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Thanks to all who have written about the Jenny series. I had no idea it would stir up so much, uh, interest. Rest assured that I am working on Part III, which may or may not be the conclusion – I’ll leave that to my readers. Popular demand is very persuasive.

In the meantime, here’s a little something to hold you over…

Because my car had broken down — yet again — I was about to board a Greyhound bus in Santa Barbara for a one-hour ride to LA to see a U2 concert. Being an impoverished UCSB undergrad at the time, renting a car was out of my price range — too much had already gone into purchasing the 12th row floor seats. Stephanie, my date, lived in Westwood (the Bank of Mommy and Daddy were extremely good to both her and UCLA), so we had arranged for her to pick me up at the Santa Monica station around 4pm that Friday; from there we would drive to the LA Sports Arena. I’d hated buses since I was a kid so I was dreading the experience, but none of my friends were willing or able to loan me a car overnight.

I arrived at the Santa Barbara bus station early, hoping to get a good seat in back. I checked the door assignments and got into the proper queue, where I struck up a conversation with the exceedingly hot redhead in front of aydın escort me. The first thing I noticed was that she was wearing a sheer, loose-fitting, low-cut purple top with no bra. When the light hit just right, I could see her magnificent breasts quite clearly… but she had those pale pink nipples that so many redheaded women do, so I really had to look to discern them. When I looked up and saw that she had caught me doing so, she smiled sweetly with a twinkle in her eye.

Naturally, I took this as encouragement and continued my appreciation of her charms. She, in turn, seemed to be trying to position herself in the light for maximum exposure. A knee-length denim skirt with a matching jacket — slung over her shoulder — and summer sandals made up the rest of her outfit, a look which I have always loved. Pretty soon I was regretting that I already had a date for the show.

She told me that her name was Cara, she was nineteen and had been in town for a modeling job, and was now headed home to LA. We continued talking as we boarded, and to my happiness I saw that the three rear seats were completely empty. I maneuvered us back there and, as my continued good luck would have it, none of the remaining passengers wanted that third rear seat. Before the bus had even pulled out our conversation was getting a bit suggestive. By the time it reached Carpinteria, we were revealing the most unusual places we had each had sex. (Mine was on an empty nude beach on a weekday afternoon; hers was on the diving board of a rooftop swimming pool atop a Hollywood high-rise.) Each of us was becoming quickly aroused; I was squirming and adjusting my shorts, and she was visibly flushed.

I looked into her eyes and expressed my regret that the ride would be so short. Very softly, Cara replied, “Well, we’d better make the most of it then, huh?” As the bus rolled into Ventura, we were making out and feeling each other up underneath her coat. Somewhere between Oxnard and Port Hueneme, she took out my dripping cock and began giving me a most exquisite hand job. With only my pre-come for lube, however, some extra moisture was soon needed. She took a fast look around to see if anyone was watching; satisfied that no one was, she quickly darted her head under the coat.

Immediately I felt her moist lips and velvety tongue engulf my throbbing unit, and I had to suppress a moan. This girl could suck the color out of a marble! With no assistance from her hand and virtually no bobbing of her head, her mouth massaged me right to the edge of a real toe-curler. As the bus rolled past Johnny Carson’s house and on through Malibu she reached into my shorts to cup my balls, and I let loose with a torrent fit to whitewash her tonsils. She took it all hungrily, yet silently.

Only as she surfaced did I see that we had been noticed by the guy sitting one row forward and on the right, in front of the bus’ so-called “restroom”. I gave him a look and a shrug, as if to say, “Hey, brother — you would too, and here’s hoping your day will come…” while the redhead just smiled sweetly at him and wiped a trace of me from the corner of her mouth.

When the bus pulled into the Santa Monica station, it was time for me to depart. Cara, of course, was going on to the downtown L.A. station. I gave her a kiss and said, “I’ll never forget you.”

With a sexy, evil grin she said, “I know.”

I’ll also never forget the look on the guy’s face when, through the window, he saw a stacked blonde (my date) bounce over to me, kiss me and then lead me to the driver’s side of her Corvette. It was a look of pure astonishment. As I climbed in, I winked at him, pointed toward the back seat and silently mouthed, “Go on — talk to her!” He glanced back at Cara, back to me… and then it was his turn to grin.

Maybe that was his day, after all…

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