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In this romantic episode, an erotic event draws two very different young women together as travel companions on a long, overnight bus ride. Unwilling to sleep, they discuss their sexuality, exploring the way they think and the hot little things some women say about sex.
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Jaimie first noticed Erica in the crowded waiting room of a bus terminal. Lucky to have a seat as she waited for the overnight ride south, now more than thirty minutes late, she was filling time observing her fellow passengers when the young woman seated opposite slowly uncrossed her long legs. And that was it. In one lazy move, this unknown female had captured Jaimie's attention.
Dressed for show in a tight white t-shirt and gold jewelry with her curly blond hair carelessly trailing over her shoulders, the woman was sitting on a chair that was part of a fixed row facing Jaimie across the aisle. She looked so casual with her long legs splayed and her short denim skirt riding high. Leaning back with her arms folded, she was chewing gum and surveying the crowd with an indolent eye. An occasional smile tweaked the corner of her mouth when she noted something of interest.
Right now, she had her eye on someone near Jaimie. Every time she caught a new development, a mischievous spark flashed from beneath her eyelashes, shining through the expression of contrived boredom she wore on her face.
Jaimie gazed, transfixed, unaware that she was staring hard without her sunglasses on. Realizing, she leaned down and rummaged in her bag for them. Safe behind their dark lenses, she'd be free to watch the entertaining spectacle across the aisle and also to check the subject of those attentions in the seat next to her.
The blonde opposite threw her head back and gave a silent laugh, shifting the position of her legs again.
At that moment, Jaimie realized what the woman was doing. She was giving the young guy a show - a good view of her panties. Her knees weren't too far apart at this stage, but Jaimie could tell that very soon, anyone half aware would get a clear line of sight straight up that tiny skirt.
Burning with curiosity about the target audience for this display, Jaimie turned casually in her seat, pretending to check the time on the big digital clock on the back wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she took in the details - a teenager trying to appear cool as he waited next to his mom. He looked about eighteen - a fresh, naïve kind of eighteen - and his cheeks were flushed red with a raging self-consciousness.
Jaimie's eyes returned to the young woman opposite, and just in time, too - just in time for a nice little, unmissable piece of action - in reality so quick, but to the imagination, all slow motion.
In one languid move, the young woman was spreading her legs wide and at the same time stretching her body upwards - carefully so she wouldn't bump anyone nearby. She was yawning and extending her whole body, and as she did so, she exposed everything between her legs. The view was instant and confronting, its shock appearance contrasting with the next moment when the thighs came together and the vision vanished.
Jaimie blinked. She felt suddenly hot and her heart began to race. The whole thing was unreal, like a strobe image or a pop video shot - here one second, gone the next. With a sense of panic, she was overcome with a longing to press the replay button and find the truth. It was such a perfect but imperfect moment - not long enough to get a good look, but powerful enough to shatter her equanimity.
But it had happened. For those who had their eyes in the right place at the right time, it was perfectly clear that the young woman wore no panties at all. She had just flashed the eighteen-year-old a glorious view of the pale curves of her bare, shaved pussy.
Glancing sidelong at the boy, Jaimie felt sorry for him as he caught her eye. He was checking the scene around him - checking to see if anyone else had noticed. He coughed and got to his feet awkwardly, muttering something to his mother as he shuffled away.
Jaimie looked again at the young woman.
"You like?"
The girl was mouthing the question across the aisle. Jaimie gasped.
"Me?" she mouthed back through the noise of the waiting room, indicating herself with her hand. Jaimie felt as if she'd been caught red-handed, but she deserved it. After all, she had been looking.
The young woman opposite rolled her eyes and smiled a naughty, supercilious smile. She shrugged knowingly at Jaimie, but their departure announcement came through and the communication became lost in the general push and shove.
As Jaimie reached for the overhead locker on the crowded bus, she at first didn't notice the person thrusting past her to take the window seat she had mentally reserved for herself.
"Hey! I was about to sit there!" Jaimie recognized the daring blonde as soon as she'd spoken.
"Yeah, so you were," remarked the seat thief with a winning smile. "But to my mind, this is how it's meant to be. You know that. I know that." She patted the aisle seat beside her.
"C'mon now. Sit by me." The young woman flashed a conspiratorial smile as she withdrew her hand in further invitation.
Jaimie slid into the remaining seat warily, unsure about her new travel companion but pleased to find a little haven away from the two big men who were forcing their way past her down the narrow aisle.
"Well? Did you like it?" she challenged as a woman and two children argued their way into places somewhere behind them.
Jaimie recoiled. The woman was not only persistent, but physically far too close for comfort.
"Well . . . I . . . Like what?" Jaimie couldn't answer.
"My little show! You can't deny you were looking." She regarded Jaimie with an air of victory, twisting a long blond curl between her finger and thumb.
As Jaimie got herself more comfortable next to this provocative person, she realised the question was inescapable. She'd got herself into a fix even before her journey had started. Right now she was at the mercy of someone she'd only just met, someone who was asking her to admit she'd been fascinated by the extraordinary act of a total stranger.
Through the panic Jaimie felt a little ping of excitement in her lower regions as several possible responses occurred to her, but she couldn't put them into words. By the time she was ready to answer, it was clear she'd lost her nerve.
"Look," she said to the young woman. "I'm not supposed to like that kinda stuff. I'm on my way across two states to meet up with my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend, huh? I do believe . . ." began the blonde, "I see the flash of a diamond there on your finger."
Jaimie laughed nervously. She wondered why she'd been reluctant to say 'fiancé' to this person, why it seemed such a dull thing to say.
"You believe right," she smiled. "And I'm about to meet the potential in-laws for the first time tomorrow."
It sounded like a such conversation-stopper to Jaimie. Looking down at her ring she almost felt ashamed of its discreet sparkle next to the flashiness of this unusual young woman.
Now that she could see her close up, Jaimie thought they were a similar age - early twenties - but vastly different in terms of experience and background. Suddenly she felt the weight of convention on her shoulders. Her companion seemed younger and more girlish, yet older and more experienced - all at the same time. She'd probably been earning her living for the last ten years while Jaimie studied to become an art teacher, waiting on tables on weekends to make ends meet. Just looking at this girl's over-treated hair and her sharp eye make-up made Jaimie feel very unimaginative in her rose pink tee and blue jeans.
The leggy blonde must have been thinking the same. She cast an eye over Jaimie's clothing.
"The in-laws. Is that a fact!" she exclaimed. "Now that explains a few things." She halted her visual exploration and looked Jaimie in the eye.
"I'm Erica," she declared suddenly, putting her hand out.
Jaimie was surprised. She took the hand - quite a small, soft hand - and squeezed it slightly for the required introductory moment, then let it fall.
"Jaimie," she said in return. "It's really 'Jaime', from 'I love' in French, but nobody knows how to say it so they call me Jaimie."
Erica smiled.
"Nice," she said. "Mine's the name of a very tiny flower - sweet, wild and untamed - like me." She paused to note Jaimie's smile in response and a small silence ensued.
Erica took up the conversation again.
"Back there. At the terminal. You were looking at me, I could tell. I'm not totally unaware, I hope you realize." She paused again with a slight smile. Then she drew in a breath and turned to Jaimie purposefully.
"And I know you better than you think. You just couldn't stop looking."
Jaimie didn't know what to say here. She had no come-back - nothing to suggest to explain her actions. Never before had she been put in such a situation. And the girl was looking at her so directly.
Erica fell silent again, thinking.
"It's my thing, you know. Being looked at. I'm used to people looking at me."
She was prattling on in a light kind of way, filling in time, making the topic stick. There was no way that Jaimie could push back into its box.
The engine of the bus fired into action, noisy vibrations temporarily obliterating all talk. It settled to an idle chug as the driver did his final check, closing all the outside hatches and collecting clearance forms from the guy at the office.
Erica sank lower in her seat and turned to Jaimie.
"I could tell you all about myself to be sure, but I think I'll start with what I already know about you."
"Me?" Jaimie was astonished. "What could you possibly know about me?"
Undaunted, Erica went on with her next ploy.
"Are you ready for it? Do you want to hear?" Erica wanted Jaimie to be the one to give her the green light - the go-ahead.
"OK," said Jaimie warily. "As you seem to know so much . . . " She adjusted her position, trying to make herself feel more comfortable.
The bus door closed with a hiss and the driver climbed into his seat. As he hit the accelerator and swung the vehicle out into the wet night, the uneven idling vibrations vanished from beneath their feet and the engine took on a more steady rhythm. The bus glided through the city streets, its softly lit interior briefly illuminated by store displays and neon signs.
Erica sat up, looking more businesslike, and gave her little denim skirt a tug. The tiny thing barely made it to the top of her long slim legs.
"Well," she started, "Contrary to popular advice that the only possible valid statement a person can make is a statement about one's self, right now I'm about to say some things about you." She smiled her naughty smile - the one Jaimie remembered back at the bus station.
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Jaimie nodded.
"Go on," she said. She was becoming more accustomed to the presence of this girl, this feisty creature so full of surprises.
"Close your eyes," instructed Erica.
"I will, as long as you're not going to do something shocking like put a frog into my hand - like my brothers used to do."
"Ohhh, brothers! Tell me about it!" Erica laughed. "No. You can trust me there. I won't touch you - well, not unless you say I can . . . " She paused. "Now close your eyes."
Jaimie settled into her chair and lowered her eyelids reluctantly. Irrational thoughts flickered through her mind as the thrum of the engine and the swish of water on the roadway overtook her senses. Was she about to be robbed? Molested? Was she about to become the victim of a weird joke?
Erica leaned a little closer to Jaimie's shoulder and lowered her voice.
"Let's start with the pink tee. That's not you at all, I'm sure."
"Correct," replied Jaimie. "But how do you know that?"
"Your hair. Your ears. Long, straight, natural hair, multiple piercings. Interesting combination. You have a history you're not revealing. In fact your recent history may be a cover-up as well." Erica seemed confident of her assessment.
"You don't waste any time, do you!" exclaimed Jaimie, her eyes popping open suddenly.
"Hey! Close your eyes! It'll help you think better," reminded Erica.
"Now where was I?" she continued. "Ah yes, your history. You've been a student for quite a few years. But not the blue jeans variety the way you look now - more the creative type. You've never dyed your hair vermilion, but you've made your statement with the piercings."
"One point to you," acknowledged Jaimie. "I've just finished art school and I'm looking for a permanent job. Go on."
"There! Didn't I say so?" exclaimed Erica triumphantly. "OK. Still on clothes. You've been into the hobo look. Not exactly hobo chic but more the thrift-store kind because that's all you can afford. But you have an eye for what to buy, and you've made quite a few of your own clothes along the way."
Jaimie smiled. Was this girl reading her mind, or what?
"Correct again, Miss Know-it-all. Take a look at this."
With her eyes still shut, Jaimie held up her hands for Erica's inspection. A pattern of shallow needle pricks showed up on some of her fingertips.
"Hmm," began Erica. "Not drugs, in my opinion. Or allergy tests. Some kind of regular abuse though." She took Jaimie's hand and looked at it more closely.
"Half right," Jaimie confirmed. "I'm well on the way to permanent damage to my right hand from hand sewing. Fashion design was part of the course."
Erica smiled. "Sore hand, huh?" She was teasing now. "Which finger now? The second?" She laughed as she leaned across and examined Jaimie's fingers once again. "Well, well, well! You don't say . . ."
Erica's voice trailed off into an amused smile.
Jaimie was on the brink of embarrassment. Erica's questioning was becoming far too personal. It sounded innocent, but her questions were very knowing when it came to what Jaimie might be doing in her spare time.
"I think I can skip a few questions at this stage . . . like . . . about what you do with your hands," Erica said mysteriously, watching her mood closely. "Allow me to come straight to the heart of the matter. Ready? Eyes closed, remember."
Sinking lower in her seat and arranging her mouth closer to Jaimie's ear, Erica lowered her voice to a gentle, soothing tone. She spoke slowly.
"Picture this: our little art student at college on her way to class with her portfolio under her arm, her fingers sore from working late, from hand sewing her latest fashion samples and from doing who-knows-what-else at night. She's swishing along there in her long, full, see-through peasant skirt - all in arty purples and reds and blacks, her eyes dark with heavy make-up and hidden behind sunglasses, and her black-red lipstick hiding her smile . . ."
"Mmm?" murmured Jaimie. "Yeah, I can see this. Go on."
Erica checked the expression on Jaimie's face and continued.
"And our little artist can feel her tits free inside her loose, flimsy top - and they're straining against the material, bouncing around in there a bit, and the texture is teasing her nipples, so she's worn a nice little waistcoat buttoned tight over the outside to keep them in check. And as she walks she's thinking of what's inside that outfit of hers and it's making her feel so, so hot, and she's beginning to notice the skirt flowing between her legs as she walks, brushing her inner thighs . . ."
"What . . .?" Jaimie squirmed in her seat. Erica was getting close to the truth.
"Uh-uh! Keep your eyes closed and listen." Erica sounded quite stern. She waited until Jaimie was settled once more.
"As she walks, she can't get her mind off that feeling she has in her panties because they're rubbing on her pussy as she walks and she's already so wet there . . . so swollen . . . so swollen from . . ."
Here Erica paused.
"If I'm half way close just move your hand a little to let me know."
Jaimie moved her hand - a couple of fingers. She was glad she didn't have to speak.
Erica continued.
"She's so swollen from the night before . . . from working on that project . . . unable to keep her fingers from straying to her nipples . . . to her pussy . . . She's worried about it each time she's had to break off from working . . . just to give herself a bit of a tease. Worried about just how much time she's been wasting getting herself off, fucking herself, fucking anything she could find in her room in fact, and now she's here right next to me in her 'let's-pretend-I'm-sweet' pink tee and jeans with a diamond ring on her finger, about to meet the in-laws."
Erica stopped again, waiting for a response.
"Still close?"
Jaimie spoke this time, stunned at hearing all this from a stranger. She opened her eyes, blinking, and both girls sat up a little straighter.
"How did you know? How could you possibly know all that?"
"Good guesswork, hon," said Erica with a smug look on her face. "Plus the way you were looking at me back there in the waiting room. The appreciative eye of the true artist - and you know what kind of artist I mean." She gave a little laugh. "And that young guy - I saw you check him out too. When I flashed him you were fascinated, not shocked. You must realize by now that I love to shock, but I'll make an exception with you. Fascination will do just fine."
Jaimie smiled. Erica touched her lightly on the arm.
"Just take a look at the two of us. Do we look alike? Are there any obvious similarities?"
Here Erica paused for effect.
"No way," she continued. "To the casual observer we couldn't be more different. But I'll tell you this much - "
Erica stopped and looked directly at Jaimie.
"What I see here is one highly orgasmic woman looking straight at another. I'm right, aren't I?"
"I've never discussed it before," Jaimie began. "My friends - I have no idea what they're really like when they're not with me. They talk about sex all the time, but it seems like they keep a score card or something. I don't care to get too involved. They count how many guys they get to suck. Who can shoot all over their tits. Leave cum all over their face. It's not what interests me."
"So what are you interested in, if I may ask?"
"Fucking, to be honest," replied Jaimie breathlessly. "Fucking Kieren, my boyfriend. Between the two of us we could go for hours . . . days . . . and . . . Everywhere . . . anywhere . . ." She gave a little laugh as she thought of the last time she'd been with him.
It was so easy to use that word these days. 'Fucking'. What she'd said was right. Jaimie did like fucking and she grew hot thinking about the many ways she'd tried, but there was even more to her sexual repertoire than that. Kieren didn't know the half of it. Neither did Erica.
Erica's eyes twinkled.
"Do go on," she said. "This is getting interesting."
"Look, it's really not important to anyone else at all," Jaimie protested. "Only to me."
"And to me, hon. And to me. Go on. Spill for me babe."
Erica had changed position, her arm raised on the back of her seat so she could rest her head on it and look back at her companion's face more easily.
Jaimie narrowed her eyes, trying to gain more control over her expression.
"You've already guessed the solo side of my life. And probably the extent of it too. What really interests me is the whole business of being female. Of walking round every day and being so damned aware of being . . . a woman. Of being so switched on all the time, driven, blinded at times by impossible urges . . ." Here she stopped.
"Put a figure on it, hon," said Erica. "If you're switched on sexually, what percentage of your time would you give it? Fifty? Eighty? That's not counting the time you're fast asleep in bed."
"Oh, but I'm not always sleeping when I'm in bed. That's the point. I lie awake quite a bit of the time . . . you know . . . switched on. And there's no way I can sleep naked. Just the feel of the sheets on my skin sets me off again."
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