For example, I found it impossible to stand next to another man in a crowded urinal in case, well, in case I guess it all stemmed from my mother's warnings about men who were "dirty", as she called them, men who would do bad things to boys if they could.
So, I always assumed the worst, even when I was grown to manhood myself. And if anyone actually spoked to me, or even LOOKED at me, in a public toilet, my heart would start beating faster and my palms would break out in sweat. Worst of all for me was if I had to use a cubicle for a "sit down jog", as my mother used to call them.
The walls were always covered with graffiti, often accompanied by drawings of huge male genitalia, all about men seeking cocks to suck and other disgusting stuff like that. Of course, when the urinals were crowded, I would use a cubicle anyway just for a pee, but I always locked the door to make people think I was using it for a more appropriate purpose.
And, despite myself, I always read the graffiti, and when I did, I would feel my cock twitching into life and getting hard as the blood engorged it.
I never understood why that was so. After all, I looked at women a lot, and at their breasts, and always thought about women when I wanked. Well, almost always, though sometimes an image of those drawings of men's cocks would come unbidden into my mind, and I would start masturbating even more furiously.
I decided it was just my personal wickedness, a sort of inevitable depravity of one such as I who thought constantly about sex, but whose sex life never went beyond pornography and masturbation. Anyway, back to my fear of public toilets. I dreaded the day when someone would occupy the next cubicle and push his cock through one of those hole.
I suppose you don't know about these holes, you not being a degenerate like me. They are called "glory holes". Of course, the day came when the next cubicle to mine was occupied.
I had been taken short and was sitting on the toilet, and using the time to read the graffiti as usual. Interesting how many men specify that they want sex with a "schoolboy". I started to wonder what it would be like to do sex stuff with someone really young.
And then, a slip of paper pushed under the partition with a scrawled question:. I have to get out of here! I pushed the piece of paper back under the partition with my foot, and hoped that would be the end of it. Embarrassingly, though, my cock had started to harden the moment I saw the message.
In no time, my cock was begging to be stroked, but I didn't dare do anything with some predatory "dirty man" trying to draw me into his perverted world. The piece of paper reappeared. I read it again "Want me to suck your dick? God, I thought, what kind of person am I, to get hard when a man offers to suck my cock for me? I looked at the hole.
At its height above the floor. I would need to stand up. I estimated I wouldn't need to bend my knees, it was the perfect height for me. What if I did? How did he know that I was aroused? I could never do anything like that! I stood up, thinking it was time for me to get out of there, but, just as I was about to zip up my pants, a crazy impulse came over me. I had to bend my cock down to get it through the hole, that's how aroused I was. Immediately I felt firm fingers wrapping themselves round my shaft, and moments later a warm wet mouth sliding over my cock head.
As a young boy, I had had a recurring nightmare of someone - male or female I don't know, just someone - biting off my penis.
And now, at this no-turning-back moment, the image recurred. But I didn't need to worry. I never felt his teeth once, only his wonderful lips and his agile tongue.
I found it hard to stand still as he did that thing, you know, working the wrapped fingers on the shaft of my cock in a counter-rhythm to the sucking of his amazing mouth. Then, suddenly, he withdrew from my cock. Had I done something wrong? Had I upset him? I'll swallow you," he whispered. And then his mouth was back again, his lips clamped over the shaft of my cock, as he took my cock, god knows, it much have been way down his throat by now. I wondered what it was like to suck a cock. That image finished me off.
I felt my cock stiffen in the old familiar way, that tightening of the ballsac, that moment when everything goes still before the first surge builds up and fights its way from your balls, along the narrow channel of your shaft before exploding in a glory of man seed. But this time, unlike all the other times, my precious man fluid would not be spilled Onan-like on the ground, but would be swallowed and treasured by another man, one who knew its true value.
The electric tingling that always accompanies my orgasms was magnified thousandfold as he kept his mouth working. My legs were buckling, I was shipwrecked, I was beyond help. To my surprise, he kept my cock in his mouth even as it detumesced, but cleverly didn't try to suck it any more, because he knew something that no woman knows about the state of a man's cock after he has ejaculated. Finally my cock plopped out of his mouth and I withdrew gently. I needed to sit down.. It sounded stupid, but I meant it.
Then the sound of his cubicle door opening and he was gone. That night, as I lay in my bed, my hand comforting my cock as usual, I went over the amazing events of the day. Two things were certain now. First, I loved having a man suck my cock. Second, I couldn't wait for the chance to be the one to do the sucking. Mentally I began composing a message to scrawl on toilet walls around the town: