The boys on the bus

What do you do on a long ride home from school? If you're a bad boy, you beat off in the back seats. I wanted to be one of the bad boys. This was a long time ago and I've forgotten just about every name.

The baddest of the bad boys we'll call Wayne (because I've wholly forgotten his name). Curly hair, narrowed eyes, and a scar on his lip. He was a thirteen year-old tough and he instigated the whole thing. He always sat all the way in the back. I sat nearer the front.

One day, I realized that his rhythmic motions could only mean one thing: he was beating off on the bus. When enough seats were emptied, he was taking out his cock and stroking out a load. I started sitting further back, even though I knew my presence was unwelcome. It was enough that as he walked past me to get off the bus I knew that he had blasted out a load that was now soaking into his underwear. This was fodder for my after school masturbation session.

At the time, I was doing it three times a day. I'd beat off quickly before my morning shower. I'd beat off again when I got home from school (either in the bathroom or in my bedroom) and finally I'd beat off before getting to sleep. After I realized Wayne and his friends were beating off on the bus, I started wondering about the details. What did his cock look like? How did he do it? I started sitting further back despite the grim stares.

Due to my persistence, I managed to figure out that whichever one was doing it would drop his pants and underwear past his knees, plop his bare butt on the seat, hike his shirt up, and have at it. Eventually, I worked up the courage to walk back there and say, "I know what you're doing. You're mastrabating." That's not a typo. I remember mispronouncing the word. It didn't matter. To these guys that was way to technical. They were beating off.

I said I would do it too and I got to watch as Wayne did what I knew he had been doing. This was a first for me and I was aroused and frightened at the same time. What if the bus driver figured out what we were doing. I did, after all. (I've since concluded that he knew and figured that no one was being hurt or offended.) Wayne shot a load onto his belly, mopping it up with his t-shirt. Both his t-shirt and briefs were kinda gray. I doubt any cum stains were going to matter anyway.

A few days later, I made good on my promise. Wayne wasn't there, but others reminded me it was my turn. Down with the pants, the vinyl seat of the bus cool on my butt. I was probably hard before I finished opening my pants. I knew the protocol and that I had a limited time before my stop.

I enjoyed being watched as I stroked myself. First time for an audience. Pretty soon, I tensed up and shot my second load of the day. I wiped myself up on my underwear, planning to change them when I got home.

I figured after that I'd be part of the gang. Nope. Things had escalated but I wasn't welcome. Wayne had somehow convinced Mike to blow him. I didn't see much of it, since a classmate who particularly disliked me kept hitting my head whenever I tried to see. Mike came up with a very red face. Wayne's face went red near the end. I assume he blew a load in Mike's mouth, but all I knew was that I had taken enough pokes to the forehead for the day.

The end of the school year brought an end to that. The next year, I wasn't going to be taking that bus. From then on, I walked to school. No more beat-off sessions in the back of the bus for me.