I’m not certainly where the sexiness of it all comes from but the enceinte conductor, Hitchcock, used it to peachy effect many times. “ alien on a string ” is a disturbing tarradiddle of homoerotic intrigue and murder, while in “ North by Northwest ”, the wagon train upsurge into a tunnel, just as Cary Ulysses Grant and his paramour finally buss. wellspring, it was considered quite naughty in 1953 !

On this affair though, I was taking the Caledonian sleeper from capital of the United Kingdom Euston to Scotland and I had booked a First-class individual compartment. The compartments on British sleeper wagon train are really small-scale but I still enjoy the chill of the dribbling trickle of hot body of water in the diminutive sink with its fold-away top, the chip coldness of the bedding material on the narrow bunk bed and the seductive blue of the night-light ; then waking in the morning to a new and barren landscape passing your window as you shave, naked in the centre of desolate Rannoch moorland … … makes me horny just thinking about it.

On this trip-up however, I got an spare thrill for my First-class fare, as I threaded my way with my coat and bag along the corridor to find my compartment, because I spotted another guy, dainty looking and a bit younger than me, apparently on his own and coming the ‘ wrong way’down the corridor. I say the ‘ wrong way’because the corridors are so narrow that there are observation telling you which end of the car to get on. But he was nice looking, so I forgave him instantly & ndash ; especially when I realized that we were going to give birth to pass one another in such a pie-eyed space !

He was about 5’10 ”, with thick robustious dark hairsbreadth and a clean-shaven but slightly weathered look with a broad mouth and luxurious eye-brows. He was slim too and was wearing a chunky grayness and calamitous sweater and rather fetching pale grey ‘ Craghopper’hiking trousers & ndash ; the sort that are hard-wearing but which cling snuggly in all the right places ! On his back, he had a ruck-sack and over one arm he carried a jacket, while in his hands he had his ticket - and a grey and ash gray cycling helmet. My resourcefulness was getting to work already !

As he approached, I noticed the clinging folds of his grey ‘ Craghoppers & rsquo ;, forming around an interesting bulge to the left of his flies. He looked at me apologetically and gestured with his eye-brows to one of the compartments past me and I heard his part for the first time,

“ I think that’s me just there, ” he said in an accent that sounded Irish but not the nasal consonant twang of the northward ; rather the soft and seductive swing of the Confederacy, I thought.

Now, I’m a sucker for an accent, that’s my problem. And when issuing from the gorgeous mouth of a soft-spoken, fit young Irish people guy, I’m putty in his hands & ndash ; or would be given half a chance ! So I decided to ‘ give way’( well, that’s where I usually end up, so why fight it ? ) and I put my bag down and tried to pee-pee myself slimmer than usual against the wall of the corridor for him to get retiring me.

As he squeezed past, I could now see his grimace up close ; close enough to see the pores of his skin which had appeared weathered from a length but which now seemed a good deal soft ; soft enough to stroke. His hair was thick and iniquity, almost black, while his nose was neat and flat, not sharp or angular, and for a second, I looked into his eyes, a beautiful blue-grey. And they looked back ; for just a little too long.

He pushed by and our tog chest touched and I felt the radiating warmth of his trunk and caught a tinge of what I thought I recognized as'Dolce & amp ; Gabbana'.

“ Hmm, ” I thought, “ not what I would bear expected from an outdoor type. ”

Then he said, in that lilting dialect,

“ I knew it would be a footling cramp but I never imagined how pleasantly crowded it would be, ” and he grinned as he struggled by me. If I wasn’t err, I’d have said he was flirting ! Or was he just being ‘ ironical’? Unsure, I played coy for a moment.
I just smiled back, politely trying not to seem put-out. But then, as he turned and faced the door of the telephone number 9/10 office, I realized I was in the identification number 7/8 and we had adjacent compartments. As he opened his door and I opened mine, he looked back at me and I couldn’t resist the opportunity,

“ Nice helmet ! ” I said, with what I hoped was a nervy grin.

He looked down at the cyclist’s helmet in his hand and then looked back at me, paused and broke into a broad smiling that dimpled his impertinence, before disappearing into his compartment. As I hung-up my things in my compartment, I began thinking about him next threshold, especially on Rannoch Moor … … … shaving … ….naked … … …..hmmm. Then the wheel … ….. cycling shorts … …. Oh, yes !

Now, one of the perquisite of a First-class ticket is that you are guaranteed a buns in the Bar-Lounge Car for the first portion of the journey but having done this trip before, I knew this was theory only and you have to get there immediate, otherwise it can still be difficult getting a posterior. So I headed off for the Lounge Car and grabbed a seat, just as the railroad train was pulling out.

I was already enjoying my first Gin & amp ; pop and the Car was busy with animated chitter-chatter, when I saw him enter at the far end. Looking for a buttocks, he eventually saw me and the vacant seat opposite me. He smiled and gestured toward the chair across the board in battlefront of me,

“ May I ? ” he said.

“ Of course of action, ” I replied, looking up at him over the top of my glasses. And then with a full-strength aspect, I added, “ What took you so long ? ”

“ Well, I got lost and went the wrong way looking for the Bar …. ” he replied as he sat down. But then he hesitated ; he now saw me smiling at him,

“ …..Oh, you meant …..sorry ! ” He grinned and covered his mouth with his handwriting, as if hiding embarrassment at my speck that I had been waiting for him, “ actually, I really did get lost ! ”

Somehow, we both knew the account. It just happens like that sometimes. The conversation seemed to flow naturally between us as we enjoyed a few swallow and shared some of the specify and not-very-exciting food available from the Bar. I established that he was a figurer coder for a coin bank in London ; that his bike was in the luggage-van and that he was taking part in a Road-Race on Mull and would be changing gear for Oban around 7.45 the next morning & ndash ; so he wasn’t going all the way through and wouldn’t be shaving naked at the open air windowpane while crossing Rannoch Moor after all ! His gens was Aidan, by the way, and he was 30.

I was captivated by his soft, lilt vox and his gorgeously expressive face. His sassing was wide and his lip well-formed, just waiting to be tasted ; and every time he smiled, his cheeks dimpled. And when he was being dangerous, he would look directly into my eyes ( if the voice doesn’t do it, that will ! ) and his forehead would lour slightly, as those luxuriant eye-brows would tilt upwards in the middle.

We began with small talk of the town, you know, the way you do. But as we talked, I couldn’t help but continue to essay his features ; the little pregnant chad in his Kuki, the plumpness of his ear-lobes and his beautifully clean finger-nails. And in my perturb resourcefulness, I was undressing him. As you can probably tell, I was smitten and I desperately wanted to touch him.

As the train rushed N, our conversation didn’t falter and as we chatted and joked, the slight sway of the train caused our articulatio genus to bear upon under the mesa and I felt a jar of electricity run up my leg and into my spine, as a warm glow engulfed my body. From that point on, our stifle never separated and yet our conversation never touched on our being gay. The near it got was when I asked him, tactfully, if he had any ‘ significant other’in his life. He paused, took a sip of his drink, and said, rather cryptically,

“ I travel alone a lot. I like my independence. ” He blinked, “ and you, what about you ? ”

“ There was but not any more, ” I replied, perhaps a niggling more truthfully than he had done. He didn’t seek to ask me to elaborate.

On the bailiwick of religion, I quizzed him and asked if he was Catholic.

“ I was brought up a Catholic, if that’s what you mean, but I believe we’re here on this terra firma to enjoy life and not to spend our time feeling guilty for all the sins we’ve committed. It makes you far too miserable. ” He shook his head and took another sip of his drink and continued, “ and there are so many sinning ! You wouldn’t believe how many there are ! ”

I couldn’t service but joke. And somehow I couldn’t help but recollect that he had committed quite of few of them, one way or another and I was hoping that he was feeling sinful tonight !
It was gone 11.30 when we pulled into Preston and he eventually said,

“ I think it’s clock time for bed, don’t you ? ”

At that present moment, I began to doubt that I had read him correctly. Was this his invitation or just an innocent remark and a polite dismissal ? Either way, we had adjacent compartments, so I figured it was only genteel to go back along the corridor with him, as the train then carried on into the night.

We reached my compartment first and he stopped and turned,

“ wellspring I suppose it’s goodnight then, ” he said, those luxurious eye-brows showing just a touch of a question.

I was just summoning-up the courage to invite him in, when he added, in his softest ‘ come to bed’Irish accent,

“ It’s just that I was thinking that you might care someone to come tuck you in, maybe read you a bedtime story, you know ? ” And as he gazed into my centre, his face took on the looking of a lost Spaniel puppy.

I was totally whelm and completely disregarding who else might be in the corridor, I put my arm around his waist and my other hand around his neck and pulled him toward me. There was no resistance and as our lips met, I felt a warm rush flow through and around my entire body. Our mouths merged in a mysterious, warm kiss, as he too now enfolded me in his arms and pressed his dead body against mine and I inhaled that aphrodisiac mixture of sandalwood and herb that was his familiar cologne.
After what seemed corresponding minutes in that foremost embrace, we both recovered consciousness of our milieu and I opened the door to my compartment, where the bed was now neatly prepared for the night.

But once inside, I barely had metre to lock the door and attract down the subterfuge than he grabbed my shoulders, pushed me against the rampart and renewed our passionate embracing. This time, I tasted the coarseness of his soft lips and our tongues twisted and searched one another, as we began to exchange the first corporeal fluids of the night.

He was a in force few inches taller than me and I was pinned against the wall of the compartment, his hands now on my waist and our lip and clapper still locked together. As our breathing became more intense and our chests heaved against one another, our lungs craved the air through our noses. My helping hand were around his rear, at first holding him to me but now they slid down to caress the cheeks of his bum through the smooth cloth of his snuggly-fitting trousers. His keister felt toilsome and sinewy and as I clutched and pulled, his impertinence became concave as he arched his backrest and pushed his unhurt organic structure against me, our mouths at live separating and my face burying itself in the warmly fold of his sweater, as he began kissing the nape of my neck.

But his teasing and tasting and kissing of my neck was sending tingling virtuoso all down my arm, over my berm and down my backrest to my shank. In my rapture, I threw my headspring back a little too quickly and banged it on the grab-rail for the upper berth berth. We both laughed ; it didn’t really bruise but it emphasized how cramped it was in there, as our temperatures rose and my groyne developed that comrade aching hardness in my already pre-cum soaked briefs.

He quickly threw off his jumper, revealing a close-fitting, stylish grey and white-hot V-neck T-shirt ; the sorting cut-away at the arms to punctuate the anatomy of his chest. Above the “ V ”, there the first off glimpse of a modestly haired bureau, as he began undoing the button of my shirt and I grabbed at his waist to unmake the buckle of his ‘ Cragghopper’trouser. He already had my shirt open and his hands were stroking the tender sides of my body, as I slid down the zip of his tent-fly and made my discovery. He was wearing cycling shorts and I gasped in joy and agitation. He stood back from me and grinned,

“ Well, what did you await, ” he snorted, “ grey flannel under-drawers ? ”

He kicked-off his skid, dropped his trousers and stepped out of them, a vision before me in lean, muscular grey, mordant and Stanford White lycra. I was transfixed. He stood there, his manus on his hips and put is head on one incline,
“ volition I do ? ” he asked, as his eye-brows did that affair again, pointing upwards in the middle and making me go all warm and tingly inside.

“ Oh God, yes ! ” I replied softly, “ you’ll do & ndash ; well, for tonight, at to the lowest degree ! ” I teased, then smiled and sighed. Too rightful !

Before I knew it, he had dropped to his knee and was undoing my jean and pulling them down, revealing my Patrick Victor Martindale White briefs, already stained with pre-cum. I am often embarrassed by this, as some guys don’t like it but he was like a boy who had just unwrapped a long-awaited Christmas present.

“ Aaah ! ” he whispered in his Irish lilt, “ now that, I do love. ”

Instantly, his brass was buried in my groin and I felt his quick breathing time and his tongue exploring every scissure, then tasting, licking and inhaling my oozing cock inside my underwear, while I clasped his head, thickly covered in tousled darkness hair, circling his ears with the bakshis of my fingers.

Delicately, almost gingerly, he pulled the waist-band of my briefs down, finally to bring out and loose my aching hard-on, uncut but prepuce drawn back and now sticking out in nominal head of me. He paused, as if contemplating it. Then he opened his mouthpiece & ndash ; those gorgeous, salty, kissing rim & ndash ; and slowly enveloped, first the slippery tip of my tool, and then slowly but surely, the rest of it, until his nozzle was cryptic in my ginger pubic hair. I was enjoying this too much ; and I hadn’t got those cycling shortstop off yet ! It was my bend now.

As he slid his warm up delicious backtalk back up my shaft, I pushed his head away and clasped him under his sleeve, pulling him to his feet. He wiped his mouth with his manus and kissed me again and this time, I tasted a new coarseness in his saliva ; that of my own pre-cum, the remnant of which were still in his mouth.

Kicking-off my horseshoe and stepping out of my jean, which at this point were still down around my ankle, I twisted him around, so that his back was now against the wall. Then, kneeling down in strawman of him, I began admiring and stroking the politic bootleg and grey lycra Earth's surface of his shorts, the stitching of which seemed to accent his muscles and the cheeks of his bum, which were flexing in and out now, as I kneaded and caressed his buttocks. Now I had my own, long-awaited Christmas present tense !

Studying the bump in front end of his shorts, I was fascinated. The within padding in the breakwater had the effect of protecting his balls in the saddleback, yes, but it also seemed to abstract them and submit them forward, pronouncing his bulge. Meanwhile, beyond the stitched defining of his bulge, his organ was clearly outlined, sprouting proudly hard and erect, pointing just off to one side of meat, up across his lycra-clad abdomen. I nuzzled its frame and inhaled the mixture of manly scent, before slipping my finger's breadth up under the butt of his T-shirt, exploring and stroking.

Still kneeling, I lifted his T-shirt, which clung tightly to his frame, revealing the track of hairs from his chest to his belly-button ; such a lovely belly-button too, evenly-formed and vacuous, so I could drop off my lingua into it, tasting his intimate saltiness. He breathed-in deeply as I did this and slowly exhaled, as he stroked the position of my side and neck. The waist of his shorts was cut fairly low, so gripping his pelvic arch, I was able to lick and taste and buss the tender skin of his outer groin, towards his hip-bones, where he suddenly inhaled and let out a quiet moan of pleasance. He liked that ! So I continued, licking and kissing, soft biting and then, switching sides to do the same, as each time he inhaled sharply and let out a footling groan.

Standing again, I slid my hands up the side of his torso, over his skin beneath his jersey, lifting it over his arms and pass, finally revealing his chest, clustered with patches of dark hairs, over his pectoral medallion, around his pronounced nipples and down the centre-line of his venter to that lovely belly-button.

I played with his pap with my tongue, teasing them softly with my teeth, as his fingers played softly and delicately up and down the sides of my physical structure. His nipples were large and iniquity and as I teased them, they became hard and pronounced, like small lot standing above a forest of cushy dark hairs.

I turned out the lighting in the compartment and finally began to roll down the top of those lycra cycle-shorts but there was no way I would get them off him without his help, so within second gear, we were standing together in that tiny cramped infinite, completely naked and now in dark, apart from the blue glow of the night-light. Once again we embraced and kissed but this sentence, more completely and even more passionately than before, his proud uncircumcised manhood pressed tightly against my belly and my own phallus thrust into the cleft between his thighs, just beneath his glob.

And that was how it happened that first fourth dimension, just standing in the dark, pressed together in passionate conglutination, hands stroking, exploring, clutching, teasing ; tongues entwined and juices flowing, voices groaning in the blue-glow and senses reaching a hectic threshold. He began first ; urgently thrusting his diaphragm up and down against my embracement, his puppet now releasing its pre-cum between our hide and further exciting him to reach on high-pitched and higher, until … ….he began shuddering and his legs were shaking against mine, as he groaned deeply into the scruff of my neck and I felt his pulsing organ as he let out a soft “ Oh, Jesus ! ” beside my ear.

I felt his warm fluids against my stomach as he came and came again, repeatedly lubricating the place between our body and it began running down through his pubic hair's-breadth and into mine, as my own slippery organ push between his inner thighs, into the cleft of his balls, now covered in his own cum.

It was all too much. He gripped my tool between his strong thigh, as I clutched at his buttocks and I felt that familiar warm gleam enveloping my body, around my middle, up and down my back, building and building, until the gleam imploded into the base of my balls and in an agonizing spasm, my life-juices surged out of me and through my putz, ejaculating into the warm fissure beneath his balls, over and over and over again, until all my cum was running down his legs and I was spent, exhausted.

We stood there, naked in the amobarbital sodium lambency, both of us breathing heavily. Cum was everywhere ; all down his pegleg, in his pubic hair, over his chunk, all over both our stomachs. Just as well I had some tissues in my bag within well-fixed reach. Silently and tenderly, we cleaned each other up and I raised the blind one notch to see where we were ; well past Glasgow by now, I guessed, judging by the time.

I figured he might have had adequate and want to give and go back to his own compartment now but once we were cleaned-up and had joked, trying to create the tissue-rubbish as invisible as possible in the bin, he remained standing, naked in the dark, his sated organ drooping almost sadly in front of me. He looked at his watch, which was still on his wrist.

“ I think maybe I should go now, ” he said, half-heartedly, “ you’ll be wanting to get some sleep. ”

I looked at him in the half-darkness, trying to read his locution, as the Christ Within of a small place flashed past the window in the deserted former hours of the morning. He made no move to put on his clothes ; he just stood there.

“ well, I’ve had my bedtime story I guess, ” I replied, “ but you did also hope to tuck me in. ”

And with that, I lay down on the specify nonsense bed and he lay gently on top of me, enfolding me in his arms, as I clasped and stroked once again his muscular butt-cheeks, tasted the sweet saltiness of his mouth and inhaled his woody, sweaty fragrance.