A gay story: Cock Tales: Cum one cum… Nine!
It was early August, 1982, and I was at a party. It must have been a fancy dress party, because I was chatting to a friend who was dressed as Indiana Jones. We were not chatting about the lost ark of the covenant, though, because he mentioned “Cottaging”. I had never heard of cottaging before and asked him what it was. He explained it was a term used to describe homosexual encounters in a public convenience.
“What’s so funny?” my friend asked.
“No, it’s just something I was told when I was a teen… ”
I recalled to him a discussion I had had with a school chum during which he had explained that “Queers like to do “it” in public conveniences”.
“Well, he was right,” my friend said.
My friend was an older man. He went on to describe, in unabashedly nostalgic terms, coming of age before 1967 (the year in which the UK government decriminalised homosexuality) where one of the few places men “like me” could meet was a public convenience. “Knowing the rozzers could turn up at any moment,” he added jocularly, “added a certain frisson to proceedings.” He concluded by telling me that there were still a few conveniences around where men met – and gave me the location of one beside a lay-by on an old B road just outside the city.
Over the next few days, I thought about our conversation a lot. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to be intimate with another man knowing you were risking arrest – even imprisonment. I am by nature a promiscuous person. After losing my oral and anal virginity at university there followed a period of sexual activity that would have caused blushes among the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah. I wondered how I would have coped if every time I sucked a dick, or every time I was bum-fucked, a boy in blue might interrupt proceedings with “‘Allo, ‘allo, ‘allo. What’s going on here then?”
A few days later, a Thursday, mid-afternoon, I drove past the lay-by. It was about a hundred yards long and the convenience was a third of the way along. A squat red brick building with a flat concrete roof. I didn’t think it would feature in any architectural magazine. I turned the car around, drove back, turned into the lay-by, and parked near the end. Then I wandered back toward the convenience.
The interior was surprisingly clean. Pale yellow tiles on the floor, pale green on the walls. Having used one of the three urinals, I washed my hands at one of the three wash basins. Then I turned my attention to the three cubicles. Opening the door to the middle one, my eyes were drawn immediately to the hole in the wall that separated the middle cubicle from the cubicle on the right. It was about waist high and about four inches in diameter. I knew what it was, of course – a gloryhole. It was the first time I had seen one.
At that time, I had a sexual fantasy involving a gloryhole – based on a story a university chum had recounted to me of a trip to the USA, during which he had spent an evening doing his bit for UK/USA relations in an adult bookstore. Listening to him tell of one cock after another appearing through a hole in the wall had given me a boner that a diamond-tipped drill wouldn’t have been able to scratch. “I was in cock sucker’s heaven,” my university chum said, dreamily.
It was at that moment that I heard a car pull up outside. I entered the cubicle on the right and locked the door. Presently, someone came into the convenience. My heart started to race. After a minute or so, I heard a tap running. Then I heard a couple of paper towels being pulled from the dispenser. Then the man walked out.
And that was the highlight of the afternoon. I waited another ten or fifteen minutes, then went home.
That evening, I called my friend, and told him how I had spent the afternoon. He thought it was hilarious. “You went there mid-afternoon on a Thursday?”
“So when is the best time?” I asked.
“Friday night, Saturday night,” he said. “If you can, though, Sunday mornings – early.”
As it happened, I couldn’t go Friday or Saturday night so Sunday morning it was. I arrived at the lay-by at about a quarter to nine. The sky was blue, the sun was shining. (Although I would argue that all weather is good cock-sucking weather). There was one car parked near the convenience. As I drove past, I saw the driver sitting behind the steering wheel. I parked further along the lay-by, turned off the engine, and watched the other car in my rearview mirror. Nothing happened, so I got out of my car, and strolled towards the convenience – not looking at the other man as I passed him. As I reached the convenience, the other man got out of his car.
I was sitting on the toilet seat in the last cubicle when I heard the door to the convenience open. There was a moment’s silence – then someone entered the next cubicle. I held my breath… and tentatively placed a finger on the lower edge of the hole. My friend had advised me that this was the way a fellow indicated his presence and his interest in sucking a cock. A few seconds later a cock came through the hole.
You have to remember that this was more than forty years ago, so I do not remember what the cock looked like. What I do remember, though, was the thrill of it appearing through the hole. A disembodied willy protruding into the space I was occupying. Reaching out, I took it in my hand, and caressed it for a while until it was a little harder. Then I knelt down and guided it into my mouth. It was the first time I had sucked a cock without being able to see the man to whom the cock belonged. I admit, I found it a little strange at first. After a while, though, I heard a low moan from the next cubicle, and that was all I needed to really warm to my task. Maybe five minutes later, his cock disgorged an impressive amount of thick hot spunk into my mouth, which I swallowed with a relish that actually surprised me. As I guided a dribble of spunk on my chin back between my lips, the man in the next cubicle took his leave.
I sat on the toilet seat again and used some toilet paper to wipe my mouth and chin. I was about to pull the flush when someone else entered the next cubicle. I bent forward to peep through the hole. I saw a trouser leg. Then he turned towards the hole and I could see his cock protruding from his trousers. I placed my finger on the lower edge of the hole, and was delighted to see the cock come through. I seem to recall that this one was quite short, so only a few inches of it on my side of the wall. I didn’t care. I gave it an enthusiastic suck and received a second helping of spunk.
I didn’t have time to get off my knees before someone else entered the next cubicle. Peeping through the hole, I watched the man push his trousers and underpants down past his knees. Then he pushed his dick through the hole without waiting for my invitation. A little while later, I was savouring my third load of the morning.
Then it went quiet. I poked my head out of the stall. The convenience was empty. I looked at my reflection in the big mirror above the wash basins. “You dirty, dirty boy,” I told myself. I looked like the cat that had got the cream – literally. I washed my mouth and chin at one of the wash basins then walked outside. It was just nine, twenty. I had sucked three cocks and swallowed three mouthfuls of cum in thirty-five minutes. A personal best! The only problem with sucking three cocks, though, is that you crave a fourth. My car was at the far end of the lay-by. Much too far to walk. I looked around and noticed a gap in the bushes beside the convenience. I pushed through the gap and found myself in a small clearing, surrounded by trees and more bushes. To my delight there were about a half dozen used condoms scattered on the ground. Three or four more adorned the bushes. I had entered the clearing thinking it would provide the ideal spot from which I could observe other men approaching the convenience. However, it appeared that I had stumbled upon a cruising site.