I must have missed him on the station platform the next day, and it was the following Monday before I saw him again, Craig (as I had decided to call him).

As usual, he turned up on the platform at the same place and at the same time. This time, it was the main train that was delayed coming in. When it did, a great deal more people were already on it and, for the first time, Craig wasn’t able to take up his usual spot in the corner by the doors. I still managed to get on next to him but we were now stuck in the middle of the crowd.

Just to remind you, he was about 20, 5ft 8in tall, slim and clean-shaven with grey eyes and tousled light brown hair. He was wearing his usual grey outfit of tweed jacket and smooth grey trousers, neatly enveloping his previously-discovered and explored packet. He had on a white shirt again and a plain tie. And he was carrying his grey coat over his right arm.

He stood more-or-less in the centre of the standing-zone, holding onto the bar above with his left hand but facing slightly away from me. I was at right-angles to him, holding the same bar with my left hand. However, I couldn’t get around in front of him, as it was simply too crowded and he wasn’t making it easy for me. I came to the conclusion that he was perhaps too conscious of the fact that we were in the middle of the train and he felt too exposed to risk the kind of “shenanigans” we had played the other day. And of course, the coat was protecting his front.

Nevertheless, in the crowd, I pressed myself against his side and tried to get him to twist around, but he didn’t seem to want to play ball today and I was getting a bit frustrated by this when the train pulled into the next station and a load more people got on. Amidst all the pushing and shoving, I managed to keep my position but he ended up virtually with his back to me, having twisted away from me and having lost his hold of the bar. His coat was still over his right arm, though, and I now had my bulging crotch pressing against his buttocks.

Resigning myself to this unpromising position for the rest of the journey, and as I couldn’t reach his front, I decided to investigate his backside.

I moved around a little, so that my free hand went neatly between his buttocks, and started to feel the lovely round shape of his bum through his tight grey trousers. My finger extended, I slipped it forward between his legs and pressed upwards into the spot behind his testicles, then traced it back outwards around his bottom, until I found the ridge of his underpants outlining his rounded buttocks like the phases of the moon. Judging by where the ridge was, he had on the same kind of briefs as the other day. Throughout all of this, he maintained his position and did nothing to stop me.

At the next opportunity of passengers getting on and off, there was a heavy-set man standing with his back to us to my right, so Craig’s right side was well shielded. Still behind him, I slid my right hand around his right thigh and, concealed by his coat over his arm, I moved my hand all the way around to his bulge. What I discovered made me smile; he was sporting an erection set to burst the front of his tightly-fitting grey trousers! Until now, I may have thought he wasn’t interested this second time around, but now I knew different!

Suddenly, I felt another hand on mine and I went cold. I broke out in a cold sweat. I’m not into 3-somes at the best of times and the thought of someone else involved here was raising the risk-stakes much too high for me! However, a split second later I realised that Craig wasn’t holding onto anything to steady himself in the crowd and that the hand was, in fact, his own left hand. While this calmed me a little, my next thought was that he was about to push me away – I was being a bit bold, after all, especially considering that we had people on all sides of us. But then I felt him seem to wriggle his bum a little – against the rock-hardness of my own stonking erection pressing against his bum, this alone was almost enough to bring me to my own climax but I soon realised that he was adjusting his tackle with his left hand. I realised then that, far from pushing my hand out of the way, he was unfolding his trapped organ from being bunched in his pants so that it pointed up across his thigh towards his right pocket. Keep that thought!

With my right hand, I could now feel his tool fully outstretched across the front of his trousers and I massaged him hard, up and down the shaft a number of times, shielded from view by his coat. However, I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did next.

I suppose I just wanted to reduce the amount of material between my hand and his tool because I pulled my hand back from around his front and slid it inside his right pocket, with my palm against his leg.

As I made this new entry into his trousers, nothing could have surprised me more, for there was no bottom to the lining of his pocket! The result was that, as I slid my hand right down inside, it emerged from the end of his pocket to stroke the side of his leg. I could feel the warm firmness of his taught thigh and the tiny soft hairs peppering his smooth skin. Then, as I strained my hand around, the hairs gave way to the hairless, baby-soft surface of the inside of his groin.

I felt up and around the crotch of his underpants and his bunched testicles, held tightly in his pants. I stroked and caressed the whole of his package from inside his trousers for a while, then pulled my hand back and upwards, almost pulling the lining of the pocket out of the side of his trousers. Now the palm of my hand was clasped over his tool, rock-hard and bursting out of the side of his briefs. I slid my hand under the slightly elasticated leg of his pants and cupped the swollen head of his organ.

The other day, when my hand found this treasure, there was no sign of any pre-cum and I concluded that he wasn’t much of a ‘dribbler’. This time, however, I discovered that his cock-head was slippery and evidently oozing juices; evidently, he was remembering what happened the other day – and that he had enjoyed it! As I cupped my hand over his cock and started pulling his foreskin up and down over his cock-head, this encouraged even more juices to flow into the palm of my hand, until it was quite wet and sticky.

I continued this action slowly, up and down, up and down, up and down until, all of a sudden about a minute later, I felt a little jolt as his bum thrust into my own groin as he clenched forward slightly. As he did, I felt his rock-hard organ throbbing in the palm of my hand, expanding and contracting rapidly five or six times as what seemed like pints of warm, sticky cum filled the palm of my hand and ran between my fingers and back down the shaft of his organ into the soft cotton material of his underpants. His neck was flushed around the white collar of his shirt and I was so transfixed that I even imagined nibbling his ear and kissing him on the neck.

It was all too much for me, what with the other day and now this! Under cover of the hot and pressing crowd, the motion of the train with my erection pressing against his buttocks and my hand in his right pocket, cupping his tool and his copious ejaculation into my palm, I couldn’t help myself; I came uncontrollably into my own underpants – two, three, four, five times I felt my man-fluids flowing out through my organ and into my briefs, as my vision seemed to go momentarily black before my eyes. In the flash of this moment, I imagined that I had my firm cock between the cheeks of that beautifully rounded bottom, perhaps even thrusting into his slightly reluctant hole!

Phew! It was a good job there were plenty of people all around us because I could have almost collapsed at this point!

As the throbbing subsided in both his and my own organ, and we both stood straight again, I remembered how sensitive his tool was last time, so I just kept my hand dead still, with the palm firmly cupping his now softening tool. I had to anyway, as his cum was now softly dribbling out between my fingers and down the inside of his leg!

As we approached his station and I knew he wanted to get off the train, I carefully and discretely withdrew my hand, wiping the remaining cum in the material of his briefs. He left the train with just the hint of a glance back towards me. Was it to say “Gee, thanks again” or was it just to make sure I wasn’t following him? All I do know is that I never saw him again changing trains on the way to work, and I still wonder how he coped that day at work, with his underpants all soaking wet with his own morning cum. Just like my own, in fact!

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