Date: Tue, 1 Aug 2006 22:36:19 -0700 (PDT) From: Cume Munkey Subject: Spilling (Bisexual, encounters, 1st, M/M) One situation, led to another situation and I had not had an orgasm in three weeks. Not to imply I am a stud or that I get all the sex that I want, not true, but I know what pleases me and my fingers can work magic. I had been holding off on the self-indulgence because I had a long distance girlfriend. I held off because she loved to give oral and wanted to swallow my cum. So I had not harvested the juice in a while. My gift to her was also a gift to me. Believe me, at age 25, going three days with out masturbating is tough, so you can guess how amped up I was to have a release for three quarters of a month. My girlfriend is 20 years older than I and -- if possible -- had a libido that was racing faster than mine. She was at the end of a divorce and I think I am her solution to a midlife crisis. And she was the answer to my prayers, except that she lived in New York City and I lived in Erie, Pa. I met her in my last year of working on my Engineering Degree. I already had lined up a job through a couple summer internships in my home town, so for the time being I was a long train ride away from Jennifer. If I wasn't horny enough (I was ready to duck into the closest toilet stall for some relief) F-ing Amtrak was running five hours behind when I arrived! I was in the station at 5 a.m., only to wait until 10:45 a.m. to depart. I was getting into NYC at 8:30 p.m. I was pissed and was really close to cracking. At 6:30 a.m. when I was taking a leak in the toilet and a fat hairy guy that looked about 60 parked himself at the urinal next to me. He was a little too obvious with his wandering glance. I've often thought about picking up on gays that were more than willing to provide oral satisfaction. I have those boy-next-door looks. Mind you, I'm NOT good looking, but so average you would swear you met me before. People were always coming up to me in bars thinking I was someone they knew from High School. So the guy was checking me out. Well, better luck next time buddy. He almost made me laugh out loud. First off he didn't even have to go (okay, I admit it, I looked). Second of all he made conversation while he was at it: "you going on the train?" I almost let my sarcasm slip out. ('No I hang out in train stations waiting to have sex with grandpas.') Instead: "Yea, I'm on my way to New York City." Actually, the guy had a couple things to his advantage. First would be the aforementioned self-imposed celibacy; the second would be my blood alcohol level content. I like to use the train to sleep and I help the sandman by self-medicating myself with rum and cokes. I had been filling up most of the night, thinking I would be heading to slumberland at 6 a.m. (I figured if I could sleep most of the train trip and spend the next night screwing Jennifer's brains out.) That was the end of our conversation, I zipped up and left -- without even washing my hands. I went back and continued to read the novel I was working on. Then the announcement came that the train was even more behind. Now it was expected to arrive at noon. That eventually changed to 2 p.m. It turns out that the train had hit a car on the tracks and it was way off schedule. I laid down on a bench and tried to glide into a sleep pattern, but there was 6-7 women in the middle of a bridge tournament or some card game. They were laugh and taunting each other. Just about when I was ready to doze off, someone played a hand wrong and there was a couple minutes of cat calls. After a couple hours, I just started to hit on the Pepsi bottle that was laced with Bacardi again. The ancillary benefit was it was dulling my sexual desire. Otherwise the women in their late fifties might have been at the wrong end of my charm. When the train pulled into the station, I was ready for sleep. The train was crowded and hot. I was glad I had wore shorts and a t-shirt. The conductor announced that the air condition would soon be working. I pulled out the jacket I brought in my backpack. I didn't think I would really needed it, but it wouldn't hurt to have it handy. For a moment I thought I had hit the jackpot, a seat all to myself. I had spread out, kicked off my shoes and I was in that grey area between conscious and unconscious. The train was moving and I was just about to count off some Z's when the train woman handed me a pillow and told me I had to move over. Of course, guess who was dropping down next to me? peeping grandpa. I couldn't very well tell the woman: "No this is the guy who was checking out my cock." And since I was tired and drunk, I didn't think it would make sense to stagger to the cafe car. I had one option left, pretend like I didn't remember the guy, turn to my left -- with my back to him and go to sleep. A train seat isn't the best bed in the world, but in my condition I could have slept on the back of a thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby, plus the rocking motion of the train is quite comforting. My dreams shifted to sex. In my slumber I was receiving fellatio from Jennifer and I was edging close to an orgasm (a wet dream was not out of the question). She was using her fingernails and dragging them my cock, then the train shifted and I woke up. The train's A/C had started to work, so I pulled the jacket over my chest. I had turned and was sleeping on my back. There was no hiding it, I had an erection. I could have covered it with the jacket but that would have taken too much effort, not to mention I could only really cover half of my torso with the jacket. What the hell, let the guy fantasize about my hard on. I kept my eyes closed and the train started to move again, we must have been in a station. Lucky me, the dream resumed, but when I looked down in my dream, the old guy was bobbing his head on me. The thought jolted me awake and I noticed the guy next to me move suddenly. Though slited eyes I could see he had a pen in his hand. I fought the urge to turn away and just feigned sleep. After a minute or so, sure enough, grandpa started tracing an out line of my cock against the fabric of my shorts. The fucker was slowly and gently jacking me off. And I was so horny, lost in the remnants of a dream, that I didn't care. In fact, probably leading the guy on, I shifted my hips and groaned. It was all the encouragement the guy needed. Either on purpose or by design the pen slipped out of his hand and as he grappled to pick it up, he actually grabbed my cock. I'm not a big guy, but there is no mistaking my penis from a pen. Of course if we are discussing the nuances of decorum, there was no mistake when I pushed the jacket down to cover up his fondling. He stroked me through the cotton cloth a couple times, then slipped his hand through the leg of the my shorts. I exploded when his hand touched me. He continued to caress me, eventually massaging all my sperm into my belly and thigh. Eventually he removed his hand, got up and moved away -- to the restroom to relieve himself I was thinking. But that wasn't all I was thinking.