On the train

I’m sure it’s happened to every man in existence at one time or another. It’s certainly happened to me on countless occasions since the beginning of the hormone saturation that is puberty. It happened to me on Monday.

I was sitting on the train beside a man of about seventy, reading my novel, when I felt a familiar and alarming stirring in my pants. This was not completely unexpected considering the book I was reading was describing, in rather graphic detail, the sexcapades of the two male protagonists. I tried to rearrange myself surreptitiously, trying not to disturb the gentleman to my right (who was busily reading the newspaper). It wasn’t easy. In fact, it wasn’t even possible. The more I tried to extricate my rapidly swelling penis from its surrounds, the more entangled (and consequently noticeable and uncomfortable) it became.

I closed my eyes and pondered the situation: not only is a boner on a train (or any mode of public transport for that matter) totally awkward, but it is totally useless, since you can’t do anything with it (or about it) when you share a carriage with fifty other commuters. I took a deep breath to steady myself and then yawned, moving my whole body with the yawn in such a way that I could deftly grab my dick and push it clear of any obstruction in a devastatingly cunning manner.

Now that my erection had been freed, it continued to sit there, content with tenting my trousers slightly as it reclined on my abdomen. I employed the century old book over the lap trick, laying a newspaper over my lap until it subsided of its own accord, something which takes a considerable amount of time in these circumstances.

That’ll teach me to read a sexy book on the train about gay men. Not only was it a potentially embarrassing situation, but a totally wasted hard-on.