Bus Boy - 3. Chapter 3

A week passed and sadly we haven’t seen each other much. On weekdays, I was busy with work and he spent the weekend away with his family. We stayed in touch, though and we texted each other whenever there was a sports event on TV that we both wanted to watch.

I’m sitting on the bus, expecting him to arrive and he does. There’s a new bruise around his right eye and it has me worried even though the boy is beaming.

“Me and this other guy both jumped for the ball and we bumped,” he explained.

“Fuck, that must’ve hurt.”

“You should’ve seen the other guy. The coach wanted to substitute me but I told him I can play. I’m the top scorer so he let me.”

“Good to hear it but be careful. I need you alive, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“At home… is everything fine?” I ask innocently.

He frowns a bit. “I guess. Why do you ask?”

“I haven’t seen you for a while. Just making sure all is fine, that’s all.”

***

Artem comes over later that evening and jumps at me the moment he sees me. I carry him to the bed and we make out. We didn’t talk about it but we know it’s about to happen. I know that he knows and I know that he knows that I know. It’s obvious from the way we’re doing the foreplay and going gentle on our dicks, saving our energy for the final show.

Then it happens, with him on his back and his legs spread wide in the air. His sexy green socks. I made it very clear I’m not letting him inside my house without them.

“Keep them up like that,” I command and he grabs his ankles, opening himself to me. I lube myself up and lean over him. I grab my hard dick and carefully aim it at his pinkish hole. “Stay still. Like we talked - if it hurts or is uncomfortable, let me know so I don’t hurt you.”

“Uh-huh,” he nods. He’s clearly eager but I can see he’s nervous, too. My dick is above average in every dimension and Artem wouldn’t be the first to not be quite ready for his rite of passage with me.

I observe his face closely as I make the first push. He gasps but it’s more from the surprise than from pain.

“It’s okay,” I comfort him. I watch his Adam’s apple jerk as he swallows.

He doesn’t protest, so I push a few more times and my head enters him. He opens his mouth but only a soft hiss escapes it. I move inside him very gently to get him used to the new sensation. So far, he’s taking it well. Half a minute passes and despite we haven’t done much yet, small droplets of sweat start appearing on his forehead - and on mine.

“Ack,” he grunts as I push further, burying more than a half of my shaft inside him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah… yeah.”

“Okay. Here comes.”

I expect more resistance from his tunnel but suddenly, my dick enters clear waters and before I know it, I’m all the way inside. Artem opens his eyes wide and again it’s more shock than pain because the last few inches enter him almost effortlessly. I stop there for a while and we look into each other’s eyes. I use my left hand - the one that’s not sticky from the lube - to ruffle his hair. He slowly relaxes.

I wink at him. “Ready or not, here I come.”

He says nothing, just closes his eyes and nods vigorously. I’m missing his casual stance and self-confidence. I could really use more clear signals from him telling me that he’s fine. It’s his first time. There’s no pleasure without pain.

I start moving inside him. At first slowly, removing only an inch or two before shoving it back all the way. Artem breaths through his mouth and groans softly, his eyes shifting from our connected groins to my eyes and back. What he lacks in the vocal department, he makes up for with facial expressions. Too bad I can’t yet decipher them all. He’s very focused and tense, that’s for sure, but whether the pleasure transcends the pain, I can’t yet tell.

“It may hurt a little. Squeeze my hand if it’s too much.” I grab his hand and he squeezes it immediately. He’s very nervous and anxious, wondering what I’m about to do. A few seconds later, he contains himself and I feel his soft hand relax a bit. I look him right in the eyes as I slowly pull out of him. I pull out everything but the tip, careful to keep it inside. Then, slowly but surely, I push back inside him all the way.

“Aaaaaaaaah!” he moans and his whole body shudders. At first it startles me, but, for the first time, a soft smile crawls onto his face and his eyes light up with delight. My relief is unspeakable and I smile back. I lean over and kiss him gently on his lips. He needs to know I care for him very, very much. I run my hand through his hair again, careful not to scratch his bruise. And then I start plowing him.

Artem keeps his mouth slightly open and from the corner of his mouth and happy eyes I finally know he’s enjoying the hell out of it. As am I. He feels amazing around me. His dreamy face and sporty, muscled figure are the biggest turn-on to my eyes I could possibly imagine. I can’t understand how lucky I am. It’s the equivalent of doing a cheerleader and somehow he wants to be just with me. He’s still not faking any moans and I really have to work hard to get those heavenly sounds out of him. I’m being gentle but his hands that were touching my chest at first, go down to my hips and motion me to go faster. So I do. And it works.

“Oh fuck… fuck… Rob.”

“Hold on baby, I got you” I say softly, not losing any speed.

We go like that for a few minutes. He’s completely under my control, too busy to process the feelings to show any initiative. The bed starts squeaking as I speed up and I realize I’m giving Artem almost all I got. His mouth opens even wider and I watch as his eyeballs roll upwards.

“Yes… yes… fuck… Aaaah!” Artem screams and cums without touching himself. I’ve been edging myself for a few minutes already so I just speed up a little and fill him with my seed. The mother of all orgasms blinds me and after a few last, long thrusts, I collapse on him. We’re both sweating and panting.

"Artem boy, you are mine now,” I gently touch the bruise on his face and he squints. I can’t let anyone hurt you, my baby. You’ll always be safe in my hands, I promise.

“Rob,” he whispers and I see a single tear escaping his eye. I made my baby happy. I feel accomplished and needed.

He’s ready. My boy Artem is ready.

***

I forgot to tell you. That whole time, I’ve been testing him. After our first time, I was looking for signs of overattachment, jealousy, messing, or teasing - anything childish that I should use as a sign to back away immediately. He passed every test. I don’t want to say he’s all mature. He is childish and he is, well, sometimes, stupid. Like I was a few years ago. Like I sometimes still am today. But our relationship is surprisingly balanced. We both know what we want. He doesn’t call me 20 times a day, he still hangs out with his friends, he’s not making a scene when I tell him I’m not in a mood for sex today (yeah, it happened once). He’s not asking me to be his boyfriend forever and ever and he never said he loved me. Damn, we’re not even calling each other pet names. I feel like I’m in a relationship with a 30-year old. How he manages to be super-excited about me and sex and still keep his distance, I have no idea. I realize I should be more worried about me falling in love with him, not the other way around.

***

From that day, anal penetration enters our everyday schedule and Artem can’t be happier. I can’t be happier. Bus Boy… so amazing! Yeah… after a few weeks, I’m still calling him Bus Boy sometimes. He’s become Bus Boy in my head and even though I love his real name, I love his little nickname, too.

I’ve never said a word to my readers about what happened between us. I told them that I gave up on Bus Boy because he didn’t show any interest and I didn’t want to be that guy who can’t take a hint. Once Artem became real, I didn’t want to share him anymore. As long as he was just some wild fantasy, it felt fun to fantasize with others, exploring different what-if scenarios and unlikely outcomes. Now that he and I are basically building something, I would feel like a traitor sharing him with the outside world.

If I only knew that I was sharing him already.

***

We’re watching the Champions League finals. It’s a big day for both of us because he’s supporting Bayern Munich and I’m cheering for Paris Saint-Germain. We make a bet and whoever wins can demand something special and kinky during our after-match sex. I’m fucking looking forward to it. So much that I have to stop myself from raping Artem at half-time. It’s still 0:0 and we are equally excited about the second half and the sex. We make out and touch ourselves through our clothes, barely able to contain ourselves. We roll off the couch and land on the floor and we don’t bother to climb back up for the second half. The taste of his lips is delicious and arousing beyond explanation. Eventually, I rest against the couch and he nestles in me, allowing me to kiss his neck and bite his ears occasionally. He’s so fucking sexy and we’re so into each other. I never had a fresh relationship this healthy and intense. My life is pretty much heaven on earth right now.

“Fuuuuck!” I yell when in the 59th minute, Kingsley Coman scores a nice header for Bayern.

“Yeeess!!! Yes, yes, yes!” Artem throws his fists in the air, then turns back to me to give me such a fiery kiss that I could sell any soccer club or even my own country to the devil.

The game gets pretty boring as Bayern switches to a more defensive approach, clearly aiming to defend the result. And they manage just that. Artem dances a little cute victory dance after the final whistle and I can’t be happier to have lost.

“You cheated!” I mockingly accuse him, as if he was able to affect the score. I find it adorable that he looks scared there for a while. I plant a kiss on his worried forehead. “Fuck, Artem, I’m just kidding. You won fair and square.”

Our horniness levels go off the charts at that point so we head straight to bed and undress.

“Okay, little cheater, what’s your biggest fantasy?”

“Enter me,” he says.

“That’s it?”

“No, that’s not it. But first, enter me,” he repeats and positions himself on his back. I don’t know what he’s up to but he looks very excited about it.

I grab his red socks - he wore them to match the Bayern colors - and massage them softly for a while before pointing at his hole with my hard dick.

“Oooh, man, so good,” Artem hisses when I impale him. For a while, I forget about our little bet and start making love to him as always. Every day with Artem is perfect but today is fucking exceptional. Me, him, and our little world...

“Hit me,” he says.

I’m a little busy plowing his bum and I don’t register it at first. Or don’t want to register it.

“Hit me!” he says again, this time a little louder.

I’m a little confused but well, a bet is a bet. I release his right foot and gently slap his buttcheek with my palm.

“My face,” he says, “hit me in my face.”

“Come on…”

“I won a bet! Hit me!” he insists.

I know that for some people it would be an ultimate turn-on but it’s not for me. We’re entering very awkward waters. I decide to see if he can be satisfied with just a taste. Ever so slightly, I slap his face.

“Stronger, Rob, please, hit me, do it for me.”

I don’t think he realizes he’s making me very uncomfortable. I know that it’s not the most extreme kink and as long as he doesn’t demand me to mutilate him, it could be acceptable. Somehow, I feel guilty for not being capable of giving the boy what he wants. Okay, I’ll give him a little bit more and we’ll talk about it later.

I slap him again, this time a little stronger but still not strong enough to cause even a little redness on his face. I’m still fucking him and I really wish I could be more turned on by all this.

“Come on, Rob, give it all you got, I can take it!”

I slap him a little stronger and this time there’s a loud slapping sound and when he smiles wildly, I realize that’s my limit. If he asks me to do it harder, I’ll have to stop.

“Punch me, Rob, punch me like a dirtbag. Call me a slut and punch me.”

That’s it. I pull out my dick and sit on the sheets, aghast.

“What?” he looks at me surprised. His feet are still hanging high in the air and his hole is stretched out, hopeful to be filled again.

“I can’t do it, Artem.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t. That’s not my thing. It’s a big turn-off for me. I can’t even start to think about hurting you accidentally, let alone...”

“Rob, you weren’t hurting me. I can take it, really. I like it when someone hits me. You said I can ask you to do anything.”

“Yeah, I know what I said but… wait. Did you say you like it? When someone punches you?"

“Yeah… am I weird?”

“Who in the world punches you?”

“Uhm, guys,” he says and his eyes go wide. He only just realized what he’s said.

“That bruise under your eye. Who did it?!”

***

We still see each other from time to time. Not on the bus, though. I started leaving work early again to lower the risk of bumping into him to the minimum. But we are neighbors. I have a dog and Artem goes out a lot so we do see each other - sometimes even a few times a week. I start to wonder how many times we’d passed each other without noticing before I saw him on that bus for the first time.

“Hi Rob,” he says.

“Hi Artem,” I reply, unable to force a smile. We look into each other’s eyes for a fraction of a second and move on, each in his own direction.

I can’t tell for sure what’s going on in his head but I’ll tell you what I think is going on. I’m good at reading people’s faces and I got to know Artem pretty well.

I think he’s sorry. Not for getting caught; at least not only for that. He’s sorry for wasting his chance. He told me over and over that I was the best. That he’s young and wanted to experiment. He was going to dump them all and be with me. He connected to me so much, he said. He vibed with me more than with his school friends, he said. He respected me more than his father and felt that I cared for him more than his mother. So yeah, I think he’s sorry; for being stupid.

I’m sorry, too. I’m very fucking sorry, make no mistake. The cheating - it hurt, of course. We never said the words or got married so you probably think I should let it slide. But I can’t. The sight of some other guy punching my little boy is too much to process. I know I won’t be able to look at him ever again without seeing that faceless, hairy man hitting him over and over until the boy came, oozing sperm and blood.

I debate with myself whether or not I should have a talk with Artem and ask him to stop doing this. But why would he? It’s not like he could get himself killed or even seriously injured in the process. There are much more dangerous kinks out there and it’s none of my business to tell people to stop being weird. Artem has every right to ask guys to hit him. I’m not his father. I’m just a guy who would never, EVER punch him! And for that, I’m very sorry. I’m sorry for losing something very special.

I try to carry on. The sadness has always had a special effect on me, triggering creativity and appreciation for beauty. I write a lot. I make music and call all my friends and family. It’s a very sad and beautiful period for me.

A few weeks later, I see Artem and he has a brand new bruise on his face. He tries to hide it when he sees me but it’s too late. He doesn’t even say “hi”. It breaks my heart and reopens the slowly healing wound with all brutality. I wonder if he can see my wound as clearly as I see his. At home, I cry. Obsessive thoughts haunt and torment me. I could’ve kept him safe and loved, I say to myself. I could’ve kept him away from all the evil in this world if I just didn’t give up on him. Who am I to judge? Shouldn’t I give him a chance? We were perfect together. Almost perfect.

Finally, I lose the battle. I blame it on my lifestyle. I get a few beers with my friends and when I get home, I break the first rule of dealing with an Ex.

“I miss you,” I text him and cover my eyes with my hand, slowly accepting the path I have chosen to go.

Less than 10 minutes later, he knocks. I let him in. He jumps on me and we hug for a long time. I barely keep it together. When I hear him sobbing, I lose it, too, and we get lost in this warm embrace, crying together and for each other.

“I was so stupid,” he says.

“I was so unfair,” I say.

“I’m a freak. And I cheated on you.”

“I let you go as if you were a pair of old shoes. I don’t deserve you, Artem.”

“I don’t deserve you too, Rob.”

We look at each other and kiss. Very gently. No lust. Only trust, care, and…

“I love you, Artem.”

“I love you too, Rob. You’re the best guy on the planet.”

“I’m so lucky to know you.”

We snuggle in my bed for hours and talk. He confesses everything. He tells me he’s only seen other guys twice during the time we were, uhm, dating. They were happy to punch him and call him names. I tell him about my fears and inhibitions. I tell him how much I care about him and want him to be safe. I tell him I will never, ever find it in my guts to punch him or harm him in any way. He says he knows.

When we finally get into the right mood to make love, we do it as boyfriends.

***

Artem is perfect. My days with him are filled with awesomeness and I can’t believe I almost rejected him. I agreed to slap him sometimes during sex but it’s never strong. I agreed to gag his mouth with my palm during sex. That’s pretty cool. Asserting dominance without hurting. I agreed to slap his ass and pinch his nipples a lot. He promised to never mention punching again.

We watch games, we play tennis. We ride the bus home together. His parents get suspicious about his new friend but turns out back in Ukraine, Artem used to hang out with adults all the time so we get away with it easily. I can’t wait for the boy to be old enough so we can come out to everyone and take our relationship to the next level. After all, we sorted out our differences and so far we are both very mature about it.

We become a strong couple and our first anniversary is tender, loving, and sexy as hell. Artem is a natural sex beast and with experience, he’s become a true master. I let him breed me a few times and it was a nice thing to try but that only reassured us he was the bottom and I was the top.

By some miracle, we manage to keep our little relationship hidden from the entire world. After Artem turns seventeen - and he’s grown to be a slim, muscled hottie - we slowly start coming out to my friends and even some of his. Apart from a few isolated exceptions, we are met with general acceptance. My friends are smitten with the chemistry the two of us have and I’m proud like a punch. Pun not fucking intended. Honest!

When Artem turns 18, he comes out to his parents who are a little less supportive but at least they agree to meet me and they don’t right out dislike me. They come from a very traditional and religious background and I can’t expect them to support the “new” relationship of their youngest son overnight. They are good people.

Shortly after, we move in together and I am sure life can’t get any better.

Until that one day when Artem comes home with guilt in his eyes.

And a fresh, ugly bruise under one of them.

THE END