Missing The Bus

At the end of my junior year in high school, my personal project was to seduce Ian. He was a year older, much more experienced, and a gorgeous hunk of a man. He was also just coming off of a bad breakup with Ashley, who was popular, rich, and had a shapely body with large breasts.

I was pretty, with light brown hair and a toned, slender body. I thought that my best features were my B-sized breasts–perfectly proportioned and very sensitive–and my legs. 

When Ian and I were lab partners in advanced biology, I succeeded in getting his attention through daring clothing choices, flirty sexual banter, and my homemade cookies. I had charmed him. 

But to accomplish my goal, I had logistical problems. First, I felt that I couldn’t just ask him out on a date. I was a younger, inexperienced, nerdy girl. Sure, I had jacked off my ex-boyfriend Shane a few times, but I never had received or given oral sex. I was more comfortable leaning over in a very revealing dress so that Ian could get a full view of my naked breasts than asking him out. Secondly, Ian worked at a hardware store after school every day but Tuesday. His weekends were packed with responsibilities at home and with work. Also my parents were very protective. They hardly knew that I had dated Shane, and introducing Ian to my elderly, very uncool parents was unthinkable. 

My sick uncle provided the opportunity. My parents needed to leave town to attend to him, and they completely trusted me alone in the house. I was a good cook and was perfectly able to live independently. I didn’t drive though, and I would need to rely on a school bus to get to and from school. I hated the school bus. 

I had been stealthy stalking Ian enough to know his patterns. Most days he left right after the closing bell, went to the parking lot, and drove off to his job in his refurbished classic sports car. On Tuesdays, he would hang around the senior lockers talking with his buddies for about half an hour. I overheard a few of these conversations during my reconnaissance missions. Mostly they talked of girls, cars, sports, and weekend parties. 

My parents left on Monday night. On Tuesday afternoon I purposely missed the afternoon bus. That day I wore an especially cute outfit: a light patterned skirt and a red scoop neck blouse. Both showed off what I thought were the most attractive parts of my body. I approached his friend group. They were talking about what girls might be going to a party next Saturday. In a coy voice I asked, “Hi Ian, can I ask a favor of my old lab partner?” “Hold on guys,” Ian said and stepped out of the circle to talk with me. I explained that I was stranded at school and needed a ride home. “I can pay you back with my homemade cookies,” I mentioned with a little wink. Of course, for me to give him the cookies, he would need to enter my house. 

“Sure, Lindsey, just give me a moment,” Ian replied. He explained to his buddies that he had to take care of something. They slapped hands and gave each other quick bro-hugs. He picked up his things, and led me out to the parking lot. Success!

Ian’s car was epic. He proudly talked about it for the first ten minutes of our drive. When he got the car, it was a wreck. He gave it his own paint job and rebuilt the engine. I had never ridden in a stick-shift car before, and I asked him questions about how it worked. He said, “Here, put your hand on the stick.” When I did, he placed his hand on top of mine, and moved it down, then across and up, then down again to shift gears. 

Making cheesy sexual puns about how the stick shift reminded me of a penis was too easy. Instead when he reached fourth gear and took his hand off mine, I ran my fingers around the top of the stick a few times. I said, “I like how with this car, you are in charge. Moving from gear to gear is a decision. You have the power.” After I said it, I realized that my statement could be taken sexually too.

I made sure to emphasize a couple of times that my parents were out of town and wouldn’t be home until Sunday. I had the house completely to myself. I mentioned that I was perfectly comfortable on my own but wanted more company since I was getting a little lonely, yet another hint that I wanted his companionship. When we pulled into the driveway, I said, “Come inside, I have some leftovers from the best pizzeria in town and some homemade cookies for you. I simply cannot thank you enough for rescuing me.” 

When we came into the house, I led him into the living room and set down my stuff. Following the typical Florida style, the kitchen was attached. “Let me warm up a couple of slices of pizza in the oven; they are so much better that way than microwaving them.” When I gave him the pizza, we sat down on stools next to the kitchen. 

I had learned a trick of how to remove my bra without taking off my blouse. It involved some flexibility, and it helped that I had smaller breasts, but I could unhook the bra and bring the shoulder straps out through the armholes. “Bras are the worst,” I said. “You guys don’t know how uncomfortable these are by the end of the day.” I tossed the bra causally to where my school bag was. He said, “Yeah, I noticed during bio lab that you were not a fan of bras.” He gave me a knowing smile.

I realized that my next words would make or break my plan. I leaned in, bit my lower lip a bit, and batted my eyes. “Did you like what you saw?” Not waiting for an answer, I slid off the stool, stepped up to him, and placed my arms on his shoulders. He leaned forward to kiss. 

His kissing style was different from my ex’s. It was more masculine; I knew that he was in charge. With Shane, it seemed as if I always set the pace. Ian also had a bit of beard stubble that I found erotic. I knew that I was making out with a man, not a boy. After some very pleasing French kissing, he repeatedly kissed down my neck, which I found a dizzying development. At the same time one of his hands reached under my blouse, traveling up my side to my breast. Fuck yeah. My tits had been impatiently waiting to be fondled since I tossed the bra. I peeled off my cute red blouse, and he turned me around. Both of his hands reached around my slender body and squeezed my breasts, occasionally twisting the nipples. His tongue and lips were on my neck and my earlobe, making my knees weak. I arched my back. I could feel his hard cock up against my toned ass.  

I stepped forward, disengaged from his embrace, and turned around. Between ragged breaths I said, “Ian, you should know that I am not at all interested in full sex.” I paused, then said, “But I am very, very interested in giving you a blow job. I really, really want to suck your dick. Like right now.” He said, “Absolutely, Baby. That’s a deal,” and he started to undress.