Today we can finally get married. When people ask how Jarek and I met we tell them the 'official version': that we often travelled home from work on the same tube and after a few weeks we got talking. I invited him for a drink and the rest is history.
I don't think many people buy it. For a start nobody talks to strangers on the tube, and secondly all my friends know what a slut I used to be.
Here's what really happened.
I worked selling white goods in a landmark Oxford Street department store. Five, sometimes six, days a week I travelled seven stops on the Jubilee Line from Willesden Green to Bond Street. At 29 I still hadn't settled down, kept myself fit and was always on the look out for cock. Ten years of dedication to the art of chasing men had taught me to keep a look out, you never knew when an opportunity might present itself.
My life changed on a sunny Wednesday in September when he got on at Baker Street. I'd done an early shift that day so it was barely 4pm and there was a spare seat opposite me. He sat down, surveyed the carriage and smiled back at me. I was enjoying the scenery: rounded face with Slavic features, short fuzzy blond hair, just under six foot and stockily built. I presumed that he'd come off a building site from his tatty paint splattered jogging bottoms and dark blue sweat shirt. I guessed that he was Polish, probably around the same age as me.
I hoped I wasn't drooling. His thick muscular thighs formed a vee shape directing my line of vision to an enticing looking bulge. I opened my legs, sliding back in my seat, to mirror his position. My cock stirred inside my practical and hard wearing blue suit. His smile broadened, my cock continued to grow. At this point I deployed a copy of the Evening Standard to ensure that my excitement wasn't too visible to all around me. I could see his eyes shifting down to the narrow gap below my paper where interesting things were happening.
I pretended to read in a half hearted fashion until shortly after Swiss Cottage he stared at me intently and thrust a hand deep inside the front of his jogging bottoms, rearranging the contents for my benefit ...and he winked.
Time to think quickly, I would be getting off in three stops. I shifted my body making sure he could still see my continued interest.
I bided my time. As I hoped several people got out at Kilburn leaving empty seats next to my hot looking builder. I slid my finger across the front of my trousers tracing the line of my now fully stiff cock for his benefit. How could he resist my solid eight inches I mused. I indicated with a nod of my head in the direction of the information screen which now displayed 'next stop Willesden Green' and then nodded towards the carriage doors. He nodded, and cupped his cock bulge in his heavyset hand.
We arrived at Willesden Green. I got up, adjusting my cock so it didn't look too obvious, and as I hoped he followed me. I walked down the platform to the toilets with my shadow three or four steps behind me. Luckily the toilet was deserted. I entered the cubicle and stood facing the wall stroking my cock and looking over my shoulders. My shadow frantically massaged his cock through the fabric of his clothes and quickly stepped into the cubicle. He deposited his tool bag on the floor to block the gap between the door and the floor. 'He's done this before' I mused.
I stood facing him and my hand went straight down the front of his joggers. Big and stiff and leaking precum which had already soaked the tight fabric of his Y-fronts, I fished it out. 'Jackpot, even bigger than mine' I thought.
... to be continued
I don't think many people buy it. For a start nobody talks to strangers on the tube, and secondly all my friends know what a slut I used to be.
Here's what really happened.
I worked selling white goods in a landmark Oxford Street department store. Five, sometimes six, days a week I travelled seven stops on the Jubilee Line from Willesden Green to Bond Street. At 29 I still hadn't settled down, kept myself fit and was always on the look out for cock. Ten years of dedication to the art of chasing men had taught me to keep a look out, you never knew when an opportunity might present itself.
My life changed on a sunny Wednesday in September when he got on at Baker Street. I'd done an early shift that day so it was barely 4pm and there was a spare seat opposite me. He sat down, surveyed the carriage and smiled back at me. I was enjoying the scenery: rounded face with Slavic features, short fuzzy blond hair, just under six foot and stockily built. I presumed that he'd come off a building site from his tatty paint splattered jogging bottoms and dark blue sweat shirt. I guessed that he was Polish, probably around the same age as me.
I hoped I wasn't drooling. His thick muscular thighs formed a vee shape directing my line of vision to an enticing looking bulge. I opened my legs, sliding back in my seat, to mirror his position. My cock stirred inside my practical and hard wearing blue suit. His smile broadened, my cock continued to grow. At this point I deployed a copy of the Evening Standard to ensure that my excitement wasn't too visible to all around me. I could see his eyes shifting down to the narrow gap below my paper where interesting things were happening.
I pretended to read in a half hearted fashion until shortly after Swiss Cottage he stared at me intently and thrust a hand deep inside the front of his jogging bottoms, rearranging the contents for my benefit ...and he winked.
Time to think quickly, I would be getting off in three stops. I shifted my body making sure he could still see my continued interest.
I bided my time. As I hoped several people got out at Kilburn leaving empty seats next to my hot looking builder. I slid my finger across the front of my trousers tracing the line of my now fully stiff cock for his benefit. How could he resist my solid eight inches I mused. I indicated with a nod of my head in the direction of the information screen which now displayed 'next stop Willesden Green' and then nodded towards the carriage doors. He nodded, and cupped his cock bulge in his heavyset hand.
We arrived at Willesden Green. I got up, adjusting my cock so it didn't look too obvious, and as I hoped he followed me. I walked down the platform to the toilets with my shadow three or four steps behind me. Luckily the toilet was deserted. I entered the cubicle and stood facing the wall stroking my cock and looking over my shoulders. My shadow frantically massaged his cock through the fabric of his clothes and quickly stepped into the cubicle. He deposited his tool bag on the floor to block the gap between the door and the floor. 'He's done this before' I mused.
I stood facing him and my hand went straight down the front of his joggers. Big and stiff and leaking precum which had already soaked the tight fabric of his Y-fronts, I fished it out. 'Jackpot, even bigger than mine' I thought.
... to be continued
