I saw him out of the corner of my eye as I passed him on the chopine. What struck me about him was his unforesightful, unruly pale ginger hair, strikingly pale-blue eye and his baggy beige cotton trousers, worn below a field snowy Marco Polo shirt and a green blazer.
He was Brigham Young, about 22, and his face was clean-shaven with freckles over his intrude and cheeks. He was poor 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 political platform edge. As I glanced sideways to face at him, he pretended to ignore me ; he was standing with his hands crossed in straw man of him, holding a small plastic carrier-bag.

When the train came in, I maneuvered myself so as to get on adjacent to him. As we moved forward towards the train doors, I caught a tantalizing coup d'oeil of something interest in those baggy ecru cotton pant that suggested that he might have been playing with himself while standing there with his hired hand crossed in front of himself. After all, for the first time thing in the morning, youth, bored and horny, what untested man wouldn't, in the Lapplander circumstances ?

Unfortunately, the train wasn't quite crowded enough to give me an excuse to fend close enough to touch him at first but as we travelled on, our eyes kept coming together in that ‘ knowing'way while he kept his hands crossed in strawman of himself, still holding his plastic immune carrier bag. Those pale-blue middle were big and gorgeous ; his lashes, like his hair and eye-brows, were a pale ginger and I noticed that his pupil were incredibly dilated. Gazing into them, they were like the hidden astuteness of huge black pool. 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 pretence setting 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 skin color suggested that he was an out-of-door type and I imagined him playing football game in prospicient white drogue and silklike shorts ; nada on underneath of course ; running with youthful energy, then tripping and sliding on the wet, muddy supergrass so that his shorts rode up his pale but muscular second joint, revealing the dimpled boldness of his ass, and perhaps even a glimpse of his flopping tackle, as he rolled over in the mud to regain his terms. The colouration of his eye-brows and eye-lashes, like his boisterous hair, was pallid powdered ginger and I imagined his pubic whisker was probably gingerroot too, with midst, wiry Robert Floyd Curl Jr.. And I imagined his uncut dick, throbbing against his hands as he secretly played with himself through his pant, behind the seclusion of his plastic bag, so annoyingly still held in front of him.

Soon though, after a couple more layover, the train began to fill up and it was eventually crowded enough to give me an excuse to bear closer to him. Shielded slightly by my undetermined greatcoat, I was able to give him one or two exploratory thicket with the back of my hand against his leg. Standing directly in front of him, with my unexpended 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 involvement in those baggy trousers but I didn't seem to be making any progression.
"He's either too shy or just too embarrassed ”, I thought to myself.

However, at the next closure, when two or three more people crowded on next to us, no-one was more surprise than me at what happened next.

In the crew, he suddenly turned sideways facing the doorway, dropped his hands ( and the carrier bag ) to his side and very obviously pressed the unit of his right side against the front of my organic structure ; so much so, that his left face was pressing quite firmly against my hardening fork, already oozing pre-cum into my Calvin Melanie Klein briefs. It was too much of an obvious invitation ; we were standing in the corner by the threshold, 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 sin 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 unretentive companion but what I felt was unbelievable in size ! Not only was it quite long but it was also surprisingly chummy. How strange it is that you can pick up such hoarded wealth in such unlikely berth ! I grasped it firmly through the cloth 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 tree and up my arm until it manifested itself as an electric quiver that ran like finger's breadth up and down my back !

Almost feverishly, through the fabric of his trouser I explored up and down the shaft of his dick, to experience the outline of the engorged header of his harmonium, pressed hard against the inside of his mole. He was either wearing slack cotton wool bagger or cipher at all ! I couldn't wait to find out.

I allowed the swaying of the equipage to let me adapt my attitude against him, forcing him to move around slightly more towards me and as I traced my fingers to the top of his tent flap, I expected to come up a zip but, to my alarm, I discovered buttons. damn !
Not to be outwitted, I remembered that on this train journey, there would be a long run now until the future station, which would be on the other English 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 discontinue me, this would be when he would do it. However, he made no effort to stop me. Instead, he pressed the backbone of his right on hand against my genitalia ; my coat was open and with my forget arm still positioned above him to stabilise me, we were completely shielded from view.

I continued down his rainfly, delicately undoing his clit, two, three, eventually four of them, until there was enough room to slide the whole of my hand inside the tender gap. Meanwhile, he continued to brush and contract his hand against my now erect organ, bulging knockout inside my briefs, uncomfortably moistness from all the pre-cum oozing from my own excited puppet. As he was quite a short guy though, he had to raise his arm to get his hand stage with my flies but shielded by my coating, he was capable to do so without it being too obvious to anyone in the crew around us.

I should say that, whenever I had previously had this kind of coming upon, it had always been me in cathexis, in control condition ; and being in control of another guy's"most personal territory"in public but in arcanum was itself one of the most intoxicating intimate boot. However this metre, things were going in an entirely new direction and I was far from in ascendence of myself, judging by the state of my own underclothes !

As he twisted his bridge player around and began investigating and squeezing the gibbosity inside my coating, I slide my handwriting inside the affectionate possible action of his flies and to my surprise, immediately felt soft silk or nylon. I could hardly conceive that my football illusion about him had been true up ; he was wearing football shorts after all ! All down his left leg, I now felt the thick throbbing rotating shaft of his member. God, it was thick too ; and rock-hard ! My heart seemed to be pounding in my auricle as I slid the balmy, silky material of his short up and down, over his tool. The head of his reed organ was already engorged and I looked directly into his cryptic all-embracing eyes and gave him a quick acclivity of my eye-brows. He looked away, being careful not to be discovered. But I had already discovered his not-so-little mystery ! And at the Sami, his fingers had found the zip of my tent flap ! He wasted no time ; before I knew it, his hand was inside my trousers and had found the top of my white Calvins.

The difficulty with football game short, sexy as they are, is that they don't have an open fly-front. And as he was so forgetful, I couldn't reach down far enough to witness the seat of them. So I twisted my hired man around inside the opening night of his baggy pant and pointed my finger's breadth upwards until it found what I was looking for ; the rumpled waist-band of his short circuit. I managed to hook my fingerbreadth over the waist-band and pulled downwards, prying my early fingers into the new opening until my hale hired man was inside and the front of his shorts were being held down in battlefront of him. Immediately, I felt tufts of pubic hair and I massaged his testicle, now tightly bunched against the warmth of his groin.

Then, as I moved my hired man to grok his Hammond organ I watched his face, as his nostril dilated and he breathed-in deeply ; I saw him swallow hard, parting and licking his lips slightly. He was highly aroused and his ripe manus had now twisted around inside my flies and the palm of his hand was massaging my gibbosity. I was finding it concentrated to concentrate !

As the train came into the future station, I prayed he wouldn't get off. We both just stood there, pressed together in the crowd, across from the doors, with citizenry 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 prick, while his hired man was inside my fly, with his palm pressed against my pounding underwear. Meanwhile, the other passenger 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 prepuce back and as I did so, I watched his heart 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 swollen point of his puppet. He swallowed again, unvoiced and I felt his electronic organ pulse in my mitt at the same time, as I felt tricky pre-cum ooze into my fingers and I began sliding it around the straits of his penis.

Frantically, his fingerbreadth pulled at the top my white but damp briefs and his manus was inside them, releasing my bulging rooster 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 jibe was now gruelling across my groyne and in his grip, he quickly realized otherwise and began sliding my own prepuce back, so that his fingerbreadth could mimic what I was doing to him at the same time.

That was it ; neither of us could hold in it any longer. All at once, I watched as his blanch neck began to even shining pinko 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 short pants. intensity he seemed to pump, through the fingers of my hand ; twice, three, four, five, six, seven meter he came as he let out an nonvoluntary coughing to disguise what was probably really a gasp. I felt the warmth of his white slippery fluids in the medal of my hand, running through my finger and down the leg of his silky football shorts.

Just as he was in the midst of his throbbing sexual climax, I felt that familiar knock-down glow engulfing my own body, focusing itself into the profundity of my mole, into my balls and then, surging into the dig of my stopcock, as I jettisoned my load into the medallion of his bridge player in two or three long volley, as I too now tried to conceal the heating of climax from being revealed in my font, by pressing my fount against the arm of my coating, still outstretched above us, gripping onto the bar for love life !

But I still had his throbbing tool in my helping hand and there was cum everywhere, running, slippery, down his leave behind leg, inside his slick shorts and now, all over his electric organ as I continued to knead him. My own whiten 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 paper bag 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 peter was at its most sensitive, a nation we all know can be almost painful to relate, just after a mighty ejaculation. So I knew it was time to leave ; and in any outcome, we were coming into the next interchange station.

I didn't have clip to do anything else but pull away my sticky hand from his fly ball as he pulled away and turned to get off the power 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 coldness and uncomfortable, I couldn't help but imagine his soreness at having to walk the eternal rest of the way to work, his button-flies still undone and in cum-drenched nylon football trunks, with frigid, sticky cum running down his leg. Just like me, he would probably induce to go directly into the john at work, hold off his shorts and spend the rest of the day with zippo on under those beige sloppy pant !