I’m not surely where the amativeness of it all comes from but the capital director, Alfred Hitchcock, used it to not bad force many fourth dimension. “ unknown on a train ” is a disturbing story of homoerotic intrigue and execution, while in “ Frederick North by Northwest ”, the geartrain kick into a tunnel, just as Cary Cary Grant and his paramour finally kiss. Well, it was considered quite naughty in 1953 !

On this affair though, I was taking the Caledonian Sleeper from Jack London Euston to Scotland and I had booked a First-class ace compartment. The compartments on British people sleeper trains are really little but I still enjoy the flush of the dribbling trickle of hot body of water in the diminutive sink with its fold-away top, the crisp coldness of the bedding on the narrow bunk bed and the seductive blue of the night-light ; then waking in the morning to a new and barren landscape painting passing your window as you shave, naked in the middle of desolate Rannoch Moor … … makes me horny just thinking about it.

On this head trip however, I got an extra thrill for my First-class menu, as I threaded my way with my pelage 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 ‘ legal injury way’because the corridors are so narrow that there are notices telling you which end of the car to get on. But he was gracious looking, so I forgave him instantly & ndash ; especially when I realized that we were going to birth to pass away one another in such a mingy outer space !

He was about 5’10 ”, with wooden-headed rambunctious dingy hair and a smooth-shaven but slightly weathered face with a blanket rima oris and voluptuary eye-brows. He was reduce too and was wearing a chunky greyness and black sweater and rather fetching pale gray ‘ Craghopper’hiking pant & ndash ; the sort that are hard-wearing but which cling snuggly in all the right berth ! On his back, he had a ruck-sack and over one arm he carried a jacket, while in his script he had his ticket - and a grey and atomic number 47 cycling helmet. My imaging was getting to work already !

As he approached, I noticed the clinging folds of his grey ‘ Craghoppers & rsquo ;, forming around an interest 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 beginning time,

“ I think that’s me just there, ” he said in an speech pattern that sounded Irish people but not the nasal bone nasal twang of the North ; rather the subdued and seductive swing of the South, I thought.

Now, I’m a soft touch for an stress, that’s my hassle. And when issuing from the gorgeous rima oris of a soft-spoken, fit Young Irish guy, I’m putty in his mitt & ndash ; or would be given half a hazard ! So I decided to ‘ chip in way’( well, that’s where I usually end up, so why fight it ? ) and I put my bag down and tried to build myself svelte than usual against the rampart 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 stoma of his pelt which had appeared weathered from a space but which now seemed much softer ; soft enough to stroke. His whisker was compact and dark, almost black, while his olfactory organ was peachy and flat, not shrewd or angular, and for a minute, I looked into his optic, a beautiful blue-grey. And they looked back ; for just a little too long.

He pushed by and our clothed pectus touched and I felt the radiating warmth of his body and caught a confidential information of what I thought I recognized as'Dolce & amp ; Gabbana'.

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

Then he said, in that lilting accent,

“ I knew it would be a little halter 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 ‘ wry’? 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 doorway of the number 9/10 post, I realized I was in the issue 7/8 and we had conterminous compartments. As he opened his doorway and I opened mine, he looked back at me and I couldn’t stand 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 smile that dimpled his cheeks, before disappearing into his compartment. As I hung-up my things in my compartment, I began thinking about him next door, especially on Rannoch moor … … … shaving … ….naked … … …..hmmm. Then the bike … ….. cycling short … …. Oh, yes !

Now, one of the privileges of a First-class ticket is that you are guaranteed a hind end in the Bar-Lounge Car for the first part of the journey but having done this trip before, I knew this was possibility only and you have to get there ready, otherwise it can still be difficult getting a stern. So I headed off for the Lounge Car and grabbed a prat, just as the string was pulling out.

I was already enjoying my first Gin & amp ; soda pop and the Car was engaged with enliven chitter-chatter, when I saw him enter at the far end. Looking for a tush, he eventually saw me and the vacant derriere 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 flat face, I added, “ What took you so long ? ”

“ Well, I got lost and went the wrongly 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 paw, as if hiding superfluity at my hint that I had been waiting for him, “ actually, I really did get lost ! ”

Somehow, we both knew the grievance. It just happens like that sometimes. The conversation seemed to flow naturally between us as we enjoyed a few drinks and shared some of the limited and not-very-exciting food available from the Bar. I established that he was a figurer programmer 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 trains for Oban around 7.45 the next dawn & ndash ; 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 soft, lilting voice and his gorgeously expressive face. His oral cavity was wide and his lips grammatical, just waiting to be tasted ; and every sentence he smiled, his cheeks 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 forehead would frown slightly, as those epicurean eye-brows would careen upwards in the middle.

We began with minuscule talk of the town, you know, the way you do. But as we talked, I couldn’t helper but continue to examine his lineament ; the piffling dimpled chad in his chin, the plumpness of his ear-lobes and his beautifully clean finger-nails. And in my distracted vision, 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 little sway of the gear caused our genu to touch under the table and I felt a jar of electricity run up my leg and into my spikelet, as a warm glow engulfed my body. From that dot 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 ‘ significant other’in his liveliness. He paused, took a sip of his drinkable, 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 footling more truthfully than he had done. He didn’t assay to ask me to elaborate.

On the issue 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 earth to relish aliveness and not to pass our sentence feeling guilty for all the sins we’ve committed. It makes you far too miserable. ” He shook his fountainhead and took another sip of his drink and continued, “ and there are so many sins ! You wouldn’t conceive how many there are ! ”

I couldn’t help but jape. And somehow I couldn’t assistant but think 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 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 devoid remark and a polite dismissal ? Either way, we had adjacent compartments, so I figured it was only civil 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,

“ well I suppose it’s goodnight then, ” he said, those profuse eye-brows showing just a suggestion 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 like someone to amount tuck you in, maybe register you a bedtime tale, you know ? ” And as he gazed into my eyes, his brass took on the smell 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 waistline and my other hand around his neck opening and pulled him toward me. There was no resistance and as our lip met, I felt a warm rush flow through and around my entire dead body. Our oral fissure merged in a cryptical, warm kiss, as he too now enfolded me in his arms and pressed his torso against mine and I inhaled that sexy miscellanea of sandalwood and herbs that was his familiar cologne.
After what seemed like minutes in that outset embracing, we both recovered cognizance 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 shut up the door and commit down the blind than he grabbed my shoulder joint, pushed me against the wall and renewed our passionate embrace. This time, I tasted the saltiness of his soft mouth and our tongues twisted and searched one another, as we began to convert the first corporal fluids of the night.

He was a salutary few inch taller than me and I was pinned against the bulwark of the compartment, his hands now on my waist and our mouths and tongues still locked together. As our breathing became more intense and our chests heaved against one another, our lungs craved the air through our nose. My hands were around his rachis, at first holding him to me but now they slid down to caress the cheeks of his bum through the quiet material of his snuggly-fitting trouser. His buttocks felt hard and powerful and as I clutched and pulled, his impertinence became concave as he arched his cover and pushed his entirely body against me, our mouths at last separating and my face burying itself in the lovesome flexure of his sweater, as he began kissing the nucha of my neck.

But his teasing and savouring and necking of my neck opening was sending tingling sensations all down my arm, over my shoulder and down my back to my waist. In my ecstasy, I threw my head back a little too quickly and banged it on the grab-rail for the upper place. We both laughed ; it didn’t really hurt but it emphasized how cramped it was in there, as our temperatures rose and my mole developed that fellow aching harshness in my already pre-cum soaked briefs.

He quickly threw off his sweater, revealing a close-fitting, stylish Zane Grey and Patrick White V-neck T-shirt ; the sort cut-away at the arms to accentuate the shape of his chest. Above the “ V ”, there the firstly glimpse of a modestly haired chest, as he began undoing the push button of my shirt and I grabbed at his waist to undo the buckle of his ‘ Cragghopper’pant. He already had my shirt undefendable and his hands were stroking the tender sides of my trunk, as I slid down the zip of his flies and made my uncovering. He was wearing cycling boxers and I gasped in joy and excitement. He stood back from me and grinned,

“ wellspring, what did you have a bun in the oven, ” he snorted, “ greyness gabardine under-drawers ? ”

He kicked-off his horseshoe, dropped his pant and stepped out of them, a visual sensation before me in lean, sinewy Zane Grey, pitch blackness and whiten lycra. I was transfixed. He stood there, his custody on his coxa and put is head on one face,
“ will I do ? ” he asked, as his eye-brows did that matter again, pointing upwards in the center 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 true !

Before I knew it, he had dropped to his knees and was undoing my jeans and pulling them down, revealing my whiten 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 swing, “ now that, I do love. ”

Instantly, his boldness was buried in my groin and I felt his warm breath and his tongue exploring every fissure, then tasting, licking and inhaling my oozing cock inside my underwear, while I clasped his straits, thickly covered in dishevelled nighttime hair, circling his ears with the hint of my fingers.

Delicately, almost gingerly, he pulled the waist-band of my brief down, finally to reveal and release my aching hard-on, uncut but foreskin drawn back and now sticking out in front of me. He paused, as if contemplating it. Then he opened his mouth & ndash ; those gorgeous, salty, kissing backtalk & ndash ; and slowly enveloped, first the slippery tip of my tool, and then slowly but surely, the rest of it, until his nose was deep in my ginger pubic hair. I was enjoying this too much ; and I hadn’t got those cycling boxershorts off yet ! It was my turn of events now.

As he slid his fond yummy mouth back up my tool, I pushed his head away and clasped him under his arm, pulling him to his ft. He wiped his mouth with his hand and kissed me again and this time, I tasted a new salinity in his saliva ; that of my own pre-cum, the remnants of which were still in his mouth.

Kicking-off my brake shoe and stepping out of my jeans, which at this point were still down around my ankle joint, I twisted him around, so that his rear was now against the bulwark. Then, kneeling down in front of him, I began admiring and stroking the tranquil grim and grey lycra control surface of his shorts, the stitching of which seemed to emphasise his brawniness and the cheeks of his bum, which were flexing in and out now, as I kneaded and caressed his posterior. Now I had my own, long-awaited Christmas Day nowadays !

Studying the gibbosity in figurehead of his short pants, I was fascinated. The deep down cushioning in the jetty had the effect of protecting his balls in the saddle, yes, but it also seemed to lift them and present them forward, pronouncing his bulge. Meanwhile, beyond the stitched shaping of his bulge, his organ was clearly outlined, sprouting proudly backbreaking and erect, pointing just off to one side, up across his lycra-clad abdomen. I nuzzled its form and inhaled the miscellanea of manly aroma, before slipping my digit up under the fanny of his T-shirt, exploring and stroking.

Still kneeling, I lifted his T-shirt, which clung tightly to his shape, revealing the trail of hairs from his chest to his belly-button ; such a endearing belly-button too, evenly-formed and hollow out, so I could slip my glossa into it, tasting his confidant saltiness. He breathed-in deeply as I did this and slowly exhaled, as he stroked the side of my face and cervix. The shank of his shorts was cut fairly low, so gripping his rose hip, I was able to lick and taste and kiss the pinnace skin of his outer mole, towards his hip-bones, where he suddenly inhaled and let out a still groan of pleasance. He liked that ! So I continued, licking and kissing, sonant biting and then, switching sides to do the Lapp, as each time he inhaled sharply and let out a little groan.

Standing again, I slid my hands up the sides of his torso, over his skin beneath his T-shirt, lifting it over his weaponry and head, finally revealing his chest, clustered with patches of dark hairs, over his musculus pectoralis, around his sound out nipples and down the centre-line of his stomach to that lovely belly-button.

I played with his nipples with my clapper, teasing them softly with my dentition, as his fingers played softly and delicately up and down the slope of my eubstance. His nipples were enceinte and dark and as I teased them, they became hard and pronounced, like pocket-size mountains standing above a forest of balmy night hairs.

I turned out the illumination in the compartment and finally began to stray down the top of those lycra cycle-shorts but there was no way I would get them off him without his help, so within secondment, we were standing together in that lilliputian cramped space, completely nude and now in shadow, apart from the blue glow of the night-light. Once again we embraced and kissed but this time, more completely and even more passionately than before, his proud uncircumcised manhood pressed tightly against my stomach and my own member thrust into the cleft between his thighs, just beneath his formal.

And that was how it happened that first time, just standing in the dark, pressed together in passionate coalescence, hands stroking, exploring, clutching, teasing ; tongue entwined and juices flowing, voices groaning in the blue-glow and senses reaching a feverish threshold. He began first ; urgently thrusting his diaphragm up and down against my embrace, his tool now releasing its pre-cum between our cutis and further exciting him to reach on higher and higher, until … ….he began shuddering and his legs were shaking against mine, as he groaned deeply into the nape of my cervix and I felt his pulsing organ as he let out a easygoing “ Oh, Redeemer ! ” beside my ear.

I felt his warm fluids against my stomach as he came and came again, repeatedly lubricating the space between our bodies and it began running down through his pubic fuzz and into mine, as my own slippery organ stab between his inner thighs, into the crack of his balls, now covered in his own cum.

It was all too much. He gripped my tool between his strong thighs, as I clutched at his buttocks and I felt that familiar warm incandescence enveloping my torso, around my eye, up and down my back, edifice and building, until the gleaming imploded into the base of my bollock and in an agonizing spasm, my life-juices surged out of me and through my tool, ejaculating into the warm cleft 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 glow, both of us breathing heavily. Cum was everywhere ; all down his pegleg, in his pubic hair, over his nut, all over both our stomachs. Just as well I had some tissues in my bag within easy reaching. Silently and tenderly, we cleaned each other up and I raised the blind one snick to see where we were ; well past Glasgow by now, I guessed, judging by the time.

I figured he might have had enough and want to leave and go back to his own compartment now but once we were cleaned-up and had joked, trying to reach the tissue-rubbish as invisible as potential in the bin, he remained standing, naked in the darkness, his replete electric organ drooping almost sadly in front end of me. He looked at his scout, 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 expression, as the igniter of a low station flashed past the window in the derelict early on hr of the morning. He made no move to put on his clothes ; he just stood there.

“ Well, I’ve had my bedtime taradiddle I guess, ” I replied, “ but you did also promise to pucker 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 mesomorphic butt-cheeks, tasted the sweet saltiness of his sass and inhaled his woody, sweaty aroma.