I'm not sure where the sexiness of it all comes from but the great theater director, Hitchcock, used it to great force many time."Strangers on a Train"is a disturbing narrative of homoerotic intrigue and murder, while in"North by Northwest ”, the train rushes into a tunnel, just as Cary subsidization and his fancy man finally kiss. Well, it was considered quite naughty in 1953 !

On this occasion though, I was taking the Caledonian Sleeper from London Euston to Scotland and I had booked a First-class single compartment. The compartments on British sleeper goby trains are really small but I still enjoy the rush of the dribbling trickle of hot water in the tiny sink with its fold-away top, the Saratoga chip coldness of the bedding on the minute nonsense 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 middle of desolate Rannoch Moor……makes me horny just thinking about it.

On this trip however, I got an extra 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, nice 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 notices telling you which end of the car to get on. But he was nice looking, so I forgave him instantly - especially when I realized that we were going to have to lapse one another in such a tight space !

He was about 5'10 ”, with dense rambunctious moody hair and a clean-shaven but slightly weathered face with a unsubtle mouth and luxuriant eye-brows. He was slim down too and was wearing a chunky grey and black perspirer and rather fetching blench Charles Grey ‘ Craghopper'hiking pant - 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 crown, while in his manus he had his slate - and a Lady Jane Grey and ash grey cycling helmet. My imaging was getting to shape already !

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

"I think that's me just there,"he said in an accent that sounded Irish but not the nasal twang of the North ; rather the balmy and seductive lilt of the South, I thought.

Now, I'm a sucker for an accent, that's my hassle. And when issuing from the gorgeous mouth of a soft-spoken, fit unseasoned Irish whiskey guy, I'm putty in his hired man - or would be given half a luck ! 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 constitute myself slim than usual against the wall of the corridor for him to get past me.

As he squeezed past, I could now see his face up close ; close enough to see the pores of his skin which had appeared weathered from a distance but which now seemed much soft ; flabby enough to stroke. His hairsbreadth was thick and dark, almost Shirley Temple Black, while his nose was neat and straight, not sharp or angulate, and for a here and now, I looked into his eyes, a beautiful blue-grey. And they looked back ; for just a little too long.

He pushed by and our dress chests touched and I felt the radiating warmth of his body and caught a hint of what I thought I recognized as 'Dolce & Gabbana'.

"Hmm,"I thought,"not what I would give birth expected from an out-of-door type."

Then he said, in that lilting accent,

"I knew it would be a small cramp but I never imagined how pleasantly crowded it would be,"and he grinned as he struggled by me. If I wasn't mistaken, I'd have said he was flirting ! Or was he just being ‘ ironic'? Unsure, I played coy for a moment.
I just smiled back, politely trying not to appear put-out. But then, as he turned and faced the room access of the turn 9/10 berth, I realized I was in the bit 7/8 and we had neighboring compartments. As he opened his threshold 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 cheeky grin.

He looked down at the bicyclist's helmet in his paw and then looked back at me, paused and broke into a blanket grin that dimpled his cheeks, before disappearing into his compartment. As I hung-up my things in my compartment, I began thinking about him following threshold, especially on Rannoch Moor………shaving…….naked………..hmmm. Then the bike…….. cycling shorts……. Oh, yes !

Now, one of the privileges of a First-class just the ticket is that you are guaranteed a seat in the Bar-Lounge Car for the 1st piece of the journeying but having done this trip before, I knew this was theory only and you have to get there quick, otherwise it can still be difficult getting a place. So I headed off for the lounge Car and grabbed a seat, just as the train was pulling out.

I was already enjoying my first base Gin & soda pop and the Car was busy with vivify chitter-chatter, when I saw him enter at the far end. Looking for a hindquarters, he eventually saw me and the vacant seat opposite me. He smiled and gestured toward the chair across the table in front of me,

"May I ?"he said.

"Of course,"I replied, looking up at him over the top of my glasses. And then with a uncoiled face, I added,"What took you so long ?"

"Well, I got lost and went the awry 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 hand, as if hiding embarrassment at my lead that I had been waiting for him,"actually, I really did get lost !"

Somehow, we both knew the score. It just happens like that sometimes. The conversation seemed to flow naturally between us as we enjoyed a few drinkable and shared some of the limited and not-very-exciting food available from the Bar. I established that he was a computer programmer for a money box 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 gearing for Oban around 7.45 the side by side morn - so he wasn't going all the way through and wouldn't be shaving naked at the open window while crossing Rannoch moor after all ! His name was Aidan, by the way, and he was 30.

I was captivated by his easygoing, tripping vocalization and his gorgeously expressive face. His mouth was all-inclusive and his brim well-formed, just waiting to be tasted ; and every prison term he smiled, his nerve dimpled. And when he was being serious, he would look directly into my eyes ( if the voice doesn't do it, that will ! ) and his brow would frown slightly, as those luxuriant eye-brows would tilt upwards in the middle.

We began with modest talk, you know, the way you do. But as we talked, I couldn't help but continue to canvass his feature article ; the slight dimple in his chin, the roundness of his ear-lobes and his beautifully fair finger-nails. And in my perturb imagination, I was undressing him. As you can probably recite, I was smitten and I desperately wanted to have-to doe with him.

As the train rushed north, our conversation didn't falter and as we chatted and joked, the slim careen of the train caused our articulatio genus to touch under the table and I felt a jolt of electrical energy run up my leg and into my spinal column, as a ardent glow engulfed my consistence. From that point on, our knees never separated and yet our conversation never touched on our being gay. The closest it got was when I asked him, tactfully, if he had any ‘ substantial other'in his liveliness. 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 little more truthfully than he had done. He didn't seek to ask me to elaborate.

On the subject of organized 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 earth 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 foreland and took another sip of his drinking and continued,"and there are so many sins ! You wouldn't believe how many there are !"

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

"I think it's time for bed, don't you ?"

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

We reached my compartment first and he stopped and turned,

"Well I suppose it's goodnight then,"he said, those luxuriant eye-brows showing just a hint of a question.

I was just summoning-up the braveness to invite him in, when he added, in his softest ‘ semen to bed'Irish whiskey idiom,

"It's just that I was thinking that you might like someone to descend tuck you in, maybe learn you a bedtime story, you know ?"And as he gazed into my eye, his font took on the look of a lost Spaniel puppy.

I was totally overcome and completely disregarding who else might be in the corridor, I put my arm around his waist and my early hand around his neck and pulled him toward me. There was no resistance and as our back talk met, I felt a warm up rush flowing through and around my total body. Our mouths merged in a deep, warm kiss, as he too now enfolded me in his weapon and pressed his trunk against mine and I inhaled that sexy mixed bag of sandalwood and herbs that was his familiar cologne.
After what seemed like proceedings in that low gear bosom, we both recovered awareness of our surroundings and I opened the door to my compartment, where the bed was now neatly prepared for the night.

But once inside, I barely had time to lock the door and pull down the blind than he grabbed my shoulders, pushed me against the wall and renewed our passionate embracing. This sentence, I tasted the salinity of his balmy lip and our tongues twisted and searched one another, as we began to commute the low gear corporal fluids of the night.

He was a practiced few inches taller than me and I was pinned against the bulwark of the compartment, his manpower now on my waist and our mouths and tongues still locked together. As our ventilation became more intense and our chest of drawers heaved against one another, our lungs craved the air through our nose. My hands were around his cover, at get-go holding him to me but now they slid down to caress the cheeks of his bum through the smooth fabric of his snuggly-fitting pant. His buttocks felt hard and brawny and as I clutched and pulled, his cheeks became concave as he arched his back and pushed his unanimous torso against me, our mouths at last separating and my cheek burying itself in the warm up folds of his sweater, as he began kissing the nape of my neck.

But his teasing and degustation and necking of my neck was sending tingling sentiency all down my arm, over my shoulder joint and down my back to my waist. In my exaltation, I threw my head word back a little too quickly and banged it on the grab-rail for the upper berth. We both laughed ; it didn't really hurt but it emphasized how cramped it was in there, as our temperatures rose and my groin developed that familiar aching ruggedness in my already pre-cum soaked briefs.

He quickly threw off his perspirer, revealing a close-fitting, stylish grey and Andrew D. White V-neck T-shirt ; the sort cut-away at the weapon system to accentuate the shape of his chest of drawers. Above the"V ”, there the first glimpse of a modestly hairy chest, as he began undoing the clit of my shirt and I grabbed at his shank to unwrap the buckle of his ‘ Cragghopper'trousers. 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 flies and made my discovery. He was wearing cycling shortstop and I gasped in joy and excitement. He stood back from me and grinned,

"Well, what did you wait,"he snorted,"grey gabardine under-drawers ?"

He kicked-off his place, dropped his trousers and stepped out of them, a vision before me in lean, sinewy grey, black and white lycra. I was transfixed. He stood there, his hands on his pelvic arch and put is head on one face,
"volition I do ?"he asked, as his eye-brows did that thing again, pointing upwards in the middle and making me go all warm and tingly inside.

"Oh God, yes !"I replied softly,"you'll do - well, for tonight, at least !"I teased, then smiled and sighed. Too genuine !

Before I knew it, he had dropped to his knees and was undoing my jeans and pulling them down, revealing my flannel 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 Christmastime present.

"Aaah !"he whispered in his Irish whiskey lilt,"now that, I do love."

Instantly, his typeface was buried in my bulwark and I felt his warm breathing place and his natural language exploring every crevice, then tasting, licking and inhaling my oozing cock inside my underwear, while I clasped his head word, thickly covered in tousled wickedness hair, circling his ears with the tips of my finger.

Delicately, almost gingerly, he pulled the waist-band of my Jockey shorts down, finally to reveal and secrete my aching erection, rough but prepuce drawn back and now sticking out in front of me. He paused, as if contemplating it. Then he opened his mouth - those gorgeous, salty, kissing lips - and slowly enveloped, first the slippery tip of my tool, and then slowly but surely, the rest of it, until his nose was bass in my powdered ginger pubic hair. I was enjoying this too much ; and I hadn't got those cycling shortstop off yet ! It was my number now.

As he slid his warm up delicious mouth back up my instrument, I pushed his foreland away and clasped him under his arms, pulling him to his feet. He wiped his mouthpiece with his script and kissed me again and this time, I tasted a new saltiness in his saliva ; that of my own pre-cum, the end of which were still in his mouth.

Kicking-off my shoes and stepping out of my dungaree, which at this stop were still down around my ankles, I twisted him around, so that his back was now against the wall. Then, kneeling down in front of him, I began admiring and stroking the still black and hoary lycra airfoil of his short circuit, the sewing of which seemed to emphasize his muscles and the cheeks of his bum, which were flexing in and out now, as I kneaded and caressed his rump. Now I had my own, long-awaited Christmastide nowadays !

Studying the bulge in front of his shorts, I was fascinated. The at heart padding in the groin had the burden of protecting his lump in the saddle, yes, but it also seemed to annul them and present them forward, pronouncing his bulge. Meanwhile, beyond the stitched shaping of his gibbousness, his organ was clearly outlined, sprouting proudly hard and erect, pointing just off to one position, up across his lycra-clad abdomen. I nuzzled its sort and inhaled the mixture of manly perfume, before slipping my fingers up under the behind of his T-shirt, exploring and stroking.

Still kneeling, I lifted his T-shirt, which clung tightly to his frame, revealing the track of haircloth from his chest to his belly-button ; such a cover girl belly-button too, evenly-formed and holler, so I could slip my tongue into it, tasting his confidant saltiness. He breathed-in deeply as I did this and slowly exhaled, as he stroked the English of my typeface and neck. The waist of his shorts was cut fairly low, so gripping his pelvis, I was able-bodied to lick and penchant and kiss the tender skin of his outer groin, towards his hip-bones, where he suddenly inhaled and let out a quiet moan of pleasure. He liked that ! So I continued, licking and kissing, soft biting and then, switching side to do the Same, as each sentence he inhaled sharply and let out a little groan.

Standing again, I slid my hands up the face of his torso, over his skin beneath his T-shirt, lifting it over his arms and head, finally revealing his chest, clustered with patches of morose tomentum, over his pectorals, around his pronounced nipples and down the centre-line of his stomach to that lovely belly-button.

I played with his nipples with my tongue, teasing them softly with my teeth, as his fingers played softly and delicately up and down the sides of my body. His nipples were large and non-white and as I teased them, they became hard and pronounced, like small deal standing above a forest of easygoing dark hairs.

I turned out the ignitor 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 seconds, we were standing together in that flyspeck cramped space, completely naked and now in duskiness, apart from the blue glow of the night-light. Once again we embraced and kissed but this meter, more completely and even more passionately than before, his proud uncircumcised manhood pressed tightly against my abdomen and my own penis knife thrust into the cleft between his thighs, just beneath his ball.

And that was how it happened that beginning time, just standing in the night, pressed together in passionate coalescence, hands stroking, exploring, clutching, teasing ; tongues entwined and succus flowing, spokesperson groaning in the blue-glow and senses reaching a hectic limen. He began first ; urgently thrusting his diaphragm up and down against my embrace, his tool now releasing its pre-cum between our skin and further exciting him to contact on in high spirits and high, 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 indulgent"Oh, Jesus !"beside my ear.

I felt his ardent fluids against my belly as he came and came again, repeatedly lubricating the blank space between our bodies and it began running down through his pubic hair and into mine, as my own slippery organ thrust between his inner second joint, into the crack of his Lucille Ball, now covered in his own cum.

It was all too a great deal. He gripped my tool between his warm thighs, as I clutched at his buttocks and I felt that familiar warm glow enveloping my body, around my middle, up and down my back, edifice and construction, until the glowing imploded into the alkali of my ball and in an agonizing cramp, my life-juices surged out of me and through my puppet, ejaculating into the fond cleft beneath his musket ball, over and over and over again, until all my cum was running down his ramification and I was spent, exhausted.

We stood there, naked in the blue gleaming, both of us breathing heavily. Cum was everywhere ; all down his wooden leg, in his pubic tomentum, over his globe, all over both our stomach. Just as well I had some tissues in my bag within easy orbit. 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 throw had enough and want to entrust and go back to his own compartment now but once we were cleaned-up and had joked, trying to make the tissue-rubbish as inconspicuous as potential in the bin, he remained standing, naked in the dark, his fill organ drooping almost sadly in nominal head 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 understand his formula, as the brightness level of a small place flashed past the window in the deserted early hours of the dayspring. He made no motion to put on his wearing apparel ; he just stood there.

"wellspring, 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 narrow bunk 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 coarseness of his sassing and inhaled his woody, sweaty aroma .