Gay touching in bus
Gay fun in sleeper bus/train travel from Chennai
No Picture
Chubbynave
He slept soo close to me his lips r touching mine.. he slightly kissed my lips n licked it. I went my lips. He touched my ***, i wasn't wearing anything inside so he felt it directly. He brought his hand up n lifted my tshirt touched my hip. He gently pressed it. I turned n slept. He touched all my stomach as i turned he started caressing my stomach n navel. He had strong rough hairy hands. I felt his huge *** poking my ***. He grabbed my stomach n pulled me close pressing his *** on my ***. I got excited. He lifted my tshirt up n pinched my nipple. My *** started moving n he got the hint. He turned me n started started kissing my lips. He *** my neck then my nipples. He kept fingering my navel as he ***. I started moaning a little. But there was no one in the next berth so no one cud he
IT WAS an overwhelmingly sunny July day, a Wednesday. Matinee day. The bus station was crowded with suburbanites trying to construct their curtain times. By the time I boarded the bus, there was only one seat free. It was next to the most beautiful guy I had ever seen.
He had blue eyes, extended brown hair, the beginnings of a mustache, and a blue polo shirt. He was smiling at the two girls sitting in front of him, chatting up a storm with them in a language I assumed to be Spanish. As I took my seat next to him, I thought: “He’s a flirt, he’s straight, and he doesn’t speak English. No chance, Dave.”
I opened my manual, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky. Before my brain had processed the first word of the chapter I was on, I heard a “Hello.”
It was the most attractive man I had ever seen.
I thought: “OMG, he’s speaking to me. What do I say?”
“Hey,” I said.
“What are you going into the city for?”
“Seeing a play with a friend later tonight. What about you?”
He explained that he was visiting NYC for Fourth of July. He had gotten so sloshed the night before tha
I reached in my locker for deodorant and glanced at the picture pasted on the inside of the door; me, in full football uniform, holding my helmet at the side. Sean Mitchell, 18, Senior, , pounds, it said. I weighed now, but I guess I weighed when the picture was taken. I wished they could add a couple of things, fancy nine-and-a-half- inch cock. Why not? There was no problem telling how huge a girl's tits were, why not how large a guy was hung? Oh wellI smiled and put deodorant under my arms and down in my crotch. One more game before homecoming. Nail it, and we were home free with Frozen Creek High the last game, and we would finish the season undefeated.
Toby Smith came back from the showers with his towel wrapped around his waist. He went to his locker, opposite mine and whipped the towel off to finish drying his hair.
"Think we're going to beat Harrison tonight?" he asked.
"I never ponder we're not going to win a game," I said as I got a pair of polish briefs out of my locker.
"I guess that's what makes you the player you are," he said.
His voice sounded more directed at
s runs on a circular route from the coach station through Lewiston Place out to the Oldham Industrial Estate and then back to the verb station by way of Chelmdene and Haymarket. I am an early riser, and I always catch the bus that leaves the station at a.m. It gets to my stop around , enough time for me to read most of the newspaper.
It's astonishing how regular we humans are in our daily habits. The same people queue up for the bus each morning, more or less in the same direct. A talkative, elderly dude is always the first in line. Most days a middle-aged woman is the second person in line, and she and the elderly man trade information about what they have done since they last saw each other. I know that he is semi-retired but goes in a few hours every day to `help' his son run the family's shop. She is a dentist. Over the years I have learned a lot about the two of them from their conversation. When she isn't there, the older man tries to engage the person behind him in the queue in conversation. I take protect to be the fourth or fifth person. I suppose he's pleasant enoug