Too bad that old men lust, having little capacity to fulfil their fantasy. Gone are the instant erections of youth, the throbbing member on the public transport when the thigh of a desirable male is pressed close against one's own, withdrawn, and then pressed again and this time harder. That lovely cushion of curving muscle, and hard knee pressed against hard knee. Probably some straight guy feeling randy after work and unable to resist the excitement of the fleeting opportunity.

Or on the tube when another unseen male, standing behind you, his equipment pushed against your arse by the sudden swaying of the carriage where everyone is crowded close together (mmm, the looks, the quick glances, the unavoidable touching that is usually never allowed!). He pushes and then, because it is unavoidable, pushes again, and you feel the hard muscle at his groin gently impaling your unresistant arse. And then, in a flurry of embarrassment, he is gone. It leaves you wanting more, and closer, contact.

I remember the occasion when I was sitting on the top deck of a bus, at the back, during the rush hour. The back seat is the best, where you can see everyone else but they can't see you unless they are disembarking.

We came to a stop where lots of people usually got off and there, coming up the aisle from the front of the bus was a schoolboy in school uniform with a huge boner in his trousers which he had no way of hiding, having to use his hands for balance, grabbing the rails as the bus lurched, and holding on to his school bag. His face was scarlet and yet he was smiling, smiling with lust I would have said. The tented trousers were very inviting and made me feel incredibly horny. I must have been staring very hard and he must have noticed because he gave me a drippy sort of "What am I to do?" smile.

I noticed that he had been sitting next to a middle-aged chap at the front, so when the crowd had got off I too went and sat at the front, opposite this guy. Before I sat down I looked over his shoulder from my standing position and noticed that his legs were wide apart and looked very muscular. He had his hand over his crotch and I couldn't tell whether or not he was hard. He looked at me as I sat down -- an appraising look, and appreciative too.

I wondered what he and the schoolboy had been doing, just rubbing thighs, or more? Already my own dick had gone haywire and I sat with legs apart and hands in pockets, holding on to it, holding it down.

Did I say I was very young at the time, early twenties, and very inexperienced. At that time I had a fixation about guys with wide shoulders and broad muscled arms and this guy had plenty of that.

There were not many left on the bus now so that he and I could exchange plenty of horny glances. I lived way out in the suburbs and so apparently did he. I was praying that he didn't get off before something -- anything -- happened.

He was wearing a nice business suit which showed off his big figure to advantage. His shoulders were broad and full, even allowing for padding, the top of his arms filling the sleeves of his jacket with muscled flesh. The white shirt too was full of muscle and I could just imagine the sensation of my cock rubbing against it. Undoing his tie, pulling it down, undoing the buttons of his linen shirt, pushing the jacket off of those broad shoulders, starting to rub my cock against his pecs, leaving a wet trail against the nipples and over the breastbone, watching his mouth as he bent towards me....

There was just one other passenger on the top deck now and I was just waiting for him to get off, which he eventually did. My friend noticed too and began unashamedly to open and close his big thighs. I began to rub myself through my pockets and he watched me, smiling a big warm sexy smile. But buses have mirrors and we had to be careful, nothing too obvious could take place.

He was carrying a broadsheet and he opened it on his lap. Then he got his cock out underneath the paper, so that I could see it but the driver could not through the upstairs mirror. Nice big uncut cock, a warm brown colour with large blue veins, the head only just showing, moist and red, as he pulled back the skin occasionally.

I was a bit bold and said, in a loud voice (just to show there was nothing to hide, in case anyone was paying attention) "Do you mind if I just look at the racing page, mate?"

"Of course not," he said, smiling again. He was about to hand the paper across to me but I forestalled him and moved to sit next to him, pressing my thigh hard against his and placing my arm over the back of the seat the full width of those wonderful shoulders. Our thighs and waists and flanks were against each other and I reached my hand across him to flick through the pages of the paper. I could feel his cock through the newsprint. I pressed his dick through the paper.

"You're a forward little bastard," he whispered and I winked at him in reply.

I leant forward, ostensibly studying the gee-gees, my face just slightly touching his. Now I had my hand under the paper and was slowly wanking the big sliding skin of his uncut cock. Putting my hand further inside his trousers, I took a big handful of his hot moist balls. The suburban landscape glided unknowingly past, shops, houses, streets, people. He gave a soft moan or sigh, leant back with his thighs open to my touch.

Now he was feeling me in return, but I had to push him away since I was near to coming.

"Fuck!" he said, as if suddenly aware of his surroundings. "It's my stop next."

We buttoned up and zipped up and he rushed to reach the bell. Without thinking, I followed him off the bus. I was sure the driver gave us an enquiring look, perhaps he had seen we were hard.

My friend looked at me in surprise. "You live here too?" he asked. I noticed for the first time that he had a slight accent. It sounded very appealing.

It was a nice neighbourhood, leafy and with some big old Victorian houses along the main road. I passed it every day to and from work, but had never got off here before -- well, I had had no reason to, until now. To tell the truth I felt a little disoriented with the pure excitement of the thing. For the first time I was aware of the smell of his aftershave. It was pure sex, or essence of sexual attraction, bottled, worth a fortune an ounce. Also there was some flowering privet right next to us, and a warm summer breeze was blowing, and the two fragrances made me feel near to fainting with eroticism.

"Come on," he said. "There's a public park just around the corner. Let's walk and talk."

He wasn't tall, about 5'10" but powerfully built, about 14 stone. Perfect for me who love a meaty figure, even a bit overweight suits me. Male meat on the bone, on the hoof, big thighs, meaty buns, heavy shoulders, Might, massive and male, heavily handsome. Some people take the mickey out of `Muscle Marys' but I will take one every time, the feel of the flesh as you lean against it, handle it, lie on it like a muscle-sofa, stretch yourself against it, alongside it, stroking and pressing, handling and holding.

Had he been a skinny guy, I would probably not have bothered.

We walked together in silence for a while, arms and hands touching slightly and the effect was electric and the electricity seemed to fill my body and glow inside me like a tropical sun. We came to a secluded corner and I suddenly grabbed him and pushed him up against the wall, my arms around his shoulders, kissing him violently. I could feel him yielding to me, his broad thighs straining against me, then he pushed me off.

"Hang on mate," he said huskily. "I want it as much as you but we have to be careful. Don't forget I live in this area."

"So how about your place?"

"Yeah, my wife would love that."

I smiled. "Oh, I see..."

Was it my imagination, or did the fact that he was married make me feel ten times hornier? A bloke who made love to a woman wanted to make love to me! (Well, I said I was only young and not very experienced!)

"How about the park cottage?" he suggested.

I was so eager I would have gone anywhere -- Mars and back, whatever. I nodded.

"O.K," he said. "Just follow me -- but not too close behind."

I let him go on in front and watched his burly figure receding down the park vista, under the trees and sky. Then I strolled slowly after him, my dick throbbing and that inner part of me that is more than me singing to itself to the accompaniment of some great music. I was thinking of his big grey eyes and his nice fleshy mouth and his uncut dick and his broad chest and -- oh, just everything. The birds were singing and the air was warm and fresh and to be here at this time and in this place was the limit of my wishing.

He glanced round to make sure I was still following him and then turned off to the left into some trees. When I reached the place I found there was a small path leading to a public toilet. I found I was trembling slightly.

When I went in he was standing at the pissoir with his dick out, his arms akimbo, and letting forth a deluge. There was thankfully no one else there. When he had finished he started to shake the drops off, but I stopped him and bent down to lick his cock dry for him, pulling back the big foreskin and licking it all round. When I had done, he pulled me up and my mouth was on his and he was now licking the inside of my mouth in the same way I had licked his dong. He was feeling my cock and arse at the same time, his big hands very determined and with an exciting touch of insistent urgency that was almost violent in intention.

I began to unbutton his shirt and to uncover that beautiful chest and he bent backward with pleasure as my mouth found his big aureolae and I began to suckle them with all the pleasure of a nursing baby, my mouth on one and my stroking and pinching fingers on the other. They grew hard and the lovely firm curve of his tits was a pleasure to look at. It was as much like adoration as sex.

Lost in a private world of our own, an inner sanctum of sex, we failed to notice that someone else had entered. Then the newcomer coughed and startled us. It was a young black guy, slim and good looking, about my age. He seemed to know what was what because he said, "It's all right, you carry on and I'll keep a lookout for you."

"Thanks mate," said my friend and pulled me to him once more. Looking over his shoulder I saw that the black guy was keeping an eye out for anyone approaching at the same time as he was watching us. He smiled at me and took his dick out and started rubbing it. It was soon hard. This, combined with the stimulation my older friend was providing, was too much for me and I started to cum.

The black guy, seeing what was inevitably about to happen, abandoned his post and started sucking on my dick while my other friend wanked me into the black guy's mouth. The double stimulation and close presence of two randy males made ejaculation unstoppable and soon the black guy was drinking every last drop of cum he could squeeze out of me while the other guy was sucking at my mouth for all he was worth.

I had my arms around my older friend's wide strong shoulders and I turned limp with sexual ecstacy. He held me tightly to him while the black guy continued to lick and lap at my cock and balls, meanwhile wanking off his own big shining boner. Then somehow I found I had a cock in either hand and was pulling them as hard and as fast as I could. The black guy leaned back against the pissoir with his eyes shut and soon a big stream of cum was spurting from his dickhead and he was bucking in big frantic lunges of his thighs and dick. His shapely mouth was wide open so I plastered my lips against it and tasted the ecstacy as he emptied himself, his hands gripping my upper arms like a vice. My other friend was licking up the last drops of cum with a big eager mouth.

I squatted down beside my older friend and help lick the cum from the black guy's cock which still emitted some heady oozings of sexuality. We licked his cock and each other's mouths, took the slowly detumescing cock from mouth to mouth and kissed with it between our lips and nuzzled his nice tight ballsac and stroked the sweet brown buns and fingered between them. Then we stood up and entwined and shared, as if the three had become one person.

Eddie (my older friend) started to clean up and rearrange his clothes into a semblance of normality. He went to the mirror and combed his hair as if he were at the office. It took Jason (the black guy) and I a little longer to distangle our hands and unwilling thighs and reluctant mouths from each other. I had found the contrast between Eddie's voluptuous flesh and the leaner and more muscular tenderness of Jason an absolute turn on and was now more sympathetic towards the beauties of the latter. It was the beginning of an absolute conversion but the old religion was still dominant and I watched Eddie with very fond eyes as he straightened himself and smiled at us both.

"Well lads, I have to be off home now or questions will be asked. This has been a wonderful time for me. I only wish we could do it again."

"Of course we can," put in Jason quickly. "No reason why not. I live a short walk away from here, got my own flat, privacy assured." Jason had that lovely soft black accent that made you melt when you heard it.

A sort of pact was made, telephone numbers discreetly exchanged. Eddie kissed us both full on the mouth and after some choice squeezings he was gone with a promise to meet again.

I looked at Jason and he at me. "You don't have to slope off too?" he asked.

"No rush," I said, feeling really quite bashful.

"Let's have a beer."

"You're on sweets."

Out into the blissful summer afternoon, warmth, sweet scents, birdsong, absence of all care. I had come this way with Eddie and was now retracing my steps with Jason beside me, the backs of our hands occasionally brushing and lingering, sometimes putting our arms over the other's shoulders or casually around his waist, nothing to raise an eyebrow, just the casual touching of friends. His dark eyes when he smiled at me were like nothing I had seen before. The curve of his lips was perfect. Black, short cut hair and a perfect shape to the head and forehead and neck. Small upcurve of his sweet nose, curve of his lips, eyebrows, shape of his legs in his tight black trousers, round of his arse, slim waist, nice walk.

The strange feeling that he was somehow mine, in the palm of my hand. The sort of feeling a child has when it is handed a new and shiny toy full of promise of playful and wondrously exciting hours to come. But a living toy, and one that would use me in turn in all sorts of unknown and yet to be experienced exquisite games. Hours and hours of sexual experimentation and endless cummings -- or so I hoped.

I reminded myself not to get too excited, not to expect too much.

As if reading my thought, he turned his head towards me with a dazzling and enquiring smile and said "I really like you Adam."

I took the chance to squeeze his warm soft hand, feeling the lovely delicate bone structure.

The pub was half empty and we took our drinks out into the garden where there was just one other couple, a young guy and a girl. I noticed that the girl gave Jason an appreciative look. She's got good taste, I thought. And to think that I had never even heard of him just an hour ago, and now here we were in this garden together, smiling and looking in each other's eyes.

His eyes were very dark brown to black with black lashes and short black hair. The skin was a warm creamy brown, glowing with health and well-being. The mouth was of a shape to defy description -- some things just have to be seen, or drawn or photographed or whatever. But the living act of seeing, here and now, is the only way to witness such beauty: anything else is just second hand.

And, male or female, straight or gay, we all have these moments of intense perception and it is just these moments which give any sort of meaning to life. Without them life would be either a living hell or merely a slow decay into senility. These are the sunlit upland mountain peaks where all is warmth and blue sky and the pacifities (outwardly, at least) of nature. I didn't know it at the time, but Jason, and others like him, were to provide me with my godly pantheon of later years, those great beings who now inhabit my dreams.

But this is introspection and the labyrinths of thought. At the time, there in the garden of the little suburban pub, there was only the naked fact. I embraced Jason with my legs under the table, but ever so discreetly. The passion was all in the discretion! Again that radiant look of his, that purity, that quintessence, his glance a fierce dart of passion that buried itself deep into my being, an arrow of flame.

As soon as I felt his legs against mine (the delicate-seeming structure of solid bone beneath the layers of muscle and flesh) I could hardly wait to embrace him once more. Previously to this I had seen young heterosexual couples necking in public and had thought it affectation, a form of youthful rebellion that was intent on flouting accepted codes of acceptable behaviour. But now I saw that it was need, naked need and longing for the object of one's need.

"I think we had better be off," said Jason, and I knew that he felt what I did.

"But where can we go?" I whisper-asked in desperation, feeling ready to ravish him on the lawn of the garden, before the astonished gaze of the young couple, if all else failed.

Again that smile, and I wondered if I could stand many more of them, so fierce their direct beauty. "You forget, Adam, there is a place and I call it home."

"You'd take me back there?" I asked. "And hardly knowing me? I could be anyone and I could do anything."

"But you're someone, Adam. And if you will do anything -- well, I'll take that as a promise my son."

"Jason..." I stuttered, quite lost for words, forgetting what I was trying to say. And then again "Jason."

"That's my name," he said, draining his pint and standing up. Through the tight trousers you could see that his passion was stirring. I did that, I thought to myself with a touch of pride. I noticed the girl on the other bench was also admiring the view. She glanced at me and we smiled at each other. Her boyfriend noticed nothing.

If any of this sounds twee and girlish I can only claim in mitigation that I was young and inexperienced, which from the vantage point of age is a state of blessedness. I can still see him in that garden, even after all these years. If I were to think of heaven, it would be Jason and me in that garden for all eternity (minus, perhaps, the hetero couple!) forever young and beautiful and fixed forever at the time of first-coming-to-know, which is often the best and the point to which couples refer back all their life, being the freshest and most whole experience they can ever witness.

My body absolutely craved him and as we left I had my arm about his shoulders.

It was a short walk to Jason's place. He had two big rooms and the usual facilities in a large Edwardian mansion. Must have cost him a fortune but he apparently had a good job. It was all leather and chrome and spotlessly clean.

I grabbed him in the middle of the room, unable to resist. We had the evening and night before us, both being free.

The rest was mouth and thigh and cock and bum and all the rest of it, we tried everything. All through the night, or a large part of it. The planes at intervals droned overhead, the lace curtains blew in a warm breeze. I could see his eyes in the semi-dark, glowing like beacons, drawing me further inshore.

He surprised me by asking whether I liked kinky things. I asked what sort. He said he liked to have sex with him wearing something leather. I was mildly titillated and asked him what it was.

He switched on the light and got out a shiny garment which he slipped on over his naked body. There was a tight leather jerkin and a pair of open-crotched leggings which hugged the top of his thighs leaving his cock and arse bare. It was open at the pecs too and his lovely smooth brown tits curved out from the black material, inviting much suckling and licking and teasing. He knelt back against the big leather bedhead so that his tits were pushed out toward me and I feasted on them for a long time until we were both very hard again. Then he got cramp through kneeling so long and we had to stretch out in a more comfortable position.

Then he stood on the floor with one foot on the bed so that his cock and balls and arse were open for me. I lay on the bed until my head was just underneath him and then I began to suck and lick his uncut cock and his shaved balls and arse. He came all over my face and it was lovely.


I awoke to find him leaning over me, watching, his eyes melted with love. I purred with satisfaction. His mouth still tasted fresh. The discarded leather garment was slung over the bedhead and I reached for it and began to sniff the crotch, not altogether seriously. He laughed and snatched it away from me and thrust his cock in my face saying "Here Adam, have a smell of the real thing."

He lay back facing me, his body an open altar on the satin sheets, the sheets a warm pink background to his warm brown body, hands behind his head, legs apart. I climbed on top of him and lay against him. He shut his eyes and sighed. Never had I known such loveliness, such happiness, such warm sex.

His eyes opened and sought the clock. "We have to get up."

"No Jason, I want to stay here with you forever."

"Not possible mah man. We have to shift our arses."

"Just when my cock was ready for more."

"Come on, let's shower together and I'll give you a quick rub. But I doubt you have any spunk left."

We got in the shower and soaped each other down, but we had to be quick. Then came a couple of slices of toast and a cup of coffee and then out into the open fresh morning air, sunshine and birdsong, like the first day of the world.

When we parted in the park he kissed me on the open mouth, bold as brass, and it was even slightly lingering, seemingly impossible to end it, to finally part. Not a good sensation, to have to put an end to something as sweet as this. I only hoped I would be seeing him again, but one can never be sure in these matters. What you feel and what the other person feels don't always gel. But you knew that already -- right?

I watched him walking away and one of the park workers was watching me.

At that time I was working in a sixties tower block somewhere in the heart of leafy Surrey. The block was a hideous straight-up and straight-down of twenty storeys, not a curlicue of ornamentation to be seen anywhere, just concrete and glass. Obscene! The windows leaked and the lifts were always out of action and no one seemed to do anything about them. The toilets overflowed and the water heaters failed to heat.

One of the great things about this place was that it housed several government departments and there must have been anything up to a couple of thousand people in the offices at any time. With two big toilets on each floor, and unhindered access between floors, this meant that one had considerable scope (and enticement) to wander about a bit when work became boring.

But there was none of that on this particular morning. Despite an amazingly sexy afternoon, evening and night, I was feeling deflated. It had been great, but would I ever see Eddie or Jason again, particularly Jason. And then again I began to remember what a great body Eddie had had, that great chest to rub against, those superb thick thighs.

I stared out at the Surrey Hills and the North Downs. One of the redeeming features of this horrible building (beside the toilet activity) was that it had the most fantastic views, especially from the fourteenth floor where I worked.

I was thinking primarily of Jason, but then images of Eddie kept slipping in between those of that lithe brown body which had been such a delight. In the end, I could hardly remember what either of them looked like -- have you ever noticed how that happens when you first meet someone? You think he was gorgeous and then when you meet him again you find that he is quite ordinary and it's as if the body snatchers have been at their grisly work.

Glum, glum, for all the beauties of the Surrey Hills. I went out to make myself a coffee. As usual, the water boiler had switched itself off and there was nothing doing. So I went down to the floor below to see if their machine was functioning.

I suspect that some of the excitement and fulfilment of the previous twelve hours was lingering still about me as a distinctive aroma or psychic atmosphere. These things usually come in hordes, I find -- all or nothing, as the old saying is.

I went into their tea room -- same sink and water boiler as upstairs, same dingy view of the inner corner of the building -- and there stood a lovely young god resplendent in all his grace and beauty. I gulped. I took a deep breath. Where had this luminous being been hiding himself?

"Morning," I said rather formally.

"Hullo," he murmured, shy and vulnerable. Early twenties, long dark hair to his shoulders, a lovely young lord whose family were from the east, from the sun-filled and flower-filled valleys of a verdant Asia. From across the sparkling waters filled with flying fish and dolphins, in a light bamboo and reed vessel, himself in the stern naked and lovely, his hand upon the oar, his troubled face peering toward the west and the polluted lands.

A shudder ran through me, a deep and vibrating spasm.

"Are you a new recruit? Haven't seen you before."

He looked at me from behind his long black hair, a half smile truly illuminating his lovely countenance, stirring his coffee, leaning against the aluminium draining-board, long legs, small waist, broad shoulders.

"I've been here about six months," he said. "Haven't seen you either."

I could tell at once that he was a natural flirt -- impossible to avoid when you were as distractingly good-looking as he was. Or was that just wishful thinking? Tart that I was, I had immediately forgotten Jason and Eddie. This wonderful shining being filled my whole horizon like the sun as it rises over the long flat plain and floods it with brilliant illumination.

(To be continued.)

If you liked the story -- or even if you didn't -- please let me know at emenos@supanet.com