He was wearing black jeans and a black teeshirt. He was tall - about six foot two or three - and pretty thin. He tried to lock it but, like me, found the lock was broken. He came in and pushed the door behind him. My limp cock was still poking out from my fly, looking slightly ridiculous. He disappeared and, within a couple of seconds, he was pushing against the door of my cubicle. I was always up for something with reasonably good-looking guys.Īnd despite - or perhaps because - of his roughness, he was reasonably good-looking. I hadn't really been expecting anything but I nodded. I guess my limp dick had made him wonder as to my intentions. He glanced up at my face and whispered, "You up for somethin'?" The silver ring piercing his left eyebrow made him look rough.
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He had the face of guy who knew how to handle himself: confident and cunning. He was wearing a black woollen hat and looked a little older than me. I looked up but the guy didn't look at me immediately: he stared at my cock for maybe ten seconds or so. I only wanted a quick piss I'd just hold it closed.Īlmost as soon as I'd taken my cock out, a face appeared above me looking over the partition between our cubicles. The door wouldn't lock but that wasn't too much of an inconvenience. I walked over and into it, relieved to get away from the stares and the glances. I knew I was doing it but I couldn't stop myself. It was a habit I'd noticed I'd started doing whenever I felt slightly uncomfortable. Most of them looked over at me, like I shouldn't be there, and I was still young enough to blush. Just standing around at the urinals, or washing their hands, or looking like they were waiting for someone. An old guy in a brown jacket with grey hair. More oppressive than that was the small space of the toilet and the fact four men were already in there.Ī couple of middle-aged men in grey suits. The strong stench of urine hit me as soon as I walked through it. Just in case we needed extra reassurance as to which sex the toilet was for. The dark blue door was marked with a plastic male symbol onto which someone had drawn a set of cartoon genitals. 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. I think, by then, I was getting pretty comfortable about the fact I'm gay.
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It was early summer and I was back in Glasgow, back at home with my parents, from university.
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The first time I went in there I was twenty.
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Right at the back, hidden by the side of a kiosk full of rows of mobile phone covers, there's a men's toilet. There's this little market in Glasgow full of stalls selling cheap leather shoes, fake Reebok sportswear and bright yellow glittering jewellery.