"The trip west was exciting to me, even though I was seeing the country through the window of a Greyhound bus and living on peanut butter sandwiches half-way across the United States. I could hardly wait to get to glamorous Hollywood and make my fortune as a movie star. Grandma knew I was coming, and she met me at the bus stop with open arms.
"I didn't tell grandma about the nice man who'd been sitting next to me for the last foul' hundred miles and buying my food. He'd been buying my food because I didn't report him to the bus driver for putting his hand up my skirt and trying to feel my twelve-year-old pussy. When he first did it, I jumped-I hadn't any experience that way, as yet-but I knew instinctively that if I kept quiet and let him feel around a little before I moved away, he'd be willing to buy me something-maybe even give me some money for my new piggybank that was waiting at Grandma's house.
"Being hungry and broke all your young life teaches you some strange lessons. Pretending to be shocked, repelled by his advances, I let him have just a little feel of my sweet, young virgin creases that were just under the rosebud-printed panties I'd treated myself to, then I squirmed away and crossed my skinny kid legs really tight. That made him turn bright red all over his face and neck. I guess he was about thirty-five or so. He'd been telling me all about his little girl and how much he loved her, just before I felt his damned hand up under my plaid skirt. Your little girl better watch out; you bastard, I remember thinking as I waited for a split second before jumping away from his hand.
"But I didn't tell the bus driver; I didn't tell anyone, even though I was the pet of the other passengers, who'd sort of appointed themselves my family-in-transit. At the next lunch stop, I sat next to him and ordered the kind of meal I'd always dreamed of-steak and potatoes, salad and dessert. He knew I was living on pennies, and he knew what I wanted him to do. As I daintily wiped my mouth at the end of my first real feast, he quickly picked up my check and paid for my lunch at the cash register.
"From then on, all I had to do in order to eat like the Queen of the Lunch Counter was to let him feel me up once or twice an hour, and I had it made. I was never obvious about it-I'd just let him finger my pussy place for a few seconds, then move away, adjust my skirt like the properly brought up young lady that I was, and go on talking or reading or whatever. The other passengers didn't think it was strange that we sat together for the rest of the trip; they felt that he was lonesome for his daughter, and was trying to help me feel less homesick for my dear old Dad. If only they'd known! But they didn't and I got off that bus and ran into my Grandma's arms a good five pounds heavier than I'd been when I got on back in Pennsylvania. The
only other change in me since the beginning of the bus trip was that I'd discovered a great new way to fill my pussybank while enjoying myself a lot-having SEX.
"Because I did enjoy what that dirty guy was doing to my little pink pussy. The touch of his hand through my cotton panties was very exciting to me, after the first shock, and although I felt nothing but disgust for him, I liked the feelings he was awakening in my virgin body. I'd never played with myself, and the few talks my mother had had time to give me on the subject of sex had been so vague that I hadn't really been impressed with them one way or the other. So here I was, being fingered ever so lightly on my little-girl cunt by a man not much younger than my father, almost in front of a bus full of smiling passengers who all thought the cute little girl and the nice fatherly man were having a heart-to-heart talk about the Girl Scouts, or something.
"By the end of that bus trip, I was turned on to sex and men and, incidentally, making both of them pay, pay, pay. I hadn't planned to be an actual hooker ever, but I began to see the advantages of being pretty, smelling good, and letting the guy who wanted into my cunt think he was getting a real lady-a girl who wouldn't ever let just anyone do horny things to her. There had been several times when my meal-ticket daddy had gotten his fingers just to the edge of my panty-crotch, and the thought of letting him go ahead and put his hand on my stark-naked pussyhole began to excite me so that I almost did it once or twice when the bus was speeing along through the desert darkness.
"The first time, I'd been sleeping against his shoulder, cuddled up real sweet, as if he was a lover and not, a father-figure. I was half-awakened by the light touch of his hand on my budding breast-I hadn't started wearing a bra yet-and nothing was between his warm hand and my small, high titty but my nylon blouse. The unfamiliar feeling of my nipple going erect woke me completely, but by this time I wanted to be caressed and petted, and I went on 'sleeping' while I cuddled closer to him so that he was cupping my tit in his hand and giving it the faintest squeeze. Then, as my body began tingling under his touch, I felt his other hand slipping slowly, lightly, up my leg, under my skirt.
"I moved in my 'sleep' so that my legs were spread a bit, and cuddled even closer to him. His hand crept higher and higher on my leg, now slipping to the insides of my thigh, all the way to the edge of my panties, right next to my cunt. I moved again, still 'sleeping', and now his hand was an the way over my pussy, pressing against it the least bit, but enough to let me know it could be harder if I wanted it to be. I wanted it. I didn't know what was giving me the feelings of delight that were racing all over my body, I just knew that I was in the darkness, being petted and cuddled the way my own father never had cuddled me, not even when I was a baby.
"I loved it, so I let my legs go even looser and sort of scooted up a bit on the bus seat-up enough to press my vibrating virgin cunt against the hand that was awakening it. He moved his fingers then, and I flew even higher in my first ecstasy, for one of those fingers had pressed against my love-button, my clitoris, and an
electric shock went through me. I think he knew by this time that I wasn't asleep any more, but I didn't open my eyes, I Just went on moving slowly around, never letting my crotch get away from his hand. His hand that had been fondling my tit so lightly now squeezed harder; he tickled my tiny clit so that I began to experience the new thrill of beginning a climax. It was an unbelievable sensation.
"I could hear him breathing into my hair, feel him kissing softly the skin on my forehead, feel his hands playing my body as if it was a violin. Then just as I was ready to let his fingers slip underneath the cotton panties that were between his hand and my pussy, the bus stopped suddenly and the lights went on. 'Rest stop, everyone,' said the driver, and we quickly moved apart. It was turning day outside, the sunrise red over the desert, and that was the end of anything but those fleeting feelies that he kept stealing all day whenever he thought no one was looking.
"That night was the last night of the trip and I knew he was waiting for the sun to go down and the bus to get dark. As soon as the last reading light had gone out over the last sleepy passenger, I fell 'asleep' against his shoulder again, and those warm hands began their journey over my young, trembling body. Once more, it started with a faint touch on the small breast close to his hand, the hand that he was using to steady me against the swaying of the bus. In the close darkness of our seat, we both went into the same acting that we'd gone through the night before in order to realize our desire-s.
"As I 'slept,' he touched me, now on my leg, now my thigh, so that I wanted to feel him stroking me all over. But at first he only touched, sending tiny stabs of pleasure and a pin-pricking awareness of sex all over my skin. In my mind, I could see how his hands must look on my body-the short, soft hairs on the backs of those hands, the light tan that contrasted with the white shirt cuff that lay against his wrist. I especially liked his fingers, because they were long and gentle, and without the calluses that I'd known as normal for a man's hands. Those fingers now began a delicate stroking of my thigh, and I eagerly spread my legs for him so that he would put his hand against my cloth-covered hot pussy again. He did, softly covering my pussy with his hand, and then pressed harder and harder until, when his fingers starting moving and rubbing me, I was ready to cry out with the wonderful feeling it gave me.