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Overnight to Boston


Prom Night

Two gay short stories


Kendall Morgan

Published by Tulabella Ruby Press

These stories were previous published in the Kendall Morgan Sampler

Copyright 2015 Kendall Morgan/All rights reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

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Other titles by Kendall Morgan:

Twinks in Bearland

Rough Cut

Spooky Ginger Love

Hard Sell

The Last AIDS Patient

Keeping Score

A Second Look

Coming Back to You

Editor: Cassandra Pierce

Table of contents

Overnight to Boston

Prom Night

Chapter One/Twinks in Bearland

About Kendall Morgan

Other titles by Kendall Morgan

Connect with Kendall Morgan

Overnight to Boston

I saw the ripples in his blue jeans before I saw the twinkle in his dark brown eyes. His deep brown skin looked smooth as silk, and his jeans hugged his hips so snugly they looked as if they had been constructed on him as he stood in place in an obliging tailor shop.

The train was still in the station. Our eyes met for only a moment as he put his luggage up on the rack and chose a seat directly in front of me. I was taking the long way to Boston, a 23-hour train ride from Chicago. Before he dropped into the maroon seat, my eyes traveled quickly from his long face to his manicured fingers and the pale blue threads of his jeans.

He pushed his seat back, and I looked down at the folded newspaper in my hands. The train jerked out of the station. The lights flickered on and off, and we coasted through the south side of Chicago.

“You know, the schools won’t open on time. They never do,” I heard from above me. “The teachers will strike.”

“Huh?” I said.

He was leaning over the back of his chair, looking right at me. The last ray of sunlight shone through his close-cropped hair and off his high cheekbones, making him look angelic.

“They won’t open. The fall of 1994 will be the same as every other school year,” he said, grabbing my newspaper and tapping his finger against the screaming headline, “Schools in Crisis!”

“What makes you such an expert?” I tried to say it with confidence but probably came off as cocky. The rumblings of the train were travelling up through my penny loafers, through my legs and centering on my dick. “Can I have my newspaper back?”

“I am an expert.” He tossed the newspaper into my lap. “I’m a teacher, and I wouldn’t be going to Boston if I thought I might have to go to work next week.”

The scenery changed from tightly packed brick houses to suburban sprawl. Housing projects and billboards for liquor gave way to townhouses and billboards for long distance telephone companies. Occasionally we saw Lake Michigan, other times grim belching factories, but as we chatted, I learned about his passion for teaching physics. He lived for music and liked to go to the clubs, but hated to run into his students outside of class. His name was Nic. I told him my name was Brian and that I had just quit a deadly dull office job. I was single—so was he—and I was going to Boston for no other reason than to go someplace else.

And all I could think of was his cock—I imagined it to be beautiful—pressing against white cotton underwear and the metal zipper of his jeans.

The train stopped and more people boarded, and he said, “Why don’t I just sit next to you? I’d hate to risk sitting next to someone who’s boring, or, worse yet, smells.” He smirked and surrendered his seat to a young hetero couple that wanted to snuggle together under a blanket.

I noticed that his jeans were tighter.

Sitting beside me with no armrest between us, he offered me nuts, salted cashews, but our conversation began to lose steam. We went from occupations to the governor’s race to the weather, while my dick went from stiff to stiffer, and I started to squirm.

He placed his hand on my knee, looked me in the eye and said, “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m going to the washroom.” He may have winked. I’m not sure, but his hand was warm. He stood up. As he walked down the narrow aisle, I took in the curve of his ass and the casual sway of his body.

I got up and followed him.

The orange door labeled with the male stick figure opened inward to a little lounge with translucent windows, tiny stainless steel sinks, mirrors and a pair of deep uncomfortable chairs.

I closed the door behind me. My new friend stood there, waiting. He suddenly dragged a chair over to wedge the door shut. Then he sat in the chair and smiled up at me.

The train rumbled and shook with the turbulence of small town tracks and a deepening night.

“I want to suck your dick,” he said, as matter-of-factly as if he was asking me to pass the salt.

“What a coincidence. I want to suck yours too,” I said with a smile.

We signaled each other with raised eyebrows and nods in an effort to get the other to suck first, but I was the one who gave in.

My knees landed on the black rubber floor. My mouth salivated and then welcomed his dick. His hands ran through my long blond hair and found my ears, always one of my favorite spots.

My lips wrapped him tight and my spit made his dick shine in the harsh fluorescent light. The roar of the speeding train on the opposite track ripped through my slurping and his moans. His fingers circled my head and traced the sensitive tissue of my ears. Shivers ran down my spine. My back stiffened. I blew air on his dick and ran my tongue up and down its length.

I heard banging. I opened my eyes to see the door knocking against the chair and Nic yelling, “Not now.” I heard footsteps crossing into the next car. Nic’s head lolled back, and his hands returned to my hair, face and oh-so-sensitive ears.

He took me by the shoulders and signaled me to come up. He nodded toward one of the tiny toilet stalls and grabbed my hand. My smile got a little bigger. His deep brown eyes got a little brighter.

“Are your eyes really that green?” he said.

“Contacts,” I said. “But I do have green eyes, just not this green.”

He kissed my fingertips, drew tight circles on my palm with his tongue and lightly kissed the back of my hand.

With our pants hanging loosely around our hips, we ambled to the tiny stall. He closed the door. The lock slid into place with a loud click. There was just enough room for the two of us and nothing more. I inched back to find myself staring down through the metal toilet bowl to the tracks below.

In that tiny stall, he pulled my cock out of my white y-fronts.

“Oooh, you may be wearing contacts, but you’re a real blond.”

“Oh yeah,” I said.

I pulled up my legs, placing my feet on the toilet rim and stretched out my arms against the Formica walls. I was precariously balanced on top of the toilet, but his arms wrapped around me, helping me steady myself. His fingers dove into the back of my pants and explored the crack of my ass. His delicious mouth enveloped my dick.

The train rocked with every cowtown we passed. The wind came up through the toilet, blowing through me. I heard someone else try to come into the lounge and then give up, but I didn’t care. I wanted Nic to keep sucking. I wanted to come in his mouth, to see a part of me swallowed by him and become a part of him forever, but that was not to be, not yet.

My nails raked the walls as his mouth tightened its grip. He signaled for me to turn around, and I did so gingerly, maintaining my precarious balance. I braced myself against the window. I heard him spit on his hand and felt a finger move towards my asshole. The finger circled my hole and then eased its way in.

I tried to glance over my shoulder, and he said, “Don’t worry. I’m wearing a condom.”

“Prove it.”

He pulled one of my hands back. I touched his latex-covered dick, and I liked his dick’s comfortable thickness. He let my hand go, and his fingers kept working my hole until his dick slid in smoothly, like he was covered in butter. His arms held my waist, and I could feel his body hair bristling. In and out, he thrust. Each time, I wanted him to go in even deeper.

His teeth found the soft flesh on my neck. His tongue made wet tracks, and the wind that came up from the tracks seemed to blow through his mouth and onto my moist skin. My gasps turned to grants. The wind turned that little stall into a tornado alley. My head turned, and my lips reached his, touching only for a moment. Our tongues played tag, and he went back to biting my neck, nibbling on my shoulders.

“Oh God.” I almost didn’t realize that those words were my voice. My head flipped back. “Almost. Almost. Oh yes.” That last “s” slipped out like the hissing of a snake. I felt the rumblings growing stronger.

He stopped for a moment and held me while he was still inside. In the calm eye of the hurricane, I caught my breath. He started pumping again. I could hear his grunts synchronize with mine. The rumble turned into a roar. The wind started to whistle, and another train sped past with a scream. He held me up while I held onto the wall with one hand and my dick with the other.

Air ran from my lungs, and white jism shot down the gleaming metal toilet bowl onto the rushing ground below. His dick slid out of my ass. He leaned back, pulling off the condom and yanking his pretty cock. The veins bulged, and his white, creamy treasure was tossed between my legs into the bowl and down onto the tracks.

I leaned back into him, pulled up my pants and zipped up. I felt him re-buttoning his fly. My breathing started to slow down to normal and so did his. We started giggling.

“You’ve got a great ass,” he said.

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