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.
