After saying goodbye to Phú at the station, I headed to the shuttle stop for the ride back to the dorm. A short walk ahead, but no shuttle in sight—just a massive crowd staring at phones or into the distance.
I asked a staff member: “Uncle, how do I get the shuttle to Lê Hồng Phong stop?”
He replied: “Wait a bit—too many passengers, shuttles can’t keep up.”
Seeing the crowd ahead still waiting crushed my hope of making curfew. It was past 11 p.m.—if I got back now, I could beg security to let me in. Later? No chance.
Among the crowd were plenty of students my age—obviously returning after Tet. I spotted a cute glasses guy, stealing glances from afar but too shy for direct eye contact.
Finally a shuttle came—but no room for me. Station to Lê Hồng Phong: at least 20 minutes one way, 40 round trip. With this crowd, five or six trips minimum. I’d wait over an hour.
Then the staff’s phone rang. He answered a colleague: “What’s up?”
I overheard: “One shuttle broke down—overworked. Only one running now. Tell passengers to be patient.”
My head spun. Past 11:20 p.m. The staff announced: “Anyone for Lê Hồng Phong, sorry—shuttle broke down from overuse. Repair guy’s coming.”
Each round trip: 40 minutes. Fifth shuttle finally had space—earlier than expected. Clock hit 2 a.m. After the station ordeal, I squeezed into a window seat, left side. To my right? Glasses guy from earlier.
Up close, he was even hotter—but shy me just stared out the window. Exhaustion from the overnight bus hit; I dozed off, handsome neighbor forgotten.
Half-asleep, something brushed my leg. Fully awake, I realized our legs were pressed together.
Nothing new—happened on buses before. But usually people shift away. He didn’t.
Bumps and jolts kept our legs rubbing from knee down. Sudden hard brake—everyone lurched forward. Driver muttered: “Damn reckless kids—empty roads and they race!”
Things settled; I closed my eyes again. Then noticed—not just below the knee, but thighs touching too. I cracked an eye: he seemed asleep… but his hand rested on my thigh?
Palm down, not up! Hard to call accidental.
Knowing made resistance impossible. My cock—tucked sideways earlier—started hardening. Full erection and his pinky would notice.
But no stopping it. Every jolt, his hand bounced and landed closer to my crotch.
One kilometer left—his hand hovered near my pocket. Thought that was it… until his pinky moved, brushing my cockhead and shaft through two layers of fabric.
Unprepared, I clenched—cock throbbing fully hard. Wanted to smash the window and escape—mortified. Glanced over: eyes closed, but lips curved in a smile.
Bus pulled into the stop—no more time for games. Bold now, he cupped my full length and squeezed once. Then acted innocent, stretching like waking from deep sleep.
Before grabbing a motorbike taxi, he flashed a mischievous grin. No words, no contacts. Just fate.
Arrived at 2:21 a.m. Normally I’d walk the 800m—students save where we can. Daily 500m to class? 800m no big deal.
But empty streets spooked me. Luggage in hand—if robbed, no escape. A motorbike taxi driver called: “Need a ride, kid? Anywhere you want.”
I winced—30k for 800m stung. But safety over money.
At the dorm gate, I hesitated to knock—security on night duty, but strict. Lingered till 3 a.m. Exhausted, I knocked anyway—warning slip be damned.
Luck smiled: the guard was lenient. “Why not call earlier? Lots of students late from traffic tonight—you’re just the latest.”
Grateful, I hauled luggage upstairs. My dorm has two stairwells: main (narrow, wrapped around trash chute, always lit) and side (wide, connecting floors, dark at night to save power).
My room’s at the side stair exit—so habit took me there, even at 3 a.m. Wide stairs easier with bags.
Lugging everything to the room, I was drenched in sweat—shirt and briefs soaked. Mouth dry as cracked earth. Needed water bad.
Headed to the floor’s dispenser near the main stairs—empty. Remembered every floor has one.
Tip-toed down one floor—felt like stealing water. Gulped a full cup, refreshed. Turning back, faint sounds drifted up from below.
Sensitive to that sound—or too familiar from listening often.
“Mmm… feels so good! Keep it in… don’t pull out… yours is so big and long—fills me perfectly! Fuck, so good!”
Instantly awake. My cock hardened, listening. Crept closer, heart pounding. Sounds from the blind spot right below!
Deeper voice: “Your ass is so tight and warm—making my cock throb. Virgin holes really are different!”
I thought: Some old fox seducing a freshman—no doubt.
Deeper voice: “Let me pull out a second.”
Higher voice: “No! Let me feel good longer… please…”
A wet “pop”—cock sliding out. Then: “I’ll lift you.”
Rustling—he picked the boy up, slid back in. Wet kissing sounds followed—deep, desperate tongue play.
Then “thud”—back against wall probably. Steady wet slaps—skin on skin—rhythmic. Higher voice sobbed: “Oh… slower… slower…”
Deeper, breathless: “First time hurts a bit! Soon it’ll feel amazing!”
I sneered inwardly: Bullshit—just you enjoying it.
Higher voice panted—more pain than pleasure. Only the top sped up, loud wet smacks. Top soothed: “I’ll stroke you—soon you’ll love it!”
Quiet night—crickets back home; here, human lust. I crept down three steps for clearer hearing—every suppressed moan.
Slaps paused, replaced by “thump”—sitting on floor? Top: “Ride me!”
Guessed: top half-reclined against wall, ass on ground, cock pointing up. Boy obeyed—few bounces, then: “Ah… really good, ah! So good… wanna ride till morning!”
Faster riding, louder moans. Muffled suddenly—top covering mouth. I thought: Pain to pleasure that fast? Magic?
But wet slaps continued—my cock ached in pants. One hand held cup, other rubbed myself. Sweat-dried shirt stank; my own musk turned me on more.
Boy rode nonstop, broken words: “Please… don’t stroke me… too horny… stop… can’t hold… gonna cum!”
Top: “Your ass milking me… cum—cum with me!”
Boy few more bounces—both lost control. No more hiding noise.
Top: “Feels too good! Gonna fill your hole… okay?”
Boy: “Yes… so good… cumming, ah… ah… ah… shooting…”
Top: “Mmm… fuck yes! Filling your ass… Ah… Ah… cock exploding…!”
Climax over—both satisfied, undiscovered. Blind spot hidden from cameras—lit stairs, but safest dark corner.
Only issue: I came twice in one night, up till near dawn—exhausted.
Ignored them; tiptoed back to room, slept till 3 p.m. next day—recovering for more “eavesdropping.”