Missing the Bus
Posted: Sat Jan 11, 2025 9:15 pm
New Year’s Resolution: Post more here. As an antidote to the cold, miserable weather on both sides of the pond, a story set in summer. I hope you enjoy.
Missing the Bus – Part One
Stagecoach Bus Company has a lot to answer for. They weren't responsible for what happened, of course. Dave and Eddie were, mostly Dave. And I still can't believe how cruel those girls can be, especially after a few drinks to dull the conscience and loosen the inhibitions. But if they hadn't cancelled that 9:40 bus none of this would have happened.
You see, it was Betty's birthday on Wednesday and to celebrate she asked all our group of friends, all of us who'd grown up together on the Beveridge Estate in the Eastknowle area right on the edge of town, for a night out on Friday.
We met early at Route 66, a copy of the Hard Rock Cafe in the big town fifteen miles away for a meal, many of us straight from work. But we wanted to be back at 'The Beveridge' pub, our local, well before closing time in the reasonably well-founded hope of a lock-in. For those who don't know, the legal closing time is eleven p.m., after which the doors would be locked, the lights in the front room extinguished and we'd all retreat to the back bar and Bob and Carol would bring out the ashtrays. What smoking ban? If you care about the law what are you doing here after hours?
So we left Route 66 about 8:30 walked a couple of hundred yards and caught the 8:40 back to our town, arriving at 9:25. That bus doesn't go to Eastknowle so we walked around the corner to have a smoke and wait for one that does. I opened the Stagecoach app on my phone to see if it was on time. It was cancelled! No reason given, just cancelled. Next one 10:40. I could walk it in a bit over half an hour if pressed, but with half-drunk girls in high heels it was probably quicker, and certainly easier, to catch the next one. It should still get us to the Beveridge before eleven so that's what we decided to do.
Which left us with a bit over an hour to kill. Near where the buses stop there's a big Weatherspoons pub on the corner of High Street and Duke Street. Cheap beer and a big garden behind it, much of it covered and equipped with patio heaters. It's a popular venue and always crowded but we managed to get a couple of tables in the garden. Near the side gate into Duke Street and not under cover but it was a nice evening so that didn't matter.
The trouble started a bit after ten. Two young men walked in through the side gate. I didn't know them but Dave seemed to know one of them. “Griggsey!” he called out.
One of them looked our way and didn't look thrilled to see Dave. The other said “I'll get the drinks in then. I'm spitting feathers. Two 'til ten is the worst shift in this hot weather. Lager for you, right?” and headed inside to the bar.
Dave approached the unfortunate 'Griggsey' with a leer. “I haven't seen you since you left Keating's. How's it hanging, mate?” He grabbed drunkenly at the front of the guy's trousers. I know what you're probably thinking but if so you're wrong. Dave isn't gay, just crude, and he finds that kind of thing funny, especially after a few drinks. We nearly came to blows a few times before he got it into his head that I very much don't.
But Dave seemed to have it in for this ‘Griggsey’ whoever he was. Someone whose surname was Griggs, I assumed, but I didn’t know him. Probably they’d worked together at Keating’s and not got on. Dave’s drunken grab missed its target and he just grabbed an empty fold of cloth. “Hey, there’s nothing there” he chortled. “I always said he had no balls! Let’s check it out.”
Dave’s hands went for Griggsey’s trouser fastenings but he grabbed Dave’s hands to stop him. “Get off me!” he demanded. “Leave me alone!”
“Get ‘em off you?” laughed Dave. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”
Eddie, who seems to share Dave’s warped sense of humour, walked over, seeing an opportunity to have fun at someone else’s expense. I don’t know if he knew this Griggsey or not, it wouldn’t make much difference. He walked over, stood behind his victim, reached around and grabbed his wrists. Eddie is quite strong and didn’t have any trouble pulling his hands behind his back and holding them there.
Most of the girls in our group crowded in to watch as Dave unfastened Griggsey’s jeans and pulled them down. He was wearing a fairly long tee shirt but we could just see the ends of the legs of a pair of baggy red boxers poking out. Dave grabbed the sides of them and yanked them down. He moved to one side a little and lifted the shirt briefly, giving the girls a quick flash before dropping it. “No!” shouted Griggsey, who had remained silent until then, perhaps not wanting to add to their fun by making protests they would ignore.
“Yes!” shouted Joanne. “Get ‘em off!” By now multiple girls were filming the scene on their phones.
“Let's get him on the table then” said Eddie, grinning. They pushed and manhandled him until he was standing with his back to the end of the table. Then Dave pushed him backwards so he was lying on the table with Eddie still holding his wrists, now above his head. Dave bent down and grabbed his ankles, lifting him off his feet and then pushing him further onto the table.
“What the hell is going on?” Griggsey's mate came back from the bar, a pint in each hand, to find his friend being held down on the table, his trousers round his ankles. He sounded bemused rather than angry.
“We're having some fun with your mate” retorted Dave, aggressively. “And there's a lot more of us than you so you just watch and don't interfere unless you want to be joining him.”
He looked around, taking in the scene, the number of people, the eager girls filming, the red boxers visible inside the jeans, and seemed to come to a decision. He grinned. “I'd love to watch. You gonna strip him down and get his little cock out for these girls? What a lark! Why would I interfere with that? It sounds like a right laugh.”
I thought 'well maybe because you're supposed to be his friend and he's being victimised by yobbos?' But I wasn't trying to stop it either, much too risky in a group like this I told myself. Perhaps he'd reached the same conclusion. Or maybe this Griggsey was just really good at pissing off his workmates. Either way, he decided to be an honorary girl and stood with the others, watching.
“Thanks a lot, Chris” said Griggsey bitterly.
“Sorry, Darren” he replied. “But I couldn't stop this even if I wanted to. Call it karma for all the tricks you've played on me. I can't stop it so I may as well enjoy it.” So, Darren Griggs then. Never heard of him. I'll ask Dave later.
Dave was still holding Darren's legs up with one arm. With the other hand he started untying his shoe laces. Soon enough he had pulled off his shoes, socks, jeans and underwear. He gripped the bottom of the tee shirt with both hands. “Ready, girls?” he asked.
Stupid question, of course they were ready and said so vocally. But Dave knew that, he was just toying with Darren. “You don't think it's a bit cruel?” Let's just say the girls' response suggested it wasn't an issue that worried them greatly. Dave shrugged and rapidly pulled the shirt up Darren's torso, over his head, up his arms and off.
Darren lay on the table, unable to move, held down by Eddie. Poor sod. Imagine being stripped naked in front of your workmate and a dozen strangers in a pub garden. That is, a dozen in our party but there were other people around and many gathered round to watch, especially women. No-one seemed interested in helping him, either enjoying the spectacle or perhaps afraid of sharing his fate. I certainly was glad it was him not me and planned to keep it that way.
The girls screamed and laughed with delight. The boys jeered and laughed at his predicament. I made myself join in. “That's 'ansome!” called Stuart, mockingly.
“Small, but perfectly formed” agreed Mike. Small? I don't exactly have a lot of experience but it looked pretty average to me. We all stood there waiting to see what would happen next.
“I think he likes showing off” said Stuart after a minute. He pointed. “Behold, the creature stirs!”
And indeed it did. I don't know if he really did like showing off. His face didn't look like he was enjoying himself, he looked mortified so perhaps it was some bizarre reaction to embarrassment or something. Anyway, whatever the cause, he gradually got an erection as he lay on the table unable to move or do anything about the audience watching.
Naturally, everyone thought this was hysterical. The girls were enjoying the spectacle, the boys the schadenfreude. Everyone was mocking him, pretending to believe he was enjoying it, calling him names like flasher, pervert and so on.
Joanne walked over to him and took his erection in her hand and squeezed it. “Let me help you out with this” she said. She must have been a lot more drunk than I thought. Sexual assault is a crime but here she was either not knowing or not caring that she was doing it on camera.
We all watched in a slightly stunned silence as Joanne proceeded to masturbate Darren. Strangely, he didn’t protest. Perhaps he really was enjoying it, more likely he thought she would do it anyway and didn’t want to make things worse by emphasising that it was against his will, though that was obvious anyway really.
After a few minutes Joanne said “Here we go” and a second later Darren started ejaculating, several spurts shooting out and raining back down on his torso and stomach. The onlookers came back to life at this, cheering and applauding ironically.
Missing the Bus – Part One
Stagecoach Bus Company has a lot to answer for. They weren't responsible for what happened, of course. Dave and Eddie were, mostly Dave. And I still can't believe how cruel those girls can be, especially after a few drinks to dull the conscience and loosen the inhibitions. But if they hadn't cancelled that 9:40 bus none of this would have happened.
You see, it was Betty's birthday on Wednesday and to celebrate she asked all our group of friends, all of us who'd grown up together on the Beveridge Estate in the Eastknowle area right on the edge of town, for a night out on Friday.
We met early at Route 66, a copy of the Hard Rock Cafe in the big town fifteen miles away for a meal, many of us straight from work. But we wanted to be back at 'The Beveridge' pub, our local, well before closing time in the reasonably well-founded hope of a lock-in. For those who don't know, the legal closing time is eleven p.m., after which the doors would be locked, the lights in the front room extinguished and we'd all retreat to the back bar and Bob and Carol would bring out the ashtrays. What smoking ban? If you care about the law what are you doing here after hours?
So we left Route 66 about 8:30 walked a couple of hundred yards and caught the 8:40 back to our town, arriving at 9:25. That bus doesn't go to Eastknowle so we walked around the corner to have a smoke and wait for one that does. I opened the Stagecoach app on my phone to see if it was on time. It was cancelled! No reason given, just cancelled. Next one 10:40. I could walk it in a bit over half an hour if pressed, but with half-drunk girls in high heels it was probably quicker, and certainly easier, to catch the next one. It should still get us to the Beveridge before eleven so that's what we decided to do.
Which left us with a bit over an hour to kill. Near where the buses stop there's a big Weatherspoons pub on the corner of High Street and Duke Street. Cheap beer and a big garden behind it, much of it covered and equipped with patio heaters. It's a popular venue and always crowded but we managed to get a couple of tables in the garden. Near the side gate into Duke Street and not under cover but it was a nice evening so that didn't matter.
The trouble started a bit after ten. Two young men walked in through the side gate. I didn't know them but Dave seemed to know one of them. “Griggsey!” he called out.
One of them looked our way and didn't look thrilled to see Dave. The other said “I'll get the drinks in then. I'm spitting feathers. Two 'til ten is the worst shift in this hot weather. Lager for you, right?” and headed inside to the bar.
Dave approached the unfortunate 'Griggsey' with a leer. “I haven't seen you since you left Keating's. How's it hanging, mate?” He grabbed drunkenly at the front of the guy's trousers. I know what you're probably thinking but if so you're wrong. Dave isn't gay, just crude, and he finds that kind of thing funny, especially after a few drinks. We nearly came to blows a few times before he got it into his head that I very much don't.
But Dave seemed to have it in for this ‘Griggsey’ whoever he was. Someone whose surname was Griggs, I assumed, but I didn’t know him. Probably they’d worked together at Keating’s and not got on. Dave’s drunken grab missed its target and he just grabbed an empty fold of cloth. “Hey, there’s nothing there” he chortled. “I always said he had no balls! Let’s check it out.”
Dave’s hands went for Griggsey’s trouser fastenings but he grabbed Dave’s hands to stop him. “Get off me!” he demanded. “Leave me alone!”
“Get ‘em off you?” laughed Dave. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”
Eddie, who seems to share Dave’s warped sense of humour, walked over, seeing an opportunity to have fun at someone else’s expense. I don’t know if he knew this Griggsey or not, it wouldn’t make much difference. He walked over, stood behind his victim, reached around and grabbed his wrists. Eddie is quite strong and didn’t have any trouble pulling his hands behind his back and holding them there.
Most of the girls in our group crowded in to watch as Dave unfastened Griggsey’s jeans and pulled them down. He was wearing a fairly long tee shirt but we could just see the ends of the legs of a pair of baggy red boxers poking out. Dave grabbed the sides of them and yanked them down. He moved to one side a little and lifted the shirt briefly, giving the girls a quick flash before dropping it. “No!” shouted Griggsey, who had remained silent until then, perhaps not wanting to add to their fun by making protests they would ignore.
“Yes!” shouted Joanne. “Get ‘em off!” By now multiple girls were filming the scene on their phones.
“Let's get him on the table then” said Eddie, grinning. They pushed and manhandled him until he was standing with his back to the end of the table. Then Dave pushed him backwards so he was lying on the table with Eddie still holding his wrists, now above his head. Dave bent down and grabbed his ankles, lifting him off his feet and then pushing him further onto the table.
“What the hell is going on?” Griggsey's mate came back from the bar, a pint in each hand, to find his friend being held down on the table, his trousers round his ankles. He sounded bemused rather than angry.
“We're having some fun with your mate” retorted Dave, aggressively. “And there's a lot more of us than you so you just watch and don't interfere unless you want to be joining him.”
He looked around, taking in the scene, the number of people, the eager girls filming, the red boxers visible inside the jeans, and seemed to come to a decision. He grinned. “I'd love to watch. You gonna strip him down and get his little cock out for these girls? What a lark! Why would I interfere with that? It sounds like a right laugh.”
I thought 'well maybe because you're supposed to be his friend and he's being victimised by yobbos?' But I wasn't trying to stop it either, much too risky in a group like this I told myself. Perhaps he'd reached the same conclusion. Or maybe this Griggsey was just really good at pissing off his workmates. Either way, he decided to be an honorary girl and stood with the others, watching.
“Thanks a lot, Chris” said Griggsey bitterly.
“Sorry, Darren” he replied. “But I couldn't stop this even if I wanted to. Call it karma for all the tricks you've played on me. I can't stop it so I may as well enjoy it.” So, Darren Griggs then. Never heard of him. I'll ask Dave later.
Dave was still holding Darren's legs up with one arm. With the other hand he started untying his shoe laces. Soon enough he had pulled off his shoes, socks, jeans and underwear. He gripped the bottom of the tee shirt with both hands. “Ready, girls?” he asked.
Stupid question, of course they were ready and said so vocally. But Dave knew that, he was just toying with Darren. “You don't think it's a bit cruel?” Let's just say the girls' response suggested it wasn't an issue that worried them greatly. Dave shrugged and rapidly pulled the shirt up Darren's torso, over his head, up his arms and off.
Darren lay on the table, unable to move, held down by Eddie. Poor sod. Imagine being stripped naked in front of your workmate and a dozen strangers in a pub garden. That is, a dozen in our party but there were other people around and many gathered round to watch, especially women. No-one seemed interested in helping him, either enjoying the spectacle or perhaps afraid of sharing his fate. I certainly was glad it was him not me and planned to keep it that way.
The girls screamed and laughed with delight. The boys jeered and laughed at his predicament. I made myself join in. “That's 'ansome!” called Stuart, mockingly.
“Small, but perfectly formed” agreed Mike. Small? I don't exactly have a lot of experience but it looked pretty average to me. We all stood there waiting to see what would happen next.
“I think he likes showing off” said Stuart after a minute. He pointed. “Behold, the creature stirs!”
And indeed it did. I don't know if he really did like showing off. His face didn't look like he was enjoying himself, he looked mortified so perhaps it was some bizarre reaction to embarrassment or something. Anyway, whatever the cause, he gradually got an erection as he lay on the table unable to move or do anything about the audience watching.
Naturally, everyone thought this was hysterical. The girls were enjoying the spectacle, the boys the schadenfreude. Everyone was mocking him, pretending to believe he was enjoying it, calling him names like flasher, pervert and so on.
Joanne walked over to him and took his erection in her hand and squeezed it. “Let me help you out with this” she said. She must have been a lot more drunk than I thought. Sexual assault is a crime but here she was either not knowing or not caring that she was doing it on camera.
We all watched in a slightly stunned silence as Joanne proceeded to masturbate Darren. Strangely, he didn’t protest. Perhaps he really was enjoying it, more likely he thought she would do it anyway and didn’t want to make things worse by emphasising that it was against his will, though that was obvious anyway really.
After a few minutes Joanne said “Here we go” and a second later Darren started ejaculating, several spurts shooting out and raining back down on his torso and stomach. The onlookers came back to life at this, cheering and applauding ironically.
