English Sleeper bus 2

So, after that wild sleeper bus ride from Pune to Bangalore in 2022, this Punjabi munda was stuck in my head like a catchy Bollywood song. I was in Bangalore for a week-long work thing—some dull office training in Koramangala—but his WhatsApp number was basically begging me to text him. I did, the very next day, and man, it was electric—flirty texts, him sending shirtless gym selfies that had me blushing in the middle of my lunch break. He’d be like, “Jaan, kab milne aa raha hai?” and I’m like, “Babu, stuck with work, but soon, pakka!” We kept chatting all week, and every ping from him had my heart doing a full-on dandiya.By the weekend, he hits me up, like, “Mummy ji and papa are going back to Pune tomorrow. Come to my flat as soon as they’re gone, love.” I’m like, hell yeah, training’s done, and I’ve got a day free before heading back to Pune. I roll up to his place in Koramangala, heart racing, and when I ring the bell, he opens the door in just his boxers—black, tight, showing off everything. I’m standing there, totally floored, and before I can say a word, he grabs me in his arms, pulling me into this warm, tight hug. His hairy chest is pressed against me, and he’s kissing my neck, my cheeks, my lips, like he’s been craving me all week. I’m melting, babu, completely lost in him.He pulls back, flashing that sexy grin, and says, “Chal, love, I cooked something special for you, dinner karte hain.” I’m so touched, like, this hot guy cooked for me? We sit at his small dining table, and he’s made this insane Punjabi spread—butter paneer , jeera rice, garlic naan, the aroma hitting me like a warm hug. I’m like, “Babu, you didn’t have to do all this!” and he’s all, “Arre, mere jaan ke liye toh banta hai.”

After dinner, we can’t keep our hands off each other. He pulls me to his bedroom, all cozy with dim lights and some soft Diljit tracks playing in the background. He grabs me again, his hands roaming my body, and I’m losing it in his masculine vibe—those broad shoulders, that hairy chest, that beard scratching my skin. Our clothes hit the floor fast, and we’re kissing like it’s a Bollywood rain song, all spicy and messy. He’s wild, babu—spends ages rimming me, his tongue doing things that make my whole body shake. I’m moaning like crazy, grabbing his hair. Then he’s sucking my chubby man-boobs, nibbling and growling like a hungry wolf, and I’m just gone.He flips me around, and his thick, juicy cock—man, it’s as delicious as I remembered from the bus. I take him in my mouth, savoring every inch, clean and musky, driving me nuts. He’s groaning, whispering, “Jaan, you’re too good,” in that deep Punjabi accent. We go at it for ages, frotting hard, our bodies grinding, sweaty and hot. He finishes between my thighs, this warm flood that makes me shiver, and we collapse, tangled up, his hairy body on mine. We stay like that forever, just breathing, hearts pounding.He grabs a towel, cleans my thighs all gentle, and then cuddles up again, his weight like a cozy blanket. I’m so comfy I pass out, and next thing I know, it’s early morning, and I wake up to his tongue playing with my ass again. Babu, it’s the best feeling ever—like my body’s on fire in the best way. We go for round two, slower this time, all lazy and intense, and then crash again, his arms wrapped around me.I wake up later to him nudging me, like, “Uth na, love, breakfast ready hai.” He’s cooked aloo parathas, curd, and masala chai, the smell making my stomach growl. We sit on his balcony, Bangalore’s morning breeze cooling us down, and he’s just staring at me, saying, “Jaan, tera body itna thick aur juicy hai, I can’t get enough.” I’m blushing so hard, hiding behind my chai cup. We talk about random stuff—his startup hustle, my Pune life, how he loves my “cute chubby vibes.” I’m like, “Babu, stop, you’re gonna make me fall for you!”We take a shower together after, and it’s steamy in every sense—his hands soaping me up, water dripping down his hairy chest, more kisses we can’t stop. But then reality hits. I’ve gotta head back to Pune that evening—work trip’s over, and my bus is booked. I don’t wanna leave, babu. We kiss one last time at his door, and he’s like, “Jaldi wapas aa, love. Yeh dil tujhe miss karega.” I’m all choked up but manage a smile, like, “Pakka, babu.”We kept texting for a bit—late-night WhatsApp calls, him sending me goofy reels—but life got in the way, you know? Work, distance, all that drama. It faded, and we’re not in touch anymore. But those memories? So damn fresh, like it was yesterday. I can still feel his beard on my skin, hear him call me “jaan.” That week in Bangalore wasn’t just about work—it was about this Punjabi babu who turned my world upside down.

But it was not meant to be for longterm