From My Side

From my side, it looked like he was interested in sex from the start. Afterwards – months or maybe years later, when we were more relaxed with each other and able to talk about it with honesty and amusement – he still maintained he hadn’t been. I guess that was probably true: he turned out to be the kind of guy who wouldn’t lie to me.

He started off by taking a piss – which, as I must admit, isn’t the kind of thing guys interested in sex normally do. I saw him pull his cock out from the fly of his jeans and just hold it there, right in front of the hole in the partition between our stalls. It was soft but looked like it might be half-erect from the size of it, and he gently pulled back his foreskin as if giving me a show. I thought, “This could be promising…” and felt pleased that I hadn’t abandoned the Student Union building after nothing had seemed to be going on.

Then a thick yellow stream squirted from the tip of it and my hope turned instantly to disappointment. He was just another semi-drunk lad from the bar at the end of the of the corridor. Taking a break from watching the afternoon match with his mates or from making lewd comments to the girls behind the bar, to come for a piss.

But he had a nice cock, long and substantial, and I watched it idly as he relieved himself. I wondered whether it would be worth heading down to the station to see what was going on in the subway gents but was aware of an assignment which was due in at the end of the week. What had started out as a impromptu idea for quick wank or suck could easily become three hours of nothing.

After he’d finished pissing he disappeared from view for a second and seemed to be bending down. Then his cock reappeared, just sticking out from his flies, as if waiting for some action. I wondered if he might have bent down to take a look through the glory hole I was peering through; maybe satisfying himself that his neighbour was interested enough to be watching him. He might have just desperately needed to piss before he started cruising. I’d never seen anyone do that – it just wasn’t part of the etiquette – but I felt that it wouldn’t present a problem. Not for a guy with a cock like his.

For a minute or so, he just stood in front of the spy-hole between us with his cock poking out from his fly. He didn’t play with it or touch it at all: he just left it there hanging forwards from his jeans. It was large and stood out from the front of trousers. I couldn’t tell whether it was supported by the folds of material around his fly, or whether it was because it was slightly aroused. I chose to accept the latter – after all, if he wasn’t up for some fun then why was he just standing there with his dick hanging out?

I moved away from the hole and stood upright. I assumed he would probably look down again to see if I was reciprocating, so I put on a little show for him with my own semi-hard cock, stroking it and masturbating it to full stiffness in front of the hole. Then I knelt down and looked through it again and found that he hadn’t been watching me at all.

He was still just standing there, his cock poking out though his fly, but by now it seemed a little longer than it had a minute earlier. I started to suspect he was playing games with me – a straight lad flaunting himself to tease and titillate a gay guy he knew was watching him. It had happened to me before on a couple of occasions and a straight friend of mine had once been drunk enough to admit that he’d done it to a gay bloke who’d come onto him in the library gents. It seemed to be some kind of gesture of heterosexuality. A way for a guy to prove to himself that he’s able to lead another man so far and then to just flush the toilet and walk away. Like, “Look at me. I’m not gay. I’m not even tempted to be gay. Could everyone be really impressed, please?”

But then the guy in front of me started masturbating. At first, he was just gently tugging his foreskin back and forth, but after a few seconds he started getting into it and began wanking it in earnest.

He was up for some action. He was asking for it. I needed no additional encouragement.

I climbed onto the toilet bowl and peered over the partition between our cubicles. I’ve never been into peepshows between cubicles and never been a fan of kneeling down on the piss-soaked floor to grope another guy underneath the partition. I’ve always wanted to get into another guy’s cubicle or have him come into mine. And I’ve always found a face-to-face invitation is the most likely to succeed.

When I looked down at him I saw that he had short blond hair and was wearing a leather jacket. He seemed pretty tall and fairly slim. He was looking down at a magazine which he was holding out in front of him while he stroked his cock. He was reading one of the stories but the pictures alongside the text made it clear that the mag was of the straight rather than gay variety.

I felt disappointed again. If he’d have been gay, things could have turned out very nicely indeed.

I looked at his cock again, six inches of it arching upwards from the front of his jeans. His fingers were gently sliding his foreskin back and forth across the bloated pink head of it. It was a very attractive piece of meat and I felt another surge of disappointment that it belonged to a straight guy. It would have been nice to suck it, or maybe even to have done more with it: my bum tingled at the thought of that.

As I watched, he stopped playing with it for a moment and raised his hand to his mouth, wetting his fingers with his tongue. As he did so, I noticed that the stem of his upright cock was laced with prominent veins, pumping his blood towards the throbbing pink head of it. He reached back down and rubbed his wet fingers onto his bell-end, swirling them round and round on it to make it slick with his saliva. He did that a few times, really wetting the end of his cock, and then began masturbating it again more firmly and rapidly. The head was much wider than his stem – almost mushroom-like – and he clearly needed the extra lube to be able to get his foreskin to slide comfortably back and forth across it.

He turned over a page in the magazine and, in the middle of two columns of text, there was a drawing of two girls getting it on together. He obviously liked what he saw because his rhythm speeded up further. I enjoyed seeing him like that – a straight lad getting turned on by a story about girls having sex together – and I began to masturbate my own dick as I watched him masturbating his. 

I wondered if this was what he was into – if he had bought the magazine for this kind of story – or whether this was the first time the idea of lesbianism had appealed to him. I imagined him lying on his bed, on his own, carried away by his own fantasies of girls together, masturbating that beautiful cock of his until it spewed copious strings of his white semen.

As you can probably tell, I was really getting into this!

But then he turned his head upwards towards me, like he’d spotted me watching him out of the corner of his eye. I ducked down behind the partition but I knew he’d seen me.

I climbed down from the toilet and waited for him to react. I half-expected him to start banging on the partition or to zip himself up and come out to thump on the door of my cubicle, but he didn’t. There was no sound from his side; just sounds from other men pissing at the urinals and washing their hands at the sinks.

I looked through the hole again.

He was still standing there, his cock arching upwards from the zipper of his jeans. He wasn’t touching it but he made no attempt to conceal it from me. He must have known I was watching him through the hole – perhaps had known I had been since he’d come in – and didn’t seem to be bothered by that.

And yet he was clearly into girls. I tried to make sense of it.

I’d read stories about straight guys going into toilets to get their cocks sucked by other men while they looked at girlie mags. I’d never believed that it really happened – I couldn’t imagine myself, as a gay guy, enjoying a girl blowing me while I looked at a gay mag – but having found myself in this situation, I wondered whether maybe it did. Perhaps this guy had brought his magazine here with the sole intention of getting a helping hand, or a helping mouth, while he read it.

The idea was kind of interesting.

I noticed that he’d started masturbating again – a come-on if ever there was on – and so I quickly climbed back onto the toilet bowl. I looked over at him and saw that he was now looking at some photos of a vacant-looking girl holding her tits towards the camera like they were weapons. She looked utterly ridiculous. The guy’s cock had gone a little softer: I couldn’t really blame it.