Interesting Answers to Interesting Questions

On another social media site, one of those where someone asks a question, and another answers it, you have some interesting answers to interesting questions.

What is the most intimate you have gotten with a total stranger?

Most of them are the usual, one night stands and such. But one in particular stood out to me (some details have been fictionalized because I don’t remember them. Also, dramatized for storytelling purposes. So this is based on a true story):

I was riding the bus, heading downtown, when a girl sits down behind me. She has dark brown hair, insane curves, and pale skin like that of freshly fallen snow. She sits down next to a man and starts talking to him. Through the conversation, it is revealed that he is her boyfriend. Then, the boyfriend falls asleep. After I hear his light snores, I feel a pinch on my backside. First lightly, then bigger. A stirring happens in my crotch, an awakening. I realize it is the woman behind me. Her hand crawls it’s way between my legs as if it is a separate entity from her. The stirring grows larger. I look down at her hand. It is small and thin. Her nails are painted with the precision of a factory worker. Bright gold and pink. Her hands are just as pale as her face. I hear a low hiss come from her, like a repressed moan. Then, she grabs my thigh.

“Come back to the bathroom with me,” I hear a whisper say. I follow her back to the single bathroom on the bus. It was too small to comfortably fit both of us, but in the current circumstances, it wasn’t so bad. I was a full foot taller than her and her immaculate features were pressed into my chest. She maneuvered her hands under my shirt and traced them along my spine. The stirring grows so strong it’s almost unbearable. I twist one of my hands to undo the straps on her bra. Her breasts explode outward like fireworks.

As her short shorts slide down, I am reminded of the term “a well oiled machine.” Her body resembles that of a perfectly molded porcelain doll, with movable parts. Tears of pleasure well up between her thighs. The stirring is now so painful that it feels as though I have a knife between my thighs. My pants open up, and we press together. After that, my thoughts are so scrambled that I can only summon one thought:

My wife. Her boyfriend.

But it didn’t make me want to stop. Our hips ground together, and her clothes were a mess of semen, blood, and toilet water. But I could not stop. I was no longer in control of my body. Then came the pullout, like the release of a nuke dropped onto a city. She wriggled back into her clothes and I back into mine. She left the bathroom first and went back to her seat. I waited another three minutes so that it would be suspicious. And then I returned to mine.

I never saw her again.