The Man in The Bullet Train

福岡 ! ! How was it possible to hate two kanji-characters? But hate them l did. Because that was where Wataru's train was travelling and so reason enough to loathe them. Sat exposed in the glass goldfish bowl of a waiting room on that platform, I despised Fukuoka and everything and everyone in it. The fucking punctuality of Japanese trains made it worse ... it meant I knew exactly when he'd leave ... to the minute! 14h30.

The waiting room was small but air-conditioned, and therefore full. Two high-school girls giggling away as only vapid Japanese teenage girls can. A nondescript navy suit reading some pornographic manga, his bag on his lap no doubt to cover any unseemly erection. And lastly, sat on my immediate right, a poker-faced, impassive Japanese woman of a certain age, seemingly only noteworthy because, unusually, she was my height, six-foot, though slimmer and rather quirkily dressed in a two-piece designer suit.

Wataru was as silent now as he had been from the moment he'd awoken. My morning wood had given me thoughts of how to get the day off to a good start but instead, he'd leapt up and padded off to the bathroom quick as a flash, his morning glory slapping against his stomach as he went. A waste if ever there was one, l remember thinking!

14h07. He uncrossed his legs and stood up and stamped his legs. Something I noticed he always did whenever his tackle needed adjusting and far more subtle than putting hand in trouser pocket and tugging!

'I get a drink from vending machine. You want too?' The mistakes in his normally pretty good English betrayed his agitation.

'Nope. I'm fine ... thanks!'

The woman's slight shift in her seat in response to my clipped, minimal reply immediately told me she'd understood. Not only the English but more significantly, had understood that there was a tension between Wataru and myself which she'd picked up on too. And correctly so.

The morning of what was likely to be our last day together had started badly. He'd announced over breakfast that as the Shinkansens were running again, he'd booked one for early afternoon. I immediately felt like l'd been hit by one. The texts of yesterday were from his father 'summoning' him back to Kyoto apparently.

'I can't disobey.'

My Western protests that he bloody well could had been brushed aside as he stood up and adjusted his yukata.

'Let's go to the onsen, one last time!'

There it was. As clear as a bell. His words actually might as well have stated our last time. He waited, pointedly, with his back to me as l silently got to my feet and slipped my yukata on over my boxers this time. I followed him down the wooden stairs, a numbness creeping over me as the reality of my impending loss sank in.

In the changing room, we stripped in silence, the lack of words voicing the growing tension and this time, I broke tradition and managed to slide the door back without crashing into it. There's a first time as well as a last time for everything l suppose.

The middle two shower stations were being used by the handsome man who had spotted the activity on the path yesterday and young Kei-Kun. The latter was standing up, allowing his bubble butt to be soaped and given the attention it certainly merited. But it meant Wataru and l were forced to separate and take the remaining free stations on either side, as if to underline the widening gulf between us both.

Kei-Kun had immediately smiled disarmingly at me and leapt up to rinse a stool for me, abandoning the handsome Japanese guy who turned his ministrations to Wataru with undisguised glee. Kei took the shower head from the wall and got it to temperature before asking 'Ie desu ka?' and indicating he wanted to wash my back. I nodded agreement and sat zombie-like as he shampooed my hair and soaped all my upper body. He then gestured for me to stand and did likewise to both feet, calves, knees and thighs, gradually getting higher and higher. He looked up at me with eyebrows raised enquiringly and in reply, I just widened my stance and lifted my right foot onto the stool to give him easier access. Seconds later his right hand was slipping and sliding between my arse-cheeks, sending waves of pleasure up from the nerves around my hole. His left hand was pulling now on my sack, now on my dick who was happy to respond by increasing his length and width, much to the evident satisfaction of Kei-Kun.

Just as I glanced over to see much the same happening to Wataru, Kei simultaneously took my now squeaky clean dick in his mouth and penetrated me with his finger! The pleasure instantly matched the shock. I'd never even thought of doing that during my marathon masturbation sessions when Karen was away. But Kei had to have practised that art many a time for within a very short space of time, my prostate was in ecstasy and l was shooting into his mouth and copiously.

14h20 now. I watched Wataru returning to his seat from the trip to the vending machine, his face as impassive as it had been this morning during the second fuck session that had followed outside. Here once again, he was betraying no outward sign of any of the inner turmoil I could feel welling up inside me. My agitation must have been poorly hidden because the tall Japanese lady kept looking around at me, clearly aware something was amiss but unaware of the reasons for the strained atmosphere she had sensed so accurately.

The handsome guy from this morning had similarly picked up on the unsaid tension. Both he and I had washed our rapidly softening dicks and then stepped into the indoor pool to soak. Immediately that Wataru had done likewise and sought to sit next to me, I had stood up and signalled to Kei-Kun to accompany me outside. When the other two followed a minute or so afterwards, they found me on my knees, attempting to give Kei-Kun the best blowjob l could. Entirely for Wataru's benefit. I wanted his jealousy. For him to know what he was passing up on by leaving. So Kei's sack was caressed, each testicle was rolled in my mouth. His crack was spread for my fingers to touch and tease his rosebud and that rock hard dick was being sucked and kissed like it was an object of worship. But l was none the wiser as to whether my childish attempt at provoking jealousy worked, for Wataru's handsome features betrayed nothing.

The same could not be said for Kei, whose moans of appreciation of my efforts were not in any way hidden. As they increased steadily in volume and l became worried he was about to cum, l pulled off his dick and instead turned around only to see Wataru slowly inserting his dick between the buttocks of the Japanese guy now bent over a large boulder in anticipation of the fucking to come. I did likewise, offering up my virgin arse to little Kei-Kun, knowing in reality l wanted to be taken by Wataru, not him. Hoping jealousy would stop Wataru in his tracks. But no. Kei, eager to grab at the rare chance of being a top l suspect, was soon attempting to breach my sphincter. It took a monumental effort for me to ignore the pain and relax sufficiently to allow him inside me. Once sure Wataru had seen what was happening on the other side of the boulder, I turned my face away and started to push back against Kei's incoming thrusts, willing myself through the pain barrier. It felt like what it was. Raw, base, earthy fucking. A world away from the effortless love-making Wataru and l had previously enjoyed so recently. Unfortunately, it was just as Kei began once or twice to graze my prostrate that an 'Unghn' escaping from his lips announced his orgasm.

14h25 and Wataru was shifting out of his seat. The train l so wanted not to had arrived. This time, he was able to wheel his suitcase to the door with ease, as if even it knew today was not the day to be awkward. I grabbed his cardboard box before he could, feeling a need all of a sudden to show regret for my childish coldness of before ... now that the moment of loss had arrived. I held the waiting room door open before following him to the train door, as if I had the stupid expectation that these gestures would undo the damage. He piled into the carriage quickly to stash his suitcase away and returned to retrieve the box from me. I looked at the beautiful man in the doorway, as he bowed low as a formal goodbye. So coldly distant. Was there really no emotion on his side? I opened my mouth to speak ...

'I ...'

... only to have the conductor slam the door closed before l could utter what l only now dared even to know in my head let alone voice. But fate was permitting not even a 'sorry' or 'goodbye' and certainly not allowing me what I wanted to say. He moved down the carriage to claim his seat and I followed outside on the platform, watching him sit down and turn to take one last look at me through the window. Predictably, the 14h30 Shinkansen service to Fukuoka started to pull out, bang on time. Just as l saw his face crumple and tears stream down his cheeks.