1. What I Think About When I Masturbate - Part 6 - The Number 38


    Date: 10/12/2015, Categories: First Time, Author: Quiteshygirl, Rating: 12, Source: LushStories

    Another sunny Monday morning in May, and I am sitting in the small, wooden bus shelter down the remote country lane, about a quarter of a mile from our farm house in rural Dorset, waiting for the college bus. Its 7.00am, and I’m still half asleep as I sit on the wooden plank seat, wearing my white vest top and pink skirt, my rucksack on the seat beside me. I’m the only person who gets on the bus at this stop because no one else in the area goes to the same college. A couple of minutes after I sit down, I hear the sound of a vehicle coming down the lonely lane. I look through the small window in the side of the shelter and see an old red car driving towards me. To my surprise, rather than drive past, it slows and pulls into the small lay-by just before the bus shelter. I watch a man get out of the battered old car. He has grey hair, I guess he's in his mid to late fifties. He's tall and wearing a tweed jacket, blue shirt and gold corduroy trousers, with brown shoes. He locks the car door and walks to the small bus shelter and, stepping inside, gives me a smile. “Good morning," he says. "A lovely one, isn’t it?” He sits down on the seat. He is well spoken, an upper class accent. “Hello. Yes, it’s nice,” I reply. I’m slightly puzzled. In all the time I’ve been going to college, I have never seen anyone else at the bus stop at this time of the morning. We sit it silence for a few moments. “Are you off to school,” he suddenly asks, looking at my rucksack. “Well, yes... college, ...
    actually.” He nods. “Ah yes, of course. College. I’m waiting for the number 38 to Dorchester. It's cheaper to catch the bus than drive in and pay for parking the car all day.” Another silence, and I look out of the side window, feeling a bit uncomfortable, hoping the bus will arrive soon. It was often late. “My niece was at university in Manchester,” he says. I nod in response. “In fact, you look a lot like her. How old are you?” I give him a nervous look. “Well... I’m nineteen.” He smiles. “Yes, she had the same colour hair as you. Maybe a bit shorter than yours. And dark brown eyes like yours, too. She was a pretty girl.” I shift in my seat, feeling a bit anxious. He seems like a nice man but, at the same time there, is something a little strange about him. “Oh... I see,” I say, trying not to encourage him. I look out down the lane but there is no sign of the bus yet. Please hurry up! We sit in silence again. I stare out of the window but I am aware of him moving about on the seat. When I glance around, I discover, to my horror, that he is sitting with his legs stretched out. His penis and testicles are exposed, poking out through the open zip of his corduroy trousers. He is slowly rubbing his growing shaft with one hand, pulling back his foreskin to reveal a glistening, wet head. He doesn’t say anything, or even look at me, but simply sits and plays with himself in silence, almost in a world of his own. I gasp in shock, and stare in stunned silence, hardly able to move or ...
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