Bus
Today I took a bus all the way to central Hove. It was a very slow and hot bus. There was this fit lad sat diagonally opposite me, with neat, cropped hair, and fetching blue eyes. His shirt was unbuttoned and hanging loose, disclosing his trim, bronzed body. There was a crispy white patch above his navel, which was probably peeling, sunburnt skin, but looked suspiciously like dried, flaking cum. His jeans were tight, perhaps too tight, or maybe he was flirting, because he pulled them down a bit to reveal an extra couple of inches of smooth midriff. I groaned audibly and felt my gonads changing gear. Is this wrong? He must have been thirty years younger than me. Have I evolved into a dirty old man?Next time I shall walk.
Racist?
Is it racist to call someone “Scottish”?
Today I took a bus all the way to central Hove. It was a very slow and hot bus. The driver was a trainee, chaperoned by an instructor. One bus stop was obstructed by a badly parked car. The bus halted by the side of the car. The car driver wanted to pull out, but was blocked in. He made some comments to the instructor. The instructor retorted with “You’re Scottish. That explains why you’ve no brains”. That sounded wrong, but certainly didn’t justify what happened next. The doors closed. The bus moved on. At the next stop, the car driver was waiting. He advised the instructor that he was a “fucking racist cunt”. This seemed like overkill of almost Israeli proportions.
Next time I shall walk.
Last modified: Monday, June 15th, 2026 at 3:31pm
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