This happened on the Amtrak between Philly and DC. Early March.

I was 21 and still kind of scared of Dylan.

Not scared like he’d hit me or anything. Just... tense around him. My boyfriend’s older brother. Twenty-seven. Straight. Girlfriend. Big hands. Zero expression. Always acted like he didn’t want to be alone in a room with me. Or maybe like he did and didn’t know what the fuck to do with it.

We took the late train back after a family thing. My boyfriend left early with their mom. Dylan and I ended up alone in the quiet car. Facing seats. Cold outside. Warm under the vents. Almost empty. Some girl sleeping a few rows back. The whole thing felt too still.

He was wearing his brother’s old hoodie. That same mix of detergent and sweat. He sat like a statue, scrolling his phone. I kept looking up at him. Couldn’t help it. I’d had too many half-hard fantasies about him, usually while jerking off quick before my boyfriend called.

Somewhere around Wilmington, I started to drift. You know that half-sleep you hit on long trains, where everything gets fuzzy? I wasn’t fully out. Just kind of slipping under.

And that’s when my dick started swelling.

Not from anything he did. Just from the motion of the train, the hum under the seat, the warmth. Happens sometimes. My jeans got tighter. My breath got shallower. And then I opened my eyes, and Dylan was watching me.

Then the train jolted. Our knees bumped.

He didn’t pull away.

He pressed back.

And then his hand dropped onto my thigh.

Just like that.

Not looking at me. Not hesitating. Just set his hand there like it was his. Like my body was something he could just take.

It slid up.

Right to the bulge in my jeans.

I was hard as fuck by then. Already leaking. He rubbed his palm over the whole thing, pressing down on my tip through the fabric. I twitched under it. My breath caught. Still he didn’t look.

Then he leaned forward. One move. No warning. His hand grabbed my belt, undid the buckle, unzipped my jeans.

I froze.

He pulled my jacket across my lap like he was just adjusting it, but his hand stayed underneath.

He reached inside. No words. No hesitation. Just shoved his hand down past my waistband, past my briefs, and wrapped his fingers around my cock.

Hot, wet skin. Full grip.

I gasped.

He jerked me slow. Controlled. His thumb smeared precum around the head while his other hand moved lower. Cupped under me. Then one thick finger slid between my cheeks.

He found the hole. Pressed against it.

I tensed. Grabbed the edge of the seat.

He didn’t stop.

His finger pushed in. Slow. Steady. Right into my ass.

I almost whimpered. Couldn’t look at him. My knees were shaking.

He curled his finger.

And found it.

My eyes rolled back. The pressure slammed through me. Cock throbbing in his grip while he massaged my prostate in slow, deliberate circles. I was dripping. Moaning under my breath.

He leaned in again, his voice low.

“You’re gonna cum like this.”

I didn’t even nod. Couldn’t.

His finger pushed deeper. Curled harder. My whole body clenched.

And then I exploded.

Came so hard I saw white.

My cock jerked in his hand, spilling into my briefs. Hot and endless. His finger kept working me open from the inside. It was too much. Too fucking much. I came until I went limp.

He pulled out. Wiped his hand on my hoodie.

Zipped me up.

Then sat back like nothing happened.

Still hadn’t looked me in the eye.

When we pulled into Union Station, he stood and said, “Let’s go.”

I followed. Limping. Shaking. My ass still tingling. My briefs stuck to me with every step. I could feel how swollen I was. Used. Still leaking.

He never said a word. Not then. Not ever.

He’s got a girlfriend.

I’m with his brother.

But that happened. And I don’t know what’s worse.

How good it felt.

Or how bad I want him to do it again.