After a long winter, I'd perfected my sprint to the trains through the underground. Knit between office buildings, our subterranean shopping concourse had first provided a shelter from the snow and the cold, but as the weather improved I was still under the streets heading to my nightly commute at a fast clip. I couldn't say, give a tourist verbal directions, I just knew my way through instinct.
One particular Friday though, I found my regular path blocked with signs and construction hoarding. The detour wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have to piss like a racehorse. The diversion had blocked my usual pitstop and left me at odds for a place to pee. I could have held it for the train, but didn't want to risk a delay with my full bladder. So I back tracked and started down a smaller hallway scanning the signs for the little bathroom guy. I hadn't really been this way before, so everything was new to me. The relief I had seeing a bathroom sign, would only be second to stepping up to that urinal I figured. Turning into a skinnier hallway though, I found myself on a much longer path than welcome. I hurriedly walked past service entries, rear shop doors and fire exits- the underground was always a maze, and the long ass hallway must have been its spine. Finally I found the door, and pushed it open with a loud metallic groan.
Pushing past a second interior door, I was a little shocked at how busy this bathroom was. I'd ignored my imminent need for a moment to notice the four men who stood scattered around at different urinals, and the pair of feet under a stall. Having not seen anyone in the underground, amongst the closing stores and random commuters, it was weird to suddenly be amongst people in such a small space. I stepped up to a urinal, unzipped and unleashed, embarrassingly letting out a sigh as I emptied myself out. It was as I began to taper off that I surreptitiously shot a glance over to the guy two urinals over and noticed that not only wasn't he peeing, but he looked to be half hard.
Now, its not my thing to stare at other mens cocks. I've spent plenty of time in change rooms to know the etiquette- the mutual not-dick-looking thing we grew up with after getting over the childish whirly birds in swim class. So I figure something must have clicked in my brain as I pissed, to notice the out of the ordinary. I was a bit slow to register, looking at his cock, figuring "this guy's a pervert" to "Isn't he scared to be caught by these other guys?" to then realizing that I was the one caught amongst the perverts. I was the odd man out.
I was not only slow to register what I'd walked into, but slow to realize that I'd stopped peeing, and was now openly staring at this strangers cock. Sensing he had an audience, he began to move his hand over it, pulling back his foreskin to show me his cock head.
I couldn't immediately understand why, but I stood there watching as if it was my polite duty. This stranger had deigned to show me his cock, masturbating for me, and it would have been rude for me to look away... right?
Without even thinking, my hand started to move on its own, finding my own cock had thickened in the time spent watching the other man. I was scared, and excited and ridiculously turned on at the same time. I was subconsciously mirroring him, so when he stepped back from the porcelain, I too leaned onto my rear foot to give him a better look. We stood there, dicks out, a slow mutual jerk off show that lasted until the guy in the stall poked his head out to watch. The spell was suddenly broken, and my face flushed red hot.
I stuffed myself into my pants, muttering a barely coherent apology. My internal monologue was a singular scream as I dashed out the door and retraced my steps, eventually finding a path to my train. Oddly enough, the entire 45 minute commute to my house, my wife, my kids, the trip back to my life - it wasn't taken up by guilt and self-shaming, but rather fantasizing about what it would have ben like if I'd dropped to me knees on that tiled floor and...
* * * *
The weekend back in the suburbs was as normal as can be. Getting woken up by the kids, dividing up chores, doing errands- just normal life shit. It wasn't until after dinner when we put the kids to bed, and I headed to the garage that I had free time to think to myself.
I was fixing the vacuum, and had it up on my workbench when my mind began to drift back to the bathroom incident. I remembered the smell of bleach, piss and mustiness. I started to read the vacuum manual before I realized I had been rubbing the front of my sweat pants against the edge of the workbench. Looking down, I marvelled at the obscene bulge I'd created, and had a quick thought.
Eyes trained at the door to the house, I stepped out of my slippers and put my thumbs in the waistband of my sweats. In one quick motion, I pulled them down along with my briefs, my cock springing out into view. I stepped out of each leg and straightened up, hastily pulling my underwear out of the sweats. I tossed them onto the bench, then stepped back into my pants. I looked down at my more obvious bulge, and returned to rubbing it against the side of the bench. At that point, I found it too distracting to read the manual, so I tossed it onto the table and looked at my crumpled up briefs. Looking at the door once again, I picked up my underwear, balling it up and pressing to my nose. Is this what we smell like? I breathed deep and tried to ignore the scent of soap and laundry detergent, looking for something...dirtier.
I moved the fabric way from my face and looked down at the disassembled vacuum cleaner. I can't fix this I reasoned, grabbing my flannel jacket and a cap. I stepped to the car as I texted my wife "Going to the depot, need anything?"
* * * *
I sped off into the night, slipping over the highway and past our closest hardware big box. I wanted to go North, where the depot was attached to the mall. I drove the extra ten minutes while the radio played '80s rock and pulled into the emptying mall parking lot. My cock had softened from the garage, but without the confines of underwear, swung visually under the ties of my sweats as I stepped out from the car.
Conscious thought left my head while I instinctually scanned my surroundings. Were there lots of people around? Where was security? Was that bathroom too busy looking? Was that one not busy enough? I saw the big orange hardware store entrance in one direction, but a bathroom sign in the opposite, so I turned and tried to appear nonchalant.
One door, then another, I strode into the bathroom and casually looked around. There was one guy at the distant urinal, so I walked up to the other end, leaving a space between us, and pulled the front of my sweats down. I urgently tried to pee while using my peripheral vision to see if the other guy reacted. But just as I started to flow, the other guy zipped up and went off to wash his hands. I continued to piss as he left, and I started to feel a bit dejected. This was dumb, I thought, Its a Saturday night in the burbs after all. I'd heard the door open and shut as the other guy left and had just started to tap the last few dribbles of piss off my dick when I felt the presence of another.
