This is yet another useless disclaimer, in a long list of likewise useless disclaimers. This story is a work of fiction; all characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is coincidental. All places are either fictitious or used fictitiously. That is, it's not true. Never happened. It isn't very likely to happen anytime soon, either. But....oooh...there is sex in it, and the characters actually seem to enjoy themselves. And it's the sort that might get you arrested if you actually did it. In fact, the FBI is likely adding your name to a list even as you read this, as I have been required by the voices to include coding that sent your email address and shoe size directly to the CIA and the Illuminati the moment you clicked on the link. And another thing. This is copyrighted. Don't reprint/repost it anywhere. Or I'll sick my dog on you.


One boy is more trouble than a dozen girls. English proverb.

Sex On the Rails

     The trade show had not gone well. Tyler sat at the frowzy hotel bar and viewed the world through amber colored bourbon, tried to make the bar whore at the other end look good, failed utterly. She smiled at him anyway. He shuddered. Tyler drank the rest of the double over the rocks, crunching the ice to cool the momentary fire, then tossed a five tip-wise on the bar and went to look for his room. It wasn't going to be easy. Not only was Tyler more than just a little drunk, the hotel was your basic generic near-the-airport special, comfortable brand-name, comfortable decor, comfortable bar, comfortable restaurant, comfortable rooms...and hallways that all looked exactly alike. Tyler couldn't remember his room number. He leaned against the wall in a pastel colored tunnel and stared at the little plastic card, totally blank on either side for safety purposes. Considered it an adventure. He barely avoided throwing up in a plastic potted fichus plant.
      Ten minutes later Tyler found himself back outside the bar, trying to make sense of the sign that explained how to get to the lobby. The whore was still there, throwing back a colorful drink with a little umbrella, something with a definite blue cast to it. Tyler's hard fought battle with regurgitation tilted dangerously in favor of projectile emesis.
      The night desk kid was cute, in a baggy-eyed, thick-book kind of way. The kid got Tyler's room number off the computer, making no effort to conceal his amusement. Tyler thought briefly of flirting with him, but decided he was just too drunk.
      Morning came in a blaze of irritatingly cheerful light, just absolutely pouring through half-open palesy yellow curtains, the sort of cheerfulness that makes a man with a hangover want to strangle someone. Tyler rolled over and groaned, pulling the pillow over his face. He hoped there was reasonable coffee somewhere near, or he really would have to strangle someone. The alarm clock read nine o'clock. Tyler groaned again. He only had an hour before he had to be at the train station. He rolled out the bed and thumped onto the floor, still wrapped in the blankets, and started humping along towards the bathroom. His head throbbed. It was shaping up to be bummer of a day.
      The counter boy from the night before had been replaced by a man and a woman, both trim and fitting into their Hotel uniforms with a disgusting pertness that encouraged mass murder, but Tyler was in a hurry. He paid his check with the minimum of discourtesy, weaved outside into the already oppressive morning heat, and waived down a cab. It was going to be tight. He poured himself into the back of the cab, clutching his computer case to his chest, and fought back new waves of nausea and self-contempt. Never again, he thought, never again. Never again would he give in to his boss so easily and get himself shipped off to yet another useless conference where drinking heavily was the only sane defense. The back of the cab smelled faintly of puke. That really didn't help any. Tyler dozed off on the way.
      Chicago's Ogilvie Station was a mass of close packed humanity looking for trains, for buses, for cabs, for luggage. Tyler took a deep breath and pushed into the redolent crowd, pulling his suitcase behind him, went looking for a status board. Forty minutes later he was standing on a platform, looking between two trains, feeling lost and slightly panicky. Train stations always seemed to take more competence than airports. The trains, you know, are just so absolutely there, in all of their massive metal there-ness, laying along the tracks like gargantuan shiny cocks flumped onto a bar table in a humongous bet of who's biggest, as opposed to airplanes and airports, where you could ignore entirely what was going on if you wanted to, lulled by air-conditioning and the friendly jockstraps of the entryways. Or at least that's the way Tyler looked at it.
      A harassed looking elderly porter came stomping past, red cap pushed back high over his sweat-shined forehead. Tyler tried to catch his eye, but the man marched resolutely forward, even glancing at his watch as he went by in pointed suggestion to leave him the hell alone. "Excuse me....?" Tyler called after him, but the man ignored him. "Which is the train to Elmwood...?" The man's right arm shot out, pointing not just at the train, but at something written on the train, in big red numbers. "Oh, hell," Tyler sighed. He could always blame it on the hangover. He picked up his suitcase and got on the train.
      At least he was in a compartment, not coach. It was nearly a five hour ride home. Tyler struggled down the narrow corridor, carry-on bag over his shoulder, ticket clutched tightly in his hand. Almost over, he kept thinking, almost there. Just about got it. Five hours and I'll be home free. Rent a movie, get some beer. Turn off the phone. Maybe get a pizza.
      The compartment was empty. Tyler gave a sigh of relief and tumbled heavily into the seat, dropping his bag next to him. He lay back, closing his eyes. His head was killing him. Never again. Just let it end, Tyler thought, let it end. And then, just as he felt the first shudderings of the train as it started to move, the first fitful starts and stops as the huge mass began to gather enough momentum to slide from the station into the bright morning; the compartment door opened and a boy came through, falling against the wall with a "hooooph" as the train lurched forward. He tossed his small backpack up into the overhead and slumped down on the seat across from Tyler. Tyler stared at him through half-lidded eyes, as shadows started to fall through the window and flick over the boy's face.
      Damn, Tyler thought. That kid is seriously fine. The boy had everything Tyler loved, the long black hair, the dark blue eyes, the faintest wash of peach fuzz over the upper lip. And he had especially the full lips and the lithe form under a dark red t-shirt with the word "escape" as if spray-painted in black across the chest. The boy sat and looked out the window at the passing rail yard, and gave no notice to Tyler. Tyler closed his eyes and sighed deep inside. The train picked up speed as it left the station, the vibration from the tracks built up into a pervasive background hum; and Tyler fell asleep.
      He had just started to dream when the door opened once more, banged open in a fit of obvious door-rage, and a woman wedged herself through the narrow opening, one foot then the other, pop one buttock through, push and the other pops through and there she was, all of her, as her large pink suitcase bumped through the door behind her. She turned and grabbed it in hands the size of hams and heaved it up...up...staggering forward, her huge, no, make that humongous bosom swinging perilously, pendulously close to Tyler's face. He jumped back in alarm, back to the window, an ugly scenario running through his mind, "No, I didn't touch your tits!"
      But the woman had arms the size of a linebacker, and obviously not all fat. She looked like a high school p.e. coach for girls, in her sensible shoes, sensible skirt, and oversized pink sweatshirt. Just a little overweight, you know? Need to start that running again. She threw the suitcase up into the bin in one fluid motion, then turned and sat sweetly beside the boy. The boy sat staring out the window, ignoring it all.
      The woman dug around in her purse and pulled out a fat novel, bare-chested, huge-nippled man on the cover, crossed her legs and began to read. The train began to pick up even more speed. Tyler caught the boy looking at him in the window. There was the slightest of smiles in his eyes.
      The train thundered on through the bright morning country, passing small towns, fields of cows, school bus waiting at a crossing. Tyler couldn't sleep. The woman nodded off over her novel; and the boy stared out the window, glancing every now and then at Tyler. Tyler sighed and stretched, headache nearly gone but still queasy in the tummy. Perhaps he'd read the trade journals he'd picked up at the show. He turned and started to rummage through his bag, but couldn't find any of them, and he knew he'd put them in there. He finally found an old paper-manufacture magazine scrunched up down in the bottom, and he pulled it out. Sighed. It was six months old.
      The woman snored over her romance, Tyler re-read his statistics on waste water, and the boy sat and stared out the window. Tyler felt himself nodding off over the article. He looked at his watch. Only three hours to go. Hum. He sat back and closed his eyes and let himself start to drift, images playing through his mind in tune to the shadows flickering through the window, the boy, the trade show, the boy...
      The boy stood up suddenly, waking Tyler.
      "Sorry..." he said.
      "...s'okay," Tyler mumbled.
      "Gotta go," the boy said, edging around the woman and out the door. Tyler sat up and stared at the magazine. He really couldn't focus on the effects of reverse-osmosis. It was just a little too much for a hangover. It wasn't even something he particularly cared about when he wasn't hung over, but it was nice to be able to nod knowledgeably when the customers were talking. There had to be something more interesting in his bag...
      Tyler heard the door slide open, felt the boy standing over him. "Do you play?" the soft voice said a moment later, just barely audible over the hum of the tracks.
      "Huh?" Tyler said, glancing up.
      The boy was pointing at his bag and smiling. A smile that threatened to melt Tyler's brain right there. "Huh," he said again.
      The boy cocked his head a bit to the side as if to say, "what, are you stupid, look!"
      Tyler looked. His travel chess set was sitting on top of a pile of dirty clothes. He didn't even remember packing it. "Oh," he said, "Yes, sometimes." Okay, he thought, be honest. "Maybe once or twice a week." He thought about it for a moment more, summoning his courage. "Want to play?"
      The boy's smile got even brighter. "Sure," he said. The woman started to snore, head back, her book falling off her ample lap onto the floor.
      The boy sat beside him and they set up the chess board between them. Tyler took two pawns and held them behind his back and the boy tapped his left arm. White. Tyler could feel the boy's touch long after.
      So the boy moved pawn to f4, Tyler pawn to d5. Tyler couldn't help but stare as the boy bent over the board, a look of concentration washing over the smooth face. Tyler's heart was pounding, and he couldn't decide. Did he want to win or not. He was sure he'd win. He wasn't exactly a grandmaster, but it was rare for him to lose pick-up games. On the other hand, he probably wasn't capable of tying his shoes properly at the moment.
      Pawn to e3. Tyler frowned and moved his knight to f6. Pawn to b3, pawn to e6. The boy was moving quickly, as if he were barely thinking about it, playing out some game he'd planned in advance. He slid his bishop out to b2, and Tyler caught himself staring at the smooth back of the boy's hand, at the tracery of blue veins...
      "Hey," the boy said.
      "Your move."
      So Tyler moved, bishop to e7.
      Bishop to d3, pawn to b6. Definitely, Tyler thought. This kid knows his moves.
      Knight to f3, bishop to b7. Knight to c3, Knight(b) to d7.
      The boy grinned at him. Castled. The boy had a slightly predatory grin, Tyler thought. It was a good thing he hadn't bet anything, not that he would have...Tyler stared at the board a moment, castled as well. The woman was snoring loudly, her legs splayed out in front.
      Knight to e2. Pawn to c5.
      "Where are you going?" the boy asked.
      "Home. You know where Elmwood Park is?"
      "Hah!" the boy laughed, and his eyes were definitely the darkest blue Tyler had ever seen. "That's where I'm going!"
      Tyler smiled back. Why did the thought make him nervous?
      Knight to g3. Queen to c7.
      "Bringing out the big guns, hm?" The boy was toying with him. Tyler felt sweat starting up on his neck.
      "So what were you doing in Chicago," he managed to ask.
      The boy frowned. "Visiting my dad," he said, clipped short, end of that discussion.
      Knight to e5. Tyler jumped on it. Knight takes e5. Now we're getting somewhere....
      Bishop takes e5. Damn. Come on, think about it. Queen to c6.
      The boy sat back for a moment, thought. Moved his own queen out to e2. Tyler pushed a pawn, a6.
      Knight to h5. Tyler wasn't sure, but he thought the boy might be holding his breath. It was a trap. He was sure of it. But that knight was just....hell. Take the knight. Fine. Knight takes h5. The boy seem to pounce on the board. He sat up quickly and slid his white bishop all the way across the board to take the h7 pawn, right next to Tyler's king. Check. Damn. But why? What possible... Tyler pushed his king and took the bishop. This was getting interesting real fast.
      The boy grinned again. He was always grinning, Tyler thought. Queen to h5. Check again. Tyler moved his king again, g8. He felt like he was on the run suddenly. Whatever game plan he'd had was gone. This was pure defense. The boy was the most aggressive player he'd faced in a long time...DAMN...look at that! Bishop takes g7! What the hell was that about? Tyler's king moved, took the bishop. A pawn for a bishop??
      The boy was getting his ass kicked on points. Why the hell did Tyler feel like he was losing?
      Queen to g4, check. DAMN. King to h7. He couldn't stop any of this shit!
      Rook to f3, pawn to e5. A respite, maybe? Time to get his obvious power advantage moving? Come on, this kid can't be this good. He can't know what the fuck he's doing...
      Yes, he could. Rook to h3. Check. CHECK for FUCK'S SAKE! Queen to h6! Block that fucker! Well, there goes his queen. Rook takes queen, check. King takes rook. The boy was positively lighting up the compartment with his delighted smile. Queen to d7. Split the board. Tyler's entire back rank at his mercy. There was almost nothing left to do. It was nearly over. Should he fight on, yes, move the bishop to f6. There goes the other bishop. Queen takes b7. If pieces hadn't been magnetic, the boy's triumphant swooping move to take the piece would have knocked it all the way over onto the woman's lap, still sleeping, oblivious to the carnage before her.
      Tyler looked at the board. Looked again. He sighed, tipped over his king. The boy whooped, delighted.
      "You're a hustler, right?" Tyler said. "Go around picking games with unsuspecting marks?"
      "No," the boy giggled, suddenly looking far younger. "I'm just good at it."
      "Yeah, well, I thought I was good at it, too."
      "Oh...but I'm really good."
      "I bet you are. Anything else you're good at, hm?" Tyler actually couldn't believe he'd just said that. What the hell was he thinking?
      The boy just looked down. Was he blushing? It was hard to tell.
      "Want to play again?"
      Tyler thought about it for a moment. He did want revenge, but a yawn and a sudden throb from his headache stopped him mid-thought. ".....uh, no...I think I'd better take a nap. I didn't sleep much last night."
      "Well, all right." the boy said, sitting back down across from Tyler. "Maybe some other time?"
      "Um...sure." Tyler paused perhaps a second too long. "You Elmwood the municipal center?"
      "There's a chess club meets every Monday night, seven o'clock. You should come."
      "I dunno, maybe I will. Anybody really good?"
      "And there's a couple of guys there much better than me..."
      "I wasn't saying you weren't..."
      "I know. I was just kidding." Tyler smiled at him, and the boy smiled back from under his long lashes. Eyes like the ocean in a storm. He sat back down across from Tyler, and Tyler once more settled back in his seat, closing his eyes. Drifting off.
      He woke from a vivid dream of another boy he'd known years before. The train had pulled into a station. The woman was standing over him, reaching for her bag, her oversized endowment once more threatening him, like boulders hanging over a cliff. She dropped the bag to the floor with a clunk, slid open the door and started to force herself through it. "Bye ya'll," she said, her soft Southern accent belying her appearance. Then she was gone, the train starting to roll again, Tyler and the boy left alone. "God..." the boy said. "Did you see the size of her..." and he cupped his hands in front of his chest.
      "Oh, yeah," Tyler said. "She was a big Mama-jama, huh?"
      The boy giggled at that, delighted.
      The train once more thundered through the countryside, now in the hot early afternoon sunlight. Tyler relaxed, his eyes half open against the glare. The boy sat, staring out the window, but every now and then Tyler caught his eyes reflected in the glass, and they would both smile. Strangely, Tyler didn't feel tired at all.
      He glanced at his watch. Hour and a half. Damn. He looked up again at the boy, to find him once more watching, his face reflected in the window, eyes in dark shadow, lips in stark white light. The boy was smiling, lips just parted, his tongue passed over, leaving them glistening. Tyler felt a sudden growing tightness in his pants. Maybe he would get to see the kid again, perhaps all this was meant to be? Or was that a stupid thought?
      The boy stood up and stretched, head back, arms reaching for the ceiling. His t-shirt, proclaiming radical intent to a likely oblivious world, pulled free of his jeans, exposing an inch or so of his midriff. Tyler had a glimpse of a shallow indented navel, of tanned hairless skin. He felt a lump in his throat, and his erection was straining at the zipper.
      The boy dropped his arms. "It's hot in here," he said, and pulled off his shirt. Tyler tried not to gasp, failed. The boy stood there in all his muscular adolescent glory, slender but hard, rippling stomach and flat chest, nipples slightly swollen but now hardening. His arms, bent forward to hook thumbs in his belt, showed long muscle and vein under the taut bronze skin. He was a god, Tyler thought, his mind barely coherent. A vision of Boy himself standing there before him.
      The boy took a step forward, his crotch now not five inches from Tyler's face. Tyler inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the boy, somewhere between the sharp smell of a child's sweat and the muskiness of a man. Tyler's head swirled.
      "Go ahead," the boy whispered, "You know you want it."
      Tyler wanted it. He didn't think he'd wanted anything this badly for a long time. But his hands shook as he reached up and grasped the boy's waist, the silken skin hot under his fingers. This wasn't something he ever could have expected. He ran his hands up the boy's sides, steel sliding under satin. The boy moaned, head back. Tyler unbuckled the boy's belt, undid the snap, slid down the zipper, slid his hands inside, and the boy's jeans, loose as they were, fell down to his knees. His young cock strained out erect behind skimpy white briefs, hard enough to pull out the waistband.
      Have you ever sucked a boy's cock? Ever taken that velveteen length of steel across your moist lips and nestled the springy softness of the head up into your palate, pressing it upward with your tongue hard enough to feel the artery beating, faster and faster? Feel the boy coming up onto his toes? Even a boy whose only baseball is on a computer screen has muscles you can feel tightening under your hands, his legs, his back. Rub your hands up the backs of his legs, tickle the backs of his knees, caress the satin of the backs of his thighs, with the prickles here and there that tease your fingers and send tiny electric shocks up the boy's spine. Ever hear a boy gasp when you hold the fullness of his ass in your hands, his cock in your mouth, stroking his butt where he'd hardly ever touched himself? Tease the head of his cock with your tongue, run your tongue over and around and under it, suck hard, tease him again. But boys, you know, they don't last long.
      The boy reached out and put his hands on Tyler's head. "Go on." He said. "Do it."
      Tyler did it. He pulled the boy's underwear down slowly, down over the round butt, cupping the firm globes. The young cock sprang free, bouncing up to touch the dark skin of the boy's stomach, leaving behind a glistening drop caught upon one of the faint blond velli just beneath the boy's navel. The cock itself stood forward, jutting upward with a slight curve and a flaring mushroom head. It looked as if it were breathing as it throbbed with the boy's pulse. Tyler looked up. He could see the boy's heart beating in the thin skin of his chest, then he looked down and reaching out took the boy's cock in his mouth. It was an amazing feel, an amazing taste. The boy with his sharp intake of breath, whistling over his teeth, tongue thrust out, rose up on his toes and grabbed Tyler's head. He twined his fingers in Tyler's hair and pulled him down, thrusting his hips at the same time, Tyler's nose rubbed in the sparse, still silky black hairs, inhaling the lemon-grass and earthy scent of him. Tyler sucked hard, then relaxed and let the length of the boys cock slide nearly all the way out his mouth, flicked his tongue across the glans, tasted a slight sweet saltiness. The boy thrust his hips, and Tyler pulled him in, sucking hard. The boy's panting became ragged. Tyler sucked hard, let him slide out, sucked hard, let him slide out. The train vibrated under Tyler's knees. Shadows blinked in and out through the window. Tyler sucked hard, let him sliiiiiide out, prolonging it, the boy barely breathing. Sucked hard.
      The boy's body went rigid, his breath stopping in a great gasping intake, and he rose up on his toes and clenched his fists in Tyler's hair, threw his head back growling, and came with pulsing blast after blast of hot thick musty sweetness into Tyler's mouth and down his throat. His whole body went rigid, the muscle of arm, stomach and chest standing out in sharp relief, shining with sweat. His hands clamped down on Tyler's head hard enough to make him think briefly of subdurals...
      Eric relaxed with a sigh, his knees buckling. Tyler caught him as he collapsed, turning the lad to sit on his lap. Eric melted into him, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and burying his face in his chest. Tyler stroked the boy's hair, deepest black with hints of blue, running long silky strands of it through his hands; and Eric looked up at him, smiling. "I think..." he said, "I think I might love you..." With that he slid his lips across Tyler's face, nibbling at his chin, brushing across his nose, his eyelids, with breath hot and sweet. When they kissed, finally, it was a connection that ran hot up Tyler from his toes into deep in his stomach and up around his heart, down to his tingling fingers curled into Eric's own. He could feel the boy moaning, lips vibrating like the inaudible purr of a cat felt through stroking fingertips.
      Eric broke the kiss, nibbled first at Tyler's chin, then his neck, then his chest, nuzzling against the sparse hair and fumbling at the buttons with trembling fingers. He pulled Tyler's shirt off and tossed it toward the door, then started licking down the man's chest. Tyler could not remember a feeling more intense. The boy was licking and sucking on Tyler's right nipple...slowly trailing his tongue down Tyler's chest, his stomach, swirling his tongue around Tyler's navel. Tyler sat with his head back, eyes half-lidded, staring at the bright flicker of shadow and sunlight on the ceiling, like an old old silent movie, hands stroking Eric's soft hair. It was almost overwhelming, all of it, so unexpected. It wasn't like him at all; and Eric's fingers were fumbling at his belt, unbuckling his pants, pulling them down. Tyler lifted his hips and the boy pulled the pants down around his ankles where they tangled with his shoes. Eric knelt on the floor and looked up, hands on Tyler's thighs, lips parted, panting slightly. Tyler stared down at him, into the dark eyes.
      The boy gave Tyler a slight, shy smile, then slid his hands up Tyler's thighs, slow. A tingling started that marched up Tyler's stomach, across his almost painfully arching erection, up into his brain. Eric hooked his fingers into his shorts, pulled them down surely; and Tyler's cock stood free. A drop of pearlescent pre-cum squeezed out and stood precariously. Eric leaned forward, his hair falling in a dark waterfall around his face and over Tyler's legs, and with the barest tip of his tongue touched that drop. The shock of that was nearly enough to do the man in. Sharp, sweet, toothache pains shot through his groin, and he nearly came, groaning through gritted teeth. Tyler had sucked many boys before, but only rarely had he actually been sucked in return. None of the boys that he'd been involved with before had been even remotely gay. They were just really horny. Like Tyler right now. It had been a long time. Eric leaned forward again, licked strawberry lips, pressed them against the head of Tyler's dick, slowly, slickly, pushing down. Tyler felt the heat of his mouth, felt the boy's tongue flicking here and there, felt the suction as the boy's cheeks hollowed in the effort. "Ah, God," he breathed. "Ah, God."
      It didn't take very long. Not long at all. Not with the wet softness of Eric's flickering tongue, not with Eric...oh, god, he wasn't taking all of Tyler's cock in his mouth, was he? And he wasn't even gagging! How could a boy this perfectly All-Boy learn to do a thing like that? Tyler threw his head back and came with a massive groan, sparks....fireworks!...massive nuclear explosions!...behind his eyes. And the boy swallowed it all, every drop, sucking away sucking thing at the dentist's office.
      But then it was over. Tyler came down, his softening cock slipping from between the boy's lips. Eric looked up with a shy smile; Tyler tried to calm his ragged breathing. He sat down heavily on the bench seat, pants around his ankles, head back, eyes closed, breathed in-out, in-out, then he sat up, reached forward and pulled the boy back up onto his lap. He held Eric tightly, the boy's hair smelling of strawberries and sweat. Eric nuzzled in close, his breath hot and moist on Tyler's throat. Tyler could hear him humming faintly, some pop song off the radio. Something about seeing her eyes and how much he loved her; and Tyler switched the words in his head to his eyes and loving him. Eric looked up with those shining dark eyes, wet lips glinting. His breath tasted of peppermint and Tyler's own cum; Tyler leaned forward and kissed him deeply, their tongues sliding over one another. It was Tyler's second kiss of a boy, ever, a symbolic act that none before had shown any interest in sharing with him. It was the boundary that couldn't be crossed, the one thing that would make what they could pass off as a game...real. No other boy had ever wanted it to be real.
      This was real.
      A memory pricked at the back of Tyler's mind, when he was fourteen, watching his best friend kissing a girl and feeling lonely and left out. Tyler held the boy and watched the flickering landscape go by outside. He could have stayed like that forever.
      But Eric's hands were on Tyler's chest, sliding down slowly, caressing him in tiny circles. Tyler with his head back, breathing heavily. Eric took Tyler's cock in his hand, just holding it, squeezing gently. Slowly, almost imperceptively, it filled and lifted.
      Eric smiled. "Ready for round two?"
      "Um..." Tyler said.
      So there was Eric standing there, over him, gloriously naked in the sun and shadow strobe. Tyler stood, stepped close. He could see the Eric tremble, took him in his arms, his fingertips gliding down the boy's back and over the mounds of his full butt. The boy was breathing deeply. "Don't hurt me," he whispered.
      "I would never hurt you," Tyler breathed, then turned the boy around, pulled him close. Tyler's cock nestled in the curve of the boy's lower back.
      "It's my first time for this," Eric said.
      "I'll be careful," Tyler said.
      So Tyler fucked Eric. He pressed himself against him and into him, like pressing a thumb into a soft apple. Eric groaned at the penetration, panting hard, arching his back. This was a new thing for Tyler as well, never done it before, he'd thought about doing it, sure, had jerked-off to the thought of it playing in his mind, but never had the guts to suggest it to any of the boys he'd fooled around with in the past. But he had Eric by the hips now, digging his fingers into the soft skin, the firm muscle, slowly pushing his cock up into the heat of Eric's gut. It was an incredible feeling, the warmth, the pressure. Tyler had never felt anything quite like this...and then he realized that his dick wasn't actually going anywhere.
      "Oh, God," Eric breathed.
      Tyler, it is true, to this point had never fucked a boy in his life; but he had fucked the occasional woman, when desperation or drunkenness had overcome his vague distaste for the idea. He actually thought of himself as bisexual but was really only attracted to women so long as they kept their pants on.
      Fucking Eric is nothing much like fucking a woman.
      Sure it's hot, sure it's tight, but fucking a woman is more or less a single action. When it's time, for lack of a better term, to stick it in, you just do it, and then pull it half way or nearly all the way out and stick it back in. You know, over and over. And if the woman truly wants you to do it, it's really rather easy. Lubrication and all that. But fucking a boy, especially for a man who's never done it, and for a boy who's never been fucked, is more of a series of sometimes painful negotiations than a single repetitive action...
      "I think," Tyler panted, "I think I might have some KY in my bag..."
      "Shut up." Eric grunted. "Just do it."
      "No, I think we really need to get..."
      "Will you just shut the hell up and do it?"
      Tyler tried, really he did, but he just couldn't get it any further in.
      Eric stopped mid-moan. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Get the goddamn KY!"
      Tyler pulled out with a wet pop and turned frantically for his bag. No KY in the front pocket. Out came his toothbrush, his toothpaste, his dental floss, his little bottle of all the pills he thought he might need on a trip, advil and maalox and imodium, that sort of thing; out came his dog-eared cheesy sci-fi paperback The Starsword which he'd completely forgotten he'd had in there: no KY. Tyler tore open the main compartment: out came his chess set, out came his underwear and his socks and the little compressible jacket he always brought in case it rained. He tossed his dirty blue jeans on the floor, tossed his undershirts and his rolled up tie; he pulled his crumpled up dress shirt and pants and lobbed them over his shoulder. No KY. Out came his shave kit; he dumped it on the floor. Razor, shave cream, comb, deodorant, and at least a dozen hotel soaps, but no KY.
      "Come on," Eric kept saying, through gritted, growling teeth. "Come on!"
      "I can't find it! I know I had it in here!" Tyler dumped the bag over onto the seat, papers and magazines went flying, skittering across the floor. His flask of eight-year-old Jim Beam bounced off his foot, but still no KY.
      "Maybe it's in your pocket," Eric said, looking over his shoulder and wiggling his hips.
      "It's not in my pocket," Tyler said. His head was starting to pound. It couldn't go like this! He was so close! He'd never get another chance! Never! His head was pounding! It wasn't just his head that was pounding! Someone was pounding on the door!
      Tyler and Eric both jerked upright with a wide-eyed stare. "Who....?"
      The pounding continued, and a muffled voice called out, "Tickets! Your TICKETS!"
      "What?" Tyler couldn't believe it. This wasn't possible. He stood up in a huff and grabbed at the door handle.
      "Wait....!" Eric said, but Tyler ignored him and jerked the door open. The conductor stood there, taking up the entire door, in her pink fuzzy sweater and sensible shoes, ticket book in hand. There was a bare-breasted painting of Fabio on the cover.
      "I need your tickets, sir!" She said.
      "I need my KY," Tyler said.
      "Your tickets, sir!" She said, waving Fabio at him.
      "My KY!"
      "Your KY," she said in exasperation, "is in your pocket, now I really need your ticket!"
      "Oh," Tyler said, suddenly sheepish. And wouldn't you know, there was the KY, right there in his pocket with the ticket. He gave the conductor the ticket. She slammed the door closed with a roll of her eyes.
      Tyler squirted the KY onto his hands and slathered up his cock with it. "Come on," he said to Eric, grabbing the boy by his hips and turning him around. "Bend over."
      Eric bent over, and Tyler aimed himself at the center of it all, pushed hard. He felt the head of his cock pop right in, back into that wonderful heat.
      "Jesus," Eric groaned, and started pushing himself backwards, impaling himself on Tyler's cock. Tyler's eyes went wide. But he could feel it moving, finally, starting to slide forward; and then in an instant it felt like Eric's ass had given in, opened wide. Tyler's cock slid home with a squish and a jolt. Eric grunted again. "Hold it a second," he managed to get out.
      Tyler wasn't in a hurry. He could feel Eric's body tense under his hands, the fine tremor of muscles along his back, the quick but deep breaths.
      "Okay," Eric said, "Now fuck me."
      Tyler fucked him in long, hard strokes that sent ripples through the tight flesh of Eric's ass and back, sent waves of hot pleasure into him. Tyler had never felt anything like it. It was the most...the most...he gave up trying to describe it and just pounded away. He could feel himself starting to get close, feel himself starting to get close, feel himself... The whole world started to fade away, graying out around the tip of his dick. He pounded harder.
      There was someone pounding on the door.
      "Oh, my fucking God!" Tyler screamed, pulling out with a slurping thup that sent KY flying.
      "No, wait...!" Eric said.
      "Your TITS!" the muffled voice was calling. "I have YOUR TITS!"
      Tyler yanked open the door, the conductor was there again, pink fuzzy sweater popped open, huge sweaty watermelons of flesh bouncing before his eyes. Tyler fell backwards onto the floor, sliding on KY and torn bits of water-treatment magazines. Eric shrieked.
      "MY TITS!" the woman screamed. "YOU NEED MY TITS!"
      "I don't want your tits!" Tyler cried.
      "TAKE MY TITS! MY TITS! YOU REALLY NEED SOME TITS!" The woman stalked Tyler, hands on hips, her pendulous rack swinging back and forth, black nipples surrounded by starbursts of stretch marks, swinging back and forth like huge eyes.
      Eric screamed. The woman screamed. Tyler tried to scream, but nothing came out. The woman came closer...closer...
      "Help!" Tyler managed to croak.
      The door slammed open once more, and there was Fabio himself, hugely bare-chested, pecs the size of sixteen-ounce porterhouse steaks, long blond mane billowing in the wind. His skin-tight white pants held a bulge the size of a cabbage. "Come on, baby," he said, basso profundo, putting his massive thewed arm around the woman's waist. "Let me take you away from it all. You're better than this guy."
      "Hmph," she sniffed. The door closed behind them with a wap.
      "Oh, for the love of motherfucking GOD!" Eric snarled. "Will you please just fuck me?"
      Tyler fucked Eric. Waves of pleasure. Waves of pleasure. He just pounded into that boy's ass like there was no tomorrow, and he could feel himself starting to get close again, and Eric was getting close too, he could feel it in the boy's shoulders. There was a low keening sound coming from the boy, getting louder and louder, suddenly bursting forth in a wavering cry that pierced Tyler's ears. Eric reared back and came in an explosive jerk that sent huge ropes of white, glistening boy-juice arcing across the tiny compartment to splat against the window, running down the glass in viscous twists. Eric pulled away from Tyler. "Thanks, dude," he said.
      "No, wait....!" Tyler said, his cock red and angry, waving in front of him.
      "Sorry, dude," Eric said.
      Tyler tried to reach for him, but he stumbled and...
      ...and wacked his head against the glass. Tyler woke with a start. He was alone in the compartment. Rain spattered against the window and ran down in glistening rivulets. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and wiped drool from his chin. "Well, fuck," he whispered. What a nasty little twisted dream that was. Never again, he thought. Not a chance.
      The door opened and Tyler jumped at the sound, but it was just the boy coming back in.
      "Hey," the boy said with a little smile. "We're here. And you're awake. The train whistle must've woke you, huh?"
      "I guess."
      "Man, though, you can sleep! You slept the whole way here, almost. I bet I beat you so easy because you were so sleepy."
      "Beat me?"
      "The chess game? Remember?"
      "Oh, yeah." Not that Tyler was remotely sure the game had been real.
      "Dude, the conductor couldn't even wake you up. I had to give the guy your ticket, you don't mind, huh? It was sitting next to you on the seat?"
      "Ah, no I don't mind."
      They sat there in silence for a few minutes more as the train pulled into the station. The rain was slacking off.
      Tyler stood on the brightly lit platform and stretched, squinting at the sun coming through the clouds, trying to shake the hung over after-nap fuzziness out of his head and not succeeding. There was a nasty taste in his mouth and a nagging ache down in his balls. And a faint feeling of wetness down there as well that Tyler was entirely too sure was just barely visible. He didn't dare look down. The rest of the passengers that had gotten off with him filed around and into waiting cars or out into the parking lot. He felt someone standing next to him and turned to see the boy looking at him with that slightly crooked smile. Which, maybe unlike the rest of him, was every bit as dazzling as the one in the dream. Tyler tried to smile back, but only managed what felt like a tiny sheepish grin. He had a ridiculous feeling that he'd done something embarrassing, as if he'd gone out to get the paper in only his socks. But if that kid had any clue at all what Tyler had just dreamed about doing to him!
      "" the boy started, making Tyler tense. "That chess club meets on Mondays?"
      Tyler relaxed. Apparently, the boy had noticed nothing. "Ah, yeah. Seven p.m. Are you going to try to come?"
      "Well, maybe"
      "You really ought to, good as you are. We could use you."
      "I'll ask my Mom....speaking of which..." The boy slung his pack over his shoulder as an ancient looking white Toyota pulled up at the curb. "That's her. Got to go. Thanks for the game."
      The boy opened the passenger door, tossed his pack over the seat into the back. He started getting in and then stopped, turned to Tyler and said, clear as a bell, "And hey, my name isn't Eric, it's Mike." Then he winked, and was gone.
      Tyler's face went white. He dropped his bag and stood there hyperventilating as the little car disappeared up the street. Oh, shit, he kept thinking. Oh, shit.

And that's it.

author's note: The chess game described herein is a famous game known as Lasker's Sacrifice, played in 1889 between Emanuel Lasker and Johann Bauer in Amsterdam. You know, in case you wuz wondering. The sex, of course, I just made it up as I went along. And if you're actually from the Chicago area, and I've gotten it all wrong, just deal with it. It's been twenty years since I was there.
Copyright 2004 jackbenym