The Twenty-one Ten

By John Yager

This is a work of gay erotic fiction which contains descriptions of sexual acts between consulting adults.  If it is illegal for you to access such material, of if you find such  stories offensive, please exit now.  This is a work of fiction and in no way  draws on the lives or any specific person or persons.  Any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.

This work is copyrighted by the author and my not be reproduced in any form without specific  written permission of the author.

When I thought about it later I couldn't believe what I'd done.  It was so unlike me, so irresponsible and spontaneous, completely unlike my usual stayed, conservative, all right, I'll admit it, "stick in the mud" behavior.  But any way you cut it, it was hot, really hot.

We'd spent the day with my cousins in Sussex.  It was a cold, raw day and the English spring was still weeks away.   They had left us at the station somewhat early for the train back to Victoria and I had gone to the information window to see when the next train was due and what at what platform it would arrive.   As I spoke to the agent, my wife stood by the entry looking back out at the bleak sky.   We had stayed longer than we should and it would be very late before we got back to London.   I knew she  was tired,  the day had been too much for her.  As I spoke to the agent I was aware of a young man who was standing just behind me.  He stood a little closer than would normally seem polite and seemed to be listening to my questions and the agent's replies.

The next train should arrive in about an hour on Platform Two.  Rail service in Britain was clearly not what it once was and the arrival time was only approximate.  We  went through the pedestrian tunnel and up to the platform.   There was a small glass enclosed shelter with a bare wood bench, not a very comfortable waiting room, but at least it was out of the harsh wind.  We went into it and Laura sat down at once.   Knowing she was as comfortable as possible, I went back out onto the platform to take a look at the television monitor which give updated information on arrivals and departures.   As I stood looking up at the monitor, the young man I'd seen a few moments before at the information window came up the stairs to the platform and joined me.

"You a Yank?"  He spoke with a mild voice and a distinctly working class accent.

"Yes,"  I said, turning to look at him, "I'm from the States."   I hadn't paid much attention to him earlier and now saw he as a strikingly good looking fellow.   I guessed him to be in his twenties and later learned that I was correct.  He was in fact, twenty-four.  He was a little shorter than me with rather long, sandy colored hair cut in what was almost a page boy style.  He wore a quilted parka over baggy jeans so I couldn't tell much about his physique but his face was almost too pretty for a boy, for a young man.   He had a ready smile and seemed quite puppyish.   I noticed that he handled a very bulky, and rather heavy looking,  backpack as if it was no strain at all.

"You and the Misses taking the Twenty-one Ten."  It wasn't so much  a question as a statement of fact.  Then he added, "the Nine-ten PM train to London."

"Yes,"  I replied, not knowing exactly were this conversation was going.  "You?"

"Yeah.  But just to Croydon.  You going in to Victoria."  Again, it wasn't a question.  I remembered he had been listening to my conversation with the ticket agent.

"Yes,"  I said,  "to Victoria."

"You living there?"   There was a pause but before I could respond he added, "London, I mean."

"We have a flat there."

"Well, then."

"Well, yes, but we don't live there year `round.  A month or so in the spring and usually about the same in the autumn."   Why had I volunteered that I wondered.

He looked at me openly,  not trying to look but apeer as if he wasn't really looking, the way most people do.  He ran his eyes over me from head to foot then he smiled.  Was it approval or was he just being friendly?

"You on the television or something?  I know you, don't I?  I mean I know your face."

"No, not on television.  I'm a writer so you may have seen my photo on book jackets."  Not likely,  I thought, he wasn't likely to have  read anything I'd written."

"That's it,  Ordinary Heroes."  I was impressed.

"Among others.  Have you read it?

"Yeah, I have.  Me dad had it.  I liked the title."   He was silent for a moment and then added,  "He'll be impressed.  Me meeting you, I mean."  There was another pause and then he held out his hand to me.  "Paul Carter," he said.  "I mean, my name's Paul Carter.  Pleased to meet you."

"Bill Cartright,"  I said in reply and then there was another pause.   "But I guess you knew that."

He smiled again and looked down at the pavement.  "I couldn't remember.   William Cartright,  yes, that's right, on the cover.  The book I mean."


There was another silence and I looked up at the monitor.  The train was still not due for three quarters of an hour.  We looked at the monitor as the numbers rolled over.

"She sick?"  he asked,  "Your Misses, I mean."

"No, not sick in the normal sense.  Just tired.  We've had a long day."   I saw no reason to get into Laura's complex mental condition.  There was another long pause but he continued to look at me, making me feel somewhat uncomfortable.   "So do  you live in Croydon?"  I asked.  The question was more a way of breaking the silence than because I had any real interest.

"No, Lewis.  Just going up to me grand mum's."   He was silent for a moment and then it was as if the dike had broken and his whole life story came spilling out.
"She's sick, you know.  Dying really.  Me mum's been staying with her most of three weeks now.  She needs to come home, me mum, I mean.  So I'm going up to spare her.  For the weekend.  I work for me dad.  He has a cabinet business in Lewis.  Installing fitted cabinets, I mean.  He doesn't build them.   We just install them for the big shops.  Me sister, she's older by two years, married, has two kids,  her and her husband work with me dad as well.   Debby runs the office.  Dad and Tom and me, we do the installations.  But Deb and me and Tom, too, we been talking.  Trying to convince dad that we need to start selling the cabinets as well.  There's better money in it.  You know, get a show room.  Nothing  fancy at first,  just like a warehouse kind of.   Let people choose what they want then we order it and deliver it and install it, you know.  One stop shopping, you know."

There was a brief pause and I gathered I was expected to make a response.  "Yes,"  I ventured, "that seems to be the direction in the States as well."

"Competing with the big shops, you know, the Home Centres and such, but we could undersell them.   Offer better prices and probably even better selection just by keeping our stock down.  No need to invest a huge amount in stock when we can get anything they want on order from the manufacturers in twenty-four hours."

There was another pause but this time I waited.

"Your book, you know, Ordinary Heroes,"  he stopped and looked at me,  then down at the pavement.   "I thought it was a book about sports.  That's why I started reading it.  But it's not, you see, about sports, I mean."

"No, it's about the heroic in every day life."

"But it applies to sports.  I realized that as I got into it."

"Yes, I suppose it does.  In one way or another it applies to just about every aspect of life,  human relationships."

"Yeah, that's what I mean.  Relationships.  Sports.  You can't really have a great team until you deal with the relationships."

"I suppose that's true.  Are you into sports,  Paul?"

"Oh yeah.  It's my life.  I work for dad because he lets me have time for the sports.  Not many bosses would do that."

"No, I suppose not.  What sports do you play?"

"Not sports, Mr. Cartright, just one sport.  Rugby.  I started when I was ten, played for school teams and now I am sort of...what would you call it in the States?  Semi-pro I think, yeah, semi-pro.  I play for our town team.  We aren't in a big league but it is some really great play.  Rugby and weights.  But the weights are only to improve my game."

"Look, Paul, if I am going to call you by your first name, you can certainly call me Bill."

"You Yanks are easy, aren't you?"  There was a pause, accompanied by a really cute grin.  "With Christian names, I mean."

I smiled back.  This boy was way too cute and too intelligent for that suggestive pause to have been unintentional.  "I guess so. We Yanks can be easy, I guess,  but, hey, go with it,"   I said with a smile.  After what he had said about his sporting life I began to wonder just what kind of body was being concealed by baggy jeans and a padded parka.  As if he had read my mind, his right hand went to the zipper of his heavy parka and slowly unzipped it, revealing his muscular chest under a very tight fitting white T-shirt.  He smiled again and I wondered were I had missed the sudden turn in our conversation.  Suddenly there was an underlying sexuality.  Words took on a double meaning.  Gestures were loaded with implications.   Was he just playing around, or was he some kind of  "celebrity freak."   Even writers encounter our share of them.  Once at a writers conference in Indianapolis I had been forced to call the front desk and ask security to come remove the woman who had been scratching at my hotel room door at 2:00 AM, begging me to let her in.  What is it about a little fame which turns some people on?

Paul slowly zipped his parka back up.  "Cold,"  he grinned.


"But it'll be really hot on the train."

It was then that I realized Paul was no longer making playful eye contact.  He was  looking over my shoulder at the glass enclosed waiting area.  I turned to see if Laura was all right.   She had leaned her head back against the glass wall of the enclosure and almost looked asleep.  "I'd better go check on my wife."

"Maybe we can talk later."  His eyes again linked with mine.  He smiled and added, "on the train, I mean."

"Sure, great,"  I said and walked back into the little waiting area.  It was no warmer in there but at least it was sheltered for the increasingly cold wind.   "Are you all right?"  I said, setting down beside Laura and taking her gloved hands in mine.

"Cold, tired and wanting nothing more than to be back at the flat and in a hot bath."

"The train is due any minute."

"Let's just home it's on time."

Before I could respond I felt the vibrations of the approaching locomotive.  "I think it's here.  Let's go."

She stood, a little unsteady, clutched her purse and then reached down again to retrieve my camera bag, which I had left with her.

"Here,"  she said, thrusting the bag at me.  I slipped its long strap over my shoulder and offered her my arm.  As we walked out onto the platform I saw Paul.  He was still  standing below the suspended monitor, looking up at it, his face illuminated by its blue glow.  Then he turned and instead of waiting for the approaching train, walked quickly back along the platform.   Odd, I thought, would he miss the train?

The carriages rumbled to a stop and we entered the closest doors.  The car was old and rather dirty but there were no other occupants.  Pairs of seats, faced each other over little fold-down serving tables.  Laura went to the first row of forward facing seats and slumped down in the inside seat,  against the window.  I knew she hated to travel facing backward.

"I think this is a second class carriage," I said.  Our return tickets were first class.

"Who cares.  It's warm and I'm not moving."

She was right, the carriage was very warm.  I guess Paul had been right as well.   I took off my overcoat and the tweed jacket I wore under it, folded them, put them on the shelve above the window and tossed my camera bag on top of them.   "Can I help you off with your coat?"

"Not yet,"  Laura said, "I'm still freezing."

As I sat down I saw Paul enter the carriage carrying a little paper tray with three cups of steaming coffee.  He came over to us just as the train began to move.  "I thought you'd like something hot."

"How kind,"  Laura said, taking the offered coffee.  "I saw you two talking on the platform."

"Yes,  Mrs. Cartright.  I recognized your husband from the photos on his books."

"A fan,  Bill.  I hope you were polite."   I smiled, took the paper cup Paul held out to me and thanked him.  "Won't you join us?"  Laura asked, gesturing toward the empty seats facing us.

"No,  but thank you.  You look very tired and I think you probably want to rest, not talk."

"Well, yes, I feel as if I could be asleep in thirty seconds."

"Well, try to finish you coffee first,"  I said with a rather confused smile.

Paul excused himself and went a row forward and to the opposite side, taking the aisle seat facing me.  But before setting, he removed his backpack and placed it on the shelf above him.   Then, without turning, he took off the quilted parka and placed it over the backpack.  I saw immediately that his back and shoulders and arms rippled with beautifully defined muscles under his tight fitting white T-shirt.  He turned, and caught me looking at him.  He smiled.  Once in his seat, he stretched his left leg out onto the seat facing him,  spread his right leg and,  now comfortable, began to sip his coffee, keeping eye contact with me over the rim of the paper cup.  I looked over at Laura and saw that she had turned against the window.   Her coffee was almost gone.  But from where she was setting she could not have seen Paul, even if she had been looking.

I turned back to look at Paul and found he was still staring at me over his paper cup.  I smiled back and nodded, silently thanking him for his thoughtfulness in bringing us the coffee.   He smiled back and his left hand moved slowly from his knee,  along his thigh and up onto his lower stomach, where it stopped and moved slowly, prescribing little circles on his flat abdomen.  As he did so, his tongue ran corresponding circles around the lip of his paper cup.  It was a very suggestive action and I was caught completely off guard.

Laura moved next to me and I tore my eyes away from the little show Paul was giving.  "Here,"  she said, handing me her empty cup.  "That was certainly very nice of that young man."

"Yes, it was."

"I want to take my coat off now.  Will you help me?"

"Certainly."  I stood and helped her out of the heavy overcoat.  "Shall I put it up with mine?"

"No, I want it over me."

"You won't be too warm?  It's really hot in here and we have about two hours into London."

"No.  I just want something over me and then I want to be left alone so I can sleep."

I tucked her in and then, before returning to my seat, pulled my turtleneck off over my head.  I wore a rather stylish silk v-neck T-shirt under it and knew it was all I needed in the hot car.  I also knew I worked out enough to look pretty good in it.  Okay, maybe I wasn't in as great shape as Paul with his boyish good looks and magnificent body,  but hey, for an older guy, I was doing fine.

When I sat down I again looked at Paul and found his eyes were still on me.    The paper cup had disappeared and now both his hands were moving slowly and seductively over his body.  His right hand moved over his crotch, then quickly away, he looked at me questioningly.  I nodded and placed my own right hand firmly over my own crotch.  My cock was hard in my twill slacks.   Paul did the same, returning his hand to his crotch and pressed it down firmly.  At the same time his head rolled back against the seat and his eyes narrowed to slits.  But even then his nearly closed eyes were still locked on mine.

Leaving my right hand on my crotch, I moved my left hand up over my stomach to my chest,  slowly caressing my hard pectoral muscles and then resting my finger tips on my right nipple, which was now a very visible bulge in my tight fitting silk shirt.  I nodded.

Paul's head come up and his eyes came fully open.  He nodded back, acknowledging my positive response to what he was doing.   His right hand gripped his cock through the loose fabric of his baggy jeans.  It looked big.  I smiled and he smiled back.  Thank god Laura was asleep and there were on other passengers in the carriage.

We both sat for a few minutes longer, slowly stroking ourselves through our clothes, then Paul took the initiative and rose from his seat.  His cock protruded, tenting his loose fitting jeans.  He made no attempt to hide his erection, but walked slowly, seductively, toward me.  When he had crossed the ten or twelve feet which separated us, he stopped and, without speaking, put his hand on my shoulder and gripped it firmly through the thin silk of my shirt.  He nodded toward the back of the carriage and I returned the nod.  Without waiting for me, he walked off down the aisle.

I turned to check Laura  and saw she  was breathing slowly, deeply.  She was clearly asleep.  I pulled my camera bag from the shelf, slug the strap over my shoulder and started off down the length of the carriage in search of Paul.

I reached the back of the car and couldn't see him.  There were WCs on opposite sides of the narrow passage way.  I looked in each, thinking that would be were Paul would head,  but they were both unoccupied.  I started on back through the passage between our carriage and the next one behind and as I reached out to open the sliding doors of the next car, Paul pulled it open from the other side and beckoned me through.  "This is mostly a baggage car,"  he said, speaking rather loudly over the noise of the train, much louder here in the space between cars.  "There are a few seats in the back but nobody in them.  Come on."

I followed him further back into the car a few feet and found a pair of WCs identical to the ones I had already passed.  He opened the door on my right and stepped in.  When I  joined him, he reached behind me and locked the door.  Without saying a word, he drew me into a strong embrace, pressing our bodies together as his lips found mine.   The car jostled a little and he reached out with his right hand to brace himself against the  wall of the small space.  I was surprised to find the space was clean and bright and there was none of the noxious odor I associate with restrooms on trains.  "God, your hot,"  he murmured into my ear as his tongue began to attack it.

I turned to see what he was doing with his right hand and saw he had gripped a safety handle placed on the wall above the toilet.  With his left hand he began to fumble with my belt, not doing a very good job.  He must have been right handed and not used to managing buckles and  zippers with his left hand.  The movement of the  train didn't help.

"I'll do that,"  I said.

"No, wait.  It's too crowded in here.  Step out and let me get some clothe off.  Stay by the door and I'll open it a crack when I'm ready."

I did as he said, waiting in the passage way.  Nobody came by but it seemed to take him quite a while.  We pulled into a station and then left again.  When he did open the door a crack, I pushed back in.  He was pressed behind the door so I didn't realize `till I had the door closed and locked that he had stripped completely and was standing there before me wearing only his heavy white athletic socks.  His black work boots were shoved into a corner and his jeans and T-shirt hung from a hook on the back of the door.  He flipped down the cover on the toilet and sat down, pulling me around to face him.

"Now,"  he said, again attacking my belt and slacks with greater success.  I looked down at his massive shoulders and chest.  He was powerfully built.  His muscles were hard and well defined and there was not an ounce of visible fat.  His skin was pail, not surprising after the long, gray, British winter, but hr still shown with a healthy glow.

I flipped the strap of my camera bag over the hook which held his clothes and  pulled my shirt off over my head adding it to the collection.  My slacks and boxers came down in one quick jerk as Paul pushed them over my hips and down around my ankles.  My erection spring up,  hitting his chin.

"Oh, god," he murmured as his lips closed over the head of my cock.  He pushed me by the hips, rotating us in a little dance in the confined space.

He was good, very good.  His tongue was running circles around the knob then further down, leaving my shaft wet and shining.  Then with a sudden decent of his lips along the shaft, he took me all in.  I gasped at the suddenness of it, not knowing how he avoided gagging.  If I hadn't stopped him, I would have come in seconds.

"Slow down, guy,"  I said, bending over to kiss the top of his head.  His hair, a mix of light bronze and gold, smelled fragrant and clean.   "We have time."

"Oh, man, I wanted this,"   he said as he rose and embraced me with one arm as his other hand sought a safety handle on the wall behind me.  Our lips met and our tongues dueled.  He was breathing hard and I could feel his dick oozing against my thigh.   "Got to get you out of those pants,"  he breathed against my neck.  "I want you to fuck me."

Then he was squatting down in the minimal space between me and the washbasin,  pulling off my shoes and then dragging my slacks and boxers off as well.  I saw them disappear behind him and had a momentary vision of them falling into the toilet until I remembered Paul had put the lid down.    Then he was up again, his lilt, athletic body making efficient use of the little space we had to share.  He turned and faced the washbasin, leaning over it and bracing himself on its edge. "Come on, man, do it, put your dick in me."

"Easy, guy, give me a chance to get you ready.  I flipped open my camera bag and pulled out a film box, the one with a bright red sticker added to the plastic lid.  I'd found a film box was a very safe place to store things I wanted to keep private.  From it I pulled a small plastic bottle of lube and a packet of condoms.   My boy-scout days had taught me nothing if  not to be prepared.  I ran my slick fingers along his crack and then around his pucker.   With little resistance I pushed one finger into him.  When he sighed and relaxed a little I added a second and then a third.  The boy's ass was lose and ready and I thought he must be used to it.  Maybe the way he built relationships on the Rugby team was by being a very willing bottom.

He emitted a deep growl which then became a snarl.  "Yeah, man, do it, get that fucking cock in me."

I tried to go slow but Paul wouldn't let me.  He shoved his muscular body back against me, impaling himself on my rock-hard dick.  When I was fully in him, he paused.  I held still as well, assuming he needed time to adjust to the penetration.  Then more quickly than I would have expected, he began to rock back and forth against me,

"Oh, yeah,"  he moaned.

Having signaled he was ready, I began to withdraw and then plunge back, slowly at first, but quickly building  speed and force.

He loved it, no matter how hard I fucked him, he wanted more.  I sensed he probably liked his sex a little rough and gave the side of his pretty butt a hard, resounding slap.  He responded  with a hissed and whisper,  "yesssssss."  I slapped his again and saw an angry red blotch the size of my hand form on the side of his buttocks.   "Yessssss."

I was pounding into him as hard as I could.  He was humping back against me with equal strength.  There was nothing subtle about it, no sign of affection, just two animals rutting.   "Fuck, yessssss," he hissed.  I took my right hand off his hip.  I had been gripping him so firmly that I found a red imprint where my hand had been.  I braced myself as well as possible in the tight space and reached  around his stomach and then slid my hand down through his pubic bush and grasped the base of his cock.  It was already pulsing and I knew his climax was not far away.

I looked up into the mirror over the washbasin and saw Paul was looking at my reflection.  Our eyes locked in the mirror.   I continued to fuck him while at the same time, stroke his dick with hard, quick strokes.  Within moments I felt his cock pulsing and then my hand was covered with the hot flood of his seed.  He gasped and shoved back against me with even greater force.  His ass contracted with his orgasm and that put me over the edge.  My body stiffened and my cock exploded in his ass, filling the condom.  When it was over I slumped against his broad. muscular back and pulled him to me.  My sweaty chest and stomach were pressed against his equally wet back.  We stood there panting, waiting for our bodies to recover.

When we had somewhat recovered, Paul turned and kissed me.  It was a tender kiss but it lacked the fire that had been in our lips before.  When he withdrew, he smile, a slight, boyish smile.  "Thank you,"  he said.

"Oh, man,"  I said, and realized I had not yet recovered,  "I should be thanking you."  Then I smiled and added,  "this is certainly the wildest train ride I've ever had."

He kissed my lips again, just a light touch, then he was all business.  "Look, I don't mean to hurry you, but why don't you see if you can clean up a little and get your clothes on."

"Sure,"  I said, realizing that we really didn't have time to full around too long.   The space  was tight, but I managed to clean up a little and get dressed while he stood there naked, watching me.  It was impossible not to touch in the little space and once or twice I ran my hands over his beautiful body, wishing we had more time.

When I was dressed, he kissed me again.  "Go," he said.  "I'll be out in a few minutes.

I think I sort of staggered back down the aisle to my seat.  When I reached it slipped in against Laura and could soon tell she was still asleep.   A few minutes later I heard the door open behind me at the back of the carriage.  As Paul came by, he again stopped and put his hand on my shoulder, gripping it rather forcefully.  I looked up into his face and he smiled and mouthed,  "thank you."   I did the same;  our silent acknowledgment of what we had shared.

Paul went back to his seat and busied himself pulling on his parka and then his backpack.  He was familiar with the route and realized we were close to his station.  Just a few minutes later the train began to slow and then stop.  We were at Croydon.  As he stepped from the carriage onto the platform, he gave a little wave.

"What a nice young man,"  Laura said.  I hadn't realized the stopping of the train had wakened her.

"Yes,"  I responded.

"How much further?"

"Two more stops."   She put her head against my shoulder and slept again.

The end.