When I had told my girlfriend that we were not right for each other, I spent weeks, no, months, keeping an eye open for the man from the train, but it seemed hopeless. I kept on passing through London Bridge station at the same time in the evening just in case but had long since given up when one night as I waited for my train while reading a paper in the cafeteria over a coffee I felt a hand on my back. I looked up and there he was.
I had almost forgotten what he looked like by then. Nothing special, sallow skin really, big bony hands, glasses, very ordinary, but a knowing look about him and a low voice that at once excited me as I remembered his murmuring to me that first time. "Hi! Remember me?" he said. I nodded. "Going home?" I nodded. Just then my train slid in to the platform. "That's mine, too," he said.
The train was packed. We stood together, hanging on to the luggage racks either side of the central aisle. He asked me one or two questions about myself - where I worked, where I lived. I answered vaguely and then as my station arrived I said: "Would you like to come back for a drink?" He smiled and nodded. Back at my place I opened a couple of beers and I sat on the bed while he took the one armchair. But he put the beer down, came over and pushed me back on the bed, "I don't normally do this twice," he said, "but we'll get it over quickly." And he undid my trousers, seized my hard and swollen cock through the soft cotton of my shorts and started to stroke me. I lay back on the pillow and felt my shorts lowered to my knees and then he was using those big bony hands again,, stroking slowly at first and then speeding up until I began to gasp and pant. He expertly caught my great spurts of cum in my discarded pants and continued to milk me until my final sigh.
Then he went back to; his armchair. "I liked the look of you in the train that first time," he said. "I only deal in first times. I like the look of alarm and astonishment that changes to unwilling and then willing pleasure as I turn someone in less than three minutes. They buck and jack-knife and grunt and cum like fountains and that's the moment I love. And the moment afterwards when you can see they are wondering what's happened to them. Nobody wanks you off like another man. We understand how the cock works, you see. Women don't. But you nearly passed out! And all that cum! That's why I thought I'd come and explain it to you.
""When I went to university the third year guys were very proud of their little sex games in the long grass behind the cricket nets. Other younger lads - the tarty ones you always get - used to run around and throw things at them or jump on them, torment them until they were finally seized and given the tickling and the wanking they wanted. My friends thought it was fantastic fun . I thought it was pathetic. Like school! There was a serious looking lad in glasses and t-shirt and shorts reading a book alone on the grass about 20 yards away, "No good looking at him. Not interested," said one. "I tried it once and he threatened to report me to the authorities."
" For the first time I felt the thrill of the challenge. I went over to him. He scowled at me. I sat down beside him. Then |I reached out a hand and stroked his bare thigh. He reacted as if I had stabbed him and said "Get away!" But I went on stroking his thigh, higher and at the same time I reached up and fondled him between the legs. "If you disapprove you would be sitting 200 yards away, not 20, "I said. "Oh you do disapprove of course but you find it exciting, too." By now I could feel his cock uncurling, swelling hardening under my hand through the cloth. "You don't want to make a mess in these nice shorts but it's a bit too public to take them off," I said, working him with both hands now. He continued to struggle so I reached higher up inside his thoughts and gave his hot hard flesh several really long fingering strokes ,jacking him off with one hand and fondling his balls with the other. Then I stopped. "Fair enough," I said. "I wouldn't want to force myself on you."
He looked at me with wide eyes. "Finish me, finish me off," he said hoarsely. "Are you sure?" I said. "You want me to make you cum? Tell me!"
"Make me cum! Make me cum you bastard!" he said.
So I took mercy, opened his shorts a little, pulled out his swollen, pulsating cock and jacked him off really fast. He cried and practically screamed as it spurted and gushed out of him. I knew he must do a lot of wanking on his own - probably went back and did it every night after watching the others' games in the grass.
And ever since that day, that's what I do. I look for challenges. You were one once. I did you again for old times sake and the beer. But now I'm off."
"But don't you want anything in return?" I said. "What about your pleasure?"
"The pleasure is in the chase," he said. " And your physical pleasure?" I said.
He laughed and showed me a picture framed in his wallet. It was of a beautiful black-haired woman with olive skin and deep' cleavage. "My wife!" he said. "She is really demanding. You didn't think I was gay, did you? Bisexual. Best of both worlds!"
And he went out, still laughing.