The Market Toilets

There's this little market in Glasgow full of stalls selling cheap leather shoes, fake Reebok sportswear and bright yellow glittering jewellery. Right at the back, hidden by the side of a kiosk full of rows of mobile phone covers, there's a men's toilet.

The first time I went in there I was twenty. It was early summer and I was back in Glasgow, back at home with my parents, from university.

I think, by then, I was getting pretty comfortable about the fact I'm gay. The contrast between the few failed attempts I'd made to bring girls back to my university lodgings with some of the rather more successful nights I'd spent with other boys kind had of made that fact obvious.

***

The dark blue door was marked with a plastic male symbol onto which someone had drawn a set of cartoon genitals. Just in case we needed extra reassurance as to which sex the toilet was for.

The strong stench of urine hit me as soon as I walked through it.

More oppressive than that was the small space of the toilet and the fact four men were already in there.

A couple of middle-aged men in grey suits. An old guy in a brown jacket with grey hair. A youngish-looking bloke in a tracksuit.

Just standing around at the urinals, or washing their hands, or looking like they were waiting for someone.

Most of them looked over at me, like I shouldn't be there, and I was still young enough to blush.

I hitched my backpack up on my shoulder. It was a habit I'd noticed I'd started doing whenever I felt slightly uncomfortable. I knew I was doing it but I couldn't stop myself.

I saw that one of the cubicles was free.

I walked over and into it, relieved to get away from the stares and the glances.

The door wouldn't lock but that wasn't too much of an inconvenience. I only wanted a quick piss; I'd just hold it closed.

Almost as soon as I'd taken my cock out, a face appeared above me looking over the partition between our cubicles.

I looked up but the guy didn't look at me immediately: he stared at my cock for maybe ten seconds or so.

He was wearing a black woollen hat and looked a little older than me. He had the face of guy who knew how to handle himself: confident and cunning. The silver ring piercing his left eyebrow made him look rough.

He glanced up at my face and whispered, "You up for somethin'?"

I guess my limp dick had made him wonder as to my intentions.

I hadn't really been expecting anything but I nodded. I was always up for something with reasonably good-looking guys.

And despite - or perhaps because - of his roughness, he was reasonably good-looking.

He disappeared and, within a couple of seconds, he was pushing against the door of my cubicle.

I let him in.

My limp cock was still poking out from my fly, looking slightly ridiculous.

He came in and pushed the door behind him. He tried to lock it but, like me, found the lock was broken.

He was tall - about six foot two or three - and pretty thin. He was wearing black jeans and a black teeshirt. A faded tattoo of a dragon was on the swollen biceps of his right arm.

He said, immediately, "I like to fuck. You can fuck me if you wanna, but I've gotta fuck you too."

I put my backpack down.

Until he'd said that, I hadn't felt even vaguely aroused. I'd let him in more through curiosity than sexual attraction.

But I found his matter-of-fact tone and his straightforward approach to the prospect of us having sex unexpectedly arousing.

My cock stiffened a notch.

I said, "Okay."

He started unbuckling his belt.

I asked, "What's your name?"

He looked defensive. "Why?"

"I dunno... I'm interested."

"This is quick fuck in the john. Why d'you need my name?"

He stared at me coldly for a few seconds as if I'd proposed my hand in marriage.

Then he continued with his belt.

I unzipped my jeans and said, "I wanna fuck you first."

He nodded, disinterestedly. "Whatever."

His whole approach was really turning me on. He wanted to fuck me and, as long as he achieved that at some point, everything else was irrelevant.

My cock was now halfway to being hard.

I pulled down my jeans and hitched my white briefs down to follow them.

I asked, "Do you suck and stuff?"

He yanked down his jeans and then his paisley-patterned boxer shorts. "No."

No discussion; just no.

I pushed a little further. "Are you gay?"

He looked up at me, his eyes full of distrust. His irises were dark brown; the colour of coffee beans. He said, coldly, "Do you wanna do this or do you just wanna talk all fuckin' day?"

My cock was starting to arch upward. I noticed his was semi-hard between his white hairless legs; long and thin and with the dark red head of it slightly exposed. His balls hung down low like they were so heavy they'd stretched his scrotum.

I nodded. "Yeah. I wanna do this."

He nodded abruptly and pushed me to one side.

Then he bent over the toilet. His cheeks were pale and had a few light pink spots scattered around his hairy arse cleft.

He said, "Okay. Shove a rubber on. And don't take too long."

I reached down to the pocket of my jeans and pulled out my wallet. I always had a couple of condoms stuffed into the back of it. I pulled one out, tore it open, and tucked my wallet back into my pocket.

When I stood up I noticed one of the middle-aged suited men was looking over the partition at me.

The guy in front of me called out curtly, "Come on. I've gotta get somewhere. And I wanna fuck you too..."

So I pulled the condom over my cock as quickly as I could and stepped forward to push it between his round buttocks.

He stated, "Lower." His voice was commanding, without any pretence of affection or passion.

I took my cock in my hand and eased it downward inside his cleft. The hair inside made a course, rustling sound as my cock head slid through it. After half an inch I found a spot that was soft and yielding.

He gasped, "Yeah. That's it." Then, more authoritatively, "Not too fuckin' rough, though."

I pushed into him very slowly, all too aware from my nights with other students I'd picked up in clubs how painful anal sex could be.

But he said, impatiently, "Come on. Push it in. I've gotta get somewhere..."

So I pushed it in, all the way, feeling how soft and hot his insides were.

He gasped and then nodded. "Yeah, that's it. Now fuck me. But not too fuckin' rough."

And I started fucking him, watching my cock slide in between his white cheeks and then out with brown smear marks on the condom.

I looked up the guy looking over the partition, staring like he was entranced by what I was doing, and saw that his shoulder was vibrating as he masturbated himself.

The guy in front of me said, "You're gonna let me fuck you after this. There's no way you're gonna piss off, okay?"

I kept sliding my cock in and out of his arse, developing a moderate rhythm.

He'd been tricked on earlier occasions, evidently. Guys who would fuck him and then fuck off. Him hopping out of the cubicle calling after them with his jeans around his ankles.

I felt bad for him. I said, to reassure him, "I like getting fucked. It'll be cool..."

He looked over his shoulder at me, his body shaking as my cock drove in and out of his arse.

He made a half-smile. "Well hurry up then. Finish off and I'll fuck you 'til you shit yourself..."

Then he grinned.

And, despite my mild disgust, I found I had to smile back.