Date: Mon, 04 Mar 2024 04:05:03 +0000 From: bhuvanesh21 Subject: Vignettes: Japanese Boy Groped on the Subway 1 "Dear readers, it's your beloved Bhuvanesh, back with insatiable lusts that nothing can satisfy but the written word. All the normal disclaimers apply, and as always: this is a work of fiction, fantasy and pure fabrication. It is not meant to endorse or encourage any actual sexual contact between adults and minors, which the author disapproves of and strongly discourages. If you are tempted and have access to younger people, please abstain at all costs. That said, the following stories are of a far nastier and less romantic type than my usual stories; I mean to write 5 vignettes--very short stories indeed--from visceral moments of ALMOST impossible to imagine sexuality between men and boys. I know you'll enjoy. JAPANESE BOY GROPED ON THE SUBWAY: It was the hottest July on record (in other words, any July in the last twenty years) and the cicadas were almost louder than the traffic. Heat rippled from the pavement, and I waited eagerly for the cold tea at the vending machine outside my gym. THUD. I reached down, cracked it open, and guzzled the whole thing almost in one draft. The train station was mercifully cool. I wiped the sweat from my face and neck on a towel from my gym bag, and pressed through the crowd of people onto the train. The pushers crammed us in, the doors closed, and we were off in moments through the dark tunnels under Osaka, Japan. Even three months in, the pressure of all the bodies around me, and the sheer headcount of hundreds of people in this train car gave me a bit of a panic. I'm a Nebraska boy, used to wide open spaces. I've been to Beijing and London and New York City, but Osaka introduced me to a level of claustrophobia I couldn't have imagined. Even when I saw documentaries as a kid of Japanese sleeping pods and tiny Tokyo apartments where a whole family lives in a single room, even after yearning to travel to Japan my whole life, I had studied the language and culture since high school, I never imagined how profound the culture shock would be. All that said, I was doing better than I had been: no major depression, no anxiety attacks after the first six weeks of homesickness. I was thirty-four, visiting on a research Visa at the University of Tokyo. I would be here for another six months. The train swayed slightly, and I felt the now-disgusting feeling of my own sweat and the sweat of other people saturating my tank top and shorts. The warmth of the bodies around me. Of course, it's not repulsive (maybe its even cute) to be a sweaty when you're a Japanese woman who is 5.5" and weighs 120 pounds. I'm a ginger guy who is 6.2 and weighs around 200. I could only feel a sense of deep shame and self-consciousness as my own body fluids inevitably rubbed off on all the people around me. Its just seven minutes to my stop, I thought. Something arrested my senses then. Something confusing. At first, I thought I was imagining it--it had to just be a fanciful notion--because my cock started swelling and I felt my heartrate quicken all over a whiff of some smell. The most delightful odor reached my nostrils. I smelled something--no, someone--I smelled someone's pheromones and my whole body responded. I literally felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My sinuses opened up, and I took a deep inhalation--boy musk. It was unmistakable. Not the raunchy, foul smell of an unhygenic teenager--no. This was the healthy, spicy musk of a boy who was. Indescribable. I couldn't see any teenage boys around me, but this had happened before--on the street once, in Los Angeles where I lived, I had passed a mother and teenage son taking a walk on a warm spring day. He was gorgeous, with sandy brown hair and freckles. As the boy passed me, I was awash in his smell for around twenty feet of walking; my head swam and I literally had a rigid erection within seconds. The same thing was happening now, and the smell was distinguishable from all the other spells on the train: perfume, incense, somebody peeling an orange nearby. The boysmell stood out like a bright light in the darkness. Where was he? I glanced behind me. Not only was he right there--he made eye contact immediately. And held it. That's rare, in Japan, to say the least. He was beautiful. Soft, dyed blonde hair hung over his eyes. Car door ears--he'd grow into them. They only made it more obvious how young he was--his face and skull were tiny. I guessed hes maybe only eleven or twelve, although he seemed tall--already standing at my shoulder height--many Japanese boys would never grow taller. He was tan, relatively dark in complexion, and his chest was pressed up against my right side and--that's when I realized it. Amid all the pressures and strange feelings of this and that joint and body part pressing against me, I never noticed that this tween boy's hard cock was planted against me. I looked away from his eye contact a moment, and then looked down through the gaps in the bodies to try to--yes--make sure. His adidas tank top and flat tummy ran straight down to the spot where I felt a hard, extremely hot pressure against my hip. In that moment, time froze. I glanced back at the boy a half dozen times. Where at first he had met my gaze, now he turned his eyes downward. He was blushing--a completely obvious, burning-faced blush. But he didn't stop pressing his cock against me--very likely, he was unable to even move enough to shift position. Every day since my sexual awakening at fifteen, I had yearned for boys like him: smooth skinned, innocent, angelic. Forbidden. I had no luck as a teenager, and spent the rest of my adulthood chasing boys who were barely-legal--but certainly above deck. There was never a time in my life where I seriously considered doing anything with a minor. It was too dangerous. I didn't work around kids, I had no real access to any. At the worst, I had flirted with some high school boys on grindr sometimes--but whenever things started getting a bit more serious, I dipped out. I was too scared. This, however, was crazy. This situation was literally being thrust upon me. I looked at my phone. Five minutes until my stop--the next stop. I started to glance around. Everybody was doing that thing that Japanese people do: pretending they don't notice you exist even when they're crammed up so close to you that you can see their ear hairs. Nobody was looking at me. In fact, the only person facing me was the boy. I looked back over my shoulder again, and caught him glance upward at me. His cock was still there, pressing into my thigh. So hot. So fucking hot. I dared to do it. How could I resist? How could I not take this chance? It was literally inches from my hand. I reached over just a few inches, and touched his hipbone. Just a delicate circle. Just a little caress across the bone jutting from his pelvis. In response, he flinched. "Daijobu," I said, softly. It's ok. That was it. We had communicated. In my mind, that was consent. Or at least a fair warning. To be completely fucking frank, I didn't care if he wasn't comfortable with it--I wanted him. And I was going to take what I wanted. I reached a few inches upward; my fingertips pulled up the soft cotton of his tanktop, and I found the elastic waistband of his shorts. I heard him take a sharp inhalation: his high pitched little voice gasping made me tremble with desire, and I slipped my fingertips down his sweaty mons pubis and closed my hand around his hard, precummy little cock. It was probably only 4 inches long at most, but thick as a fat carrot. He didn't protest, he didn't move away.I felt him clench--and his cock spasmed in my hand once. I knew--just with every fiber of my being--I knew that the spasm of muscle in his little cock meant that his tiny taint, and his little hairless asshole were also clenching with that same muscle movement. "Oh jesus," I whispered. "fuuuuck." I pulled his soft foreskin up and down his shaft and felt hot wet precum slick up the bottom of my palm. He whimpered then--loud. I nearly yanked my hand out--I glanced around. Bodies swayed as the train turned a sharp curve, but nobody seemed to have any awareness of what I was doing. People were looking at their phones, bodies were pressed so closely together that nobody could see anything besides the spaces immediately around them, and my hand was conveniently placed just inches from the boy's cock to begin with. It was perfect. I kept milking this hot, sweaty child's cock. I felt his forehead press against my upper arm as he now leaned completely into me. "Daijobu?" I asked, barely above a whisper. I felt his head nod, but he didn't say anything. And then I felt his whole body tremble and he thrust involuntarily into my hand. His cock flexed over and over, and to my incredible delight (And terror, on public transit) hot jets of cum sprayed against my wrist. I quickly stopped milking him and started trying to catch all the semen, lest it get all over me (and him). I closed my fist around his hot little cockhead and felt his boy juice fill my hand. Finally, the spasms stopped. He lifted his head away from me, and I looked back at him. I pulled my hand as gracefully as I could out of his shorts without drawing further attention. He looked flushed, and embarrassed. He avoided eye contact. Meanwhile I had a handful (quite a handful, damn) of sweet boy in my hand. I glanced around to make sure nobody was focused on me, then raised my fist to my mouth and licked the biggest globs of his cum and swallowed them. I wish I could tell you otherwise--that it tasted like sunshine and honey and paradise. But Cum tastes like Cum, even in the craziest fantasies. It was a really wonderful coincidence that I had that towel from the gym; it was draped over the back of my neck and already damp. I surreptitiously grabbed it and wiped my hand clean while pretending to blot the sweat from my neck and forehead. The boy was leaning into me now with less forcefulness but a great gentility. His tiny, beautiful frame was glued to me. The heat radiating from our bodies seemed hotter than the heat coming from other people, as if we were the only ones truly alive on the whole train--everybody else was a zombie, a placeholder for a living being. We were burning up with vitality. With lust. I didn't know what to do next. I was terrified, now, of losing contact with him. Only one minute until my stop. Should I just stay on the train? Of course. I was going to stay with this boy for as long as he would keep lingering against my body. Should I follow him? Try to give him my contact information? What the fuck do I do? I thought. All I could think about was how to make sure that this wasn't the only time I got to smell, taste, and touch this boy. I wasn't big on conspiracies or plots, I wasn't a spy or a predator. I glanced down at him again. He furtively looked back up at me. "どこに行くの" I asked. Where was he going. "浴場" he said. The bathhouse. I paused. "自分で？" I asked. By yourself? "うん" he said, basically. "uh-huh." My heart was racing now. It was a weekday morning, most people were working. If this boy was going to a bathhouse, he was likely to be one of the only people in it. And I was going to follow him there.