Men's Room

A pair of swinging, wood doors with dingy, translucent glass opened into the men's room of the recently-restored, historic building. Roger was careful to push he door on the right open, lest he smash into someone coming out the other door. He found himself in a large vestibule with another pair of wood and glass doors opening into the privacy of the huge men's room itself. Once inside, he beheld gray and white marble floors and walls, marble stalls with wooden doors, big, generous mirrors, high ceilings.

They don't make men's rooms like this anymore

, he thought. He loved this place. The room was empty, and his body seemed to relax in the quiet and spaciousness of this room apart. It allowed him to daydream a little, to escape from the wealthy, busy misery of his life.

Now this is a men's room for men

, he thought. Big and generous, built for the comfort and the pleasure of men, not like today's ugly, utilitarian "facilities," built for their "cost-effectiveness." And the urinals! These were man-sized urinals, lined up against a marble wall in the middle of the room, one right next to the other, extending from waist to chest, no space or barriers between them. Roger half expected to see shoeshine boys and immaculately-dressed washroom attendants with towels. He could imagine dozens of men coming and going, pissing and laughing, talking and smoking cigars. None of them in a hurry. A rest room for men to rest in, not an indoor latrine.

He stepped up to one of the urinals, dropped his briefcase to the floor and pulled down the zipper of his suit. He pulled his dick out and held it in his right hand. He leaned his left forearm against the marble wall, bent his head forward a little, his eyes closed, and spit in the urinal. It felt good just to be here. Then he remembered home and work and office. He slammed a fist against the wall.

It hurt just enough that he pulled his head back and opened his eyes. He became aware of another man standing a few urinals away. He didn't remember hearing anyone else enter, but he knew he had been deeply absorbed in his own thoughts. He glanced sideways quickly and then he realized he hadn't pissed a drop. Embarrassed, he concentrated his efforts. A few drops had just barely begun to splash against the porcelain when for some reason he looked sideways again to see his fellow-urinator.

He was a workman of some type, in a khaki uniform streaked with dirt and grease here and there. Far from young, he was getting a bit of a belly, though he was not fat yet. He was unshaven and hair stuck out from under his cap. Roger could just barely tell that there was the name of some company stitched into the fabric over the left pocket of his shirt. The man was just standing there facing a urinal with his dick out. It was short, thick, and uncircumcised. He wasn't pissing, but he was gently running his fingers up and down the shaft.

The turned and, still handling his dick, said, "'Bout the only time I get to myself any more Nobody gonna interrupt a man takin' a leak." He smiled, his voice deep but not harsh.

Roger was not given to masturbation, at least since he had been married, but something about the other man made it seem okay, even desirable. Roger bent his head slightly and took his dick in his fist. He hadn't done this in so long, except in preparation for fucking his wife, that he couldn't remember the last time he got himself hard all by himself. It felt good, and his dick responded quickly. He glanced sideways again and saw the man had stroked his dick almost to full erection. Roger did likewise and felt a rush of freedom.

He was startled when the door to the men's room was slammed open with a bang. Roger turned toward the door and saw a man wearing an impeccable suit striding quickly toward a urinal near him He huddled closer to his urinal so that his nearly erect dick wouldn't be easily visible.

"Roger, isn't it?" the man said as he briskly unzipped his fly with one hand, the other holding a brief case.

"Yeah, uh, uh, Mark! How are you?" He recognized him from somewhere, but he had no idea where.

"Great!" Mark said. One hand pulled his dick out with the same brisk efficiency he used to unzip. Piss immediately streamed out of his dick and splashed loudly against the porcelain, Roger, embarrassed, shoved his dick back in his pants as if he had finished and walked toward a sink. Mark flushed the urinal smartly, zipped up his pants, and strode out as mightily as he had entered.

Roger turned a spigot on and threw cold water in his face, feeling confused and now deeply humiliated for trying to masturbate in a men's room urinal. When he looked up into the mirror, he saw the workman in his company uniform behind and to his side. Their eyes met.

"You ain't done yet, man. I ain't either," he said in a husky, almost desperate voice.

Roger turned around. The man was standing there with his thick cock hanging out of his khaki workpants, some black hairs around the edges. The man turned to go back to the urinals. Roger, confused and mesmerized, followed. They stood next to each other. They pulled their dicks out and worked on them. The man groaned a little as his dick achieved its full size.

"It's been two days since I cum," the man said.

Each watched the other jacking his own dick.

The two men continued jacking their dicks and watching each other. Roger didn't think he could cum. There. In a men's room. Like some pansy.

The man started panting and sweating, and his face turned red, as he beat his meat harder and harder. Roger followed suit. Their hands made slapping noises as they started really going at it. Even Roger moaned a little as he and the other man held each other's eyes. The man turned toward the urinal, and his breath made sharp sounds of taking air in rapidly. He stood up slightly on his toes and steadied himself with one hand on the wall, when his body shuddered as he shot off into the porcelain urinal. Roger had not watched a man ejaculate since high school. He was wide-eyed with wonder, fascinated by the machine gun-like firing of the dick and the retort of the man's body. Now, he turned to face his urinal and imagined his body as a giant machine gun.

And he shot off.

His body quivered with the rapid firing of his dick into the urinal. He squealed with delight at the sensation it created in his body. Bloodheat suffused him now, and his mind seemed to have been launched on some incredible journey through space. He was no longer aware that he was in a public place, and he no longer felt any control over his body. He was in the middle of nowhere for a brief span, suspended above the earth, looking down on high, snowcapped mountains, where no one could be seen for miles. As he began to return to earth, he looked again, but the other man was gone. Roger had not realized he had left. He was alone now in the cavernous, marble men's room, and it was perfectly quiet, except for the beating of his heart.