My stories on Literotica share two things -- an appreciation for cocks, and the fact that they are fictional. The tale you're about to read is true, and it's going to explain how I began a lifelong fascination with the male sex organ. Time may have dimmed the recall of certain details but the broader story is all factual.
The crux of the story starts with me on my knees in a tawdry, if somewhat cliched, setting: A public bathroom in a college academic building.
I was still a virgin when I got to college in the late 1970s, just after I turned 18. It being the tail end of the "free love" era, it didn't take long for me to lose my cherry with a girl my freshman year. By my senior year, between a couple short-term girlfriends and college hookups in-between, I'd slept with about a dozen women (my crowning achievement -- or craziest, depending on how you look at it -- was juggling time among three girls living in the same dorm).
Still, I fantasized about cocks, often using those scenarios to help me cum while fucking a woman. I didn't think about dating a man, or even a level of intimacy such as kissing. My attraction was to the organ, in all forms, from soft and hanging waiting to be aroused, to rock hard and dripping precum. But I had no real plan for making it a reality.
The second semester of my senior year, I had a computer programming class that occurred one evening a week in a science hall. It was a Tuesday night in early February when preoccupying thoughts intersected with opportunity.
The class, a 2-hour block, was the only course scheduled in the hall in the evening. That night, I took a break midway through to go to the bathroom, which was at the other end of the building, at the end of a long hall on the second floor.
The bathroom was fairly big, like 4 or 5 stalls and a similar number of urinals and sinks. It was clean, but had a musty smell -- just a faint, general "old building" aroma. The bathroom was unoccupied, so I went down to the last stall and got myself seated. My eye drifted to words written on the base of the flat steel stanchion holding up the wall near my right foot: "Tap toe for blow," it read. Immediately I felt an electric surge from the base of my spine through my balls and an odd sort of lightheadedness.
I knew there was no one else in the bathroom, so nothing felt imminent or at stake. But a figurative door seemed to open. I scanned the rest of the stall and found, written in pencil on the back of the door, "Give time and date." I didn't have anything to write with, so I finished my business and went back to class. I was in a fog for the remaining hour, and when the class ended I waited for other students to clear out, then gathered my book bag and headed back down the hall towards the bathroom.
My intention was to write the date and time of my class the following week, but when I got near the stalls I saw a pair of sneakers in the far stall, the one I'd occupied earlier. I hesitated, started to turn toward the door, then stopped. I turned back toward the stalls and entered the second one from the wall. In a sense, there was no turning back for me.
Shaking hands unbuckled my belt. I slid my pants and underwear to my ankles and sat.
Not much time passed before the right sneaker in the far stall started slowly moving up and down. My left foot did the same, almost as if it had a mind of its own and didn't want to wait for my brain.
Next, some fingertips appeared under the stall wall and began to wiggle. I had no idea what that signaled so I naively took my left fingers and wiggled them against his. "No," came a forceful whisper. "Your cock -- give me your cock." It took me a few seconds to figure out the logistics, but then I was on my knees on the cool tile floor, legs splayed to the sides and my semi-hard cock under the metal dividing wall. As I knelt I suddenly felt a surge of anxiety about how I'd react if I heard the bathroom door creak open.
That fear disappeared the instant I felt a rush of warm, wet suction, the sounds of slurping and a large hand caressing my balls. I pressed my chest against the dividing wall and gasped. My 8 inches were rock hard within moments, and my head was swimming as this person gave me a steady, wet blowjob that was better than any I'd gotten from the girls I had sex with.
I said I'd remember this the best I can, but I cannot tell you how long I lasted. Typically, it takes awhile to get me off orally, but I can remember being surprised by how quickly this expert brought me to orgasm. And when I whispered hoarsely "I'm about to cum" he simply pushed his lips as far as our physical divider would allow and spasmed his throat to match the contractions from my balls. He was still milking my cock when I pulled back onto my haunches; my cock was dark crimson and glistening from his spit.
"That was fantastic," he whispered.
"Thank you," I said, realizing how awkward that sounded.
"How often are you here?" he asked. I was standing and buckling my pants by now. I told him the weekly class schedule, and he asked if I'd meet him again, same time, same place, on the following Tuesday.
By now, I had felt a tinge of shame; what had seemed exciting now seemed illicit and wrong. My mind said "no" to me, but my trembling voice said "Yes, I'll be here."
I wish I remembered the specific thoughts I had the next seven days, what images or fantasies or fears raced through my head. All I remember is that I was a mixture of anticipation, anxiety and arousal. I don't even remember if I thought about seeing, touching or sucking his cock. I know I fantasized about that throughout my youth, but the details of that week of preoccupation are lost to time.
I can say I was back in that classroom the following Tuesday evening, butterflies in my stomach and my mind racing past the in-class computer coding assignment I was supposed to be finishing. That two-hour block class was the longest and foggiest 120 minutes of my young life.
Again, I slowly gathered my belongings into my book bag as the other students filed out. When it was just me and the instructor, we said "Good night" to one another and I walked out of the room and on down the hallway to... I didn't know what.
Well, I did know that I'd be putting my hard cock under the bathroom stall wall; that for sure was going to happen. But once was an experiment, a whim, a simple chance impulsive encounter. Twice, after thinking about it all week? What was I becoming or, more to the point, what was I?
I entered the bathroom and headed toward the far wall; none of the stalls were occupied. Was he not coming? A mixture or relief and disappointment rushed through my head. Before going into a stall I noticed that a frosted-glass window on the far wall was cracked open. Even though it was February, the restroom was hot from the wall radiators and I assumed someone tilted the window open to moderate the temperature.
I peeked out the small opening; a light on the side of the building was casting a triangle of yellow light out over a sidewalk. It was snowing lightly, big drifting flakes. Then a figure glided out of the dark and into the light, tracking footprints in the snow toward the door of the building. It was a tall, broad-shoulder man with the hood of a sweatshirt pulled over his head; his hands were in the front pouch pocket.
