If we met at the pub or a ballgame, I think you wouldn't think twice about me. Maybe a "seems like a nice chap" or "he really likes his sport" but nothing memorable, nothing of substance. A regular guy, with an ever diminishing hairline, not in bad shape but certainly not a gym rat, probably the quintessential definition of average.
My job is regular, I'm a tax accountant. My family is regular, including a once pretty wife sliding to indifference as she gracelessly reverts from perky and young to tired and middle-aged, and two regular kids, a boy in grade school currently infatuated with his new favorite activity (masturbation morning, noon, and night) and a girl in high school that makes masturbation a needless exercise for any boy willing to give her a second look.
I like first impressions; you know, boy is she smart or wow, I bet that guy is some lady-killer. Even first impressions of the sketchy variety leave one with a sense of permanence if not awe; he is such a fag or what a fat bitch.
Catching a sideways glimpse of my reflection in a department store window gives me some insight into the first impression I must make and it's rather bland and disappointing. The reflection is colorless and streaked with grime from the passing traffic; just a regular guy dressed in regular clothes on his way to his regular job.
Sometimes I revel in my anonymity. You might say I even thrive on it. Hell, to be perfectly honest I get off on it. I enjoy being the invisible man. There's only one time I want a guy to notice me and that's when I'm on my knees sucking his cock
But you're married you say. You're not gay, you have a wife and kids. All true, but the one bit of unregular in my drab day-to-day existence is my total and complete fascination with the human penis. I absolutely, positively, somewhat ashamedly but without compunction, adore the male genitalia.
Standing at a urinal is a very anonymous experience; men lined up in a row, pissing into porcelain plumbing or draining the lizard into big metal troughs. But being a bit of a pervert, I find the anonymous encounters of watching men, standing shoulder to shoulder, dick in hand, relieving themselves to be very erotic and really quite a fucking turn-on.
Lucky for me, the one area that I am anything but anonymous is in the crotch. I was born with a big, hefty hunk of man meat that would draw attention even in a crowd of well-hung horn dogs. My wife has long ago forgotten the magic of my titillating tool, but I still see the envy and excitement that my 8 inches of uncut cock can arouse in a gym locker room or a public toilet. Straight, bi, or gay, men are mesmerized by a big cock.
I know what those drooling, starry-eyed, closet fags are thinking when they see my big swinging dick, because I get the very same awe-inspired, weak-kneed, must have at all cost thoughts in my perverted little bald head when I spy a big piece of dangling man sausage. My mouth waters, my jaw pops, and my heart races as I imagine a fat, flaccid fuck-stick growing to full attention and getting planted ball deep down my eager and accommodating throat.
I love standing at a urinal, my cock in hand, slowly stroking my semi-rigid tool as other anonymous dicks file in and out of the public toilet. I watch and I wait, like a big game hunter in Africa, ready to pounce on the next trophy dick that emerges from the jungle, freed from the confines of a pair of wool trousers to casually relieve itself only to find that the ultimate relief is standing one urinal over.
Trolling for toilet trash with my sizeable bait provides numerous opportunities to set my hook in the eager mouths of a cross-culture of society. Unfortunately for them, I am not looking to bag a blowjob. No indeed, my bait in meant to entice a bigger fish to surface, one not looking to drop to its knees but rather to force a regular guy like me to his knees to service an anonymous master.
My office is in a large metropolitan city, across the street from a very posh hotel that does a booming convention business. The convention center is maze of conference rooms, ballrooms, and meeting rooms spread over three floors. To accommodate all the convention goers, several restrooms are dispersed throughout the facility. One of these toilets is my favorite hunting ground for bagging big dicks. The restroom has two doors and winds down a long hall, past the sinks and around a corner to the urinals. Behind the urinals are individual stalls with full floor to ceiling privacy. The toilet is on the third floor near some smaller meeting rooms and gets only sporadic traffic.
With the double entry doors and the long, obstructed-view walk to the urinals, there is plenty of time to "look natural" if a session of anonymous passion is rudely interrupted by someone actually needing to take a leak. I often cruise the conference center on my morning coffee break and again in the afternoon, trolling for horny, lonely, men traveling far from home and in need of a little sexual release. Whether the guy is getting some at home or not, being on the road always seems to peak the libido. Maybe it's the in-room porn, the late night drinking, or the collegiate atmosphere that permeates a convention, but these guys are usually hornier than my wife's toy poodle. I have hooked-up with my fair share of anonymous dick in that little den of perversion.
Lawyers and doctors are sure fire bets. If I see a medical convention or a bar association training session on the convention board, I know my hunt will be successful. And those fucking attorneys have the biggest goddamn dicks. I've always thought lawyers were big pricks, I just never knew they had the package to back it up.
Last week I headed to Starbucks for a morning caffeine fix and noticed that a state bar convention was taking place in the hotel. I made the rounds, noting that most of the classes and presentations were due to let out for break in 5 minutes. I staked out the middle urinal of my favorite restroom, unzipped my trousers freeing my semi-hard tool, and settled in for some casual stroking, hoping a few good men would meander through.
I didn't have long to wait. As I heard the first then second door swing open, I milked several drops of pre-cum from my now hard dick as I held my breath listening, to the heavy footsteps make their way down the marbled hall toward me. The walls above the urinals are mirrored and I stared straight ahead, watching the big fella next to me out of the corner of my eye as I heard him unzip his trousers and free his rod. Almost immediately, a heavy string of piss flowed into the porcelain bowl, my mind racing to imagine the big pipe that could release such a mighty flow.
Unable to resist the urge further, I turned my head slightly to face the reflection of his face in the mirror and was surprised to see him staring straight at me. He was maybe 6'2" with very dark skin, maybe Latino, slicked back black hair, wearing a very expensive suit and a colorful power tie. A slight smirk crossed his face and he nodded acknowledging me. I swallowed hard and smiled back before I let my eyes fall to his crotch. He had his hands on his hips and his thick, uncut cock was continuing to unload its heavy stream of piss. As I strained my neck to get a better view, he turned slightly toward me and without the aid of his hands, twitched his dick several times to let me know he knew I was watching.
Although I had stopped stroking my dick when he had taken the adjoining urinal, I was still rock hard. Without taking my eyes off his impressive tool, I turned toward this towering hunk of man and resumed jerking my engorged boner, exposing myself fully and hoping he was thinking the same thing I was.
In a deep baritone voice, he whispered condescendingly, "You see anything you like?" as he grabbed his big, fleshy rod and shook it violently. I watched in awe as the last drops of urine were shaken into the bowl.
"Yes sir," I croaked, barely able to clear the frog that had settled deep in my horny throat.
