[FM] I sat beside this guy on the bus, and he became my slut therapist.

Before I start writing this, I want whoever reads this to know that I’m not a slut.

This isn’t a huge statement by me, and I don’t want to start a big conversation about it, but I have to put that down for my own good. I feel the need to say it, and I guess that means that I’m not done healing, but it’s just a few sentences, and not a big paragraph, and I think that means that I’m on my way.

I got on the bus a few years ago when I was still living in the city, and this guy sits down beside me. Doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say anything. Pulls out his phone.

I don’t know how I came to this decision, but the bus starts going and I decided that this guy was going to see my tits. We’re in the back row, and I’m scrolling through photos of myself. I’ve got no clothes on, some clothes, tits, ass, pussy. We’re not fuckin’ around. He’s not even looking either, but he does at first. Like, he glanced at the first photo, but then he’s glued to his own phone because privacy, and that’s not his to look at, and if some lady wants to get on the bus and scroll her own nudes in public, that’s her business, I guess.

And I wanted him to see these pictures. I wanted him to see my fuckin’ nipples, and my bush, and my bra that I bought recently, and I wanted his dick to get hard, and he’s still not looking. I don’t have an endless supply of photos, so I scroll all the way back and start over and boy gets the hint, so we’re golden.

I lost my shit. Like, I was calm, I guess, but when I knew he was looking, my pussy went off the deep end. Everything was fucked.

I’m just surprised that it worked. I wanted him to see my fuckin’ tits, and he did, and there was no bullshit. I gave him the phone, he gave it back, and then he got off the bus.

And I didn’t know the guy’s name. Fuckin’ …

I’ve had three boyfriends, one was in high school and I dumped him after a week so it doesn’t count, and I slept with the other two, and they’ve seen my tits, and I still talk to them. Other than that, my mother has seen my tits, and my friend Rachael, and as far as I know, that’s it.

But then I get off at my stop and I’m walking home and I’m like, “Holy fuck, that guy saw my tits and my pussy. He’s been fuckin’ briefed on the whole thing. Dude knows where all the curves go.”

I went home, had a shitty orgasm and was not satisfied. Went to work the next day. I’m fine, but I’m still lit up.

Queue me going to the bus station next week on the way home from work, same day, same seat. Dude comes up and sits beside me, and I’m melting into the universe, looking out of the window.

Queue me the next day after that sitting in the bus terminal, it’s me and some lady on the other end, and this guy walks in. I pull some insane confidence out of my ass, and I’m like, “You like my tits?”

He goes, “Yeah. Those were some pretty good pictures you showed me.”

After that, it’s easy. Dude thinks I’m stunning somehow.

We get talking, transpo is late because it’s ass. He tells me he was going downtown to shop and get coffee, but he can do that another day, invites me back to his place. I tell him that I just got out of an abusive relationship and that I’m not looking for sex. I tell him that I was horny and I wanted him to see my body and get hard, and I wanted him to think about it and jerk off, and I wanted to jerk off, and there wasn’t much there otherwise.

He says, “Okay, I understand.”

We go back to his place anyways. I smoke a joint. I eat a poptart. I pet his cat.

We start talking more — I guess I started the conversation both of these times — and I’m like, “It really turns me on that you saw those photos. I don’t want to mislead you, like I want to be really clear about this and what I said earlier, but I went home that night and came so hard.”

I’m lying. I tried to make it good, obviously. I didn’t just get out of an abusive relationship either, but he eats this shit up.

“That’s good,” he says.

I take another hit from his joint. “I like showing you my body, and I want to keep it like that. Like on this level, and that’s it.”

I pass him the joint, he’s laying on his bed against the wall. He takes a huge hit and says, “Do you have other photos you’d like to show me?”

My hearts pounding. It’s fuckin’ sink or swim time, but I always sink, so I say fuck it, and I say, “Nah, just the real thing this time,” and I pull my shirt up. In my head, I thought I’d flash him, and then flash him again, but my top comes off and it’s on his floor, and then my shorts are off, and my underwear, and he’s lookin’ at my body.

“Wow,” he says. He smokes the joint.

Even now, after several years, there are moments that I can still feel. Like, I feel all of them. If I think about it hard enough, I can still remember how monumental this guy was for me, but the shit he said to me made me feel like a goddess.

I never felt uncomfortable around him ever. I would go to work, and I was getting my shifts cut, and I was volunteering at the library because I wanted something to do, but I was still only working like twenty hours with the two combined, and this was somehow the first summer, I think, of my adult life where I wasn’t working at least thirty, so I spent a lot of time on the bus, and because of our work schedules, I’d see him, not super often, but I’d see him at predictable times, and I’d show him the pictures that I took over the last few days.

I tried to make it seem like I was taking pictures for myself, and not for his approval, but I don’t think it worked. I guess I was taking pictures for myself, and I was sharing them for both of us, or I don’t know. I don’t know.

But I would model for him. I would dig through my old clothes, and I’d have plans to throw them out because they didn’t fit, but I’d still take a picture first. And I’d buy new clothes, and show him. I’d try on all sorts of lingerie at the store, and take pictures, and not buy them.

And then this one day, I’m over at his place, and he’s like, “I want you to try this bra on, and then I want to see you take it off.”

So, I’m like what the fuck?

He’s got a girlfriend, I guess. Unless he’s crossdressing, and that’s fine, too. Do what makes you happy. I just figured it would be one of those two, so I go to his bathroom, switch out my bra for the one he gave me, and it fits pretty okay. I’m used to my new bras fitting super well, but the one he gave me to try on is fine. Doesn’t match my underwear at all, but I go out, and to him, I’m on fire. I’m like the sun but he can’t look away or some shit.

I felt like it, too. When I was with my first two boyfriends, I felt like a five, honestly. Like I wasn’t atrocious, but I wasn’t ultra pretty, and we had sex, and it was good. They came in my pussy, and I enjoyed it. But I never felt like I was the prettiest thing walking.

But this guy. This fuckin’ guy. I felt like I had this guy on a leash. I don’t like being dom with guys, and I didn’t feel like I was the dom here, but I had guy’s attention wherever I wanted it, and all I had to do was get on the bus at the right time and knock on his door.

And he’s like, he’s already got a girlfriend, I thought, but I wanted that same feeling I had when we got on the bus together that first time, so I asked him to take his pants off, and I sucked his dick. I’m not proud to say this, but I wanted to be his slut. I didn’t even word it like that in my head, but I remember thinking *I want his fucking dick. That’s my dick.*

I’m a good girl in my relationships, and in public, but when I’m in this dude’s apartment, I’m a slut, and whatever happens is for me, the slut, and I’m comfortable with that. I don’t know what I’m doing with the rest of my life, but I come here, and I smoke a joint, chill the fuck out, make sausages with this guy. We watch Trailer Park Boys, I try on his girlfriend’s clothes and suck his dick.

And that’s how it works, simple as that. Bless this fuckin’ guy for never making any snide remarks also. He could have, and I don’t think it would have been rude. I told him that I wanted to show him my nudes, and that’s it. I don’t want sex. Then I’m showing off his girlfriend’s shit because I look better in them, I suppose, and I’m putting his cock down my throat.

But he never did, and it stayed like that for the whole time I knew him.

I felt fuckin’ awful the one day I came over because we were talking, him this time, and he lets me in on the fact that his girlfriend passed last year, and he has her clothes hanging in his closet because what the fuck else are you supposed to do when you lose your partner?

So, he’s not cheating, he’s just a dude that gets horny, and I’m not going to ask questions, but I put on his late girlfriend’s clothes and that gets him off. I felt stupid, but I remember thinking, and there were times where I’d come over, he’d ask me to try on an outfit, but then he wants me to take it off. He’s baked, so I think he’s vegged out, but he’s fuckin’ sad. I get my stuff on and leave and I think everything is fine.

I come over the week after and mix and match different things and show myself off. I don’t know how much I hurt this guy, honestly, but this whole thing lasted for however many months, and we kept a routine.

The routine was always some mix of me showing him the pictures I had taken, me showing off an outfit, me taking off the outfit, and then sucking his dick.

Holy fuck, the dick was incredible. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but dude. The fuckin’ *dick*. I was in this kind of post-relationship state where, for a while, I didn’t even consider fucking him, but I also never saw myself wanting to share anything more than pictures. I looked forward to sucking this guy’s dick like it was my birthday and it came twice a year. If I got out there twice in a week, or three times, and I got to put that cock in my mouth, fuck me. I had dreams about this guy’s dick.

Okay, I might have been a little dom with this guy. As soon as I was able to get my lips on his shaft, I was looking him in the eyes. He never fucked my face, but he would shake a little when he came, and I would grab his legs, or his ass. At first, I enjoyed that having his dick in my mouth meant I was fine and he was losing my mind, but after a while, I realized that we were both losing our minds, and it was just more insane for him.

It was a game for me. I’d put on a pair of shorts and a top after work, and I’d think

*Is this better than the last outfit? If I’m wearing this, and I tease him, and I put my hand on my hip, is he going to get harder than last time? Is he going to cum faster than last time?*

I wanted to drain him every fucking chance I could, and I did my best, but it didn’t always work. He would apologize for that, but I’d be like, “Dude, we’re stoned, eating garbage food and I’m making you feel good.” Even if he didn’t cum, his dick was fucking sloppy by the time I was done, and I always decided where I wanted him to cum. I decided almost everything, to be honest. If I took his dick out and told him that today he was going to cum on my face, or my chest, that’s where it would be.

I think … I think being a slut means I know absolutely zero about this guy, but I do know that his favourite place to cum is in my mouth. Order after that is probably chest, face, and bush.

No matter what, I would go to his bathroom after I was done with him, and there would be bits of cum or saliva on my lips and chin. I’m the slut. I make the decisions.

For a while, I thought about fucking him. I really thought about fucking him. I thought about him going down on me as well, but it didn’t feel appropriate. I don’t know if that sounds odd, but for me, it was a controlled environment, and he was on for the ride, and I wanted the ride to be me sharing my body and him offering his dick, which I would clean for him Maybe this sounds odd also, but we still had not exchanged names, and I wanted it like that. I never said anything, but maybe it was unwritten and agreed upon. When you go for therapy, you don’t say, “Yo, sup. Yo what up.” You say, “Hello, doctor.”

There was one time, though, one single time.

I was in a fuckin’ mood and I was a hormonal mess, and my pussy was a mess, and I wanted to cum. I wanted to cum so fucking insanely bad and so I sat on his chair, he was on the bed, and I rubbed my pussy and made all the noise in the world for him.

But it was only one time and I mean, I guess that’s fair. After that day, I came back, still the slut, and cleaned his dick. Clean routine, in and out. He came on my clit that day.

And then, unfortunately, I stopped seeing him. We continued for a while longer and then he stopped getting on the bus, or he did a good job of avoiding me, and he didn’t answer his door. Something. And I want to say that I’m disappointed, and that me not seeing him is unfortunate, but I don’t like long goodbyes.

You see a doctor to get better, and then you stop seeing the doctor, or you stop seeing the doctor as much. You give the customer their food and then they eat their food, you know.

For me, I …

There are a lot of things that I rewrote for myself. I moved to a different city, and I have a different job in a different field. I’m doing about as well as I was a few years ago, but I hold myself a little better. Kind of. Maybe.

But now, when I’m in bed at night, I’ve got lots of material. Lots of good material. And I’m trying to make myself cum, it doesn’t take an hour. When I’m in a good mood, I can get off in thirty seconds if I focus and I think about how it felt to have that dick pulsing in my mouth.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/cbnr6p/fm_i_sat_beside_this_guy_on_the_bus_and_he_became