Shortly after the Setpember 11th terrorist attack against the United States I found myself on a Grayhound bus traveling from Arkansas to Oregon. I was a high school junior and traveling to visit my father. He'd taken ill and word came that this might be my last opportunity to see him.
I decided to travel wearing my ROTC dress uniform. A great sense of pride and patriotism was sweeping the entire country and I'd been caught up in it too. When I'd first stepped onto the bus I'd been applauded as if the people thought I was a soldier. And all throughout the trip I'd been given nods and salutes and smiles. It felt great.
As the bus passed through Kansas a really attractive older woman got onboard and as there were no other seats available she slid in next to me. I nodded, she nodded back but we didn't talk much. As the day turned to night and miles faded behind us I awoke from a short nap to find her crying quietly beside me. I asked her if everything was all right.
That was when she admitted to me that in her youth back in the late 60's she'd been a vocal anti-war critic and she'd spat on returning soldiers and called them baby killers and murdering racist pigs. I sat quietly and listened to her confession. She told me she was so ashamed and wished so could take it all back. Then she reached over and took my hand and squeezed it and thanked me for my service. I didn't understand what she meant at first. And I didn't really know what to say to her.
The whole time she was talking my eyes had kept drifting down to her chest. She had just about the biggest titties I'd seen in real life. And they strained the blouse she wore. The moonlight coming through the bus window illuminated them just enough to make them a big distraction.
As if putting two and two together, she wiped her tears away and smiled a little, embarrassed. She pushed my leg playfully and whispered.
"Oh gosh hon, I'm old enough to be your mother."
I smiled back. "But you aren't my mother."
"True," she grinned. I noticed high color had crept into her cheeks. She was blushing.
I kind of chuckled under my breath and turned back to looking out the window, figuring that was that. But a moment later I felt her hand reach across my leg and onto my crotch and then fumble with the zipper on my trousers. I turned my head slowly and looked down in time to see her slip my cock out.
In the next moment she was stroking it gently, running her thumb tip over the head at the apex of every upstroke. I relaxed back into my seat and closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensations.
Over the next several minutes she gave me the best handjob of not just my young life but my entire life up to this point. I came into her closed fist and she cleaned up with some handinaps she kept in her purse.
She got off in Boise with a light peck on my cheek and another beautiful smile. I never saw her again.