleased with what he had found? I smiled 
and winked... you betcha Ubangi. The interior lights 
flashed off the white teeth of her smile, our eyes still 
held.

Withdrawing my finger from between the buttons of her 
fly, I squeezed her leg reassuringly and told her I was 
going for coffee, did she want something? She replied, 
"No."

As I passed her mother I asked if she wanted something to 
drink. She too replied, "No," obviously too exhausted 
from wrestling with the kids for the past ten hours, 
counting the time from Mexico City.

The bus had pulled into the depot for a ten-minute stop. 
It had stopped several times but normally we did not have 
time to get off. Considering the likely state of the on-
board toilet I didn't want to miss an opportunity and 
headed for the "baso". Anyway, there would be time for a 
quick cup of coffee and a smoke. I was met with cool 
night air as I stepped onto the parking lot but I hardly 
noticed. My circulation was peaking, raising my skin 
temperature. My goose bumps were not from the chill of 
the night air. Taking a deep breath, I felt the RPM'S 
come down.

My mind however was anything but slowing down. I finished 
the Benson, impatient for us to be underway and the 
inside lights off. I was aware of the edge of excitement 
I was feeling. It was like a treasure hunt or maybe hide 
and seek, but with special rules. I saw the driver 
leaving the shop signaling time was up. Finishing the 
last swallow of coffee, I tossed the cup at the nearest 
container... close but no cigar. Oh well, Michael Jordan 
did his thing, I did mine. I stepped up and into the 
bus... and a pleasant surprise.

I sat down beside Maria. She was awake and turned toward 
me, smiling like a Cheshire cat. I pulled my jacket over 
me and waited for us to get underway, trying not to show 
undue attention to my young passenger. Maria was sitting 
straight in her chair though slid forward, covered by her 
jacket. We observed each other from the corner of our 
eyes. The bus backed out and the driver turned off the 
inside lights, restoring the darkness but for the 
streetlights passing outside our window. I slipped my 
hand from under my jacket to under hers, resting it as 
before on her leg.

We left the compound and followed some clandestine route 
back to the highway. The outside lights became 
intermittent as we exited the city, the blanket of 
darkness returning secrecy to my exploring hand.

Maria moved her leg firmly against mine and, 
understanding, I moved my hand upward along her leg. 
Squeezing her thigh reassuringly I moved to the top of 
her fly to insert my finger inside. Damn! The little 
nymph was way ahead of me. All the buttons were open 
except the top snap. An open invitation to exploring the 
privacy of her body. I had just got the checkered flag. 
It was balls to the wall, full speed ahead, damn the 
torpedoes, and all that stuff.

Even with the buttons undone, the opening was small. I 
spread her fly open as far as possible and tried to 
explore as much of her panty-covered mound as I could 
reach, but her jeans were still too high on her waist. 
Given the size of my hand, and her small size jeans, it 
was impossible to feel more than the very front of her 
puffy little mound. This was met with slightly faster 
breathing from Maria, and I could sense she too wanted me 
to proceed post haste. I wanted to go further. She wanted 
me to go further. It was time to cut the crap and get on 
with it.

Moving my hand to her belt, I tugged at it a couple of 
times, then placed her hand on the buckle. When I 
returned my hand a few seconds later I found she 
understood completely. Well almost. She had undone her 
belt but the top button of her jeans was still fastened. 
Now in other situations this would not be a problem. I 
could undo it with my teeth, or given my present state, 
bite the damn thing off.

Not so on the bus and my left hand wouldn't bend in all 
the directions needed to unfasten it. I tugged at the 
button a few times but gave up and placed her hand where 
her buckle had been. When I felt again her jeans were 
open. I slid my hand down her firm stomach and inside her 
underwear, feeling for the first time the bare skin of 
her Venus mound. The shivers going up my spine matched 
her shivering legs. I stroked up and down her thoroughly 
wet crack and knew it was not enough.

As usual for Mexican girls she had been very quick to get 
wet, which I personally find delightful. While it may be 
true that most girls, young or old, will get wet when 
sexually stimulated, Mexican and Oriental girls will get 
wet faster than any other nationality I have known. At 
least that's been my experience. They seem to have a 
sense that their pleasure is my pleasure, and by them 
enjoying what my fingers do to them turns me on more. And 
they want to turn on their partners.

It did seem that Maria was no stranger to having a hand 
in her pants, and was enjoying it almost more than I was. 
I stroked through her very slick slit then smelled my 
fingers. I was delighted to find the contrasting sweet 
and pungent smell of her nubile pussy light to the 
nostrils, stirring my salivary juices. My mouth watered.

I slipped my hand further down into her crotch, 
continuing my fingers to the bottom of her slit. It had 
the soft and moist feel of youth and the promise of 
forbidden thrills to come. Liking the musty aroma 
propelled out by my probing, I again withdrew my fingers 
to savor the aphrodisiac of her sex. My hand went to my 
crotch to rearrange my engorgin' organ before it exploded 
my 501's and wiped out half the bus with the shrapnel.

Her jeans were pulled tight up into her crotch and with 
difficulty I was able to place two fingers on the edges 
of her youthful cunt with my middle finger stuck in her 
furrow. This just wasn't working too well. I wanted the 
freedom to explore her crotch, to explore the full 
dimensions of her mound area with her juices freely 
flowing, but her jeans were just too tight.

I glanced around the bus at the sleeping passengers. Her 
mother's head was turned away, leaning against the 
window. It was three o'clock in the morning and those 
that were not asleep were trying to. The only noise was 
the diesel motor of the bus and an occasional passing 
vehicle. Traffic was light. Almost nothing travels at 
night but buses and trucks. We were well cloaked by both 
our jackets and darkness. My awareness returned to the 
warm moist flesh I cupped in my palm. I wanted it all.

Placing my other hand under her, then lifted, then tugged 
downward on her jeans. Moving to the other side I 
repeated the motion, then waited for her to respond. 
Maria was a girl after my own heart. Knowing I wanted her 
pussy to be completely free of restrictions, she eagerly 
responded by arching upward.

I tugged at her jeans but working with only one hand I 
was not successful at getting them down. I put her hands 
on each side and tugged again. She understood. I could 
feel the backward pressure of her head and shoulders on 
the seat as she lifted herself. When her activity had 
quieted I felt again. Her jeans were past her buttocks to 
mid thigh. Only her jacket now covered her teenage pussy 
as I placed my hand between her legs. She spread them to 
the limit of her jeans.

Now my hand felt freely in between her legs on her slick 
pussy. I moved my fingertips over and through that tender 
area then to her moist slit. Pressing downward on the 
crotch of her jeans, I moved them down several more 
inches, almost to her knees. She opened her legs and 
arched her hips forward.

She was eager to share her tender young sex and I was 
equally anxious to pleasure her. I could feel the 
smoothness in between her legs, and her slit, though wet, 
was hardly open at all. I traced that slit all the way to 
the bottom of her crack, my fingertip finally reaching 
that delicate area between her ass and her pussy. I was 
mildly amazed to find a slight puddle on the hard seat 
under her crotch, further attesting to her own 
excitement. Her eagerness and complicity in this activity 
was even more of a turn-on to me.

I again brought my fingers to the opening to her pussy 
and stroked along her slit, paying special attention to 
her now-protruding clitoris. She was very much into my 
fondling of her pussy and moved her slender thighs 
farther apart, giving me more room to feel her. As she 
spread her legs, her slit now also opened up more, and it 
seemed as though the flow of her juices had spilled out 
as I pushed a little past her opening.

Her pussy, for all its wetness and fleshy feel at the 
front, was very tight indeed just inside, and despite her 
obvious wanting to play with me, it didn't seem likely 
that anyone had trespassed through this young girl's 
pussy before. I began to wonder what it was that made 
this girl want to do these things with me here and now, 
if she hadn't ever done them before.

I could have just kept going as I was, silently sneaking 
my hands in her pants, with her silent permission, but I 
wanted to know more about this girl.

It was still very dark inside the bus and I leaned over 
to her and asked, "Have you done this before?"

I looked at her, her eyes opening wide at me now, and she 
said, "Yes, a few times I played with Mama's boyfriend, 
and it was fun, but we had to stop." Now I was getting 
somewhere.

"Why did you have to stop?" I asked.

"Because Mama found out after the first few times and 
never saw that man again. Mama told me that I shouldn't 
do those things until I'm older. It was fun, even better 
than when I had touched myself down there, but I couldn't 
tell her that, though."

I smiled affectionately at her, grateful that the Fates 
had been so kind to me. Without any further need to speak 
out loud, at least just then, and risk disturbing others, 
I concentrated again on this young girl's pubes, and 
getting more of my hands inside. There in the dark I 
pushed my middle finger a little more into her sweet 
channel of nubile sex, feeling the mushiness at the 
front, and the tight constriction farther in. My finger 
felt like a wet ball bearing, sliding easily around at 
the front of her hole. I wiggled it enough to keep her 
excited and her mind off of any pain that might be 
coming.

I felt that she wanted to cross some threshold with me 
tonight, and that she was going ahead no matter what. I 
pushed my finger in up to the second knuckle this time, 
and while it was tight, it went in smoothly, and she 
didn't seem to be in much pain. The feeling was terribly 
erotic to me, knowing it was charting new ground for her. 
With my digit firmly entrenched, I tried moving it around 
as much as I could, without hurting her. I don't think I 
had to worry about hurting her, though, because she 
seemed on a mission, and was determined to have as much 
fun and pleasure as she could.

I forced my finger to travel that short path inside her 
pussy, stroking in and out of that small distance, 
feeling her thighs start to quiver and her pleasure 
increase. My hand was still in an awkward position but I 
didn't want to stop right then. I continued my slow 
stroking, enjoying the feel of this girl's teenage mound, 
and could feel her prominent little clit slipping around 
my finger. 

Maria was moaning softly now and occasionally looked up 
at me and smiled dreamily. I knew she was feeling thrills 
she hadn't known before and I wondered if she could 
orgasm from my fingers. She began to raise her hips to 
meet the downward thrust of my finger into her pussy, 
even as my raging hard-on was getting more and more 
uncomfortable. I increased the pace, in and out up to the 
second knuckle, just as she increased the pumping of her 
slender hips up to meet my hand.

I could feel her pushing against the seat with her 
shoulders and although I could not clearly see her face 
now, I knew she was tense with effort. She was in the 
grips of perhaps the first orgasm of her life for several 
seconds before I felt the relaxation. She turned her head 
away from me, leaving her legs next to mine, and I was 
sure that she had been satisfied.

In a way, her satisfaction was enough for me, that day. I 
knew I would have a terrible case of blue balls for the 
rest of that day. But somehow knowing that this critical, 
but gentle, moment in this young girl's life would be a 
pleasurable one for as long as she lived, made it all 
seem worthwhile. 

END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. 

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