He entered the public washroom his eyes momentarily blinded by the harsh fluorescent lights reflecting off the stark white tiles. Looking down at the still wet floor he smelt the sharp, sweet tang of disinfectant and silently thanked whoever had recently cleaned. He hated the smell of piss and shit usually associated with such places.
Looking across the row of cubicle doors he selected the last, his usual one, noticing that all the others were vacant. He entered, closed and locked the door behind him before scanning the walls. In spite of the overall cleanliness the side of the cubicle was covered in messages, some describing past encounters here, others leaving dates and times for future ones. He ignored the drawings of grotesquely large penises, spurting copious amounts of cum and drawn in a shaky hand, concentrating instead on the contacts. Somehow he could spot the flippant ones, the people never intending to keep their dates, and looked for the simple messages, date and time only. He noticed one and read it twice to be sure.
'3:00 p.m. August 10th.'
That was all it said, and all he needed. He glanced at his watch, almost 3:00, and sat down on the bowl still completely dressed, waiting. As he waited his mind drifted back to other occasions in other washrooms. Not all his visits proved productive, but most did. He knew the 'good' places. Places where, at the right time, action could almost always be relied on.
When he was on his many business trips he would seek his 'partners' at the urinal, anonymity was less important a hundred miles or more from home. On the last occasion that he had entered a public washroom he didn't know what to expect, it was a new town to him and he had not yet explored the possibilities of the area. His expectation rose when he saw three men standing 'pretending' to urinate but there was no tell tale sound of piss hitting porcelain, the usual giveaway.
He stood, a yard away, the required distance at this point, his cock out but still soft. He glanced across the line, each man looking down at his own cock, waiting for a gesture or movement that would indicate safety. The police were, in some towns, vigilant; in others they didn't seem to care what occurred within the four stark walls of the local convenience.
The pattern was as usual, a glance at the nearest man's cock, a look that took a little longer than just curiosity. Most men compared their own cock with the others at the urinals; the art was in letting that comparison become just a little more than that; an indication of interest. A stroke of the cock, pretending to squeeze a last drop of non-existent piss out, then watch. If his companions did the same, then two strokes; no erection yet . . . it became a game of who would make the first advance. Then three strokes and pause. The man furthest away took the initiative, he probably had least to loose. Openly wanking, the others watched as his cock grew, first to the horizontal then vertical, hard and big. No pretence now, four cocks being stroked in a line, all hard. A hand would slip out spanning the gap between two of them. If the man continued with his own stroking then the hand would be withdrawn to continue on his own cock, but if the recipients hand was removed then acceptance was assumed and the mutual wanking would start, usually with others joining in with their nearest partner.
Sometimes wanking each other was all that would occur, at other times a more adventurous coupling would arise, as it was then. One dropped to his knees in front of another to take a cock deep into his mouth, oblivious of the audience. The others, himself included watched, stroking quickly, trying to match their come with everyone else's. He knew enough not to be the last to ejaculate, if he was then he would be on his own the others having left, quickly. He felt a hand on his cock and looked towards his 'partner', as they watched the blow job they wanked each other slowly.
The standing man's hands moved to the back of the kneeling one's head as he drove his cock deeper into his mouth. He smiled at the others watching them, then swung his hips faster causing the other to gag slightly, not that either seemed to care. A grimace, a groan, then the obvious sign of ejaculation. The kneeling one turned to spit out the cum into the urinal, not everyone swallowed.
