Date: Wed, 10 Aug 2016 15:37:02 +0100
From: Boy Ahoy <mj290858@riseup.net>
Subject: JAKE, BUS, MORNING (Gay Adult/Youth)

JAKE, BUS, MORNING
by Boy Ahoy

M/b mast


Disclaimer: Don't do weird stuff next to little boys on the bus. Donate
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_____

JAKE, BUS, MORNING

I take the same bus, every morning. And every morning Jake comes on, one
stop after mine. He walks to the back of the bus, and sits next to me.
For 34 minutes, a couple more in heavy traffic, we sit next to each
other. Unofficially, I save the space for him, with my briefcase and
jacket. When he comes down the aisle, I move my stuff, and he sits down.
Jake has his school bag in his lap, I have my briefcase. The only way I
know his name is Jake is because it is written in marker on his school
bag. Jake Collins, it says, in capital letters.

 From the very first day this happened, Jake has masturbated on the bus.
He does it slowly, deliberately, with his fingers, over the bulge of his
shorts, if it is warm, or his sweatpants, if it is cold. I enjoy the
sight. It makes my dick leak. The second day he looked at me quickly to
see if I saw. I held his gaze, and smiled. Then I put my own hand on my
own bulge, and rubbed once. He smiled, and looked forward again.

Jake is a third grader, I think. I don't know what his boy penis looks
like, or what it feels like to touch it. I only know that he likes to
touch it, even if only through his pants, because for about fifteen
minutes, we softly, gently, rub our respective dicks through our pants,
getting closer to orgasm. It feels so immensely exciting, so forbidden,
for him to jerk off on this crowded bus full of sleepy commuters, and
for me do do the same right next to him.

The third day, he sat himself so close that our hips and thighs touched.
I enjoy the warmth, and the feel of him shaking his foot almost
imperceptibly. He does this all the time, and to me, it's like he is an
electric sex toy vibrating against me.

His smell is like a hit of poppers. It's not a dirty smell, but my guess
is he takes a bath in the evening, and in the morning just gets out of
bed, pulls on his clothes, and goes to school. He usually has bed hair,
which just makes him look heartbreakingly cute. He smells like an unmade
boy bed, a whiff of soap, a hint of morning pee drop caught in briefs. I
imagine his bedroom, and I wonder if he sleeps in pajamas or underwear.
Or naked. It makes warm steel in my pants.

So we masturbate slowly, imperceptibly, gently. Always just ourselves,
never each other, however much I want to.

After ten minutes, I can smell my pre-cum oozing into my briefs. I know
he can too, because he sniffs deep breaths from time to time. When he
can smell my pre-cum, he squeezes his knee harder against my leg, and he
rubs himself just a little bit faster.

His nails are small, and his fingers chubby. I wonder what those chubby
little fingers do at night, in bed, when there are no bus people and
need to cover his beloved pleasure stick. I wonder what those chubby
little fingers would feel like on my big man-stick.

The bus hums and vibrates under us. His heat warms my side. My heat
warms his side. Our fingers rub fabric-covered penises, one small, one
big. Our bodies rub against each other, buffeted by the bus bumping over
bumps in the road, vibrated by a nervous boy knee.

And what does he do at school? Does his shorts-covered penis need
attention there, as well? Does he finger his toy while his teacher
secretly watches from his desk? Do they shower after PE yet? Is he naked
in the shower, watching the other little penises, maybe rubbing it a
little, naked and wet?

This has slowly become the linchpin of my sorry life, this shared
forbidden sexual pleasure, this masturbatory delight. I think about Jake
at work. I think about Jake on the cold and Jake-less return bus ride
after work, wondering if he has another jerk-off friend on the bus home.
I think about Jake at night.

We touch ourselves, traveling, for about fifteen minutes. I resist my
dick's demand to be handled rougher, harder, quicker, and just tease it,
looking at his patient, chubby fingers, listening for the change in his
breathing. Edging.

And then he stops breathing and just presses his hand, quite still,
flattening his crotch. He holds his breath for ten, fifteen seconds. His
knee jerks three, four times hard against mine. Then he exhales. The boy
has cum, on this bus full of people.

I stop breathing too, so I won't make any sound. Creamy, sticky man cum
runs quickly through tubes, searching for him. It exits with violent
little spurts, hits the wall of my briefs with disappointment and soaks
them. The drops of wetness spread out, as does my cum smell.

Jake then leans his head against my shoulder, seemingly so drowsy that
he has fallen asleep. I breathe again. I just sit there, being heated on
one side by this radiating little boy oven. The bus passes through
intersections, stops, people get off, people get on. I ache. I want to
hug him close and kiss him, but I won't, I can't risk disturbing this
fragile understanding. I don't sleep. I soak up every Jake-watt I can.

When his school stop approaches, I nudge him with my arm. He blinks,
then gather his things and get off. He looks down at his feet as he
walks to the door, careful not to look at me. Once, and only once, he
turned after exiting, looked at my window, checking if I was watching
him. I did. He looked down quickly again, but he was smiling. That made
it our second look.

And my time with Jake on the bus in the morning is over, and tomorrow
morning is a year away.

_________________________

Thanks again to everyone that has responded to my stories. I love
feedback, fantasies, experiences - which sometimes turn into stories
like this.

Short or long, drop me a note on mj290858@riseup.net . If you want, I'll
send you a list of my other stories, which usually are much rougher,
kinkier and longer than this.