Now I don't consider myself overly endowed, but I was still impressed with the ease with which his mouth engulfed my cock. I was transported as I felt the head graze his throat and his lips tighten around the base. It was if he was just trying me out for size, as then, gripping tightly all the time, he slid his mouth off. A moment's panic that wasn't going to continue abated when I felt his tongue run the length of my cock, back and forth, back and forth. Exquisite! His tongue lapped at the head, adding his own moisture to that which was already there. I watched as if mesmerised; as if this was happening to someone else. I saw my cock disappear into his mouth again; his pliant red lips sliding up and down; reaching the base and then sliding back to the head, but always keeping tight hold. It was the most amazing sensation; the wet warmth, his tongue swirling on the underside – now soft and now hard.
I closed my eyes, sliding my feet slightly further apart and stretched out my arms, pushing against the cool, smooth formica of the walls with my palms. I became aware of a flowery scent – cologne? Air freshener? And I could hear the rumble of the hand drier as if it were a long way off and a distant voice over the shop's PA system. I felt we were the centre of everything; waves of ecstasy radiating outwards from me. My orgasm was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. With my wife it was always somehow well defined, as if it had firm edges and a direction; but this time it was diffuse, blurred, waves of warmth and power spreading through my body and out into the world. I shuddered, as if my very core had been touched.
I spent the next three months desperately trying to recapture that moment. I kept returning to those same toilets in Debenhams, but I never saw that man again. I started venturing further afield, visiting the Gents in the shopping centres and on the outskirts of town. I went into pubs I'd never visited before, downing a swift half before using their facilities, hoping for an adventure. But I never found anything or anyone who looked as if they were doing anything other than pissing. But my searching was abruptly curtailed one day when my wife said;
'I know what's going on. I know what you're doing.' My heart leapt. I was just about to break down and confess. However, she continued tearfully;
'I know why you keep taking me shopping and out for a drink, being nice to me. And why you keep dashing off to the loo. It's your kidneys, isn't it? They're failing just like your poor brother's did.' She was crying unrestrainedly. I felt relief wash over me like the sweetest orgasm.
