I saw him out of the corner of my eye as I passed him on the platform. What struck me about him was his short, unruly pale ginger hair, strikingly pale-blue eyes and his baggy beige cotton trousers, worn below a plain white polo shirt and a green blazer.
He was young, about 22, and his face was clean-shaven with freckles over his nose and cheeks. 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 stand a few yards 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 hands crossed in front of him, holding a small plastic carrier-bag.
When the train came in, I maneuvered myself so as to get on next to him. As we moved forward towards the train doors, I caught a tantalizing glimpse of something interesting in those baggy beige cotton trousers that suggested that he might have been playing with himself while standing there with his hands crossed in front of himself. After all, first thing in the morning, young, bored and horny, what young man wouldn’t, in the same circumstances?
Unfortunately, the train wasn’t quite crowded enough to give me an excuse to stand close enough to touch him at first but as we travelled on, our eyes 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 hair and eye-brows, were a pale ginger and I noticed that his pupils were incredibly dilated. Gazing into them, they were like the hidden depths of huge black 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 train rattled on, I began creating a make-believe 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 outdoor type and I imagined him playing football in long white socks and silky shorts; nothing on underneath of course; running with youthful energy, then tripping and sliding on the wet, muddy grass so that his shorts rode up his pale but muscular thighs, revealing the dimpled cheeks of his ass, and perhaps even a glimpse of his flopping tackle, as he rolled over in the mud to regain his footing. The colour of his eye-brows and eye-lashes, like his unruly hair, was pale ginger and I imagined his pubic hair was probably ginger too, with thick, wiry curls. And I imagined his uncut dick, throbbing against his hands as he secretly played with himself through his trousers, behind the privacy of his plastic bag, so annoyingly still held in front of him.
Soon though, after a couple more stops, the train began to fill up and it was eventually crowded enough to give me an excuse to stand closer to him. Shielded slightly by my open overcoat, I was able to give him one or two exploratory brushes with the back of my hand against his leg. Standing directly in front of him, with my left hand 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 nice looking and I was certain there had been something of interest in those baggy trousers but I didn’t seem to be making any progress.
“He’s either too shy or just too embarrassed”, I thought to myself.
However, at the next stop, when two or three more people crowded on next to us, no-one was more surprised than me at what happened next.
In the crowd, he suddenly turned sideways facing the doors, dropped his hands (and the carrier bag) to his side and very obviously pressed the whole of his right side against the front of my body; so much so, that his left side was pressing quite firmly against my hardening crotch, already oozing pre-cum into my Calvin Klein briefs. It was too much of an obvious invitation; we were standing in the corner 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 inside of his left thigh and quickly discovered that he was sporting one hell of an erection 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 short fellow but what I felt was unbelievable in size! Not only was it quite long but it was also surprisingly thick. How strange it is that you can discover such treasures in such unlikely places! I grasped it firmly through the material of his trousers and gently squeezed, and I felt him respond by sending a pulse right through his tool. That pulse passed through my palm and up my arm until it manifested itself as an electric shiver that ran like fingers up and down my back!
Almost feverishly, through the material of his trousers I explored up and down the shaft of his cock, to feel the outline of the engorged head of his organ, pressed hard against the inside of his groin. He was either wearing loose cotton boxers or nothing at all! I couldn’t wait to find out.
I allowed the swaying of the carriage to let me adjust my position against him, forcing him to turn slightly more towards me and as I traced my fingers to the top of his flies, I expected to find a zip but, to my dismay, I discovered buttons. Damn!
Not to be outwitted, I remembered that on this train journey, there would be a long run now until the next station, which would be on the other side of the carriage, and then there would be another long 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 stop me. Instead, he pressed the back of his right hand against my crotch; my coat was open and with my left arm still positioned above him to steady me, we were completely shielded from view.
I continued down his flies, delicately undoing his buttons, two, three, eventually four of them, until there was enough room to slide the whole of my hand inside the warm opening. Meanwhile, he continued to brush and press his hand against my now erect organ, bulging hard inside my briefs, uncomfortably damp from all the pre-cum oozing from my own excited tool. As he was quite a short 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 encounter, it had always been me in charge, in control; and being in control of another guy’s “most personal territory” in public but in secret was itself one of the most intoxicating sexual thrills. However this time, things were going in an entirely new direction and I was far from in control of myself, judging by the state of my own underwear!
As he twisted his hand 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 believe that my football fantasy about him had been true; he was wearing football shorts after all! All down his left leg, I now felt the thick throbbing shaft of his penis. God, it was thick too; and rock-hard! My heart seemed to be pounding in my ears as I slid the soft, silky material of his shorts up and down, over his tool. The head of his organ was already engorged and I looked directly into his deep wide eyes and gave him a quick raise of my eye-brows. He looked away, being careful not to be discovered. But I had already discovered his not-so-little secret! And at the same, his fingers had found the zip of my flies! He wasted no time; before I knew it, his hand was inside my trousers and had found the top of my white Calvins.
The trouble with football shorts, sexy as they are, is that they don’t have an open fly-front. And as he was so short, I couldn’t reach down far enough to find the bottom of them. So I twisted my hand around inside the opening of his baggy trousers and pointed my finger upwards until it found what I was looking for; the rumpled waist-band of his shorts. I managed to hook my finger over the waist-band and pulled downwards, prying my other fingers into the new opening until my whole hand was inside and the front of his shorts were being held down in front of him. Immediately, I felt tufts of pubic hair and I massaged his testicles, now tightly bunched against the warmth of his groin.
Then, as I moved my hand to grasp his organ I watched his face, as his nostrils dilated and he breathed-in deeply; I saw him swallow hard, parting and licking his lips slightly. He was highly aroused and his right hand had now twisted around inside my flies and the palm of his hand was massaging my bulge. I was finding it hard to concentrate!
As the train came into the next station, I prayed he wouldn’t get off. We both just stood there, pressed together in the crowd, across from the doors, with people jostling to get on and off around us. There we were, hard against each other, my hand totally inside his flies and over the waist-band of his silky football shorts and grasping his massive tool, while his hand was inside my flies, with his palm pressed against my throbbing underwear. Meanwhile, the other passengers pushed and shoved around us, completely oblivious 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 sign of his ecstacy. I was enjoying this – and so was he! Now, backwards and forwards, I slid his foreskin over the swollen head of his tool. He swallowed again, hard and I felt his organ pulse in my hand at the same time, as I felt slippery pre-cum ooze into my fingers and I began sliding it around the head of his penis.
Frantically, his fingers pulled at the top my white but damp briefs and his hand was inside them, releasing my bulging cock into his hand and slipping sideways in my briefs, across my right 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 groin and in his grip, he quickly realized otherwise and began sliding my own foreskin back, so that his fingers could mimic what I was doing to him at the same time.
That was it; neither of us could hold it any longer. All at once, I watched as his pale neck began to flush bright pink against the white 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 throbs in my hand as he came in his silky shorts. Volumes he seemed to pump, through the fingers of my hand; twice, three, four, five, six, seven times he came as he let out an involuntary cough to mask what was probably really a gasp. I felt the warmth of his white slippery fluids in the palm of my hand, running through my fingers and down the leg of his silky football shorts.
Just as he was in the midst of his throbbing orgasm, I felt that familiar powerful glow engulfing my own body, focusing itself into the depths of my groin, into my balls and then, surging into the shaft of my cock, as I jettisoned my load into the palm of his hand in two or three long bursts, as I too now tried to hide the heat of orgasm from being revealed in my face, by pressing my face against the arm of my coat, still outstretched above us, gripping onto the bar for dear life!
But I still had his throbbing tool in my hand and there was cum everywhere, running, slippery, down his left leg, inside his silky shorts and now, all over his organ as I continued to massage him. My own white Calvin Klein briefs were soaked but as I was not as well-endowed 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 hand to his groin, I felt his balls relaxing and their tightened sack becoming loose and relaxed again. But now his right hand was free again and in front of himself, effectively pressing my hand still against him; he didn’t want me to do any more. His still swollen tool was at its most sensitive, a state we all know can be almost painful to touch, just after a powerful ejaculation. So I knew it was time to leave; and in any event, we were coming into the next interchange station.
I didn’t have time to do anything else but withdraw my sticky hand from his flies as he pulled away and turned to get off the train. In the crowd, I started to follow him but quickly realized that it would be futile. As I saw him disappearing up the escalator and the dampness in my groin 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 shorts, with cold, sticky cum running down his leg. Just like me, he would probably have to go directly into the toilet at work, take off his shorts and spend the rest of the day with nothing on under those beige baggy trousers!