From My Side

He turned the page over and looked at photos of the same girl getting in a bubble bath. As he did so, he raised his right hand back up to his lips and licked his thumb. Then he reached back down and started gently massaging the soft pink head of his cock with it, lubricating it with his spit. He was also coaxing the stem back to full stiffness by gently squeezing it with his fingers.

He was clearly very adept at what he was doing, being both firm and sensual with his enlarging organ. I had to move further forwards over the partition to see more of it. Even though he was trying to pretend he didn’t, he clearly knew I was there – I could see him glancing up at the shadow I was making on the wall above the toilet – and was obviously enjoying the fact he was being watched. He even moved his magazine forwards so I could see more of his cock.

It rapidly grew hard again and arched upwards from his jeans in its impressive glory. He obviously loved to flaunt his cock for anyone who’d appreciate it, because he really showed it off to me. He pulled his jeans down a little, tucked the front of his white briefs under his larger-than-average balls and then started masturbating it with ponderous, almost theatrical, strokes. He looked pretty amazing: blond, tall and slim, gently masturbating a cock that looked about eight inches long. I was captivated.

He didn’t look up at me or acknowledge my presence at all but he knew I was watching him. He was loving the whole scenario we’d got ourselves into: him as a straight guy masturbating his big cock over a girlie mag, me as the gay voyeur, getting off on the sight of what he was doing.

That was all well and good, and I could see why he might get off on that kind of situation, but I wanted to get more involved. I like watching guys wank but I was convinced he’d come into the Union gents for a bit more than that. Like I said at the beginning, he later claimed he was totally innocent and had just happened to pick the magazine up from the floor as he was taking a piss, but at the time it looked like he was after some help. I was more than eager to give him it.

So, knowing full well that there was a risk I might lose everything by doing so, I threw caution to the wind and called over the partition to get his attention. “Pssst!”

He looked up at me and tried to pretend he was surprised to see me. As if he always wanks like he’s the star of a porn film.

He stared at me, piercing me with his intense blue eyes, and I couldn’t think what to say. I don’t know why but I asked him if he was straight.

He said, “Yeah.” He had a nice voice, deep and gentle.

Again I couldn’t think what to say to him. Normally I’d have said, “Can I come in there with you?” but since he was straight and trying to pretend like he was surprised to find me watching him, it didn’t seem appropriate.

I tried, “Can I take a look at your mag?”

It was a bit lame but I couldn’t think of anything better right then.

He looked irritated and I felt stupid. I’d interrupted his jerk-off session to ask to look at his mag. It’s just not the kind of thing guys normally do.

He passed it up towards me and then I thought of a possible way in. It was a long-shot but worth a try.

I said, over the noise of the men outside our cubicles, “No. Can I come in there and take a look at it… with you?”

He stared at me, his expression uncomprehending.

I thought, “Oh Jesus. I’ve misunderstood this… he didn’t come in here to find a guy…” At that moment I really expected to be beaten up right there in the gents and to have to explain myself to security when they intervened.

I was about to apologise and tell him I’d made a mistake when he smiled at me. Like my meaning had suddenly dawned on him. He had a really nice smile; warm and affectionate.

I was a little surprised by his response and I smiled back.

After his smiled had faded, though, he remained a little dubious, uncertain of how to reply. I wondered if he wasn’t used to having guys come into his cubicle with him. Maybe he usually liked to show his cock off to other men but didn’t get involved in anything direct.

I smiled more broadly to encourage him. I was about to tell him that I wouldn’t touch him if he didn’t want me to, but he seemed to make up his own mind abruptly and said, with unexpected conviction, “Yeah. You can come in and look at the mag.”

I didn’t delay. I didn’t want to give the time to change his mind.

I climbed down off the toilet bowl and zipped my jeans up as quickly as I could. Then I flushed the toilet so as not to arouse suspicion and left my cubicle. I was going to go straight to his and tap on the door but I noticed a guy from my course washing his hands and we made eye-contact through the mirror above his sink.

I had to be careful.

I walked over to pretend to wash my hands and made small-talk with my course-mate – Paul, I think his name was – as he used the dryer. Then he left and I dried my hands as quickly as I could, impatient to get back to the cubicle.

Three more lads came into the gents and two of them, chatting about football, walked over to the urinals. The other, a geeky looking guy with short black hair and glasses, walked into the stall I’d just vacated. I’d seen him in here before; I’d even let him suck me off one afternoon when it had looked like no-one better was going to show up. There was no way I was going to let him hit on the blond guy.

When I’d finished drying my hands, I pulled some tissue from my pocket and pretended I was blowing my nose in it. Then I threw it in the bin and acted like I was trying to find more in my pockets. When I couldn’t, I headed back to the toilet cubicles as if I was going to pull some from the dispensers inside one of them.

I dare say no-one was watching me, but I went through the routine I’d performed many times before just in case they were.

I walked up to the first stall – the one occupied by the blond guy – and gently pushed at the door. I moved my foot underneath it so he could recognise me from my boots, but then remembered we hadn’t started out by playing footsie underneath the partition like I normally do in the Union gents.

There was no response and I thought that, during my delay, he must have had second thoughts.

Fucking Paul. Why did he have to come in here right now? Why did he have to see me –

Then I heard a click as he unlocked the door.

It was a wonderful sound.

At that minute, that simple click was more beautiful to me than any piece of music could ever hope to be. The sound of it was quite simply amazing.