sexstories.com

Introduction:

There’s something inherently sexy about travelling by train; even the London Underground can produce its own unique style of encounter in the crowded morning rush-hour. But I’ve written about that before; this time, I’m talking about long distance travel, overnight.

I’m not sure where the sexiness of it all comes from but the great director, Hitchcock, used it to great effect many times. “Strangers on a Train” is a disturbing story of homoerotic intrigue and murder, while in “North by Northwest”, the train rushes into a tunnel, just as Cary Grant and his paramour finally kiss. Well, it was considered quite naughty in 1953!

On this occasion though, I was taking the Caledonian Sleeper from London Euston to Scotland and I had booked a First-class single compartment. The compartments on British sleeper trains are really small but I still enjoy the thrill of the dribbling trickle of hot water in the tiny 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 passing your window as you shave, naked in the middle of desolate Rannoch Moor……makes me horny just thinking about it.

On this trip however, I got an extra thrill for my First-class fare, as I threaded my way with my coat 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 ‘wrong way’ because the corridors are so narrow that there are notices telling you which end of the car to get on. But he was nice looking, so I forgave him instantly – especially when I realized that we were going to have to pass one another in such a tight space!

He was about 5’10”, with thick unruly dark hair and a clean-shaven but slightly weathered face with a broad mouth and luxuriant eye-brows. He was slim too and was wearing a chunky grey and black sweater and rather fetching pale grey ‘Craghopper’ hiking trousers – the sort that are hard-wearing but which cling snuggly in all the right places! On his back, he had a ruck-sack and over one arm he carried a jacket, while in his hands he had his ticket - and a grey and silver cycling helmet. My imagination was getting to work already!

As he approached, I noticed the clinging folds of his grey ‘Craghoppers’, forming around an interesting 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 voice for the first time,

“I think that’s me just there,” he said in an accent that sounded Irish but not the nasal twang of the North; rather the soft and seductive lilt of the South, I thought.

Now, I’m a sucker for an accent, that’s my trouble. And when issuing from the gorgeous mouth of a soft-spoken, fit young Irish guy, I’m putty in his hands – or would be given half a chance! So I decided to ‘give way’ (well, that’s where I usually end up, so why fight it?) and I put my bag down and tried to make myself slimmer than usual against the wall 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 pores of his skin which had appeared weathered from a distance but which now seemed much softer; soft enough to stroke. His hair was thick and dark, almost black, while his nose was neat and straight, not sharp or angular, and for a moment, I looked into his eyes, a beautiful blue-grey. And they looked back; for just a little too long.

He pushed by and our clothed chests touched and I felt the radiating warmth of his body and caught a hint of what I thought I recognized as 'Dolce & 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 cramped 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 ‘ironic’? 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 door of the number 9/10 berth, I realized I was in the number 7/8 and we had adjacent compartments. As he opened his door and I opened mine, he looked back at me and I couldn’t resist the opportunity,

“Nice helmet!” I said, with what I hoped was a cheeky 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 shorts……. Oh, yes!

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

I was already enjoying my first Gin & Tonic and the Car was busy with animated chitter-chatter, when I saw him enter at the far end. Looking for a seat, he eventually saw me and the vacant seat 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 straight face, I added, “What took you so long?”

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

Somehow, we both knew the score. 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 computer programmer for a 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 morning – 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 mouth was wide and his lips well-formed, just waiting to be tasted; and every time 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 luxuriant eye-brows would tilt upwards in the middle.

We began with small talk, you know, the way you do. But as we talked, I couldn’t help but continue to examine his features; the little dimple in his chin, the plumpness of his ear-lobes and his beautifully clean finger-nails. And in my distracted imagination, I was undressing him. As you can probably tell, I was smitten and I desperately wanted to touch him.

As the train rushed northwards, our conversation didn’t falter and as we chatted and joked, the slight sway of the train caused our knees to touch under the table and I felt a jolt of electricity run up my leg and into my spine, as a warm glow engulfed my body. From that point 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 life. He paused, took a sip of his drink, 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 little more truthfully than he had done. He didn’t seek to ask me to elaborate.

On the subject 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 enjoy life and not to spend our time feeling guilty for all the sins we’ve committed. It makes you far too miserable.” He shook his head and took another sip of his drink and continued, “and there are so many sins! You wouldn’t believe how many there are!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. And somehow I couldn’t help 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 innocent remark and a polite dismissal? Either way, we had adjacent compartments, so I figured it was only polite 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 luxuriant eye-brows showing just a hint 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 come tuck you in, maybe read you a bedtime story, you know?” And as he gazed into my eyes, his face took on the look 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 waist and my other hand around his neck and pulled him toward me. There was no resistance and as our lips met, I felt a warm rush flow through and around my entire body. Our mouths merged in a deep, warm kiss, as he too now enfolded me in his arms and pressed his body against mine and I inhaled that sexy mixture of sandalwood and herbs that was his familiar cologne.
After what seemed like minutes in that first embrace, we both recovered awareness 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 lock the door and pull down the blind than he grabbed my shoulders, pushed me against the wall and renewed our passionate embrace. This time, I tasted the saltiness of his soft lips and our tongues twisted and searched one another, as we began to exchange the first bodily fluids of the night.

He was a good few inches taller than me and I was pinned against the wall 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 noses. My hands were around his back, at first holding him to me but now they slid down to caress the cheeks of his bum through the smooth material of his snuggly-fitting trousers. His buttocks felt hard and muscular and as I clutched and pulled, his cheeks became concave as he arched his back and pushed his whole body against me, our mouths at last separating and my face burying itself in the warm folds of his sweater, as he began kissing the nape of my neck.

But his teasing and tasting and kissing of my neck 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 berth. We both laughed; it didn’t really hurt but it emphasized how cramped it was in there, as our temperatures rose and my groin developed that familiar aching hardness in my already pre-cum soaked briefs.

He quickly threw off his sweater, revealing a close-fitting, stylish grey and white V-neck T-shirt; the sort cut-away at the arms to accentuate the shape of his chest. Above the “V”, there the first glimpse of a modestly hairy chest, as he began undoing the buttons of my shirt and I grabbed at his waist to undo the buckle of his ‘Cragghopper’ trousers. He already had my shirt open and his hands were stroking the tender sides of my body, as I slid down the zip of his flies and made my discovery. He was wearing cycling shorts and I gasped in joy and excitement. He stood back from me and grinned,

“Well, what did you expect,” he snorted, “grey flannel under-drawers?”

He kicked-off his shoes, dropped his trousers and stepped out of them, a vision before me in lean, muscular grey, black and white lycra. I was transfixed. He stood there, his hands on his hips and put is head on one side,
“Will I do?” he asked, as his eye-brows did that thing again, pointing upwards in the middle and making me go all warm and tingly inside.

“Oh God, yes!” I replied softly, “you’ll do – well, for tonight, at least!” 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 white 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 lilt, “now that, I do love.”

Instantly, his face was buried in my groin and I felt his warm breath and his tongue exploring every crevice, then tasting, licking and inhaling my oozing cock inside my underwear, while I clasped his head, thickly covered in tousled dark hair, circling his ears with the tips of my fingers.

Delicately, almost gingerly, he pulled the waist-band of my briefs 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 – those gorgeous, salty, kissing lips – 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 shorts off yet! It was my turn now.

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

Kicking-off my shoes and stepping out of my jeans, which at this point were still down around my ankles, I twisted him around, so that his back was now against the wall. Then, kneeling down in front of him, I began admiring and stroking the smooth black and grey lycra surface of his shorts, the stitching of which seemed to emphasize his muscles and the cheeks of his bum, which were flexing in and out now, as I kneaded and caressed his buttocks. Now I had my own, long-awaited Christmas present!

Studying the bulge in front of his shorts, I was fascinated. The inside padding in the groin 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 hard and erect, pointing just off to one side, up across his lycra-clad abdomen. I nuzzled its form and inhaled the mixture of manly aromas, before slipping my fingers up under the bottom of his T-shirt, exploring and stroking.

Still kneeling, I lifted his T-shirt, which clung tightly to his frame, revealing the trail of hairs from his chest to his belly-button; such a lovely belly-button too, evenly-formed and hollow, so I could slip my tongue into it, tasting his intimate saltiness. He breathed-in deeply as I did this and slowly exhaled, as he stroked the side of my face and neck. The waist of his shorts was cut fairly low, so gripping his hips, I was able to lick and taste and kiss the tender skin of his outer groin, towards his hip-bones, where he suddenly inhaled and let out a quiet moan of pleasure. He liked that! So I continued, licking and kissing, soft biting and then, switching sides to do the same, 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 arms and head, finally revealing his chest, clustered with patches of dark hairs, over his pectorals, around his pronounced nipples and down the centre-line of his stomach to that lovely belly-button.

I played with his nipples with my tongue, teasing them softly with my teeth, as his fingers played softly and delicately up and down the sides of my body. His nipples were large and dark and as I teased them, they became hard and pronounced, like small mountains standing above a forest of soft dark hairs.

I turned out the light in the compartment and finally began to roll down the top of those lycra cycle-shorts but there was no way I would get them off him without his help, so within seconds, we were standing together in that tiny cramped space, completely naked and now in darkness, 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 abdomen and my own member thrust into the cleft between his thighs, just beneath his balls.

And that was how it happened that first time, just standing in the dark, pressed together in passionate coalescence, hands stroking, exploring, clutching, teasing; tongues 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 skins 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 neck and I felt his pulsing organ as he let out a soft “Oh, Jesus!” 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 hair and into mine, as my own slippery organ thrust between his inner thighs, into the cleft 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 glow enveloping my body, around my middle, up and down my back, building and building, until the glow imploded into the base of my balls 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 blue glow, both of us breathing heavily. Cum was everywhere; all down his legs, in his pubic hair, over his balls, all over both our stomachs. Just as well I had some tissues in my bag within easy reach. Silently and tenderly, we cleaned each other up and I raised the blind one notch 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 make the tissue-rubbish as inconspicuous as possible in the bin, he remained standing, naked in the dark, his sated organ drooping almost sadly in front of me. He looked at his watch, 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 lights of a small station flashed past the window in the deserted early hours of the morning. He made no move to put on his clothes; he just stood there.

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

---