It was the acme of the daybreak rush minute and I was about to alter tube gear. To be honest, I had been"scanning the talent"a bit, to see if there was anyone squeamish to put up future to, but time was getting on and I might be late if I didn't just squeeze onto the succeeding train to come in.

So when the next string arrived and the crowds milled around, imagine my pleasant surprisal at finding myself about to tweet on in the company of a particularly eligible young man.

He was quite short, about 5'7 ”, smart and in his betimes 20's I'd say ; slim, well-shaven, with short-cut, saturnine browned hairsbreadth and recondite chocolate-brown eyes. Quite cute, in fact. He carried in one helping hand a copy of the Independent and was wearing a long, black-and-white herringbone overcoat over a dark suit. The coat was open.

From the moment we boarded, the train was so crowd together that it was impossible not to be touching one another. We were standing facing more-or-less right shoulder to right shoulder and the back of my umbrella hand was touching office of the inside of his right leg. Actually, it quickly became crystalise that it was not just his leg I was touching but something else as well. As my hand was positioned on the inside of his leg, rather than the outside, what I could feel clearly wasn't something in his pocket and my oddity soon began to get the good of me.

As the wagon train carried on, I allowed the cancel swaying of the baby carriage to permit me one or two exploratory brushes with the back of my script and fingerbreadth. 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 order that his peter was hanging loosely down his right leg - he was obviously wearing boxer shorts. For some inexplicable cause, I imagined that they were pale blue.

At the adjacent stop of the train, all care concentrated on the early side of the pushchair, and he secured his position by holding onto the bar above us with his left hired hand. This had the gist of further opening his coat and shielding us from view. He was holding his newspaper in his redress hand now and I realized that he did not seem to be taking the opportunity of using it to protect himself from my overture - which could surely not have gone unnoticed. I moved in closer.

Still with umbrella in my redress hand and well-shielded from the bunch by his coat, I deliberately felt him with my fingers. By now, he was not so a great deal 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 stretch my paw downwards to go on this caress, as he became more and more hard and erect.

I began to feel the tell-tale shape of the swelling head of his electronic organ through the cloth of his trousers and I began to imagine what it must look like.

There being no block on this side of the train for a spell, I took the opportunity at the next station to free my hired hand of my umbrella by slipping the handle into the contrary pocket of my coat. Meanwhile, I hung onto the bar above us with my allow handwriting very close to his. As I extended my thumb along the bar, it touched the position of his hand and I experienced an galvanizing thrill, as if a racing circuit had been connected between us.

Now my right hand was completely free to explore the good extent of his erect and fully extended electronic organ. I massaged him through his pant, absorbing the inflammation of the moment and the bang of this lovely untried man under my power and offering no resistivity. My heart began to pound in my ears. Standing so close, I could see every pore of his freshly-shaven face, the crisp and impeccable cut of his obscure embrown hair's-breadth around his ears and I could smell the sweet but discreet scent of his Cologne. He was indeed, really attractive and for a brief heartbeat, I imagined that I could put my arms around his waist, embrace him and snog him.

His complete lack of resistance encouraged my next move. Amidst the swaying of the gearing bearing, as it rattled along its long dark tunnel, I traced my fingers up the fly of his trousers, 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 sound of the power train and the world around us were blotted-out as my tenderness pounded in my ear and I was possessed of this young man, held for the moment only by the knife of his zip between my fingers.

In one slow but steady move, I pulled the zip all the way down as far as it would go and held my breather. Again I hesitated, expecting immunity. But again, there was none. There was no going back now. I slid my hired hand inside the ardent and inviting opening.
I now felt the gentleness of his sorry boxer shorts and the affectionateness and suavity of his breakwater. Through easy cotton, I felt his balls, small and tightly bunched ;"a boy's clump ”, I thought. I searched for an opening to his underdrawers but I couldn't find one in the restricted infinite in which I was obliged to explore. But through the material, I could still feel the tufts of pubic hair around the Qaeda of his organ, now hard and erect across his rightfield leg. My helping hand strained around inside the small distance. His nut may consume been a boy's but his creature was that of a man ; not particularly duncical but surprisingly long -"especially for such a short-circuit fellow ”, I thought.

Still through his soft cotton boxer trunks, I could palpate that he was already in a high land of inflammation, soaking wet from the pre-cum juices 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 shorts, at utmost to discover and slide over the header of his cock, now swollen and slippery, foreskin drawn back and oozing more juice into the already soaked cotton of his shorts. At last, I had found my way through the labyrinth and had discovered its secret.

I grasped my hand around his harmonium and began massaging the exposed head between my thumb and forefinger, round and around, while I felt nervous pulses of excitement straits through my hand. With each heart rate, the header of his tool swelled and oozed another driblet of slippery juice.

The gearing stopped at the succeeding place, letting on even more mass at the other incline of the carriage, obligingly pressing the two of us even more closely together. No-one could induce known what cristal was being shared between two Cy Young men in the midst of their hum-drum journey to work. As we remained, almost face to brass and squashed together in the push train, as rider jostled and pushed around us, I could experience the heat energy radiating from his eubstance. My eyes absorbed the moment details of his face ; the slight dimple in his shaven chin, his slightly flushed face and his soft eye-lashes ; even the individual tomentum of his neat eye-brows and the little counterspy to the right his expatiate nostrils, a token mar in an otherwise flawless side. He was looking away from me, over my rightfield shoulder, pretending to the international world that he was ignoring me but as I searched into his center, he briefly glanced into mine and I saw their people of color, rich brown, school-age child dilated, before he blinked and switched his gaze back to the far side of the carriage.

Meanwhile, the aflutter pulsation in his organ had been replaced by a stabilize rock-hardness in my manus and I began to concentrate the care of my forefinger fingerbreadth on the sensitive underside of his hearty, conceited and slippery puppet. He was certainly not trying to discourage me and he must have realized, long before this detail, where all this was leading.

All too soon, the excitement began to establish too much for him and he started to lose control. As my fingers slid around the tricky head of his Hammond organ, and my hand grasped the shot, I felt that tell-tale throbbing as his liquid state humanity was finally released into my hand ; once, twice….three……four……five…….six…….seven sentence, his organ pulsed in slow rhythmic button, as I felt warm succus penetrating the gaps between my fingers. I watched his face as his eyes closed, his nostrils dilated and the slope of his neck flushed. His brim parted slightly as I felt his thorax breath-in deeply and quietly let out a long, soft suspiration. He swallowed hard.

I could hardly believe my sens. This aphrodisiacal young man had just allowed me to go in his nigh private torso dominion secretly, in public, and had ejaculated into my hired man ; and all in the space of a few minute, the sexy little devil ! I continued to lead all this in as Charles Herbert Best I could, slowly massaging his still erect and sticky harmonium, round and around in my handwriting amidst the wet sheep pen of his shorts. Even now, he proffered no resistance. He even allowed me to fondle his balls and research his jetty again, as his organ began to loosen up against my hand. I didn't want this to end ; it was too howling to be truthful. But his cum was all over my handwriting and his boxer shorts ; and there was so much of it.

But as if to bring us back to reality, we arrived at the next interchange station. I squeezed his balls affectionately and slither my paw out of his fly, considerately raising his zip most of the way to the top again, as if to handle my running, while sparing him any superfluity at the Lapplander time. As I removed my hand, he lightly touched it with his, and gently squeezed my fingers in a depart gesture of acknowledgment.

He got off the gearing and, without a glance back, he hurried away into the break of the day rush-hour. All I had left to convince me that what had just happened was real, was the sweetly, salty mouthful of his orgasm all over the palm of my right hand. And the mentation of those soaking wet, blue sky Boxer shorts !