"The Bus Driver's Knee" (part two)

Slowly, I turn to stone and set upon you as a long lost anchor might in the sands of our vast empty oceans. My face is a blur as I encase you with my Love and never ever let you go!





"Part Two"


This is Rob, The owner of this fine looking boat, said Neil.


The boat was indeed a fine boat! All shiny, where there was brass. And beautiful bright paint that covered the rest of her. Well hidden from the river Thames proper. One couldn't see her if you were to find yourself passing by on a leisure boat or maybe if you were taking a stroll along the tow-path across the other side of the river.

I just looked at the ground and went all shy. I was a very shy person and would always look at the ground when confronted with new people. When I was very young and my Mum had visitors in the house, they would think there was something wrong with me! Why doesn't he talk? Can he talk? What does he do there hidden away between the wall and the sofa?
I couldn't move. If I moved so much as an inch then my presence would be detected and my cover would be blown! I would then have to say hello or even worse sit on someones lap or have my cheek squeezed or god forbid, kissed! I was good at keeping still. I don't need a solid wall to Hide behind.
In fact, I would on occasion go back to my hiding place there behind the sofa when I was all alone and play with matches! I used to Love playing with fire! I still do.

This was a man who I admired already though! He was the owner of an actual WW2 torpedo boat and to top it all off, he was a fucking bus driver too! I have caught a few buses in my pre-car years and I would either be found up stairs on the top deck, right at the front sitting right over where the driver would be. I would look down into the little glass window that the driver would use to see if someone was being murdered or was smoking up on the top deck or drawing on the windows. I could just make out the face of the driver through the numerous prisms and mirrors that joined up the two windows. And if I wasn't upstairs, I would be down stairs actually watching the bus driver with my very own eyes. Especially his arms and hands steering the giant bright red machine around the tight narrow streets of Twickenham. It always amazes me how they get those things around those tight little corners. I imagined I would be a fantastic bus driver!

Come in, come in, said Rob the bus driver, as Neil & I both stepped onto the deck of the boat. Make yourselves at home.

Yeah right, I thought. I'll go up to my room and have a wank shall I?

I could never make myself at home in a strange mans house, let alone a strange mans boat! What if it floated away downstream and ended up in the middle of the ocean! As I looked at the floor I did manage to see that the brass that was so magnificently displayed on the outside of the boat had also exquisitely crept into the cabin area too. Amongst all the brightly polished brass and various post cards from all over the world that were neatly displayed on the shelves and sort of Dashboard area, were a whole bunch of circular glass dials about five inches across set in beautiful frames of more brass. I didn't ask, but I presumed that these were the dials that told the Skipper how fast or how slow he was going. The rest of the room looked dark in comparison. Almost black. Coming inside from the bright sunshine made everything apart from the brass quite difficult to see.
Neil had gone off into the kitchen area, I could tell it was a kitchen because I heard a kettle switch on and start boiling and the sound of metal tea spoons clinking against china. I just kept looking between the floor & the brass and saw Rob had shuffled over to my side and asked me what I thought.
I said that it was quite impressive. As my eyes got used to the light change I saw that he was not wearing any shoes but still had his socks on that were white. His trousers were the distinctive light grey colour of a bus drivers uniform. He said, Impressive only?, it takes hours of elbow grease to keep that brass as shiny as that.
I eventually looked up from the dark coloured carpet, polished brass in my peripherals and up along his legs, past his belted waist to his face. He was jacketless and just had a crisp white shirt on, just like the kind a bus driver would wear, although I had seen some of them wearing grey shirts. I always thought the white ones much better.
His hair was grey and neatly cut, his chin covered in a whitish prickly stubble, which reminded me of my dad.

So this is what bus drivers looked like when they weren't driving buses I thought.



To be continued...





Jason








(C) JPT 2008.........