I didn't know what 'cottaging' was until I was about 20 and at that time, I was young , naive and looking for Mr Right rather than a good shag. Once I'd found Mr Right, almost 15 years later, I wanted to have my cake and eat it.
I don't know if it's peculiarly British (or English even) but some of the public toilets I've visited, just for a pee even, were in various states of disrepair or even almost derelict and not the sort of places, even for a piss lover like me, to want to hang out on a Sunday afternoon, with their smell of stale ammonia filling the air. I smoked, just to mask the smell. So much better, weather permitting, to hit a beach or cruising ground.
Nowadays, most of the cottages have closed, blamed on local government spending cuts, and those that remain open are made cottage proof with CCTV and entrance fees. And smoking in enclosed public spaces is illegal.
When we first moved to London Docklands, I was like a kid in a sweet shop. A choice on my doorstep both north and south of the Thames, linked by a foot tunnel. All the way down to Woolwich, again some respite and eye candy (or mouth candy) both sides of the river. And there was usually that much to choose from, I could afford to be choosy and choose the others who could afford to be too.
My favourite, which last had it's gate locked permanently shut when the houses were built on the adjacent car park for the old cinema, itself converted to modern apartments, was behind the bike shop. I'm surprised it had stayed open as long as it did, but for me it was handy, after a Saturday or Sunday afternoon swim, to check out the variety of talent. I met people who came from all over, sometimes spending their entire day exposing their hard ons to likeminded guys, in there or up at Blackheath Standard. Also sadly long since closed.
One day, I met Perry. As usual, I had been swimming just along the road, and was clean and chlorinated. Sometimes there was action in the showers, but this particular afternoon it was not to be. So I went to see what was happening behind the bike shop as I had a good hour and a half before they came at six o'clock and closed it.
I entered as usual, smoking a cigarette. There was an old guy at the end urinal in the far corner so I stayed nearer the other end, opposite the first cubicle. The old guy was playing with himself so I stared steadfastly at the wall ahead. I thought we were alone as all the other cubicle doors were open, however I hadn't checked and somebody shuffled to the door of the third along, either having finished peeing or having not peed at all. I glanced round and avoided all eye contact and encouragement with granddad.
Perry stood there and I took a drag on my cigarette, trying to be cool. He came and stood at the next urinal but one to me, unzipped his trousers and I tried to subtly see what he had in his hands. He likewise, tried to check mine out. I don't know if he was pleased with what he'd briefly seen, my erection, or was somewhat amused at the situation but a half smile crossed his lips.
He was taller than me, about six foot, slim to medium build, blue eyes and a round, clean shaven face with a parting and a swish of light brown hair. The smile was kind of cute and a little bit sexy, not dirty, just suggestive really. His clothes weren't ill fitting but neither were they flattering although immaculately clean and pressed. I liked what I saw. He did up his fly and went into the cubicle immediately behind me so I had to try and turn my head 180 degrees to see what he was up to, and he stood there and dropped his trousers, playing with the substantial bulge in his briefs. I had turn to look at him over my left shoulder so the old guy wouldn't get any ideas and was just about to cross and join him when I heard someone else coming in to the toilet block. I signalled to Perry and he turned round, pretending to be peeing albeit with his trousers round his ankles.
The guy that entered walked down the length of the stalls and urinals, the old guy must have thought it was his lucky day as this one was another looker too. He had denim jeans, a tight t shirt under an open hoodie, dark hair and piercing blue eyes and he was slim, about my height, 5'9. He didn't have stubble but perhaps a couple of days growth, if I had to guess I would say he was due to shave the next morning, Monday, back to the grind.
He came and stood next to me, clearly aware of the interest between Perry and I. And maybe fancied a piece of the action. He was very unsubtle about taking a look at my cock although it wasn't quite as hard as before as my heart was pounding from nerves. Some guys get a thrill out of law breaking but the thought of a criminal record and my name in the local paper has a deflating effect on my cock as I see my career disappear before me...
