Jackson messaged me again, and I feel worse this time for not responding.
I don't know what to say to him, and I can't face what happened. My wife knows something's up, because she keeps pressing me about it, which adds to the pressure.
I've been running, and drinking more, just trying to cope. But the worst part is lying to her.
Even though that morning I said I was okay, I fled. Having woken up with Jackson wrapped around me, was just next level too much.
Yes...the problem is that I enjoyed it far too much.
But then I returned home, slept, and woke up spooning my wife, and realised that's where I'm supposed to be.
And each day I wake up, and I wrap around her, I think about how Jackson held me when I woke up at his house and I have to work at pushing that far to the back of my mind because, it's just...wrong.
It's been weeks since I saw Jackson that morning and I left rather awkwardly. I put him on silent, so I don't get distracted through the days, but I always think about him in the mornings.
I still jog the park, but I blank the toilets. It's easy enough to just run past it, and pretend it isn't there.
I'm sure I saw that young fit guy from the shower that time, the cock worshipper, walk in one afternoon, but I couldn't do it.
Until this morning.
Early morning, on a Wednesday, which for some reason is busy, there's always someone around. It might have something to do with the graffiti in the middle stall which tells a story of a hot encounter on a Wednesday morning, and how the jogger would be there that following Wednesday. Perhaps others, like myself, made a mental note to turn up on Wednesdays in case.
I walked in and saw a guy at the urinal.
Right away I liked this guy, but I was still feeling a bit weird, so I entered with trepidation, in case I bumped into Jackson, who seemed to frequent this toilet often.
The guy had clearly been exercising, as he wore joggers, a tight singlet and cap with sunnies. While this made it hard to see what he looked like, I'd have guessed him at early twenties, really fit and Caucasian, a bit of messy blonde hair sticking out from under his cap and a tight, stubbled jawline.
He looked at me, kind of nodded in an odd way, but turned to the corner of the urinal, as though hiding something.
Having learned that people don't generally stand at urinals while watching guys walk in, unless they are wanting something more than a pee, I brazenly went to the urinal and took the opposite end and got my dick out.
Obviously, I urinated, but when I finished, I shook my dick a few times and side-watched this guy.
He didn't do anything, so I assumed he was overly nervous.
I'm not that much more experienced, so I gently played with my cock in my corner of the urinal, angling so that he could, if he really looked, see the tip of my slowly hardening cock.
He must have looked, because from the corner of my eye I saw him slowly angle himself towards me but when I carefully looked, I couldn't see his cock or his hand moving.
I started to get a little nervous, which I think was probably from this guy's noob energy.
When I looked behind, I could see the cubicles were empty.
It was still quite early in the morning, so I didn't expect too many guys to be around.
