From My Side

I pushed my way in though the door, trying to look casual in case anyone at the urinals were glancing over at me, and saw him in front of me. He was so good looking, I couldn’t believe my luck. I’m not too bad myself, I must say – although guys usually prefer to call me ‘cute’ rather than ‘handsome’ – but this guy was really stunning.

He was about the same height as I am – about six foot – with beautiful smooth skin and sharp, light blue eyes. His pale complexion and light eyebrows proved that hair was naturally blond; I’d assumed it to be bleached when I’d seen him from above. His body was far more athletic and toned than I’d realised and his posture and manner, even in this situation which he was clearly uneasy with, suggested a self-confidence that added to his appeal.

I was thinking, “I’ve got to give him my number; got to meet up with him after this,” as I closed the door. Even though that would have broken all my self-imposed rules on cruising guys in toilets, this guy seemed rather special.

I stood in front of him, feeling suddenly nervous. I couldn’t understand why I felt nervous – me, who’d almost certainly cruised more guys in toilets than this guy had had girlfriends – yes, I felt nervous! And he just stood there in front of me, looking totally at ease with the situation.

I couldn’t think of anything to say; I was drying up again. But instead of risking making asking another stupid question, I decided to get things started.

I undid my belt and pulled down my fly.

He looked at me with slight surprise, like I was supposed to make small-talk or something. This was definitely his first time.

I pulled the tops of my black jeans down around my upper thighs and then did the same with my boxer-briefs. He couldn’t see my cock because my shirt front hung down over it, but his eyes were fixed on that spot between my legs, waiting to take a look at it. His expression was serious; this was make or break time for him. If my cock looked too intimidating to him – too different from his own, maybe – he’d be remembering an appointment or something in about five seconds.

I had to be careful; otherwise, I was going to lose him. I unbuttoned my shirt from the top down, deliberately concealing my cock for the time being. He glanced up at my chest, hairless and smooth, and seemed to like that. Some guys have suggested that I have a feminine body; others, who have a gentler way with words, have called it boyish. Whichever it was, I knew it wouldn’t be too threatening to this straight lad and so I revealed it to him before we got to the parts he might have more issues with.

When my unbuttoning had reached the bottom of my shirt and I’d exposed my cock, though, he didn’t seem too freaked out by what he saw. He just stared at it like he’d never seen one before.

I gently masturbated my dick in front of him and he watched it begin to get harder, apparently fascinated by its behaviour. His interest in it was arousing me far more than my hand was and within a few seconds it was getting close to full size.

He glanced up at me and I smiled at him, hoping to convince him that this was no big deal. He didn’t seem to need it, though: he looked totally relaxed with the situation and threw me a small, slightly mischievous, smile back. Then he turned back to the magazine and started playing with his cock in front of me.

I made no pretence to look at the magazine: I just stared blatantly at his cock as he ran his fingers gently along its stem and fondled his balls. Like me, he seemed to enjoy the attention and it began to gradually lengthen, the stem becoming less and less bendable in his fingers and the head developing the swollen mushroom shape that I’d noticed earlier.

I whispered, “You’ve got a big cock,” and he grinned broadly. He liked compliments, evidently.

Within about twenty seconds, it had grown back to full size: stiff, solid and eight inches. For a short time we just stood there in front of the magazine, both of us fully hard and both of us toying with our dicks. Neither of us were looking at the mag: our eyes were planted firmly on each other’s cocks and we weren’t afraid to hide it.

I loved the look of his: it was curving upwards, as stiff and as solid as a bone. The fat pink head of it throbbed to the rhythm of his pulse, engorged by the bulging veins which coursed up the length of its stem. I wondered again how it would feel to have it pushing its way into my arse; how good it would be to have the mushroom head deep inside me. My anus was tingling again, like it wanted me to turn around and engulf his cock with it; like it wanted feeding.

But I held back; didn’t suggest anything yet. I didn’t want to scare him off.

At the base of his cock was the short dense bush of his pubic hair. Too dark to be called blond, too light to be called brown. I’d never seen pubic hair that colour before, even on a blond guy.

I whispered, “Your pubes are cool,” and he smiled again.

He wrapped his fingers around the solid stem of his cock and started masturbating it properly. His strokes were quite fast and took in the entire length of his large cock. His fist followed the upward curve made by his erection, sweeping up and down in an arc. My own rhythm increased to follow his.

He glanced down at my cock and then back up to my face. He was smiling again, and directed his cock towards me, making more of a performance of his masturbatory technique. Like he was saying, “Look what I can do…!”

He didn’t need to say it, though. I was looking.

Somebody switched on the hand-drier and I decided to take the opportunity of the noise it made to suggest we develop things a little further. I wanted to taste that round-looking bell end of his; I wanted to feel it burying its way inside my bowels. It was time to make a move.

I said, trying to sound casual, “If you want I’ll suck you off while you look at your mag… if you want.”

He looked surprised; a lot more surprised than I’d expected him to given how much he was getting into us wanking together. He obviously hadn’t considered that we might go any further.

He muttered, “I’m not gay…”

That was promising. He was giving me a reason why he shouldn’t but hadn’t said ‘no’. He just wanted me to reassure him that he could have a guy suck him off without jeopardising his heterosexuality. I’d had my answer to that one planned since I’d been watching him over the partition.

I said, "I know. You'd be looking at pictures of women. You could imagine it's one of them on your dick."

He smiled and nodded. “Okay.” He hadn’t needed much convincing.

He put the magazine down on the toilet seat and turned back around to face me. I knelt in front of him like I was in awe of his cock. It curved upwards in front of my face, its puckered eye peering into mine. From this angle it looked vast: thick, hard and long; rearing upwards as if to intimidate me.

I wanted to tease him a bit. To show him that there was no need to rush.

I pulled his briefs back up, pulling the front of them over his balls, and then – with some difficulty – tucked his cock into them. It made a thick rod pointing diagonally towards his left hip. I pulled the waistband up at the sides and moved my fingers around the back to pull the seat of them up across his arse-cheeks.

He looked down at me, probably a little confused, but before he could say anything I pressed my face into the front of them.

I love to do this to a guy, to inhale the smell of his crotch cupped in the underwear he’s been wearing all day, and usually guys love having it done to them. This one seemed a little uncertain about it, though. At first he pulled back slightly, maybe wondering what I was going to do, but when he realised my intention he assented and let me explore the front of his briefs with my nose and tongue.