Dear Diary,

The subway! It's a world unto itself - a combo of sweaty armpits, stale air, and regrettable cologne choices.

I'm shaking as I write this. My heart is pounding just like those uncertain moments I had in school playing goalkeeper and we had the decisive penalty kicks back during the conference finals. I’m still thinking of those touches. Damn! The electricity of the unexpected is etched into my consciousness.

It was a job-hunting marathon today with applications submitted at twelve different places in the city. I scouted three separate apartments, but they’re still a job and two side hustles outside what I can afford. Coming back, the subway was packed. Not a seat to be found anywhere. Whatever happened to chivalry?

While I was hanging on to one of the bar straps an intriguing scent wafted through the air; fresh linen mixed with spice and a hint of mysterious woodiness that instantly relaxed me and piqued my curiosity. It was a smell so singularly male and intimate it sent a single drop of sweat rolling down my back.

Somewhere, I had smelled this before. It was serene relaxation. It lingered but wasn’t overpowering, just enough to say, "I'm not a boring guy," and made me relax and want to smell him closer.

We had slowed to a stop at the next station when the train jolted abruptly. I was thrown off balance, losing the strap in my hand and before I could prepare for the inevitable fall, arms wrapped around my waist from behind, steadying me. I could smell him there and he held me in an embrace from behind that was both secure and considerate. An embarrassed sigh escaped my lips. I don’t know if it was a sigh of relief but it sure turned to something more.

In that awkward moment, unable to turn around and see him, I felt something pressing into my lower back. It was a press of warmth and firmness just above my ass, as unexpected as it was unmistakable. I quickly reached back for my strap as a pulse of surprise surged through me. My grip on the strap unconsciously tightened, knuckles bulging white. If I were honest with myself, it was a foreign intrusion my body was surprisingly receptive to

Then came the voice. Just enough timbre. Just enough bass. It was so damn strong. And what does he say? “Pardon me, Miss, couldn’t control it.”

Holy shit. Yeah, he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t control my falling, and he couldn’t control that hard, thick bulge of his cock pressed up against my upper ass. He was big, too. Oh, my cheeks went hot. They burned red with shock. And the burning on my ass, from him. And the curiosity in my brain wanting, wondering, and thinking what to do.

The train kicked back into it’s movement. I dipped and shifted my hips just a bit, so every sway of the subway car seemed to lightly plant my ass cheeks against him. Why? Was I horny? It’s been a minute, for sure. Was it his smell? The way he held me? I still don’t know why I did it. Is it something he wanted? The sensation of the tip as it grew harder through his pants said he did, and it made me want it even more. I thought of his smooth, melodic voice over and over. “Couldn’t control it.”

I twisted my head slightly to the side and tried to catch a look at him through the tinted window's reflection. I could see nothing but a body behind me. I imagined he was a businessman on his way home from the office until I noticed the reflection showed a fashionable suit with a pattern and just the right hues of purple and blue to make him stylish. Maybe he was about business, but he took care of himself, too.

He certainly wasn’t one of the usual pervs on the subway, for sure. I mentally scolded myself for standing so close to a stranger, but damn, I was curious. When I shifted, he moved too. We were locked together, rocking against each other with each sway of the train. It didn't begin intentionally, but soon we were in sync, our bodies finding rhythm in this grinding. The whisper of fabric against skin, the warmth and rigidity of his dick sliding up and down between the crack of my ass...a warm flush spread from my face to my fingertips, and as much as I wanted to pull away, my body quivered for more.

My hips rolled and pressed against his hard body, as subtly as I could. I let my free hand drift to my nipple, and I circled it with my thumb through my bra. I wanted to reach out and grab onto his swollen balls, to squeeze them with my other hand, but I couldn’t afford to let go of the strap I held firmly.

The sway of that damn car, the subtle rhythm it created as it glided along the tracks, rocked us in an intimate dance that might as well have been choreographed. Our bodies would separate ever so slightly, then we ground against each other in a sensual motion that couldn’t have been missed by anyone looking our way. Others bumped and brushed together in a chaotic symphony following the swaying of the car, but not like ours.

His breath ghosted against the back of my neck, through my hair, and teased my skin with its heat. Then, his right hand grabbed my hip. He squeezed gently, and I know I sucked in a breath. Shit. I bit my lip and contained a moan that threatened to bubble up from my chest. The heat and dampness between my legs grew in response to his grab.

He slid his hand up my hip, a thick, powerful thumb moved against the skin under my shirt, just above the waistband of my panties. Oh, I ached for that hand to wrap around to my mound and squeeze me. My skin shivered at what was next, and there was no way past the urge to press back against him, to feel even more.

I made a decision and slowly reached behind me, squeezed the fabric of his pants, and took that swollen manhood into my hand. Yes, dear diary, me. Can you imagine? My fingers grazed over his large cock, felt the hardness and warmth beneath his slacks. That wonderful piece of manhood pulsed under my touch, like a finger that teasingly beckoned and invited me to explore. Fuck. I wanted to reach into his pants, to feel the hot, velvety flesh in my palm, but I held back, letting him fill my hand.

My nipples were hard under my shirt, and I continued twirling one between my thumb and finger. I wrapped my hand around his girth and my pussy clenched tightly. His breath paused with a tiny gasp, like I took it away. He was so fucking big and so damn close. I bit my bottom lip hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood.

He still held onto me, a light but firm touch teasing my skin. His left hand reached down to my other hip and he slid both thumbs into my waistband and kneaded those muscles on the back of my hips. I know I moaned as he massaged me and I felt the sensation of his touch so perfectly against my upper ass. A lady in front of me turned her head back and sneered before facing forward again. Slowly and softly, I squeezed his cock, rubbed my thumb over its head, and the head engorged even more, like they do right before they explode.

He shifted everything and positioned his body so the space between us was covered by his sport coat and my hand could move. I needed more of him, damn it, and reached back to unzip his pants, but his own hand was already there. He made whatever that arrangement is men do to pull their cock out of their underwear and there it was, hot within my hand.

I stroked his hidden cock behind me, exploring like it was the first time with Zach. My pussy was wet and ached. My clit throbbed. I thought of what he would feel like inside me. I felt the raging veins of his thick shaft and imagined what the weight of it would feel like as it spread my pussy lips. Oh, I was so fucking horny.

He groaned as I tightened my grip and squeezed harder. I stroked up to the round head of his cock and back down along the shaft. His precum was wet in my palm, and I used it to lube his shaft and increase the pace. His body responded to my touch, and he thrust his hips into my hand, sending a burst of pleasure through my body. I could feel his muscles flexing as he reached the edge of orgasm.

One hand moved up the side of my spine as he teasingly rubbed it. The sensation was incredible, and I wanted more. I wanted him to explore all my curves, those hands on my throat, and down in the wetness between my legs. I wanted him to cup one a tit through my thin shirt and feel how hard my nipple was. They wanted as they pressed against my bra, and I imagined how he might knead them gently and squeeze each one between his own fingers.

I could tell he was close. He slyly thrust into my grip. I arched my back so I rested my shoulders and the back of my head on his chest. That musky smell of his was right there, and so I pushed my ass into his balls while I braced my arm against the pole in front of me. We let out silent moans at the same time, and the contact caused him to buckle a little. His breath hitched, and his shaft pulsed under my fingers as he moved in rhythm to the pumping of my hand.

And then, his hips made those erratic jerks men make when they cum. He pumped — once, twice, three times. Sticky jizz shot out and covered my hand. The feeling of his hot spray on my hand made me bite my inner cheek and squeeze even harder. Breaths hitched from his throat. His hands on my hips quivered, his thighs tremored, and I knew he had just filled my palm full of hot cum. I let it run down my fingers, warm and thick.

God, I fucking ached. And then, suddenly everything lurched to a stop as the subway pulled into another station and I was afraid our encounter was done, with me just standing there. He would’ve been spent and I would be left with a hand full of cum, my pussy wet and wanting. The lady in front of me must have figured something out as she exited with her mumbled curse and a side-eye back at me. The crowds escaped and the car almost emptied.

My hand was still covered in his wad when I finally turned to face the stranger. I expected him to be gone or at least sporting some wry knowing grin. Instead I found his cock put away and a pair of bright blue eyes staring down at me. Get this. He reached his hand out to me, holding an old-fashioned monogrammed handkerchief. His gaze was focused and intense, almost hypnotizing, as it locked onto mine.

"Name's Jackson," he finally said and began to wipe my hand. I stood there, all stupid. He cleaned my hand, returned the dirtied cloth to his back pocket and removed a sanitizing wipe from a pack he took from an inner suit pocket. Dear diary, let me tell you: a true shiver ran down my spine as he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it ever so gently.

"Alex," was all I managed to say and I’m sure I barely whispered it. I couldn't look away from him and God I knew an uncontrollable surge of wetness coursed from my wanting pussy as the doors of the subway car closed and the train accelerated again.

"Well, Alex," he said, "I think I owe you, and I hate to be in anyone’s debt."

To be continued...