The Secret Tunnel by James Lear Page B

don’t know. But I think we must be in a tunnel.” It was impossible to be sure; the window was heavily frosted, so I could not see if there were walls around us.
    “ Viens . We must get out of here. It is too…ooooffff… claustrophobic.”
    I slid back the bolt and pushed the door; it did not move. I tried again, harder; it yielded maybe a quarter of an inch, but no further. We were trapped.

    “I think there’s been an accident, Bertrand.” I put my hands on his shoulders, felt him shudder. “You must be calm.”
    “I detest the dark…and closed spaces…”
    “You’ll be fine. You’re with me.” I kissed him on the mouth, holding him until the trembling stopped.
    “ Bien . Now I am a man again.”
    The door would not budge. I imagined all sorts of horrors: a collision in the tunnel, the carriage mangled, wreckage outside the door trapping us inside. It was difficult to gauge how hard the impact had been; we had been fucking so vigorously that we’d probably have ignored an earthquake.
    I pressed my ear to the door and listened. There was no sound at all. No creaking and groaning of twisted metal-work, no obvious sounds of fire. No moaning or crying of other passengers. Either they were all dead, or they were all right.
    I heard running footsteps approaching, and I called out, “Hey! Hello! There are people trapped in here.” The footsteps came to a halt, and I banged on the door. “Hey! In here! Can you help us?” Still the door would not yield—and the footsteps proceeded, quieter this time, not running, betrayed only by the softest of thuds.
    “What the fuck is going on?” I said.
    “I don’t know… It is like a nightmare.” Bertrand sounded bad again.
    I fumbled for my lighter and flicked it on. In the wavering light of the flame, I saw his ashen face and wet eyes. His mouth, where I had kissed and fucked it, was red. He relaxed a little in the light.
    “We’re going to be okay, Bertrand. Don’t go crazy. Everything is fine.”
    “ J’ai peur … I’m sorry, it is ridiculous. I am an adult. I should not be afraid of the dark, like a child in the nursery. I am ashamed of myself.”

    I kissed him again. “Don’t be. You can’t help it.” The strangeness of the situation, and Bertrand’s extreme vulnerability, were making me hard again. “Why don’t you just close your eyes and suck me for a while. Forget everything else.”
    “May I?”
    “You may.” I extinguished the lighter, which was starting to burn my fingers, and unbuttoned myself, guiding Bertrand’s hand to my cock. He caressed me and sank gratefully to his knees, burying his face in my groin. Thus occupied, he was quiet and comforted. In truth, I found this distraction a comfort as well. There was something eerie about the silence, the darkness, and those inexplicable footsteps…
    Bertrand sucked very well. Very enthusiastically. Perhaps he thought we were about to die, and wanted to go with a dick down his throat…
    There was a bang on the door.
    “Is there anyone in there?” A man’s voice.
    “Yes. I’m okay,” I replied.
    “Are you hurt?”
    “No…”
    “I thought I heard someone groaning.”
    Shit: I had been so transported by the darkness, the silence, and the intensity of Bertrand’s sucking that I had forgotten to silence myself.
    “I’m trapped. The door won’t open.”
    “Hang on.”
    The door handle rattled and turned—and the door swung open. The light of a candle dazzled my eyes—and behind it, the face of the mean conductor, the one who had abused Bertrand before.
    Bertrand—who was down on his knees, his face still buried in my groin, my cock hitting the back of his throat. The conductor took everything in at a glance, looked around him, and stepped into the lavatory. He placed the candlestick by the sink.

    I pulled out of Bertrand’s mouth; he looked around, dazed.
    There was not much room with three men in a bathroom designed for single occupancy, and as Bertrand struggled to his