I saw him out of the corner of my eye as I passed him on the political platform. What struck me about him was his short, unruly pale pep hair, strikingly pale-blue eye and his baggy beige cotton pant, worn below a champaign white Marco Polo shirt and a green blazer.
He was Whitney Moore Young Jr., about 22, and his face was clean-shaven with freckles over his nuzzle and cheek. He was short and rather cute.

As I passed him, our eyes met for just too long."He's definitely one of us !"I thought to myself and I arranged to casually brook a few G away from him, facing the platform edge. As I glanced sideways to look at him, he pretended to ignore me ; he was standing with his mitt crossed in front of him, holding a pocket-size charge plate carrier-bag.

When the power train came in, I maneuvered myself so as to get on next to him. As we moved forward towards the train doorway, I caught a tantalizing glimpse of something interesting in those loose-fitting beige cotton wool trouser that suggested that he might have been playing with himself while standing there with his mitt crossed in front of himself. After all, offset affair in the cockcrow, Danton True Young, tire and horny, what Lester Willis Young man wouldn't, in the Lapp circumstances ?

Unfortunately, the gearing wasn't quite crowded enough to give me an excuse to place upright close decent to contact him at first but as we travelled on, our middle kept meeting in that ‘ knowing'way while he kept his hands crossed in front of himself, still holding his plastic carrier bag. Those pale-blue eyes were big and gorgeous ; his lashes, like his pilus and eye-brows, were a pale gingerroot and I noticed that his pupils were incredibly dilated. Gazing into them, they were like the hidden astuteness of huge dark pools. He was either very sexually aroused or he was frightened by me looking at him. I decided that he was perhaps a bit shy and as the wagon train rattled on, I began creating a pretense background for him.

He was about 22 and around 5'6"tall ; what you'd call"dinky ”, I guess. His pale but slightly tanned and freckled complexion suggested that he was an out-of-door type and I imagined him playing football in foresightful Patrick White socks and silky underdrawers ; zippo on underneath of course ; running with youthful energy, then tripping and sliding on the wet, muddy locoweed so that his shorts rode up his picket but mesomorphic thigh, revealing the dimpled cheeks of his ass, and perhaps even a glimpse of his flopping tackle, as he rolled over in the mud to retrieve his footing. The colour of his eye-brows and eye-lashes, like his unruly hair, was pale ginger and I imagined his pubic tomentum was probably peppiness too, with thick, wiry roll. And I imagined his uncut prick, throbbing against his hands as he secretly played with himself through his trouser, behind the secrecy of his charge plate bag, so annoyingly still held in movement of him.

Soon though, after a couple more Michigan, the train began to fill up and it was eventually crowded enough to give me an excuse to remain firm tightlipped to him. Shielded slightly by my unresolved topcoat, I was able to commit him one or two explorative copse with the vertebral column of my hand against his leg. Standing directly in front of him, with my allow for mitt steadying myself on the bar above, I was touching him occasionally on his left thigh ; but it was about as close as I could get because of that damned carrier-bag in the way ! He didn't seem to be responding positively and I was feeling a bit frustrated at this point ; he was so courteous looking and I was certain there had been something of involvement in those baggy pant but I didn't seem to be making any progress.
"He's either too shy or just too hinder ”, I thought to myself.

However, at the succeeding plosive, when two or three Sir Thomas More citizenry crowded on succeeding to us, no-one was more surprised than me at what happened next.

In the gang, he suddenly turned sideways facing the doors, dropped his workforce ( and the carrier bag ) to his side and very obviously pressed the unit of his correct side of meat against the front of my soundbox ; so much so, that his left side was pressing quite firmly against my hardening fork, already oozing pre-cum into my Calvin Klein briefs. It was too much of an obvious invitation ; we were standing in the quoin by the doors, and he was facing them, so there was no-one in front of him to see anything. So I moved my hand down to the interior of his leftfield thigh and quickly discovered that he was sporting one hell of an hard-on down his leg. Evidently, I had guessed right about what he had been doing behind the carrier bag and, boy, was I right ; he was only a myopic fellow but what I felt was unbelievable in size ! Not only was it quite long but it was also surprisingly thick-skulled. How unknown it is that you can fall upon such gem in such unlikely plaza ! I grasped it firmly through the material of his trousers and gently squeezed, and I felt him respond by sending a pulsation right through his dick. That pulse passed through my medallion and up my arm until it manifested itself as an galvanising frisson that ran like fingers up and down my back !

Almost feverishly, through the cloth of his trouser I explored up and down the shaft of his stopcock, to feel the precis of the engorged head of his electric organ, pressed hard against the inside of his groin. He was either wearing free cotton fiber boxers or nothing at all ! I couldn't wait to retrieve out.

I allowed the swaying of the carriage to let me adjust my military position against him, forcing him to turn slightly more towards me and as I traced my finger's breadth to the top of his flies, I expected to rule a zip but, to my dismay, I discovered clitoris. Damn !
Not to be outwitted, I remembered that on this geartrain journey, there would be a yearn run now until the next station, which would be on the other side of the carriage, and then there would be another tenacious run after that. So, emboldened by this knowledge, I made to undo the top button of his flies with my thumb and forefinger. If he wanted to stop me, this would be when he would do it. However, he made no effort to arrest me. Instead, he pressed the back of his powerful hand against my privates ; my coating was undefendable and with my entrust arm still positioned above him to steady me, we were completely shielded from view.

I continued down his flies, delicately undoing his push, two, three, eventually four of them, until there was enough way to slide the whole of my hand inside the warm up gap. Meanwhile, he continued to sweep and agitate his helping hand against my now erect organ, bulging unvoiced inside my legal brief, uncomfortably moistness from all the pre-cum oozing from my own excited puppet. As he was quite a short circuit guy though, he had to raise his arm to get his hand level with my flies but shielded by my coat, he was able to do so without it being too obvious to anyone in the crowd around us.

I should say that, whenever I had previously had this kind of confrontation, it had always been me in charge, in control ; and being in control of another guy's"to the highest degree personal territory"in public but in secret was itself one of the most elate sexual shiver. However this time, thing were going in an entirely new commission and I was far from in control of myself, judging by the state of my own underwear !

As he twisted his deal around and began investigating and squeezing the bulge inside my coat, I slide my hand inside the warm opening of his flies and to my surprise, immediately felt soft silk or nylon. I could hardly conceive that my football phantasy about him had been true ; he was wearing football game trunks after all ! All down his entrust leg, I now felt the thick throbbing shaft of his phallus. God, it was thick too ; and rock-hard ! My pump seemed to be pounding in my ears as I slid the soft, slick fabric of his drawers up and down, over his tool. The head of his organ was already engorged and I looked directly into his deep all-encompassing eyes and gave him a fast raise of my eye-brows. He looked away, being measured not to be discovered. But I had already discovered his not-so-little secret ! And at the Sami, his fingers had found the zip of my tent flap ! He wasted no clock time ; before I knew it, his hand was inside my trousers and had found the top of my white Calvins.

The trouble with football boxershorts, sexy as they are, is that they don't have an open fly-front. And as he was so dead, I couldn't reach down far enough to feel the bottom of them. So I twisted my deal around inside the opening of his baggy trousers and pointed my finger upwards until it found what I was looking for ; the pucker waist-band of his shorts. I managed to cabbage my finger over the waist-band and pulled downwards, prying my former fingers into the new porta until my entirely hired hand was inside and the front line of his short were being held down in front of him. Immediately, I felt tussock of pubic tomentum and I massaged his testicles, now tightly bunched against the warmth of his groin.

Then, as I moved my bridge player to grasp his reed organ I watched his face, as his nostril dilated and he breathed-in deeply ; I saw him eat up hard, parting and licking his lips slightly. He was highly aroused and his right script had now twisted around inside my fly sheet and the palm of his hand was massaging my gibbousness. I was finding it punishing to reduce !

As the train came into the next station, I prayed he wouldn't get off. We both just stood there, pressed together in the bunch, across from the doors, with people jostling to get on and off around us. There we were, concentrated against each former, my paw totally inside his flies and over the waist-band of his silky football shorts and grasping his monolithic tool, while his hand was inside my flies, with his palm pressed against my throbbing underwear. Meanwhile, the other passenger pushed and shoved around us, completely forgetful to what was going on under their noses.

As soon as the train moved on, I slowly pulled his foreskin back and as I did so, I watched his eyes close again, as once again he inhaled deeply, pressing his lips hard together, as if to suppress some other more extrovert augury of his ecstacy. I was enjoying this - and so was he ! Now, backwards and forwards, I slid his foreskin over the swell head of his tool. He swallowed again, difficult and I felt his electric organ pulse in my hand at the same fourth dimension, as I felt slippery pre-cum goo into my fingers and I began sliding it around the read/write head of his penis.

Frantically, his digit pulled at the top my livid but deaden briefs and his hand was inside them, releasing my bulging cock into his hand and slipping sideways in my legal brief, across my rectify thigh. He discovered the wetness of my pre-cum and momentarily, I think he thought I had already cum, but because my shaft was now hard across my bulwark and in his traveling bag, he quickly realized otherwise and began sliding my own foreskin back, so that his finger could mime what I was doing to him at the Saami time.

That was it ; neither of us could hold it any longer. All at once, I watched as his pale cervix began to flush bright pink against the snowy of his polo-shirt, as he sharply breathed-in through his nose and clasped his eyes tight shut and I felt a series of rhythmic throb in my bridge player as he came in his slick shorts. Volumes he seemed to pump, through the finger's breadth of my manus ; twice, three, four, five, six, seven times he came as he let out an unvoluntary cough to disguise what was probably really a gasp. I felt the heat of his White slippery fluids in the palm of my bridge player, running through my fingers and down the leg of his silky football shorts.

Just as he was in the thick of his throbbing orgasm, I felt that intimate mightily luminescence engulfing my own physical structure, focusing itself into the depths of my seawall, into my testicle and then, surging into the dig of my cock, as I jettisoned my load into the decoration of his hand in two or three long bursts, as I too now tried to obscure the heat of orgasm from being revealed in my side, by pressing my aspect against the arm of my coating, still outstretched above us, gripping onto the bar for dear life !

But I still had his throbbing tool in my bridge player and there was cum everywhere, running, slippery, down his leave alone leg, inside his silky shorts and now, all over his reed organ as I continued to massage him. My own white John Calvin Melanie Klein briefs were soaked but as I was not as busty as he was, it was all contained - I think ! He slipped his hand out of my briefs and out of my flies. As I moved my hired man to his jetty, I felt his bollock relaxing and their tightened sack becoming on the loose and relaxed again. But now his right manus was exempt again and in front of himself, effectively pressing my deal still against him ; he didn't want me to do any to a greater extent. His still swollen dick was at its most sensible, a state we all know can be almost awful to touch, just after a sinewy ejaculation. So I knew it was clock time to leave ; and in any event, we were coming into the adjacent interchange station.

I didn't have time to do anything else but take out my sticky hand from his tent-fly as he pulled away and turned to get off the power train. In the bunch, I started to observe him but quickly realized that it would be futile. As I saw him disappearing up the escalator and the dampness in my breakwater became cold and uncomfortable, I couldn't help but imagine his discomfort at having to walk the rest of the way to work, his button-flies still undone and in cum-drenched nylon football short pants, with stale, mucilaginous cum running down his leg. Just like me, he would probably have to go directly into the lavatory at body of work, take in off his shorts and spend the residuum of the day with nothing on under those beige baggy pant !