Lost in London

LOST IN LONDON by Andy Macdonald.

It was Easter Saturday. Now I hate the Easter holiday or any other holiday times in London. Everything closes, at Easter, everything closes down for four days. Banks, offices, most specialist shops. You really can't get anything serious done at all. And London fills up with tourists. Not that I've got anything against tourists, let's face it, sometimes I'm one myself, in some other person's country. But they mill about in the streets, jabber away on the Tube, they block the exits and entrances as they gaze without comprehension at the route signs.

Me? I suppose you'd call me a Yuppie. I'm 26, got a good bod and I keep it looking good. I'm a currency broker, work at a Merchant Bank and use its health club five days a week. I'm too rich for my own good. Gay and with a good circle of friends. I've got no "significant other" just at present. We'd split up recently and I was getting over the sadness. I hated living alone but was scared of rebounding too quickly.

I was changing Underground trains from the District to the Picadilly Line at Earls Court and there was a tourist now, standing right in the passage to the Tube platform where a train had just arrived. I tried to squeeze past but the passengers who'd just got off the train were streaming past him and I couldn't get through. I heard the doors shut and the train rattled off. Missed it! Bloody tourist!! I glared at him. He glanced at me and I saw two things right away. Firstly he was gorgeous and secondly he was obviously in considerable distress.

Gorgeous in that he was one hundred percent my type. A large, blond muscular hunk with longish thick hair, a model's face, handsome with high cheek bones, large well spaced eyes and a perfect nose and chin, yet there was a hint of pretty-boy in his features. He had a body that, on a quick inspection, was pure hunk. All of this I absorbed in one quick glance. My eyes wanted more of the same.

However this guy's distress was also very obvious. He was gazing at the list of stations with a blank look on his face, also I could see that he was shaking visibly. Now anyone, male or female, young or old, who looked as worried as he did needed help.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"What?" he jumped then turned his worried face towards me. "What? - Yea mate, I'm totally lost down here."

"Where'r you trying to get to?" I enquired.

"The Strand - Western Australia House", he replied.

Well, at least the destination was no surprise, not with an accent like that. You could cut his Aussie twang with a knife.

"OK," I said, you need the next train from this platform and get off at Covent Garden. It's only a short walk from there."

"Thanks mate. Get on a train here?"

I nodded and walked onto the platform. The Aussie picked up his back pack and hurried close behind me. Just then the next train pulled onto the platform and I jumped in. Oz climbed in behind me. I dived for the one seat that was free. Oz squeezed past some standing passengers and stood close to where I was sitting. Great. Now I had a chance to surreptitiously study the bits that I'd not had time to take in before. And I was not disappointed.

He was wearing a thin green cotton shirt over a high necked white tee-shirt. Unfortunately this hung outside his thin tan coloured slacks, unfortunately hiding some of the other good things I'd been hoping to check out. All this I had been taking in through quick glances as he swayed in front of me. I did have one advantage and that was that my were eyes were just about at his crotch level. I was taking a strong dislike to that green shirt but I wouldn't mind getting to know its contents a bit better. The Australian hunk was standing really close to where I sat and I could smell him. Now Body Odour on a crowded tube train can be extremely unpleasant but the musky scent of this young hunk was quite different. This young man's sexy smell sort of complimented his great body and handsome features.

I opened up my paper, folded it and started trying to read an article. However my attention wandered to the edge of the paper and I saw that my Tourist Hunk was looking at me. He had a panicky look in his eyes. When I thought that he wasn't staring at me I glanced straight ahead, taking in what details of his groin that I could glimpse. Then I saw him hitch his shirt to one side and put his hand into his slacks' pocket. Remember that all this was taking place inches from my eyes. I quickly realised why he needed to reach into the pocket because the green shirt was now hitched away from the front of his trousers which revealed something pressing outwards. I realised that the jolting and swaying of the train was giving this young hunk an erection. My eyes slid between the newspaper article and the sexy sight of this young man's slow arousal. The hand in his pocket furtively slid across and attempted to re-arrange his genitals so that the embarrassing hard-on would'nt show. He shuffled his feet. My eyes shot pack to the paper.

As the train drew into Gloucester Road station I saw that the guy was frantically trying to read the route pasted up at the side of the carriage. Obviously trying to see how many stations before he had to get off. I noticed that he was still shaking. This was one very worried young guy. I also noticed that his eyes kept fixing back onto me with a look of desperation in them.

The train rattled on until it got to Picadilly Circus and there quite a few people left. The girl in the seat next to me had got up and as soon as she did so, the young Australian dived in to sit behind me.

"I'm sorry mate, I didn't get where you said to get off."

"Covent Garden, the stop after next." I told him.

"OK, thanks. I'm sorry to bother you like this." He managed a weak grin.

"That's OK," I replied.

There was silence between us as the train stopped at Leicester Square. It started off again.

"I'm really sorry but I just don't know how to get to Strand, whatever that is, from the train station." he gasped. He looked pleadingly at me. "I'm new in London, I really don't know what to do."

I think that if he'd been a few years younger this guy would have been in tears. As it was I could feel him shaking next to me and he was breathing quickly, taking nervous shallow breaths. He was sweating heavily too which accounted for the glorious man-odour that had turned me on before.

Although there was no doubt that he was one gorgeous hunk of young manhood and in the very short time since I'd first set eyes on him, the sight of him had made my cock twitch inside my underpants several times, that was not the main reason that I decided I'd better give him some help. Here was one very distressed young man, obviously lost in London and possibly with other problems.

"OK - I'll get off at Covent Garden with you and I'll point out the way to the Strand. It's the name of a street, by the way"

He gave me the sort of look that your dog gives you when you've just got back home.

"That's real good of'ya mate," he muttered.

The train drew to a stop and we both got off. He looked wildly up and down the platform as I set off for the Way Out. Oz followed. We walked to the escalator and I stepped back to let him on first. There was something I wanted to see. His arse. Even if I was making like St Christopher, this was an item I really wanted to see, it would make good fantasy material later when I replayed this encounter in my mind. I was not disappointed. As the steps rose up, so I could see under that wretched green shirt. I saw a pair of beautifully formed buttocks, encased in thin cotton slacks. I could see the lines of the leg openings of his underpants (I have to confess that a guy's underwear is another of my turn-ons). I was looking at one perfect Australian bum. He had no idea of the excitement he had caused me.

We got to the top and I put my ticket into the gate which flew open. I stepped out and glanced back. Oz was fumbling in his pockets. Like so many tourists, he'd lost his ticket. Had no idea about the gates. Was completely blocking one exit and causing chaos. I sighed and nearly walked on. But after all, he was very much in need of help - and he was gorgeous.

At last the missing ticket was found, after further muddle it was entered into the slot and one back-packed hunk released into the busy world of Covent Garden. Oz was panting and very uncalm.

"Right, now you said you needed to get to the Strand. Where did you say you wanted there?" I asked him.

"West Australia House" he answered.

"Yes, well, you do realise that it's Easter Saturday, don't you? All the offices will be closed. I doubt if there'll be anyone in the building. What's your problem, if I may ask?"

Out it tumbled.

"Oh heck," he said, "I was robbed at the hostel this morning. I've lost me cash and all me documents." he gulped. He looked at me - like a starved dog this time.

"I don't believe this is happening" I muttered to myself.

He went on: "I got up this morning and went for a shower. When I got back to my bed, someone'd been at my stuff and took my wallet and my documents."

"You stupid mutt." I said. "Don't you know enough not to leave valuable things unguarded?"

He didn't answer. Just looked me with sad, helpless eyes. Green eyes I noticed with that very penetrating, trusting sort of look. I sat and looked at him. A great, big, stupid, gorgeous hunk of a young man.

He needed help.

"I need help" he whispered as the crowds of visitors swirled around us.

"Yes, I think you probably need quite a lot of help" I replied. "I suppose it's worth calling on the High Commission but I very much doubt if anyone'll be there or that you'll be able to get any help until Tuesday."

"TUESDAY! . . . Oh my word . . . . Why? . . . . That's three days from now." he gasped. Then he was silent. A great big lost hunk of a young man. Of course I'd fancied him at first glance but for once I was not thinking of what a search inside those thin tan slacks might reveal. Here was another guy of about the same age as myself who was obviously in quite a lot of trouble.

"Come on," I said, "follow me." I walked a short distance towards the old market building and found a quietish cafe. We both sat down at a table, away from the seething crowd of tourists and on-lookers.

"Now let's get to the bottom of this," I winced internally at the Freudian remark, "first of all my name is Andy--"

"I'm Simon" he said immediately and stuck his big hand out. I shook it. "And I'm really glad you could help me. I'm in a mess just now--"

"Yes, I can see that." I answered. "You've had your papers and your money stolen. It's the middle of the holiday period and, I agree, you've got problems."

This opened the flood gates. The words poured out of his mouth.

"Yea. Me name's Simon. I'm from a farm right out in the country - in the outback, in West Australia. I travelled to England with this group but they've gone up to Scotland. I wanted to stay and get a look at London. I thought it'd be a great place, swinging city and all that. The kids back home all say it's great. I'm not sure now. I haven't got any money, no place to stay, I've lost me passport -- I don't really know what to do, 'cept go to the High Commission - and you reckon it'll be closed. This is all strange to me, apart from a coupla visits to Perth, I've never been anywhere outside Albany. It's always bin the farm. "

"What about school?" I asked.

"Oh that was by radio - and me Mum."

"Friends?"

"We do have friends but they live about 200 miles down the road."

"So what did they tell you about London then?" I asked him.

He looked at me for a moment, drew in a breath but then thought better of it. He said nothing.

I'd ordered a couple of cups of Cappochino and we drank them in silence. I wondered about Simon. Was all this a try-on? Then I remembered the state he'd been in when I first saw him in the Tube. Come to think of it, he was still pretty worked up. His handsome face wore a worried frown and he fidgeted on his chair.

"So what are you going to do now?" I asked him.

"Oh Andy, I really dunno" he said in a quiet voice. He looked at me with sad green eyes and my heart melted. He was a big, strong young man but totally out of his depth. Loose in London, a city the size of which he could hardly imagine. No money, no passport, friendless. A lost and worried hunk.

`Behave yourself, Andy,' I said to myself, "Australians hate gays. This Simon probably has a "Sheila", if not several, all lusting after his cute face or his built body or even his beautiful bum. This one was not up for grabs, so hands off."

Anyway I'd been on my way to meet a friend and we were going to look at some new software on sale at PC World. It already looked like I was going to be late.

"Well Simon, I have to get going, I'm already late. I'm supposed to be meeting a friend just about now."

Simon's eyes widened in despair. He sighed and started to shake. In a flash I saw myself adrift in Sydney, no money, no credit cards, nowhere to stay, everywhere closed for the next three days. Oh Hell, forget the software.

"OK, I'll tell you what, I'll 'phone my friend and tell him I can't meet him. I just hope his mobile is switched on."

I jumped up and went over to a 'phone I could see across the room. As I waited for the connection I could see Simon, his elbows on the table, his head in his hands and his coffee untouched. I got through to Bill and sort of explained the situation. I left out certain details but he still enquired as to whether I was being a Good Samaritan or a Perverted Predator.

Up 'till now it was mostly GS rather than PP. I returned to the table and Simon looked up at me hopefully. He made me think of a big bumbling German Shepherd puppy.

"Well," I said, "what are we going to do with you now?"

"Oh I don't know," he replied, "I just don't know where to go or what I can do."

"Well, I suggest we go back to my flat and start to sort things out." The look of relief on his face was worth all the small amount of inconvenience that I'd been put to so far.

I paid for the coffee and we walked out into the bustle of the Covent Garden scene. I steered Simon down to the Strand and hailed a black cab.

"Chelsea Harbour, please" I told the driver.

We settled back into the seat and I pointed out some of the buildings and sights as we weaved our way westwards through the traffic. Once clear of the West End it didn't take us long to reach Chelsea and my block of flats. I paid the driver while Simon struggled with his bulky back pack - at least he still had that.

"Welcome to my humble abode," I said. It wasn't humble!

"Oh my word", muttered Simon, "what a palace." He gazed around in awe as we entered the foyer and walked towards the lifts. I have to say that the flats are cool. A lot of marble and glass and Chelsea Harbour as a backdrop.

We sped up to the eighth floor, got out of the lift and walked to my front door. I got out my keys, opened the door and ushered my hunky young friend into the flat. He dumped his back pack and walked over to the window.

"Oh my word! What a view"

It is a great view. A panorama of West London with the river and Chelsea Harbour in the foreground. Simon gazed around him in wonder.

I was treated to an awesome view too. That of a young, hunky man profiled against the bright light of a sunny spring day. Long fair hair, broad shoulders, slim waist, chunky bum, long legs and that strong sexy, testosterone-packed scent. Oh I wanted him -- wanted him so badly. I wanted to get inside this young man's pants. I wanted him lying on my bed, with only his underpants hiding his private parts, lying there with lust filled eyes, longing for my intimate attention. I wanted to ravish him, fuck him like a randy dog fucks an eager bitch!

Back off Andy. This young man is not up for grabs. He is in a lot of trouble and is only here because he needs help. Sex is the last thing on his mind just now and gay sex is probably even further from it.

But it was at the forefront of my mind all right! As I looked at the young Aussie gazing out of the window my mind wandered.

My trouble is that I really enjoy sex - I think too many people have hang-ups about what they are or not - basically I just enjoy mens' bodies - the smell and feel of a hard body cannot be beaten. The sound of a sexually aroused male is a turn-on and somehow I could tell that Simon was one helluva sexy young guy. Just looking at him made me so horny. I imagined slipping my hand down inside his thin tan slacks and feeling his cock getting harder in my hand and lightly stroking his cock head then sliding my hand up and down his length, easing his cock out of his trousers, getting down on my knees and nosing into his fly to sniff his wonderful male smells, then nosing into his balls whilst lightly stroking up and down his hard penis.

I imagined that he would be uncut with a long foreskin shielding his knob. I wished I could see him wank off, I'd love to see him work his skin back and forth over his long hard cock. I just wanted to taste him and feel his balls banging on my chin as he head fucked me and slide my tongue up and down the bottom of his cock.

Bottom? Oh yes, I have to say that guy's arses turn me on in a big way too. I doubt if he'd ever have been rimmed. I'd like to smell his arse, sniffing and probing his crack whilst slowly stroking his cock and sliding my hands up and down his scrotum. My mind continued in its lustful, sexual assault on my hunky Australian find.

I'd love to feel his sphincter contracting around my finger whilst I sucked his cock, then turn him round, take a good long sniff up and down his arse crack and then probe his hole with my tongue and stroke his cock with my hand then take his sack in my mouth and lick his balls. Then take his cock back in my mouth and feel his balls on my chin ...

My mind leapt ahead - Shagging him standing up or even better shag him with his legs around my shoulders so I can look into his eyes and feel his breath on my face whilst feeling my cock slide in and out of his hole as he clenches his muscles around my helmet. and I would pull on his cock and stroke his balls then move down and lick his balls and take his cock in my mouth.

"Wow Andy, it's a great view. This sure is one cool apartment."

I jolted back to reality. My mind wrenched its way back from the ravishing of this stud.

"Yea, I like it. It suits me fine except I have to get into the City every day, that's a pain."

"The City? I thought this was the City."

"Nope. The City is what we call the business area of London. It is what remains of the old walled city. Do you realise what a huge place London is? From, say Heathrow to Dagenham must be fifty miles."

"Oh wow. What a place to be lost in." Simon's face, which had relaxed since their first meeting in the Tube, suddenly looked worried again as his predicament flooded back into his mind.

"Well young man," I said. "What're we going to do with you? First off, let's have a drink while we think about it. Why don't you dump your back pack in the guest room and then come in here and relax for a bit. The loo is that door to the left of the front door. Just make yourself at home and stop looking so scared and worried."

I took Simon's elbow and spun him round, pointing him towards his pack and gesturing to the guest room door with my other arm. He gave me a grateful grin and went off to the room. I heard him moving about and then he came out and headed for the toilet. Meanwhile I got a couple of glasses out and grabbed some ice and some coke from the 'fridge. Simon came back into the sitting room.

"How about a Bacardi and coke to settle the nerves?" I asked him.

"Oh yea. That's one of my favourite bevvies," he answered.

I poured out generous measures, handed him one and took the other over to my chair. Simon sat down carefully on the sofa. Very upright. Very uptight.

"Cheers Simon," I said raising my glass to him. "Oh, and relax, I'm not going to eat you." (I wish).

He grinned sheepishly and flicked his hair away from his eyes in that sexy way young men do.

"Sorry, Andy. Yea I'm still up tight about losing all my documents and I really don't know what I'm going to do. Trouble is I feel so alone, here in London. I've got no money and I don't know how to get any. Nowhere to stay - Oh I dunno, it's all too much."

He gulped hard. I knew that he was close to tears but nineteen year-olds don't cry. Not in front of near strangers. I longed to go over to the sofa, sit next to him and put my arm around his shoulder to comfort him. But twenty-four year olds don't hug other near-strange young men - unfortunately.

"Like I say, Simon, try and relax. I'll help you all I can. Just have a drink, 'cos I'm sure you can use one, and we'll have a think about what can be done. First of all I guess you'd better tell your parents what's happened and that you're safe.

"Oh yea, I'd really like to do that, but how?"

"You can 'phone from here," I replied.

"You'd let me do that? All the way to Sydney?" he gaped at me.

"Yea. Look here's the 'phone. Just take it into my study - first door on the left through there. I pointed down the hall. Do you know what to dial?"

He shook is head dumbly. "I know the number in Oz but I don't know what to dial here."

I went to my desk and got the directory.

"OK, what town was it?"

"Near Albany. That's Western Australia."

"OK. Then try dialling 00 61 9 then the number."

He got up off the sofa and dropped his glass. As he bent to pick it up I got another view of his bum, outlined in the thin, tight tan slacks. I could see the legs of his underpants pressed through the thin cloth. Wow. Simon picked up the glass, shot me a nervous, apologetic grin and went into the study, closing the door behind him.

He must have been successful because he stayed in the room. My mind was full of thoughts of this worried, hunky young man and of the view I'd just had.

I got up and darted into the guest room. There was his back pack dumped on the bed. Now I have to admit that I'm really turned on by a sexy guy's underpants - boxers or briefs - worn (but not dirty). I love to see cum stains and I love the smell of crotch. I have a couple of pairs that I have "liberated " from friends. I love to smell them sometimes when I jerk off and I really like burying my face in a pair of briefs or boxers, preferably still warm and smelling the evidence that a young MALE has been wearing them! Especially if they have precum, piss or cum stains and crusts in them!

I quietly unzipped a bulging side pocket - Bingo! - as I'd hoped this was where he'd stuffed his dirty laundry. I rummaged inside and struck pay-gold. Out came a well-worn pair of blue cotton briefs!

The 'phone rang. I wrenched my wicked mind back from its reverie and I could just hear the murmur of a voice answering it. Good lad. He'd had the manners to get his folk to ring him back.

I examined the briefs, saw the thin blue pouch which was stretched from having contained the boy's cock and bollucks. With trembling hands I raised the sweaty garment to my nose and breathed deeply in. A gorgeous, sexy scent filled my nostrils. Pure essence of young male. My prick surged inside my own underwear. I was just about to take another sniff right into the crotch of this most intimate item of my dream hunk's underpants when I heard the study door. In a flash I crammed the sexy briefs back into the pack and went back into the hall. Simon was standing outside the spare room door looking slightly flushed. We went back into the sitting room and he sprawled down on the sofa, legs wide apart and a smile on his face.

"That was real good've ya Mate, to let me ring my folks. Oi really feel a bit better now. They're going to fax a hotel called the Swallow International, Dad knows the General Manager there. He's going to arrange for me to get some money to keep me going for the weekend, 'till I can get sorted at the High Commission. I gave him your number, so's they can call me back once its fixed." A worried frown crossed his face, "D'ya mind Andy?"

"Of course I don't mind. I'm really glad you got through OK. Do you feel a bit better now?"

"Oh yea." Simon grinned and eased himself more comfortably into the sofa. He lifted his drink and took a big swig, put it down, looked across at me and gave a little wriggle of contentment. "You're a real mate, Andy" he said, "I truly don't know what I was going to do. You've really saved me and I'm very, very grateful." He gazed at me and his beautiful green eyes radiated the gratitude that I knew he truly felt. I got a strong feeling that he wanted to express his thanks more intimately than just words but male conventions prevented it.

"Well, I'm glad I could help, you certainly were in a bit of bother. Anyway enjoy your drink and you're very welcome to stay here until your folks call back."

We both sipped away and I asked Simon a bit more about his life back home in Australia. He relaxed more and more as time went on. We had a second drink, then a third and were chatting away like good friends. After the third rum 'n coke I asked him if he was hungry.

"Oh yea," he replied, "I really am. I was too upset and worried to eat after I was robbed. I'm famished now."

"Come on then, into the kitchen and we'll see what we can find." I walked into my kitchen and Simon followed me closely. I opened the 'fridge and checked. "Omelette?"

"Yea, great."

"OK, here's the eggs. You beat them in this bowl--"

Together we made a quick, tasty meal . I set up the coffee table by the sofa and we and carried the food into the sitting room. I sat down on the sofa and Martin slid in beside me. Close beside me. Closer than I expected and I could feel the warmth from his body and smell that youthful, exciting smell that he radiated. A most stimulating odour, one that I found very provocative.

We ate the food, washed down by a bottle of red wine.

"Ozzie wine then," Martin remarked with a happy grin -- I did love that grin -- friendly, impish, even a bit cheeky. We killed the bottle over our omelettes and by now I could feel a happy buzz from the bacardis and the wine. I noticed that Martin was getting a bit flushed and just a bit giggly.

I nipped into the kitchen and set up a couple of plates of ice cream. Another grin told me that he liked ice-cream. Martin shuffled about and I noticed that he was moving closer and closer to me. I have to say that I did not move away but let this hunky young man rub his arm against mine, move his leg against mine as we ate and joked together.

Just then the 'phone rang and I picked it up and answered it. A very clear Australian voice asked if Martin Cooper was there. I handed the 'phone to Martin. This time he stayed in the sitting room while he talked to his Dad. I have to say that I was embarrassed by the way he described how kind I was and how much I'd helped him. After a short chat he rang off.

"It's all OK," he said, "Dad's fixed that I can get some money from the General Manager tomorrow at midday."

"Oh, and where are you going to go between now and midday tomorrow, may I ask?".

Simon jerked away from me. Suddenly his face was filled with worry again. He trembled as the remembrance of his roomless, cashless state in the huge metropolis hit him anew. I felt a right jerk, I shouldn't 've teased him like that, it was cruel. By now I was not just smitten by this nine-teen year old's studly body but I was getting to really like him as a person. An amusing and interesting young man.

"Uh, I'm so sorry, I guess I was taking your hospitality for granted. I'll get going. I can find somewhere to kip, it's only for a night. I'll find something. Don't worry about me. Earls Court is full of Ozzies--"

"Stop! I was teasing you. Of course you can stay here tonight. I'd be glad to have you for the night." (Freud slipping out again.) "Just sit back, relax and we'll round off the meal with a liqueur."

I headed for the drinks cabinet and Simon set off for the loo. I filled two glasses with ice and added generous measures of Drambuie and returned to the sofa. The loo door burst open and Simon bounded down the hall, into the sitting room and launched himself at me. He knocked me flat on the sofa and his body pressed down onto me. His face nuzzled against mine, his lips searched out my lips and he kissed my mouth with intense passion. His tongue probed my lips and, involuntarily they parted to let his hot wet tongue into my eager mouth. We kissed long and deep and Simon made excited little noises in his throat.

After three or four minutes of this passion, with Simon's body thrusting against mine from thighs to joined lips, I broke free and gasped:

"How did you know?"

Simon grinned wickedly. "Aw man. What were you looking at when we first met, when you grabbed that seat in the underground train and I was standing right in front of you? You were pretending to read the paper!"

I blushed.

"I started to get a stiffy on that train. Why do ya think that was?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"It was you, bozo, I fancied you from the first moment I first saw you. Then I caught you checking me out round the side of your paper."

I grinned at him. "Well, I have to say I fell in lust with you at first sight, too!"

"Oh and what were you looking at in my back-pack while I was 'phoning?" Simon's hand slipped into the waistband of my trousers and snapped the waistband of my underwear. "You didn't see me, did you? But I saw you through the crack of the door. What were you doing with my dirty underpants?"

Now I really was embarrassed. This young Aussie guy had found out one of my sex secrets.

But he continued: "Hey man. Don't look so embarrassed. I fancy you rotten plus you're so kind, so thoughtful and helpful and--" his eyes filled with love and a wicked grin stole over his face, "--and so manly and knowledgeable and self-assured. And I love you and I need you." Fiercely he pressed down on my body and I felt his rigidly erect penis grind into my crotch as he humped me and passionately kissed me again.

Now Simon's hands were rubbing up and down my body, he was feeling me all over and his hand was groping between our grinding crotches.

"Yea," he muttered, "I thought so. Hard as a steel bar and quite a big bar at that. Almost an ingot." And he squeezed my rampant cock, making it jump like a landed trout.

Now I couldn't help myself. I had to make love to this sexy, studly young guy. Pressing myself against his groin sliding my hand down in between us so I could feel his cock stiffen against my hand and cupping my hands holding his cock and balls through his slacks, sliding my other hand down the back under the waistband over his arse cheeks and then back up sliding my finger up through the crack in his arse over his hole and then back up so I could pull down his jeans to see his private parts straining and then pull down his underpants so his cock could spring out and erect. He lay there like trussed chicken with his slacks and his underpants binding his ankles together.

Then I slid my hands up the inside of his thighs and I kneeled down and kissed and licked my way up from his knees up the inside of his thighs up until I could smell his musky groin and then slowly lick his balls and then back up along the base of his cock until I reached the bottom of his helmet and nibbled on his foreskin, slid my tongue over his helmet taking his cock deep into my mouth as I slid my finger back up into his arse and alternated between pulling down on his balls and feeling them on my chin and sliding my finger back deep into the warm, sweat-damp arse.

Then I flipped him over onto his stomach and placed my face on his back. I breathed in the smells of his hot, sweaty skin. I moved my face up and down his back until I had worked my way into his ass crack. It had the same musky taste and smell as his sweaty ball- sack. Just as it must've after a work out in the gym. The musky taste was delicious -- the taste of a man. My tongue eased along his trench until every molecule of man-musk had been slurped away. I found his butthole and drilled my tongue in as far as it would go. Martin pushed back trying for more and more -- his cock was dripping all over my hand as I held it, squeezing it as his arse wrapped itself around my tongue.

Then I flipped him back again and eagerly pushed his legs over my shoulders and pushed back so I could stroke my cock up and down his arse crack and over his hole and then back up and wiped my cock on his balls sliding my skin back and forth and grabbing his cock and sliding his cock and my cock together in my hands so our pre-cum mixed together and I could feel his balls rubbing on mine and pulled us back together faster and faster until we both come together over his stomach and he rolled over onto me and slid himself on top of me so our cocks were rubbing together and sliding around in the cum until we got hard again whilst I slid my tongue into his ear and he rubbed and gyrated on top of me until we both spurted our semen again over him. Again I felt the heat of his come and smelt the sweat coming from his body.

We were both panting like a couple of mating dogs. Covered in sweat and puddled with our combined loads of spunk.

Simon was obviously a modest young man because he bent down and pulled up his underpants and slacks, zipped up his fly and settled his sexual parts comfortably. Then, with a deep sigh he flopped back onto the settee and dropped off into a post orgasmic sleep. I looked at this unbelievably beautiful, sexy young man and couldn't believe my luck. I, too, closed my eyes and drifted off into sleep but not before having the lust-filled thought that I had to really make love to this fantastic fuck-buddy.

We must have slept for a couple of hours and I was woken by someone undoing my jeans and rubbing his hand up and down over my underpants where he must be feeling the heat of my cock as it stiffened and then pull them up tight so he could see the outline of my cock twitching through and then pull them back down to reveal my stiff cock and cupping my balls up over the waistband as he stroked my balls and licked my fingers and stroked my helmet. I could feel my pre-cum start to ooze out of my piss slit again.

Talk about an oral sensation! He just loved to play with me all over. Even going as rimming me for ages as well as sucking me off. He had an insatiable cock and was equally happy to have me blow him for a while.

Then I had a great time sucking on that great big beautiful cock of his, and this time, as the first primitive passion was replaced by the need to make slow passionate love, it was the slow sucking after he got off as much as having my throat fucked before...

Now I discovered that Martin had a real chameleon of a penis. Sometimes it got real soft and fairly small, then it would harden up and grow to about three times its soft size, and from time to time it got really big and fat, but still fit comfortably down my throat - he obviously loved having it in my mouth, as he kept it there for nearly an hour with the size and hardness constantly changing, sometimes just letting me work the head with the tip of my tongue, sometimes grinding his pelvis against my jaw-bone.

What a lot we'd learnt about each other in a very short time.

So Martin stayed the night, though neither of us slept much and there was a heck of a lot of laundry to do in the morning.

Perhaps not all Easter holidays or any other holiday times in London are so bad after all. Although everything closes, at Easter, everything closes down for four days. Banks, offices, most specialist shops. You really can't get anything serious done at all. And London fills up with tourists. Not that I've got anything against tourists, let's face it, sometimes they need help and sometimes that help can produce very enjoyable rewards!

If you liked this story and would like more, then let me know at: andymacdon@hotmail.com