Public Bus Handjob: Exclusive Must-Have Fantasy

So I gotta tell you about this public bus handjob I witnessed—or maybe even participated in, depending on how you look at it—because it was one of those moments that just sears itself into your brain. I was riding the 42 downtown, late afternoon, half-empty seats, and this guy slides in next to me. We start with small talk, but there’s this electric tension, you know? His hand brushes my thigh, and I don’t stop him. Next thing I know, he’s unzipped, and I’m wrapping my fingers around the thickest cock I’ve felt in ages, right there as the bus rattles over potholes. My heart’s pounding—anyone could glance back. I stroke him slow at first, then faster, feeling him twitch and swell. He’s breathing hard, trying to play it cool, but I can tell he’s close. When he finally comes, hot and messy over my knuckles, I almost laugh from the sheer absurdity and thrill of it. We never exchanged names. Just a nod when he got off at the next stop. I sat there, sticky and grinning, thinking, yeah, that happened.