Perverts 'R' Us

The Boy on the Train

By Anna Cater ( F/m, nosex )

This is an account of a true incident from my life, to the best of my recollection. Send feedback to annacater@gmail.com. I am always happy to hear from women and men with an interest in F/m material.

I had just turned twenty when I first consciously realized I was attracted to young boys. I was taking the train home from university: it didn't save me any time, but was a more pleasant journey than the bus. I sat down next to a teenaged boy who was coming home from school. I was curious, because he wasn't in uniform, but was wearing jeans and a tee shirt; he was also alone and traveling a long distance.

I asked how old he was, and he told me he was turning fifteen in a few months. Upon being questioned as to which school he went to, it turned out he attended an alternative school where children were encouraged to work at their own pace and follow up personal interests and hobbies. I asked more questions about it, and became increasingly impressed with his intelligence and maturity. I was surprised at how easy it was to talk to him; it wasn't anything like the way I had imagined it would be to talk to a high school boy. I thought that he seemed flattered by my attention and just as eager to continue the conversation as I was.

As I looked more closely at him, I couldn't help realizing that he was also very cute. He was small and scrawny, with scruffy dark hair, large brown eyes with long lashes, and a splash of freckles across his rather long nose. He had a way of speaking which was shy without being unconfident, and possessed a certain diffident intensity that I began to feel was quite sexy. I was embarrassed to find that I felt attracted to him, and that I wanted to touch him. I hoped that he thought I was attractive too, that he liked curvy blondes with blue eyes and wavy hair.

He was getting over a summer cold, and I even found the fact that he had the sniffles a turn-on. It made me want to pet and mother him, to cuddle and kiss him better. As we talked, I started casually putting my hand on his arm for emphasis, and once when we were joking around, ruffled his hair; his hair was very soft and fine. He showed me something he had been reading, and in leaning over to see the book, I rested my arm companionably on his thigh.

When I leaned down, I saw him look at my breasts. I smiled and did not take my arm away; in fact I began lightly stroking his leg. He responded by looking flustered, and putting his school bag on his lap. I thought I knew enough about teenage boys to know what that meant, and to make sure I slid my hand beneath the school bag. Sure enough, he had an erection, and almost without thinking about it, I started rubbing him through his jeans.

He looked startled, but didn't tell me to stop, so I kept stroking his hard-on under the bag, all the while continuing to chat about the book we had been reading together as if nothing was happening. Although the carriage had been full when we started, by this time there were not many people left on the train. Some of them probably knew what I was up to, but I was very small with a fresh, round face, and at twenty looked closer to sixteen. As far as anyone knew, we were just two teenagers getting to know each other better. When the ticket collector walked past, I saw him give the boy a frankly envious look, as if he was thinking, "You lucky bastard".

I kept touching him as we talked, and kept thinking how nice he was, as well as smart and cute. There was something very appealing about him; he seemed so serious and responsible, almost worn out from the daily commute, like an older man going home from the office, worrying about his mortgage, and wondering if his wife was keeping dinner hot for him. I could easily imagine him grown up and conscientious about his duty.

The conversation became a little one-sided with time, and he began to breathe quite heavily through his mouth from sexual arousal. Perhaps his cold was still bothering him, or maybe he was asthmatic; I never asked. He didn't ejaculate or anything, just kept getting harder and harder as I caressed him. I can still remember the feeling of his cock getting harder under my hand, and how much it turned me on. I felt very affectionate toward him for letting me touch him, and didn't want to stop. I also enjoyed the feeling of getting away with something, knowing I would never tell any of my friends about this.

When the train pulled into the station, we waited for everyone else to get off and his erection to go down. I offered to give him my phone number, hoping for more opportunities to talk to him and get to know him better. I had some vague idea that we might go to a movie, where I could play with him even more in the darkness; I thought it would be nice to make out with him and let him caress me in return. Part of me still couldn't believe that I was willing to date a boy who hadn't even turned fifteen. But he said that his mother wouldn't let him go out with girls yet; the unspoken implication was that she certainly wouldn't allow him to go out with an adult woman.

Disappointed, I kissed him, first on the lips and then on the neck, and told him that one day he was going to make somebody very happy. He walked off home, swinging his school bag and looking incredibly chuffed. I meant it, but not in the way he thought. There was nothing where I had touched him that was different from other boys his age. What I meant was that there something about him so levelheaded and secure, so hard working and modest, that any woman would be glad to spend her life with him. It nearly broke my heart that there was no chance that woman could ever be me.

I tried catching that same train again, but somehow I always missed it, sometimes by as little as three minutes. It seemed that it had been a complete fluke for me to catch it in the first place; my tutorial finished early that day, and the bus had reached the train station with unusual promptness. Shortly afterwards, I moved within walking distance of campus, and lost all hope of seeing my cutie on the train ever again.

Thus do circumstances conspire against us?