Train Toilet Trouble

Note: This story contains a brief element of dubious consent or non-con. Be sure to fully communicate with your partners.

***

"Car 12?"

"Sure. Let me see your ticket?"

The man in the blue Amtrack uniform took my phone and examined my E-ticket. A chill breeze blew across the platform and I slid my luggage between myself and the night beyond the lights of the station. I had already checked my ticket. The woman at the top of the stairs, by the portable wheeled desk, had scanned it and told me where to go before I had even been let down the stairs. However, she had told me to count five cars down and I had no idea whether she meant five from the front of the train, or five from the stairs.

"Seattle?"

"Yup."

"Is this your first time riding with us?"

"Yes."

"Upper level. Pick whatever seat you want. Do you have any checked bags?"

"Yes. I'm..." I hesitated, feeling a little ridiculous with my three bags and admitting to even more. Unnecessarily, I attempted to explain. "I'm moving."

"A great way to do it." His tone lacked enthusiasm, but his voice seemed kind. Gesturing towards the roller luggage I had with me, he said, "There will be a baggage claim in Seattle, then. I can help you store your bigger bag. The others can stay with you at your seat."

"Thanks."

I chose a seat on the north side of the car, hoping to avoid the glare of the southern sun tomorrow morning. I was glad to find the car less than half-full. It had seemed like hundreds of people must have gotten off at the station before the couple dozen of us had been allowed to board. It meant that I didn't have to sit next to anyone yet, and I could take a window seat. I settled in, and tried to get comfortable.

There was a lot of leg room -- too much, in fact. As I leaned my seat back and raised the foot stool (the seats worked like reclining sofa chairs, although less cushioned), I found myself sliding out of it. The material was slick against my faded jeans, and even at 5' 10" I still found it difficult to find purchase until I was practically halfway out of my seat. I shoved my backpack between my feet and the seat in front of me, bracing my legs against it to stay up.

Seattle would be two days away, but since I was getting on late at night it was going to amount to three nights in coach. A sleeper car would have been wonderful, I suspected, even a roomette would have given me some privacy and comfort, but the difference was in the hundreds (or thousands) of dollars and there was simply no way. I brought spare clothing in my carry on, currently above my head in the storage space running along the top of the car. It was separated from the rest of my worldly possessions currently at the front of the car, waiting to reunite with me at the end of the line. However, I wasn't certain I'd have the opportunity to change into it -- I did not yet know that the largest of the three bathrooms downstairs was a spacious 3ft x 5ft dressing room complete with fold-out hooks. An instance of my not knowing how common my situation really was.

Due to this lack of experience, I had chosen to wear something that could look decent even after a few days of travel. The outfit was comprised of a pair of old jeans that I used to wear when I had worked outdoors, and an old grey-blue flannel that had somehow survived the long journey from high school. Beneath these, a grey cotton tee-shirt and a pair of blue boxers were going to have to survive the worst of it. I had packed additional socks in the side-pocket of my carry on, next to the deodorant and toothpaste. I knew enough of sleeping in socks to know that the resulting itchiness was not worth avoiding the embarrassment of bare feet in public.

Feeling thoroughly prepared, now that I had stopped sliding out of my seat, I placed a small pillow between my head and the window and tried to sleep. It turned out to be a rough night. I suppose the first night in a new place always is -- slippery seats or no. The awareness that there were other people around me didn't help either. It wasn't so much that I was consciously aware of a fear of being robbed or attacked -- the conductor was always around, and these people were as trapped with me as I was with them. It was just some sort of... animal sense of being among strangers. I suppose it spoke of the sheltered life I had back at home -- the life I was leaving.

I woke early, before dawn, and I did not fall back to sleep quickly. The dim blue lights of the car and the empty blackness of the window, occasionally broken by a distant light, gave the world a sense of waiting. Tired, but now fully awake, I resigned myself to a day of fatigue. It wasn't as though I would be doing anything strenuous.

---

I must have fallen back to sleep eventually, because I don't remember when the sun came up. The man sitting beside me, bored and thumbing through his emails was new too. He was occupying the aisle seat, blocking me in against the window. I noticed his feet were secured on some kind of fold-out footrest and I glanced down to confirm the same device was attached to the seat in front of me. Feeling foolish, I realized again that I was not the first person to ever try to sleep in these chairs.

Blinking groggily, I brought the back of my chair up and lowered the legrest. I glanced over my backpack, but I decided to just trust that the baggage above my head had remained undisturbed. I vaguely noticed that I had to pee, but I hadn't yet worked up the courage or the energy to engage with the man beside me. Unwilling to interrupt him to ask to pass, I decided to distract myself by checking my phone. Among the emails and push notifications, there was a new text message. It was from Matthew.

//Hey. Where you going?//

There was a photo as well -- a picture of Matthew. He must have taken it of himself as he stepped into what looked like a train interior. The world outside, in the photo, was too dark to make out, but the interior was clearly the lower level of an Amtrak train car. I stared at the image, confused, and for a moment I found myself focusing less on the strange scenery and more on Matt's imposing figure -- tall, but wiry, with longer 'hockey-hair' (as people used to call it). He was wearing the black zip-up hoodie I had given him. He had stolen it, really, but I had neglected to tell anyone and that felt like the same thing.

As it dawned on me what the message meant, I felt myself stiffen. Cautiously, acting more on instinct than on any sort of rationale, I sat back in my chair and tried to disappear behind the silhouette of my seating companion. It wasn't possible really; there was no way Matt could have made it onto this train. Some train, maybe -- maybe, after he learned I had left town, he had guessed the means and staged a photo to screw with me. That sounded like him. He liked to put in an obnoxious level of effort to stress me out. It tended to work, and it was working now.

I stayed in my seat through the next station, trying not to be visible and trying to convince myself I was being silly. I had left without notice, late at night. And if he somehow was on the train, it's not like staying in my seat would have hidden me effectively. He'd just need to glance left and right as he walked through the train cars and he'd find me. Not that he was going to do so, because he wasn't on the train.

By this point, my bladder had backed up enough that I felt a dull pain in my lower back. My kidneys were unhappy, I guessed. Unable to put it off any further, I gave myself one last internal pep-talk and then turned to the man beside me. He was still on his phone, scrolling through some kind of news feed or social media site I wasn't familiar with.

"Sorry. Could I get out? I need to use the restroom." I attempted to hide the strain in my voice.

"Oh? Oh, sure, yeah." He fumbled his phone back into his pocket and stood up to let me out.

The journey to the stairs was fraught. The bathrooms were all on the lower level, and the train jostled heavily as it moved over uneven tracks. It would have been at least a little touch and go around the lounging aisle passengers, even if I didn't feel like I was sitting on a time bomb. I did make it down the stairs, though. I could see the bathroom -- the large one -- across the small entry way where passengers could board and exit on either side depending on where the platform was. The door handle was even turned to indicate 'vacant.' But, as I stepped into that entry way, I turned my head instinctively to see around the corner and check for cross traffic. And there he was.

Matthew was beside the north exit door, across from the bathroom and leaning against the emergency toolkit -- the one built into the wall, containing a sledgehammer, axe, and what looked like an AED. He was staring out the porthole in the exit door, and he hadn't seen me yet. For one terrifying moment I froze, wondering if there was still time to retreat up the stairs. Maybe I could still hide behind Mister Phone.

"Hey man, what's up?" His eyes locked onto mine before a sly grin crept across his face. "Fuck, I was worried I got on the wrong train."

Mind and heart racing, my body locked into place like a startled rabbit. I must have stood there for awhile, not speaking, staring at him dumbly. His expression changed -- it's shape confusing me, but something seemed to occur to him and it morphed again into one I knew well. His eyes narrowed, glimmering with amusement and his smile widened. He looked like he knew something I didn't -- like he would delight in taking that advantage.

"You look like you've seen a ghost. But, shit, you must really have to go."

I flinched as the train jostled again, sending me staggering a step forward. It was enough. Now within easy reach, his arm swept around my shoulder.

"Well, don't let me stop you. Let's go."

"What?" It was all I managed to say before he opened the bathroom door and whisked me inside.

---

I was pushed into the room, towards the sink and toilet. I heard the door smack closed and the latch click shut. The mirror gave me a limited view of Matthew as he leaned back against the door -- blocking my exit. The two of us took up most of the room, but there was still space enough to move. I spun on him, my hands raising in exasperation, my eyes wide.

"What the fuck are you doing? Get out!"

That fucking grin of his played at his lips. He stayed where he was, nonchalant, blocking the only path back out of the room.

"You know, I've never seen someone so desperate to pee before. I want to see how it goes."

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm not... in front of you!"

"Really? Are you planning on pissing yourself then?"

His gaze lingered on my thighs and I realized that my stance had given me away. Legs pressed together, knees bent slightly. It couldn't have been more obvious how badly I needed to go. I could feel the heat in my face and I winced. Why did it always go this way with him? I always seemed to find myself in such... vulnerable positions whenever Matt was around. It was like he planned for it.

"Fuck."

I turned back to the toilet and began to frantically undo my fly. Fishing out of my pants, I resigned myself to the humiliation of allowing Matthew to listen to me pee. At least, I thought, the mirror wasn't placed in such a way that he could see anything scandalous. Still, he'd be having enough fun with the humiliation of it all, I was certain. It wasn't like I hadn't peed into urinals with other men around, but the way Matt was orchestrating this made it different. I sighed, readying myself and anticipating the sweet relief. Afterwards I could deal with this asshole.

Suddenly I felt him behind me. The fabric of my shirt pressed into my back -- a soft firm pressure. I finally registered that his stomach was against me when his arms came in under my own. His left hand came to rest flat against my abdomen, but his right... his right hand reached down and gently took my manhood.

"Matt!" I tried to turn to face him, but his arms were firm. He literally had me by the dick.

"Hush, Babe. Just let it go."

The excitement -- the stress -- of Matthew's sudden action had caused my bladder to seize up. The desperate need had been sidelined as my adrenaline skyrocketed. But the pressure was beginning to build now; Matt's hand began to slowly press inward. I gasped, reflexively flinching forward, bending away, but he held me. There was nowhere to go.

"Relax. There you go."

His voice was soft -- poisonous -- as the stream of urine began to splash down into the waterless bowl of the train toilet. I cringed in embarrassment, shrinking back against my captor, as ashamed of my shiver of relief as I was of the rest of the situation. He held me close, his hand moving subtly to maintain his aim as the train jostled us to and fro.

"Good Boy." I could hear his fucking smile. I bit my lip and rode out the rest of it, clutching at his arms for support. I suppose it gave me some feeble feeling of control.

"All done?"

"The fuck is wrong with you?" This time I did turn to face him, fast. I clutched his collar as though I could drag his stupid face down to my level.

"Just having a little fun, man." He flashed his teeth, leaning into my grip. His face was dangerously close to mine. "Besides, you look cute all flustered like this."

"W-what?!" I scowled, face reddening as my fists tightened on his hoodie. I wasn't about to be distracted, "You grabbed my dick you psycho!" It had to be the most insane and ridiculous antic he had ever pulled.

His hands gripped my shoulders, his face still level with my own. "I did, and you fucking loved it. Didn't you?" His tone felt dangerous.

"I-" The heat in my face was spreading. One of his hands moved from my shoulder to my hip. His face -- that smile was above me again. "I did not." If my voice hadn't given away my lack of conviction, the way my still exposed member twitched must have. I could tell by the way his mouth curved that he saw it -- the way his eyes sparkled.

"Liar." He pulled me closer to him, pressing my distressingly firm penis between the two of us. With a start, I realized I could feel him through his jeans. "See what you do to me, Babe?"

"I..." My head was buzzing, my heart racing. The train jolted again, taking my balance and sitting me roughly back onto the toilet with a thud. In an instant, Matthew was on top of me, pinning my lap and straddling the toilet.

"You're so fucking cute." His mouth met mine, and a shudder swept through me.

Then it all stopped.

Matthew pulled back, a strange look in his eyes. They were softer now. His hands let go of me and his back straightened. He was looking at me, and I realized, then, that I was crying. I blinked the haze from my eyes, and I felt an itch on my jaw.

"What are you looking at?" My voice was thick, threatening to break.

His eyes studied me, his expression serious. "Fuck, man... I'm-"

"Why?"

"I-"

"How do you do this?" I sounded petulant, I knew, but it was warranted. His gaze flinched from me, and whatever he had been about to say died on his tongue.

"Why do I always feel like this around you?" I scowled, flushing again and staring daggers into his tee-shirt.

A nervous laugh drew my gaze back to his, and his eyes seemed to apologize immediately for it. "Because you like me? Obviously."

"Fuck you!" I was shouting now, and his hand rushed to cover my mouth. I snapped at his palm, and he pulled it back to safety. "I fucking hate you!" The tears were back.

"Okay, maybe not so obvious." His eyes twinkled with amusement, and I swung at him. In the tight confines of the bathroom, sitting and pinned against the toilet by his weight, there wasn't any real power behind my punch. It bounced against his face as though I had shoved him uncomfortably hard.

"Ok, ok. I deserved that." He grabbed my wrist with one hand and rubbed his jaw with the other. "Just -- Just listen! Okay?"

I don't know why I did. Maybe the punch had seemed futile enough. Maybe I felt trapped with him sitting on me. Maybe deep down I did want to know. Glowering up at him, I tore my wrist out of his grip and waited to hear what he had to say.

"You just... Okay, listen." He glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom door, as if to confirm we were alone. Then, sheepishly -- an expression that seemed alien on his face -- he turned back to me. "You look at me, dude. You... whenever you see me -- when I see how you look at me, I mean..." His voice trailed off. The asshole actually had the gall to blush. "When you look at me like... like you do, it makes me what to mess with you." He got quiet then, his eyes returning to mine. They had changed somehow.

There was something different about the man sitting on my lap now. The air of confidence was gone. It was as if all of the primal energy and sarcastic bravado had been drained out of him. Despite myself, I could feel my lower lip pull into my mouth, the corners of it pulling downward against my struggling muscles.

"I'm sorry I made you cry." He stood up from my lap, and I noticed the warmth of his legs fading. "You -- you won't need to see me again. Good luck in -"

I swear I had no knowledge of my hand moving to grab his wrist. It was as much of a surprise to find it there as it was for him. I was breathing hard now, and I stared up at him with an expression that I hoped conveyed the pure incredulity that his admission deserved. From the way his expression softened, his eyes matching the sad smile, I must have failed.

"I hate you." I think I was trying to convince myself now.

"I'm... sorry for that."

Matthew tried to pull his arm away from my grip, but I held fast. Stupid fingers. He studied my face for a moment, then, reaching some kind of conclusion, he bent down and kissed me again. There was no passion in it, no power. It was just a soft contact between lips, and a slight pressure that lingered a moment.

All sense of pretense left me then. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer, deeper into the kiss. He followed me, stooping, then shifted and sat back down. The warmth of him on my thighs felt good. I moaned -- actually moaned -- into his mouth.

"Okay, Babe. Okay." His voice was soft against my lips. Then he moved, standing and pulling me up with him. He undid his hoodie zipper, turned me, sat down, and pulled me onto his lap facing the door. I could feel his chest against my back, and his arms came around from behind to wrap around my stomach. "Let me see."

My dick had never made I back into my pants since the whole peeing thing, and it was on full display as he looked down over my shoulder. Tall and rigid, my erection listed slightly to the side. The sudden obvious attention made it twitch, standing tall and then listing again. Matthew's hand moved from my stomach and reached down. I inhaled quietly as his fingers wrapped around it. "That's it, Good Boy."

"Matt -" I moaned, pressing myself back against his chest, my head finding a nest between his collar bone and neck. I felt him chuckle softly, and then his hand began to move. Slow gentle strokes up and down, testing my response and feeling me out. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel it, to focus on his hand -- his body beneath mine. As he slowly sped up, I groaned and made some other... unmanly sounds. Matthew seemed to take these as encouragement and drove on.

"That's it, Baby. That's it." His breath was against my ear, his free hand flat against my chest. My hips were gyrating slowly now -- impulsively thrusting into his strokes. His lips met my neck and I gasped, my hands reaching up to grab his head. My fingers tangled in his long hair. "You're so fucking beautiful, man." His breath was hot, his voice ragged. "I'm going to fuck you."

I came. Fast, unceremonious, a little humiliating -- I shuddered against his arms, attempting to drive myself back into him. My climax shot upward, then dribbled down over Matthew's still moving fingers. The sticky mess began to coat everything down there. My breathing became unsteady and I tried to hide my face against his upper arm.

"It's okay," he cooed. "You're okay." His hand slowed down, then moved to wrap around my stomach, holding me close. My breathing slowed back down and deepened. I found myself very aware of how warm he felt.

"How do you feel?"

I stared down at my softening cock, glistening in the light of the bathroom. I wanted to scowl and offer a sarcastic barb to reassert some level of control -- of emotional distance. Instead, I sighed, and resigned myself to the truth. "Good. That was... it was good."

I could hear his fucking smile again as he said, "Good, huh?" He shifted, and I watched his hand dig through the pocket on his cargo pants. "Maybe we can do better." He pulled a small bottle of a clear gel-like substance from his pocket. Lube.

"Matt! What the fuck? You planned this!"

"I thought that was obvious?"

"You asshole! How did you even make it onto the train anyways?"

"Drove ahead and got on in some small town -- Staples, I think?"

"Staples? How are you going to get back to Staples?"

"I don't know. I didn't really think that far ahead."

I leaned forward and looked back at him, dumbstruck. "You abandoned your car?"

"It was a beater."

"Matt!"

"You didn't give me much time to catch you."

That caught me off guard. For the first time since seeing him on the train, I seriously considered the implications of Matthew being here. I had been running from my problems, and the idea that one of them had actually chased me had overshadowed everything else.

Hesitantly, I asked my next question. "Why did you come after me?"

He smiled, his arms still wrapped around my front. "I like the way you look at me."

---

"We were not going to fuck in the train toilet!" I scolded as I stepped off the train in Malta, Missouri. The stop was a fresh air break -- a longer pause at a station so that people could stretch their legs and smoke if they wanted. We weren't going to make it back onto the train, though. I had my bags with me -- everything except the checked bag, which I supposed would find it's own lonesome way to Seattle without me. It wasn't illegal to get off before your designated stop, or so I hoped, and the conductor didn't say anything.

"It would have been hot is all I'm saying." Matthew flashed that smile of his. I noticed he didn't have any bags of his own. I wasn't certain how to feel about that.

"Maybe," I offered, suppressing my urge to agree. "But we were already cutting it pretty close. Someone was bound to hear us -- I'm surprised no one tried to break the door down."

Matthew just kept on smiling, gazing out at the town neither of us knew anything about. His hand found mine and I gripped it. We'd figure something out, I supposed.