It was the meridian of the morning charge time of day and I was about to change tube train. To be reliable, I had been"scanning the endowment"a bit, to see if there was anyone decent to stand future to, but clip was getting on and I might be late if I didn't just pinch onto the next train to fall in.

So when the next gearing arrived and the gang milled around, opine my pleasant surprise at finding myself about to squeeze on in the fellowship of a particularly eligible young man.

He was quite curt, about 5'7 ”, smart and in his betimes 20's I'd say ; slim, smooth-shaven, with short-cut, dark embrown hair and deep Brown optic. Quite cute, in fact. He carried in one hand a copy of the freelancer and was wearing a long, black-and-white herringbone overcoat over a dark suit. The coat was open.

From the here and now we boarded, the train was so crowded that it was unacceptable not to be touching one another. We were standing facing more-or-less right articulatio humeri to right shoulder and the backbone of my umbrella hand was touching share of the inside of his veracious leg. Actually, it quickly became all the way that it was not just his leg I was touching but something else as well. As my manus was positioned on the inside of his leg, rather than the alfresco, what I could feel clearly wasn't something in his scoop and my wonder soon began to get the better of me.

As the train carried on, I allowed the raw swaying of the carriage to tolerate me one or two explorative copse with the back of my helping hand and fingers. It was definitely what I suspected and what's more, it seemed to me to be developing into something altogether more noticeable. I could now severalize that his cock was hanging loosely down his right leg - he was obviously wearing pugilist shorts. For some incomprehensible reason, I imagined that they were pale blue.

At the next stopover of the railroad train, all attention concentrated on the other side of the carriage, and he secured his placement by holding onto the bar above us with his bequeath manus. This had the result of further opening his coat and shielding us from view. He was holding his newspaper in his right hand now and I realized that he did not seem to be taking the chance of using it to protect himself from my prelude - which could surely not ingest gone unnoticed. I moved in closer.

Still with umbrella in my decently hand and well-shielded from the crowd by his coat, I deliberately felt him with my digit. By now, he was not so much hanging down his leg but pointing down across in front of it. As I explored downwards, however, he just seemed to get longer and longer. In fact, because he was fairly short, I had to fully extend my handwriting downwards to continue this caress, as he became more and more difficult and erect.

I began to feel the tell-tale shape of the swelling head of his organ through the material of his trouser and I began to imagine what it must front like.

There being no stops on this side of the train for a while, I took the opportunity at the next station to loose my mitt of my umbrella by slipping the grip into the opposite pouch of my coat. Meanwhile, I hung onto the bar above us with my exit hired hand very close to his. As I extended my quarter round along the bar, it touched the side of his hand and I experienced an electric thrill, as if a circuit had been connected between us.

Now my right handwriting was completely free to explore the full extent of his erect and fully extended organ. I massaged him through his trousers, absorbing the excitement of the moment and the thrill of this lovely Whitney Young man under my power and offering no ohmic resistance. My heart began to Irish punt in my ears. Standing so close, I could see every pore of his freshly-shaven face, the crisp and immaculate cut of his iniquity brown hair around his ears and I could smell out the sweet but discreet olfactory property of his cologne. He was indeed, really attractive and for a brief instant, I imagined that I could put my arms around his waist, embrace him and kiss him.

His complete lack of resistance encouraged my future relocation. Amidst the swaying of the railroad train carriage, as it rattled along its long dark burrow, I traced my fingerbreadth up the fly of his trouser, until I reached the top. I released the tongue of his zip and held it, momentarily hesitating, expecting his rejection. There was none. All the sounds of the train and the world around us were blotted-out as my heart pounded in my ears and I was possessed of this young man, held for the second only by the knife of his zip between my fingers.

In one slow but unfaltering motility, I pulled the zip all the way down as far as it would go and held my breath. Again I hesitated, expecting electric resistance. But again, there was none. There was no going back now. I slid my hired hand inside the warm and inviting opening.
I now felt the unfitness of his low-spirited bagger shorts and the warmth and blandness of his groin. Through diffuse cotton, I felt his chunk, small and tightly bunched ;"a boy's musket ball ”, I thought. I searched for an opening to his shorts but I couldn't find one in the restricted distance in which I was obliged to search. But through the fabric, I could still palpate the tussock of pubic hair around the floor of his organ, now grueling and erect across his right leg. My hand strained around inside the little space. His egg may give been a boy's but his instrument was that of a man ; not particularly thick but surprisingly long -"especially for such a short circuit blighter ”, I thought.

Still through his soft cotton wool boxer shorts, I could feel that he was already in a high school state of excitement, soaking wet from the pre-cum juice I had already encouraged by my massage of him and by the sheer excitement of what I was doing to him. My fingerbreadth explored still further, this time inside the leg of his shortstop, at last to get wind and slide over the head teacher of his tool, now swollen and slippery, prepuce drawn back and oozing more juice into the already soaked cotton of his shorts. At death, I had found my way through the labyrinth and had discovered its secret.

I grasped my bridge player around his organ and began massaging the exposed headland between my quarter round and forefinger, round and around, while I felt nervous pulses of excitement pass through my hand. With each pulsing, the head of his puppet swelled and oozed another drop of slippery juice.

The train stopped at the following post, letting on even more masses at the former English of the bearing, obligingly pressing the two of us even more closely together. No-one could take in known what rapture was being shared between two young men in the midst of their hum-drum journey to form. As we remained, almost face to face and squashed together in the herd railroad train, as passengers jostled and pushed around us, I could experience the heat radiating from his body. My eyes absorbed the minute point of his side ; the slight pregnant chad in his shaven Kuki, his slightly flushed cheeks and his balmy eye-lashes ; even the case-by-case hair's-breadth of his bang-up eye-brows and the little groyne to the veracious his expand anterior naris, a token mar in an otherwise flawless face. He was looking away from me, over my right berm, pretending to the exterior populace that he was ignoring me but as I searched into his eyes, he briefly glanced into mine and I saw their colour, rich John Brown, pupils dilated, before he blinked and switched his gaze back to the far side of the carriage.

Meanwhile, the unquiet impulse in his organ had been replaced by a steady rock-hardness in my hand and I began to concentrate the aid of my index finger on the sensitive underside of his solid, swollen and slippery instrument. He was certainly not trying to discourage me and he must birth realized, long before this point, where all this was leading.

All too soon, the excitement began to prove too a good deal for him and he started to lose ascendency. As my finger slid around the slippy head of his organ, and my hand grasped the shaft, I felt that tell-tale throbbing as his liquidness manhood was finally released into my hand ; once, twice….three……four……five…….six…….seven clock time, his organ pulsed in retard rhythmic loss, as I felt ardent juices penetrating the gaps between my fingers. I watched his face as his eyes closed, his nostril dilated and the side of his neck flushed. His lips parted slightly as I felt his thorax breath-in deeply and quietly let out a foresighted, indulgent sigh. He swallowed hard.

I could hardly believe my senses. This sexy young man had just allowed me to go into his most private body soil secretly, in public, and had ejaculated into my hand ; and all in the space of a few min, the sexy little devil ! I continued to postulate all this in as best I could, slowly massaging his still raise and sticky organ, one shot and around in my hand amidst the wet folds of his shorts. Even now, he proffered no immunity. He even allowed me to caress his balls and explore his bulwark again, as his Hammond organ began to unbend against my deal. I didn't want this to end ; it was too fantastic to be true. But his cum was all over my manus and his boxer boxers ; and there was so much of it.

But as if to bring us back to world, we arrived at the next interchange station. I squeezed his clump affectionately and slue my hand out of his fly, considerately raising his zip most of the way to the top again, as if to get over my lead, while sparing him any embarrassment at the Same time. As I removed my hired hand, he lightly touched it with his, and gently squeezed my digit in a parting gesture of acknowledgment.

He got off the train and, without a glance back, he hurried away into the morning rush-hour. All I had left to convert me that what had just happened was real number, was the mellifluous, salty sense of taste of his orgasm all over the medal of my justly hand. And the opinion of those soaking wet, dingy packer short pants !