Just turned 40. Two-week training in Nantes. Married, but solo trips fuel my cock cravings. TGV halts at Le Mans. Young guy drops into the seat beside me. Quick peek: slim, dark hair, cute face. Instant fantasy. Leg nudges his. No pullback. I press firmer. He mirrors. My dick swells tight in jeans. Hand drifts from my thigh to his. Soft sigh escapes. He drapes sweater over his lap. Green light. Fingers trace bulge. Rock-hard through denim. Zipper whispers down. Buttons part silent. Briefs warm. Grip his thick shaft. Veins pulse. Jerk slow. He fakes reading notes. Breath hitches. Shove deeper, cup heavy balls. Train hums. Passengers chat distant. Seats creak faint. Precum beads, slicks my palm. Heart hammers. Risk electric—eyes could turn. My cock strains. Jacket covers. Unzip. His hand invades fast. Mutual pump. Strokes sync. No looks. Build sharp. Cum erupts together. Hot spurts soak fabric. Messy grins. Kleenex scrambles. He bolts to toilet. I wipe discreet. Station lights flicker through windows.