About We the Bus People

by G.R. Richards
27 pages / 7000 words
Ebook zipped file contains - html, lit, Adobe and Sony optimized pdf, prc, epub

When Nikos' beloved T-Bird bites the dust, he's forced to take the bus home. The last person he expects to meet on public transportation is his shop's favorite client, Manny the hot home-builder. Little does Nikos know, he accidentally boarded the #97E, the extra-terrestrial route. With Manny the interplanetary refugee at his side, this could prove to be the bus trip of a lifetime

Sample

And I thought my commute was torture! Until I fell asleep on the #97 bus, I had no idea Manny came from so far away.

I didn't usually take the bus home from work -- bought my first used car before I turned twenty and I haven't been without one since. Well, that morning my gorgeous old T-Bird's head gasket cracked and my baby ended up in the hands of my relatively un-shifty mechanic. Dean -- that's my car, not my mechanic -- is an American beauty, but the troubles are endless, I tell you! Take my advice: never buy a vehicle for his looks. Anyway, what with Dean's repair costs, I couldn't nearly afford to take a taxi home. No, I'd just have to suffer through the bus ride from my pre-fabrication shop at one end of the city to my apartment at the opposite end. Honestly? I enjoy my daily commute... when I'm alone and singing along to whichever Guns and Roses song is blaring from the car radio. The #97 bus was a rude awakening.

It'd been ages since I'd taken public transportation. I had to ask around at work to find out what the current fare was. I'd have never guessed three dollars cash. Sheesh. Seems like only yesterday it was a dollar and a quarter. Fuel costs and all that, I suppose.

Anyway, Friday after work I called my mechanic on the off-chance he'd gotten around to fixing Dean's broken gasket even after telling me there was no way in hell he'd have time until Tuesday afternoon. No joy. I was bussing it. So, I assembled my three dollars exact change and walked up to the bus stop, hoping none of my motor-worshipping buddies would catch me. I guess I could have asked Ricardo for a ride, but admitting a breakdown is admitting to ownership of an inferior vehicle, and I'd die before giving him that pleasure.

I'm not sure why I assumed the #97 would take me where I wanted to go. I guess I figured it was going east and I was going east, so it was all good. I stood behind the bus shelter as I waited so none of the guys would see me as they drove by. Just as the #97 rippled onto the asphalt horizon, Manny appeared on the sidewalk. My heart turned into a brick and fell on my stomach. God, don't let him see me here!

Manny. The guy couldn't have received a more perfect name from his parents. Sure, he was shorter than me and, from what I'd heard, inordinately interested in gourmet cooking, but our best client was every bit a man. His eternally sun-kissed skin perfectly complimented his curly black hair. Even though he always wore a white shirt with his drool-provoking academic flannels, I could tell he was built. Every time he put on a hard hat and rolled up his sleeves to get a close-up look at our work, I found myself staring at his firm forearms and imagining how those muscles would surge as he wrapped his fist around my erection and jerked me off out back. Dream on! I tried never to look into his face as he spoke, because the motion of his lips made me want to kiss him right there in the pre-fab shop. Right there, with everybody watching. And I worried, if my defenses were ever down from dizziness or sickness or hung-over-ness, I might do just that. I hadn't realized Manny was in the shop that day. I hadn't seen him around.

So, if the guy gave me an instant hard-on, why was I praying the bus would get to my stop before Manny did?