Friday Man

I admit that I get my jollies from gazing at guy's bulges in the morning on the tram. All those suit pants pushed out, all those strapping boys fresh from their morning wank. Fresh jocks. Crisp shirts. Striped ties that rub over those cocks, as they sit. Bed room eyes. Distracted. Getting some where. Thinking of work. Not paying any attention to what I'm doing.

I just admire them. Freely. Not trying to bring attention to myself. I never go straight from their bulge to their eyes. I'm not trying to pick any one up. I'm just on my way to work and I'm just trying to amuse myself.

I just gaze nonchalantly. And occasionally, like Friday morning, I get that set of eyes that dart a look at me and look away, only to look back again. Nervous. Interested, some how. Tuned in.

Maybe he's noticed, I think. Looking right passed me, but staring peripherally. You know when you've got their attention. Guys who aren't the slightest bit interested, don't notice me looking anyway. It's not in their programming. He was standing up, a seat, or two, away. I was sitting down.

My eyes are dropped easily. Black pants. Nice, round fist of a lump. Well packed. Big balls. Cock to the left. Look blank at the far end of the tram. He does the tell tale look down, looking at what I was looking at. Is it that impressive?

I look up. He is looking at me, I hold his gaze. He holds longer than he means to, he looks away.

I hustle and amazingly get my ticket and a seat, this morning. I slip between people and fluke it. She's fat, tacking up most of the seat. Maybe it wasn't such a fluke. I look up and there he is, diagonally opposite, Friday Man. He looks over at me with intense eyes and looks away. I think he remembers me? I catch his gaze, I hold it. He looks away. I hold my position, he looks back. I hold his gaze again. He's into it, his eyes give him away. He's making the acknowledgement. Connection. He looks away. I drop my eyes to that magnificent bulge, it's like he's got a hand in there.

I gaze at the bright coloured cars through the window.

I look at him, he is returning my gaze, I look away. Look back and he is still looking. I hold his gaze. We sit staring at each other.

I drop my eyes straight to his cock. His legs flex a part, momentarily, as I looked down. He'd have such a big dick, I think. I could see it laying slug-like over his balls. I look up to meet his gaze, expressionless, just a smile in my eyes. He stares back, curious. Head slightly cocked.

A swish of material and a fat woman with assorted carry bags in her hands and a ticket between her teeth is looking down at me. My mind boggles that she might want me to take the piece of card from her torn purse of a mouth and validate it for her. I feel myself recoil.

"No, no, I don't want a seat," she mumbles. She eye-balls me. She takes the ticket from her lips. "I sit all day," she says. She has an accusational tone.