He Touched Me by Sylvia Hubbard
I was having a bad day. Two weeks from the worst break up of my life, some strange man put his hands up my dress and…Touched me.
I should have moved. I should have been offended, but it felt… good.
Rodney and I hadn’t been sexual in six months. With my master thesis due, work forcing me on overtime I was exhausted. On top of everything, Rodney and I were trying to repair a relationship six years strong, but I found out he had gotten his cousin pregnant.
When I realized he had done this, all he kept saying was, “But it’s my third cousin.” He repeated this phrase as if to justify everything.
Still, my heart loved him, and the familiarity of his lovemaking was like no other. Although, I’d never had anything of much. I’d loved Rodney since ninth grade, and by twelfth, he was begging to be my boyfriend.
So, why’d I let this stranger put his hand up my dress and fondle me on the public bus? Anyone could have seen us, but I didn’t care. How had he made me so wet? So quickly? I blame my promiscuous actions on Rodney! Damn him for breaking my heart. Breaking my moral code. Damn him!
I had made myself that one of a kind girl every guy wanted, but no one could touch. Rodney was the playa playa but he knew he had to grow up to play my games. My mother said I was silly to settle for one man, but how can I take advice from someone who couldn’t keep their legs closed to save their life?
Rodney took me to prom. Not only were we queen and king for the night, but Rodney got on his knees in front of everyone and asked me to be his queen forever. It was every high school girl’s dream and I was living it right in front of everyone. I knew every girl was jealous of me as I accepted his proposal.
He moved in the next day and with my dad’s social security check I got from my father’s passing a year ago, Rodney and I planned to get married in one year. 365 days turned into about 2190 days later and I still was not married but dealing with his trifling ass.
I worked full time and went to school, saving every last dime for our future, while I helped Rodney get a great customer service job. He wasn’t very smart, but he could charm people. He was able to become a manager within two years, with my prodding and help. His job had online testing, and I’d log on as him and take his test on my lunch breaks.
I even did the supervisor’s position test for him. We wanted to move out of my mother’s house. I was almost done with school, and I needed this.
Then I found out about the cheating. Well, my mother found out.
Brought me Rodney’s phone while he was in the shower and showed me all the illicit text exchanges. When Rodney stepped out of the shower, he had two pissed off women glaring at him for answers.
“She was a third cousin.”
What a fool I was! I kicked him out of the house and told him I never wanted to see him again. But the heart wants what the heart wants right?
Rodney took my virginity and could make love to me so good I thought I was going to die. He was always willing to do the work it took to warm me up because I was always afraid of sex. And then he’d ease my clothes off. Warm me up some more and then…
Most times when he made an entrance, I wasn’t wet enough. I was never wet enough, but Rodney said that’s why God made a lubricant. I always wanted to correct him and let him know God didn’t make lubricant, but I knew that would be a mood killer. Rodney hated when I pointed out how stupid he was.
Rodney had to use a lot of lubricants. He’d say I was never wet enough. But he’d work with me. Sweating, panting and straining, he’d work with me, and the lubricant and then I’d come.
Yes, it was a lot of work for a few seconds of heaven, but in the end, it was worth it. I felt no man could make me feel like that. Right? Wrong!
The stranger wasn’t a stranger. I’d seen him on the bus a couple of times before in his bowtie, pristinely ironed tweed suit and thick leather messenger bag.
He had to be about twenty-five, African-American geeks. That’s what I determined. He was probably socially outcast in high school and decided to lift some weights, go to school for coding and lived a life of a dedicated introvert.
Whenever he was on the push at least once, He would push his thick-rimmed glasses up using his middle finger as if to say, “F you muhfugs! But in this prissy voice. That’s what I imagine his voice sounded.
He never talked, and he only rode the bus for a good ten minutes before jumping off. After throwing Rodney out, my life seemed to go downhill. The very next day, my car overheated, and the repairs were more than I could handle so I had to start catching the bus.
I saw the stranger the second day of my bus ride. He made eye contact with me, narrowed those pensive big hazel cinnamon eyes at me and then looked away.
I could give a rat’s ass about him. I was still upset about Rodney. My mother called and said Rodney came by to see if I needed a ride to work. “Fuck him,” I said to her and hung up. People looked at me on the bus, but I didn’t care. The stranger didn’t look at me. I still didn’t care.
A week later and trying to avoid Rodney like the plague, I caught the earlier buses so I didn’t see the stranger.
“Please baby, please!” Rodney begged as I waited for my bus to come. I hadn’t gotten out the house in time, and he’d caught me. Followed me up to my bus stop in his car, begging for forgiveness.
“I swear it was all a mistake and we can try again. I swear. Just let me take you out for dinner.” “Fine,” I said because other people at the bus stop started to listen to our conversation. “Just go!”
I was too proud to ask him to take me to work. Rodney was going to have to do a lot to get me back again. Dinner turned to lunch on the weekends and then more dinner dates. He started acting like an adult again, but I still wouldn’t let Rodney move into the house. He was staying with his parents.
Two weeks later, I finally gave him consent to move back. We were going to plan a honeymoon before marriage, that night, but I got stuck at work. The next day I was to present my thesis at school, so I told Rodney to go ahead and move in.
My mother seemed okay with this. I let them both know right after work, I was just going to head to school and then see Rodney when he came home from work.
But my boss told me he didn’t need me for a whole shift, and I could go. My feet ache, but I didn’t call Rodney to come pick me up from work. I caught a cab and quietly came into the house just wanting to snuggle up to my man for a couple of hours before he had to go to work.
I didn’t even need to be at school until later so I dumped my heavy school bag, purse, and jacket so I could just run out of the door. I took a shower in the basement, so I wouldn’t disturb anyone, put on a long summer dress and tiptoed up to my room where I knew Rodney would be.
I opened the door quietly excited that I would get some good loving from my man until I realized… my mother was getting his loving.
Rodney was pile-driving into my mother so hard, her juices were shooting all over the place. Horrified disgusted and appalled I screamed at the top of my lungs. They both froze like they were doing a porn mannequin challenge, and then Rodney jumped out of bed. “Baby…”
I ran down the stairs, out of the house, and like autopilot, I ran to the bus stop. I had grabbed my things, jammed my feet into my clog work shoes and most likely looked a hot mess on the crowded bus.
No seats available, I squeezed toward the back door of the bus to see Rodney chasing the bus, wearing just the underwear I’d just given him for his birthday in May, screaming my name, saying “Please! Please! Please!”
Fuck him! I told myself wiping the tears away.
My plan: to sit at school, present my final thesis and never go back home again. I was finished with school, the crappy job I had was only to save up until I finished school and was never going to talk to my mother ever again.
Today was going to be a new day for me. Again, I wiped more tears from my cheek, but even then my eyes were filling up with more waterworks. The stranger pushed through the thick swarm of people and stood beside me. I pressed close to the back door until the bus driver warned not to, so I was forced to press towards the stranger. I was embarrassed. He had to have seen I was crying.
I turned my back to him and held onto the pole. He put his hand above mine on the pole. He was a head taller than my five-foot height.
There was a sheet of metal dividing up from people sitting and with his back to everyone else, even the people standing were shielded. It was the reason I had stopped in this space. It gave me the privacy to cry, but this stranger was interrupting my misery.
When the bus rocked, I rocked but the stranger’s body was like steel. He didn’t move. His rough tweed jacket rubbed roughly against my shoulders and for a moment I forgot about everything and let the tweed moved over my skin. It was nice to be touched by just anything.
Then his hand was on my thigh. I could have stopped him. I should have stopped him. I didn’t. After a moment, his palm moved up under my summer dress, and he was greeted by absolutely no other resistance. I felt his foot press against mine to move my legs apart. I did!
His hand moved around to the front of my thigh and finally rested on the entrance of my womanhood. The tweed’s constant rubbing distracted my senses enough until his index finger pressed between my slit.
His touch was gentle, not insistent like Rodney’s and he didn’t have long nails. The stranger plied his index and middle finger between my folds and in a faint circular motion began to play with my most sensitive place. I had to press the back of my head against his chest and bit on my lip.
Damn, it felt good.
I gripped the pole hard. His other hand moved down to cover my hand. It was intimate, but no one else knew what was going on. Eight times. I counted the circular motions because each one felt better than the last, and then he pressed deeper into the folds where he fingered me deeply with two fingers while his thumb continued to rub my clitoris.
A bursting sensation exploded on the inside of me. I had to look down to make sure my stomach had not popped open. That had not happened, but I could feel something running down my legs.
Had I peed?
He moved his hand away abruptly from the pole and pulled the bell. His other hand moved up, and I could hear him feeling them. I blushed.
“You smell like candy,” he whispered.
And he didn’t have a high-pitched nasal voice as I had imagined. It was low and deep. The door to the bus opened, and he jumped out leaving me wanting more. He looked back and looked down at my legs. He saw the dribble, and he smiled. The doors closed, and the driver took off. What the hell just happened?
He touched me!
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