The Public Washroom

Honestly, I wasn't particularly enjoying the metal concert. It wasn't my music scene. Everything was too loud and in your face. I'm more of a classic rock guy. Since I wasn't worried about missing the next song or two, I figured I would run to the washroom before the big rush at intermission. My friend Dominic was standing next to me, but he couldn't hear me telling him I was going to the men's room and with all the flashing lights alternating with the natural darkness, not to mention the noise, I had to sign it to him with crude gestures. He gave a thumbs up to indicate he understood and went back to his enjoyment of the performance.

An usher opened the auditorium exit for me and I enjoyed the cooler, quieter ambience of the spacious corridors outside the concert hall. The men's room was straight ahead, and I stalked through the first door and then the second, which opened up on the washroom proper. Planting my feet in front of the farthest urinal of the dozen or so available, I unzipped and began to relieve myself. You couldn't hear the music from here. There was only a vibration in the floor and walls.

The private stalls were behind me, and as I pissed away the soft drinks I'd been sucking back all evening, I heard one of the doors creak open. Surprised, since I thought I was alone in the washroom, I turned my head to look. A stall was open and there was a man inside. My head wouldn't turn far enough to see him completely, and the angle from which I was viewing didn't afford me much of a view inside the cubicle anyway.

Okay, odd, I thought, but I continued to make water against the porcelain. When I finished, I stood back and did up my pants while the sensor on the urinal registered my step back and flushed. I turned and started to walk toward the washbasins but the man in the stall caught my eye, and I paused before I really began.

He was a tall, well-built man of about my age, forty or so. He was wearing jeans, t-shirt (with logos I couldn't read) and shoes, all black. His arms were sleeved in tattoos, down to and including his hands while above the collar of his shirt the ink rose up his neck and covered his head with colourful imagery. His white-blond hair was cut so short, like stubble, that the ink patterns showed through. He certainly looked like someone who might be hard into the kind of music playing in the concert hall tonight. So why was he hanging around the washroom?

A naïve question.

He was sitting on the toilet in the cubicle with his feet firmly on the floor. He looked at me and licked his lips.

I can only imagine my face.

Whatever he saw in my expression only encouraged him. He raised his right hand and curled his index finger: the universal gesture for 'come here'.

Viewed from my perspective, there were plenty of reasons to ignore his invitation. He could be a thief luring victims into the cubicle to steal their wallet and phone; he might be a blackmailer waiting to entrap someone in a compromising situation or, of course, he might be some kind of sex offender.

The thought of being seduced by this man actually made me twitch and to my surprise, it was in the good way. A thrill of excitement shot through my cock.

It would be fair to say I was curious about the prospect of sex with a man. I had often dreamed and fantasized about it, but I'd never had the courage to try it. The one time I was propositioned by a man, I scoffed and rejected him out of fear of being discovered and thought gay.

I'd regretted it ever since. I occasionally told myself that if it happened again, things would unfold differently.

Besides, I hadn't nutted in over a week. I was horny.

What if this guy was trouble? Well, I was no weakling. I was prepared for him. If something happened that I didn't want to happen, the man had distinguishing marks that would make him obvious to the authorities. I'd certainly be able to pick him out of a police line-up.

Of course, I wasn't thinking too far ahead. If I walked up and accepted a pervert's invitation, I was not likely to go to the police out of shame for my stupidity.

But what if this wasn't initiating a heinous crime in progress? What if this was an opportunity?

I'd heard that some gay men frequented public washrooms to meet and seduce straight men. Was there any truth to that? I was horny and curious at the sight of him. He was attractive. Whatever he was promising, I was in the market to consider it.

All of this consideration took several seconds during which I seemed rooted to the spot.

He continued to gesture toward me, and behind the curled finger summoning me to him was a wicked smile and a pair of charismatic blue eyes filled with confidence.

I was almost unable to believe what I was doing when I took the six or seven steps over to the cubicle. Once I was inside, he closed the door behind me and shot the bolt. He fixed me in place with a triumphant stare as he raised his hands and framed my face in them. I realized I was biting my lip and remembered how sexy my ex-girlfriend looked when she did that. Maybe this stranger thought it was a good look on me too.

He leaned in until we were nose to nose and our eyes too close to each other to take in whole faces.

The kiss was tentative at first, testing my willingness. At first, he may have found me difficult to gauge as I neither resisted his advance nor encouraged it, but he thawed me fairly quickly once his tongue was past my lips. He moved his hands from my face, no longer needing them to hold me in place, and he surrounded me in his arms. I melted into him as we played tonsil hockey with each other.

I don't know how long that blissful embrace lasted, but he broke our kiss and began kissing his way down my neck as his hands probed under my t-shirt, stroking my pecs and abs, tweaking my nipples and twirling fingers in my chest hair. I felt tender against his strength, giving in to his power over me.

He pulled the t-shirt over my head and hung it on a hook on the back of the cubicle door. He stood back and appraised me. Lust was writ large on his features. He unbuckled my belt, unzipped me and yanked my pants down around my knees. Before I knew what was happening, my boxers were down too, exposing me entirely while my seducer remained secure in his clothing. My cock rose to testify that I liked what was taking place and that my capitulation excited me.

The man manoeuvred us around in the stall so that I was facing the toilet and he was standing behind me. I let myself be bent over the bowl so that I had to support my upper body by putting my hands on the sides of the toilet. This gave my mystery lover a good view of my ass. He crouched behind me and started kissing and licking my arse. I shuddered as his tongue feathered the crack of my ass several times before strong hands clutched the cheeks and pulled them apart. He opened my anus with his tongue, licking and massaging my back door with that powerful muscle.

Deeply aroused by my situation, which so far had elapsed over a measure of perhaps five minutes since I'd left Dominic in the auditorium, I already felt a rising need in my cock for release. My lover had more immediate plans for me though. He backed away from my arse, and still holding my cheeks apart, spat twice precisely onto my anus and I realized I was going to be ass-fucked for the first time. I had used toys up there many times, so I was broken in and had some idea what to expect.

The man let go of my cheeks so he could open his pants and free his tool, spit a couple of times in his hand and lube up his cock for penetration.

My thoughts were almost wholly on what was happening to me, a situation I was relishing, but part of me realized the time. Soon, the concert would be in intermission, and this washroom would be flooded by men, any number of whom might count too many feet in this stall if they but casually looked under the door. It was a rowdy crowd. There was no telling how it might go.

The man behind me wasn't wasting time though. He was already pressing his intruder against my tailpipe, and I was yielding to the pressure in every way. His cock penetrated me slowly at first, with false starts and tentative advancement, but the saliva was just enough lubrication to manage the friction of his man-flesh against my sphincter. When he was about halfway in, he pulled back and I shivered with the delight of the sensation of motion inside me. Then he plunged in all the way and I was full. I felt his short, bristly pubic hair scratching my ass-crack. We both groaned. It was the first noise either of us had made since we began our encounter.

He was moving freely in me then, first picking up speed and then pounding my ass in earnest. I was loving it, but I wanted to put a hand on my cock and give it some love while I was fucked, but I needed both hands on the sides of the toilet to sustain my pose for my lover. As if he read my mind, he shifted his feet, vacated me a moment to apply more spit, re-entered me and let his weight settle in against my back. Bent thus, he could lean forward and give me a reach-around, stroking my cock over the toilet. My pre-cum was all the lube that was required for a handjob.

Now, perhaps ten minutes after we first met, he was fucking me hard and jerking me off to his ass-pounding rhythm. Nothing could keep us from making sounds now, and we grunted in unison, an organic rendition of the vibration of the concert music in the auditorium.

It happened that I came first, my cock shivering and spitting in his hand while he continued to fuck my ass. My semen was on the toilet seat, in the bowl and on his hand. While he bucked his hips against my backside, he let go of my spent penis and lifted his semen-slick hand to my mouth and I duly licked it clean, smiling at the continuing sensations in my body.

A few seconds later, the tattooed stranger unloaded his hot spunk in my bowel. He continued to saw in and out of me for a short while before withdrawing and leaving me feeling empty and well-ridden. There was no afterglow moment, probably because we both noticed that the concert vibration through the walls and floors had stopped and that could only mean this room would be swarming with men needing to void their waste within sixty seconds. He buttoned himself up and left the stall while I yanked up my pants and covered my nakedness. I was so hot, I almost didn't want to put my t-shirt back on. I closed the stall door and quickly wiped off the toilet seat and suspicious milky spots on the floor with bathroom tissue. Then I evacuated the cubicle. My lover was long gone. I made for the washbasins and was just drying my hands when the tide of men hit.

As I passed through the double doors, countless men nearly swept me back inside again. I saw Dominic.

"You missed a great performance," he said.

So did you, I thought.