Just a year or so back, I had absolutely nothing to contribute to the realm of erotic short stories. My life to that point had been singularly lacking in eroticism. Simple, uncomplicated sex? Yes. Anything worth immortalising in prose? No. Just masturbation, wet dreams and occasional sex with one's current girlfriend. All a bit ho-hum and pedestrian. However, my boring sex life suddenly became more exotic on a train journey home from work one evening.

Now, if things go to schedule - and they usually do - then I face two 54-minute train journeys each week-day on my way to and from my office in the city.

The service terminates at my home town, so I'm one of the first to board in the mornings. I get to choose a seat facing forward and out of the sun's glare. I get to pity those who trudge on board at subsequent stops. I read my newspaper or my book in glorious cushioned comfort while other commuters are obliged to stand and find themselves squeezed into an increasingly populous aisle. Of course I do have a courteous side to my nature, and I am willing to surrender my seat to the aged, infirm or heavily pregnant, but very few early morning travellers fall into these categories and so I almost always remain blissfully seated until we reach the city.

My trip home is horrendous, however. By the time I board the train each evening, it is already packed with commuters who got on at previous underground stations in the city loop. So it's my turn to be a sardine. A recorded message exhorts people to move down the carriage each time we stop to take on more passengers. 'Move where?' one wonders. Men and women are practically glued to each other, and this can sometimes become awkward, even downright intimate.

I am not one of those guys who presses himself against a woman deliberately, but I confess there are times when the constant pressure of a thigh or buttock creates a stirring in my loins. One tries to ignore it, to think of unpleasant things like bubonic plague or a nuclear holocaust, but sometimes the stirring reaches full bloom and I find myself with an obstinate and persistent erection. I have never had my face slapped. No one has ever accused me of being a depraved frotteur. I suspect most women are accustomed to such happenings and they choose to ignore the matter rather than make a fuss. On that particular Thursday evening, however, my erection was not ignored.

I was on my way home and, as usual, I was squashed into a miserable, seething mass of complete strangers. I wasn't sure exactly who my groin was pushed against - I'm very tall and tend to look across a sea of heads rather than at a sea of faces - but I became aware that a hand had snaked its way in between me and someone else, and this hand was actively encouraging me to reman erect, teasing my swelling cock and manoeuvring it upwards towards the waistband of my trousers. I decided to go with the flow. After all, I could hardly move away - there was nowhere to move to. I couldn't even make eye-contact. I was deep within a smorgasbord of thighs and buttocks. So I closed my eyes and surrendered to sensation.

When I felt my zipper being lowered, I gasped inwardly before giving myself over to the highly erotic experience of having a hand snake its way into my underpants, first lightly caressing my dick and then moving downwards to cup my testicles. My senses were doubly inflamed by the knowledge that this was happening in a crowded railway carriage. I had never before experienced anonymous sex but I was beginning to see the attraction. An unknown hand was roaming in my underwear and I was as hard as a rock. Pre-cum was already escaping through the eye of my dick. I felt a thumb rub over my glans, spreading the ooze and bringing me dangerously close to ejaculation.

At this juncture, the train stopped at one of the stations where a great many people disembark - a place where I am usually able to find a seat for the last part of my journey. As the exodus began, the hand was withdrawn and I was left standing with my eyes closed, a smile on my face, a raging hard-on and an open zipper. No one seemed to notice my plight. I quickly zipped up and found a seat. I looked down at my lap and was dismayed to see that pre-cum had seeped through the fabric of my light grey trousers. A whole new meaning to the term 'train-spotting'!

I began to glance around the carriage. Had my anonymous friend departed at the previous station? Was my secret playmate still on board and now seated nearby? No one in the immediate vicinity looked likely. One extraordinarily ugly woman caught my eye and smiled. I prayed fervently that she not be my unknown benefactor. She was at least fifty and her upper lip was in desperate need of a thorough waxing! I looked further down the carriage and caught the eye of a guy who smiled and then winked at me. It was what one might call a knowing smile; and it was a very knowing wink. Now that made me panic a little. I'd been groped by a guy! I'd even enjoyed it. Did he think I was up for a bit of man-on-man fun? Did he think I looked gay? I forced myself to calm down even though I knew he must see how disconcerted I was. I blush fairly easily and my cheeks were probably scarlet at that moment.

I am not a prude. I compared dick sizes and jerked off with buddies in High School, and I am aware that some of my work colleagues are gay or bisexual - some quite openly - but this was the first time in my adult life that a male - other than a doctor - had touched my genitals. I decided to ignore this guy and read my book but, try as I might, I could not comprehend a single printed word. My mind was racing. It seemed simplest to act as though nothing untoward had occurred - just as women choose to ignore guys who rub up against them at close quarters. After two more stations had come and gone, I dared to look up from my book, expecting - hoping - that he would be gone. But he wasn't. He smiled at me again and - to my shame - I felt my dick grow hard again in the warmth of his regard. I returned my unseeing gaze to the book and tried to think about syphilis or rabies; anything to dissuade my cock from getting too frisky.

At the penultimate stop of the journey it became apparent that he was headed for the same destination as me. There were now very few people left in the carriage. The last leg is the longest of the entire trip. There was ample time for him to get up from his seat, move down the carriage and plonk himself right beside me. And that's what he did.

 'Sorry if I gave you a hard time' he said.

I tried to smile but only managed an inane grin.

'You're a very attractive man' he continued, 'and you have an incredible cock. I'd love to suck you off, if that's OK with you.'


Andrew Tait

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