Uniform fitting. Looks like he likes it.
Smile 300: Mi piacere. Gioca con me. Cosa dolce. Italiano per: Pleasure me. Play with me. Sweet thing.
Hottie, Lover, Muse. :):):):):):):):)
always the Middle is the best place to be :-) Trust me !
Haha, Funny that you should bring that up. The whole blog name is pretty much tongue (or cock) in cheek. Of course, there’s a story there…
First, the title kinda came from my reaction to one of my friends suggesting that I make a #nsfw blog. My reaction: “Hell, if I made a blog it wouldn’t even be safe for GETTING to work.” (In my world public transit is a part of life.)
Like you, hooking up in public places, checking guys out on the bus or train, etc. are all big turn ons. And also like you one of my first “sexual” experiences was on the subway. This is one of those stories I’ve only told a handful of people, but I’m gonna post it anyway because it totally explains my fetish for public places, specifically public transportation.
First Time For Everything
So, I was waiting for a train during rush hour one morning on my way to school. I had just turned 15 and started at a new school with a new commute. Each morning the train was packed; sardines in a tin can packed…
The couple of days prior I had noticed an older guy checking me out on the platform (not quite cruising me, just kind of eyeing me up.) At the time he seemed a lot older (which I guess he was), but if I had to guess his age honestly it would probably be mid to late-30’s. I can’t express how gorgeous this man was, so in your mind just picture pretty much the ideal daddy type. Slightly salt and pepper hair, over 6 feet, built, and of course wearing a perfectly fitted suit.
He was nearby as the train approached, As the doors opened and people began squeezing into the car I noticed that he was right behind me. I ended up being wedged by the door that leads to the car ahead, and there he was right behind me. The car was so packed that I couldn’t turn around to see his face, but I recognized the hand that was above me, bracing himself against the door.
The trains are always this packed at this time of day and you get used to zero personal space, people bracing themselves against you as the train moves, etc. There was only one more stop in Brooklyn, then the train would pick up speed. That final stop always pushed the cars to maximum capacity and he was wedged even closer. This is when I noticed the hardon. He pushed it against me ever so slightly and to my surprise my reaction was to push back. That was all the green light that he needed. The second the train picked up speed I felt a hand reach for my crotch. This was the first time anyone had ever touched me. It almost seems pointless to even try to put the feeling into words. As the train rocked back and forth, bumped and weaved, he did with it, pressing as hard as he could against me. This went one for at least 6 minutes, picking up pace with the train, becoming rougher and more rapid as the train’s movement did. For a split second I worried that someone would notice, but forgot that thought as he grabbed my entire package and squeezed hard. (The way we were facing he was probably blocking anyone seeing, but I no longer cared.)
I came just before the train started to slow down entering Manhattan. I can still feel that wetness in my underwear to this day. He knew that I came. He could feel it. I’m not at all sure if he came too; it was the first time I had had an orgasm that I didn’t make happen myself, so obviously I was too distracted to care.
He got off at that first stop, and just before he broke away from me he wrap an arm around my waist and whispered, “Thank you, sexy. I hope that felt good.”
He had turned to make his way to the door before I could turn around, so I never actually saw his face throughout the whole time on the train. The truth is I never saw his face again after that. I’m not sure if he was just in town for a few days, or if he was worried I was going to report him to the police and started taking a different train or different time. I was disappointed back then, hoping each morning he’d be there. Now that I look back, it probably makes it hotter that I never saw him again.