momentary distractions


it’s the little transgressions that sometimes bring, for me, the deepest flares of desires. a passing glance, a mistaken brush… hopefully this evokes the mood of exploiting that ever so slightly.

_________

hot, hot heat engulfs those on the bus.
every window cracked, every jacket removed, but still the swelter wears on.
the bus rumbles along the blazing city streets, lurching in and out of stops, constantly upheld by construction crews struggling with upgrades plaguing the town. stagnation is the order of the day and exhaustion seems inescapable, universal.
the redhead in the pink tank top exhales wearily in her outward-facing bus seat and rolls her head around, stretching her neck. looking down, she studies her bare arms. beads of sweat cling to her. she smooths the moist beads along her forearm, then changes songs on her mp3 player.
her legs are damp with sweat, like the rest of her. a warm breeze blows in from the windows, causing her inner thighs to tingle slightly. hoping for more of the same, she half-stands, reverses her crossed legs, and shimmies her floral miniskirt back down before resuming contact with the sticky vinyl seat.
she glances up, still shifting herself, and catches him staring at her. she peers over her light sunglasses at him: sexy, full lips, thick dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin… and a wedding band. she looks at the band and then his eyes.

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he keeps her gaze, as if dominating her with his eyes, and twists the ring slowly around his finger, sliding it half off before putting it back in place. he presses his wide strong hands flat against his seersucker pants, letting them slip sideways slightly, each inching slightly lower on his inner thigh, as he lustfully looks her over.
her lips are slightly upturned with interest now. she pushes her sunglasses higher on the bridge of her nose. she subtly runs her tongue over her teeth with her mouth slightly open as she traces a finger under the strap of her tank top down towards her sweaty breast. she looks back to the man across the aisle.
he shifts in his seat, inhaling sharply. he eyes her, biting on his lower lip, his irises as dark as his imagined intentions. with his fingers, he makes repeated strokes along his inner thigh.
breaking their gaze and glancing down, she understands his motions. she knows what those fingers would be doing to her if they were inside her right now. what she would be doing.
she brings a fingertip to her lips and nibbles playfully. her full pink lips encase the tip perfectly. she nibbles her nail and he stares hungrily as she begins to further toy with him, subtly flicking her tongue lightly back and forth over her tip with serpentine skill. all the while, she gazes tauntingly at him.
glancing around, noticing no one seems wise to them, he picks up his leather attache and places it over his lap, where one hand remains resting atop his stiffening member, and he shifts himself awkwardly, having lost himself in the beads of sweat clinging in her cleavage, trickling down, and down…

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he’s fascinated by her pale breasts bouncing with the rough ride of that bus over the unfinished roads. he imagines that this is how she would look riding him — sweating, jiggling, wearied, still wanting, but wasted by the heat.
he looks at her, that desire playing in his mind, when his head dips weakly to the side and drops as he remembers that small matter of his life.
he glances down at his left hand spread flat over the black leather case, the gold ring gleaming on his olive skin. his face clouds in disappointed resolution. he sighs and smiles sadly at her, extending the ring finger and the band, flicking the gold almost derisively with his thumbnail.
she shrugs indifferently and smiles. she mouths the words, β€œmy stop,” as she reaches up and pulls the bell cord.
she stands and smooths her crumpled sweat-dampened miniskirt down her bare thighs. she dips her sunglasses and winks coyly at the man and goes.
the doors close.
the man turns around and stares through the pane, watching the redhead swagger down the sidewalk, as if she even remotely senses the damage she’s done.
he sighs, leans his head back, closes his eyes, and under the attache, he rubs… imagining a different kind of cord in her hands, a different kind of release, a different kind of life.

11 thoughts on “momentary distractions

  1. Hermes

    And he will impassionately fuck his wife later that night while visions of sweat-dampened miniskirts frolick through his head.

  2. scribe called steff

    Then that’s a shame for both the wife and Miss Miniskirt.

    Tsk.

    One should never fuck impassionately.

  3. chunu

    Wow, yet again. This one actually hit a bit closer to home than your other posts Steff because –

    a) I have been on hot sweaty buses, with the occasional hot girl flaunting herself;

    b) I completely understand the concept of forgetting about your ‘real life’ around a particularly attractive person of the opposite sex – last time that happened was just a couple of weeks ago, and boy am I in the dog box for it LOL;

    c) I noticed today at work when talking to a couple of my (female) workmates, I flick my tongue across my teeth sometimes when I am smiling.

    That word flaunting in (a) – reminds me of a time in an Istanbul hostel where a girl got off, under a blanket, right, in front, of me. (blush)

    Oh, and if only I was six degreed from the New York Times – big grin here for ya, and surprisingly nothing sexual about one of the grins in here for once πŸ™‚

  4. scribe called steff

    chunu…

    thanks. awesome. i was wondering if i’d gotten the married male’s psyche down right. i wasn’t sure.

    as much as i like to think i understand men better than a lot of women i know, i still find y’all very mysterious sometimes, particularly the married types.

    this is also the line i want the blog to follow, more seductive fiction. the sex accounts (and damien’s more fiction than fact on some levels) bore me creatively.

    this and kissy-kissy really, really made me pleased with the outcome. and that’s all i’m after. a little pride, a little satisfaction. this is a writing exercise, nothing but.

    if you all get your rocks off in the process, then so much the better.

    but for me, it’s the creativity. so, yeah, now i think i know where i want to take this, away from sex and more into seductive erotica, the human psyche, desire, unrequitted love, etc.
    ____
    toying with the coworkers — so fun, but so dangerous.

  5. chunu

    Yeah, I agree, creativity and writing style are the musts on any blog, let alone an erotic one (won’t class yours as sex just yet Steff, is more adults only in general than sex in specifics).

    I am a big fan of Girl With One Track Mind, but hardly get my ‘rocks’ off to her posts anymore – for me it is more being witness to a woman’s mind, and one that isn’t shy about her sexuality, that keeps me coming back for more.

    The Damien and J cycles in your blog do get me off when I think about them (I try not to misbehave RIGHT in front of the computer screen), but this bus one especially you have the set up and style down perfectly, more arousal to the brain than anywhere else – of course, that is meant in the best possible way…

    All the best, and hope this is going three months down the track (45% of blogs aren’t, according to the statistics).

    A regular commenter πŸ™‚

  6. scribe called steff

    i think you commented in response to my first attempt at a comment, in which i tipped my hand, musing i didn’t know how long this would last.

    i deleted it for that reason. now these people know. heh.

    i’ll try to keep it up, but i expect my postings to slow to 2 or 3 times a week pretty quickly.

    i’ve had a couple things kicking around and still do, but i don’t like having a stockpile of posts… i like the pressure to create. let’s just see if i can respond to it when it arises.

    (thanks again for the comments, though. it’s nice to know it is indeed effective when you’re taking a creative departure.)

  7. bullish1974

    my first time to comment here and my sweet jesus, this blog is so revealing! i totally need to catch up!

    btw, you should really publish. you’re anais nin in the making.

  8. scribe called steff

    hey, hon, thanks.

    nice of you to say. now i’m wondering what way you mean “revealing” in.

    as for publishing, thanks. really. i’m screwing up the courage as i type. i’m debating telling my boss tomorrow that i quit… and really going after it all.

    it’s freaking me out. but i think it’s time.

    as for anais… now that’s a compliment. i haven’t read her work in years and i don’t remember it impressing much on me, since it was too … something. i don’t know.

    but i have a huge respect for her. huge.

    and i dream of one day having some kind of power literary/sexual relationship like she and henry miller had. what a legendary love affair. like only writers could do it.

    sigh.

    (i must say, when a guy asked me what kind of writing i did earlier today, saying “erotica” sure gave him a cute little grin. i might start enjoying this gig.)

  9. chunu

    All us guys do cute little grins when certain words come out of women’s mouths πŸ™‚ But glad that you were getting attention in real life, as opposed to us net freaks πŸ™‚

  10. Grover

    You take the last seven (almost eight) years’ worth of abject frustration in my life, and condense it into one painfully erotic vignette. Again with the death by chocolate! πŸ™‚

  11. scribe called steff

    chunu — yeah. i’m really bad at MEETING new guys, but once i do, i’m fairly lucky. we’ll see what happens. i have a couple cute lusties i’ve written about new classmates i’ll be posting, but i want more comments on this post first. πŸ™‚ (from NEW people, i mean. ha!)

    grover — ha. thank you. πŸ™‚ yeah, that one’s a departure for me, so i’m enjoying the feedback a lot.

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