Erotic gay fiction from Gaydar: InterCity Makes The Going Easy
InterCity Makes The Going Easy
Written by Philip Green
I got on an InterCity train at Euston late one evening. I’d been to a meeting in London and had to return home to the West Midlands that night. I was 23 years old. It was so long ago that some trains still had compartments of six seats, and access to the compartments was via a corridor and sliding door. I found an empty compartment and settled in the corner seat by the window, with my back to the engine.
Just before the train moved off, a ‘City Gent’ in pin-striped suit – in his late 30s, I guess – popped his head round the sliding door and asked if I minded if he joined me. I said no, he sat down in the opposite corner and we engaged in idle conversation as the train moved off. Since my journey was to last a couple of hours, I settled down in the hope that I might doze off. City Gent asked if it would be all right if he pulled the blinds down and turned the ceiling light to dim – it would make it easier for us both to get some rest. The complete innocent, I thought nothing of it and agreed. He got up, pulled down the blinds between us and the corridor, and dimmed the light.
Stations such as Wembley and Harrow flashed by.
When he sat back, City Gent chose the middle seat opposite me. In a few minutes, I began to realise the significance of this move. As the train thundered through the night, I became conscious that his knee was knocking against mine from time to time. It didn’t bother me particularly and I didn’t move my knee away. Then I realised that his knee was being held more and more against mine. I looked up and him, he smiled the smile, and pressed his leg tightly against mine. I was having a pass made at me!
The train sped through Watford.
My heart leapt into my mouth. In my early 20s, although I knew I was gay, I was a virgin in every respect – innocent, but eager to learn. So, I kept my knee in position and he shifted his – rather than rubbing the outside of my knee with the outside of his, he was rubbing the inside of mine with the inside of his. I started to become quite aroused. This was it, fella, I thought!
The train sped through Hemel Hempstead.
He slowly got up, turned and came to sit down beside me, casually throwing his coat across both our laps – in case anyone came in, he whispered. Then he began touching the zip to my fly. I shifted to make it easier for him, he pulled the zip down and slid his hand inside touching my briefs. At that point, the first time I had been felt by a man, I clasped his hand with mine through my trousers and shuddered with ecstasy. With his other hand, he began to explore between my legs, only to discover that my trousers had holes in them where my upper thighs had rubbed together and I had not been able to afford another pair of trousers!
It was as if I was wearing open crotch trousers! This turned “City Gent” on in particular and he muttered urgently that we should move to the toilet compartment along the corridor. I closed my eyes and shook my head: I wasn’t ready for that – whatever ‘that’ might be. But I was pretty aroused and began feeling the powerful bulge in his trousers with my left hand. Next, he lowered his face close to me, fixed his lips over mine and kissed me. That was it, I gave myself to him there and then! My mouth opened and his tongue flickered inside. It was bliss.
I pushed my tongue back against his, probing his mouth lustily and hungrily. I remember sucking on his tongue. I wanted to be inside him, and he inside me. Minutes previously, he had been a total stranger. Now I could feel his skin rasping against my cheek.
When at last I needed to breathe, I moved my head back, we broke contact and I looked straight into his eyes: I’d never seen animal lust in another man’s face before. He was trying to be gentle and restrained with me, but it was clear what he wanted, and I was increasingly willing to let him have it.
I whispered that I was ready to go with him down the corridor. In fact, he made me go on ahead, leave the toilet door slightly ajar, and he would join me a few moments later, just in case anyone saw us and became suspicious. As soon as the door was locked, we both went wild, tugging at one another’s clothes. I remember I was wearing Jockey briefs, but he had only a jock-strap on under his trousers. He smelt pungently of stale deodorant and sweat. I loved it!
My hands dropped to his waist and I felt his arse cheeks. There was some power in those muscles: he must have been a sportsman.
The next thing I remember he had slid down my chest and abdomen, and had my fully erect dick in his mouth. I was proud of my male member. Years before, some of the other boys in communal school showers had told me that I had one of the biggest in the class. I had a fine, uncut mushroom head, and I liked to show it off back then by peeling back the foreskin.
But returning to the present. How could I have missed out on such pleasure for the first two decades or so of my life! City Gent’s mouth was so warm and wet; his tongue curled round the head of my penis, first one way, then the next. He paused, and then I felt his tongue probing my piss slit, lapping at my copious precum.
We were in a railway toilet, there were other passengers nearby surely. I wanted to cry out with pleasure, but knew for both our sakes that I should not. Instead I had to moan silently as my oral gay virginity ebbed away from me. It is strange how my mind was working. In those days, all British Rail toilets had tiny bars of pale green Palmolive soap in them on the hand basin; they had a cheap, pungent perfume. I became increasingly aware of that smell.
Suddenly my world exploded in front of City Gent. I grabbed his head at the back and forced my purple-headed mountain as far down his throat as I could. It seemed like gallons of spunk started gushing from my dick, he mumbled with delight and began swallowing as much as he could.
Slowly, reality dawned on me and I considered the enormity of what had just happened.
I’d just been sucked off by a total stranger on a train at 125 mph.
I was exhausted and could not do anything more for City Gent, but that did not seem to bother him. Perhaps he had cum at the same time I had; it was hard to say quite what was on the floor. Without speaking, I cleaned myself up, dressed and retreated to the compartment. City Gent followed shortly. I felt exhilarated and yet deeply ashamed of what I had just done, and the other guy became quite concerned for me. I told him I’d be all right, and I knew in time I would.
Had I met other men before him, he asked. No, I hadn’t. Did I want to? Yes, of course I did. He gave me a phone number. It was on a Birmingham exchange. He said that men met at a place in Edgbaston for parties from time to time. I might like to make a phone call and go along. I never did.
It was a couple of decades later that I discovered Gaydar, the online dating website for gay men. I made myself a profile, I got some naked photos taken, and I found some Gaydar chat rooms where I could meet others who shared the same sexual interests as me.
Finding Gaydar was the start of a happy and fulfilling gay sex life for me. I relaxed and became more confident in male company. I sucked and got sucked. I fucked and got fucked. I enjoyed sharing all my bodily fluids, and taking another man’s fluids. City Gent – I never knew his name – introduced me to gay life. It was a seminal moment, pun intended, but Gaydar was the ultimate prize.
Back to the railway compartment. It was not long before the train was drawing in to Stafford, my station. I nodded goodbye to City Gent, he smiled and wished me good luck, and we parted company. I never saw him again, but he’d given me my first gay experience. I am reminded of our meeting every time I smell that Palmolive soap smell. And I am glad.