“You Win”
I entered the men’s room and noticed the long row of urinals along the far wall. There they waited, placed nicely on the wall a cool foot apart from each other, inviting men to uninhibitedly bare their wares in the presence of others of like mind. I love unguarded urinals; they help restore my belief that men can be “seen” by each other without being reduced to something like embarrassed pre-teen girls, pink-cheeked and somehow ashamed that they’ve been seen…or have dared to look themselves. You want to really excite me? Give me a trough to piss in. That’s where the real men go.
So yeah, I’m a bit of an exhibitionist, and I admit it. By the time I was halfway to the urinals, I already had my long flaccid dick in hand. I’m proud of my cock, it’s been very good to me. I’m longer than most men soft or hard, and I definitely know it. And yes, I get a perverse bit of pleasure from parading it in front of guys and noticing their various responses. Most men pretend not to notice, some stare outright and other go out of their way to seem oblivious. Whatever. Look all you like. I enjoy providing a quick show.
There was only one other guy in the room, an elderly man who looked in his late 60s or early 70s. He watched as I sauntered up to a urinal a space away, already unloaded and ready to piss. I caught his eye and gave the obligatory “hey” nod of the head.
While I relieved myself, I could feel his gaze on me. I turned my head to the right and looked at him. He was, indeed, looking right at me. When our eyes met, his slowly fell to land at my crotch. I gave my dick a conscious tug and let my own eyes wander.
He held in his hands a large piece of manmeat, easily six or seven inches long and fairly thick from the look of it. He wasn’t pissing anymore, just holding it there for me to view. When he allowed his foreskin to slide back over his large pink nob, I smiled. “You win,” I said.
“Pardon?” he replied. I noticed him turning toward me, opening up my view even further. He pulled the material of his polyester slacks tighter, allowing more of his penis to emerge. It looked like a small fleshy banana was dangling from his fly.
“Oh,” I answered, turning to expose myself more to him, as well. “I said, ‘You win.’ Y’know, looks like you’ve got a monster there.” I nodded, referring to his thick hose.
“Ah, well, you’re not so small down there, yourself,” he said. He tugged on his cock again.
I was starting to get hard, not a bad thing in and of itself, but an issue in public restrooms, because my erection is practically impossible to hide. At nine long inches and a six-point-five around, it makes an obvious bulge no matter how I try to conceal it. “True, but you’ve still got your skin, and I envy you that.”
There was an awkward moment of silence. Neither of us knew what to say or suggest next. A sudden sound from the men’s room entrance made us both jump and face the urinals head-on. Turned out to be someone just washing his hands. When the intruder left, the old man turned to me again. “Well…”
I cut him off. “Come here.” I shoved my stiffening cock back into my pants and headed toward the largest of the stalls. Built to accommodate chair-bound customers, it was also conveniently large enough for two (or more!) men. By the time I turned around, he was in the stall and locking its door. I pulled him to the farthest corner. “Mind if I take a closer look?”
He didn’t answer aloud, but nodded his head and lifted his hands in the air as if I were holding him at gunpoint. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I reached down to his fly, lowered his zipper and reached inside. “Ah, you’re a boxer man,” I whispered. I felt the warmth of his dick as I lifted it and eased it out. It felt heavy in my hands. “Wow…” I went fishing again and eventually freed his balls from their previous confines. His balls were large like a small bag of apricots and sparsely hairy, but also thick and heavy, like they were weighed down with some immutable, unutterable emotion.
I leaned back to better survey his wares, wrapped one hand around his sizeable dick and cupped his balls with my other. “These are beautiful,” I whispered. He smiled briefly in response. “My name’s Patrick,” I lied.
“William,” he replied. “Bill, to most.” Shit. He’s telling the truth; quite disarming!
“Well Bill,” I remarked, “you have one of the nicest sets I’ve ever seen…or held, for that matter. They’re so heavy, so dense. You must be absolutely huge when you’re hard…” It was an open-ended question, I knew that.
He took the bait. “Keep fiddlin’ around down there and we’ll see.”
That was enough invitation for me. I crouched and gently crammed as much of his large meat into my mouth as I could take. I placed my hands on his legs to help me balance and started sucking his dick, sliding it in and out of my mouth, allowing my saliva to help me do the job right.
Bill didn’t budge, didn’t do anything but stand there, his hands holding the cool metal railings bolted to the walls. Slowly, his cock stirred and lengthened. Within a few moments, he was fully hard, curving upward toward the ceiling and bending ever so slightly to the right. Like I said, I’m not small myself, but this guy – this unassuming old grandpa of a man – he was easily ten inches long and at least as thick around as I get on my horniest day. I simply couldn’t accommodate him much longer; my jaw ached.
“Like I said,” I uttered between long, drawn-out oral explorations of his marvelous cock, “’You win.’” I stood then, but kept an eager hand around his member.
Another noise stole our attention and we both froze, silent as possible. Someone was using one of the urinals. For a few heart-thundering moments Bill and I stood still as statues. A flush broke the silence and the tension and with the retreating footsteps, Bill exhaled loudly. “I suppose we should get out of here.”
I looked at him and weighed my options: watch him try to stuff that monster back in his pants and disappear or do my damnedest to take him one base further. “Bill, when was the last time you orgasmed?”
He looked at me quizzically, as if I were asking him a question he couldn’t answer. “Oh, I don’t know…” he started. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow. “Maybe four months or so. I’m recently widowed,” he whispered. “And I don’t play with it very often,” he added. I suddenly understood the heaviness of his package.
“Can I get you off?” I asked earnestly. “I’ll masturbate you. You can cum right into the toilet. What do you say?” Part of me was keenly interested in this little affair; I’d never had a sexual experience with a senior citizen before, but I was acutely aware of how deeply I wanted to see what kind of cum machine this large dick could be.
He thought it over a moment, regarding my hand around his stiff cock. “Sure.”
I turned him toward the toilet and stood behind him. I wrapped my arms around him, cupping his soft nuts with one hand and stroking his javelin with the other. I pressed my own bulge against his ass and noticed with satisfaction that he pressed back. Widowed, maybe, but certainly no stranger to man-sex.
Up and down, I thrummed his dick, sometimes massaging his nuts at the same time, sometimes using both hands to give him a good, full-cock plunge. He moaned very quietly, unwilling to be heard, but unable to stay silent. When I felt his nuts begin to draw upward, I pressed my own throbbing crotch into his ass even harder and whispered in his ear, “You ready?”
“Yes…” he whispered back.
I could hear his breath quicken. God, don’t let him have a heart attack, I thought. Then again, what a way to go! I was glad to be behind him so he couldn’t see me smile.
As he reached the tipping point, I brought my right arm up and clutched his chest, pulling him back against me firmly. With my left hand I assailed his cock, pumping it mercilessly. I would get water from his stones.
Abruptly, I felt his body tighten. He hunched forward, the power of his orgasm crunching his abs. “Ooooooh,” he moaned. I’m sure he was louder than he wanted to be, but I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t see how much semen was launching out of his formidable cock, but I could feel thick gobs of it cascade down his dick to find and moisturize my fingers.
His orgasm lasted longer than I expected, longer than mine usually do. I was a tiny bit jealous, actually, but quite pleased to be able to pleasure him so well and so thoroughly. The last thing I wanted to do was stop pumping prematurely, so I kept at it, increasing the pressure of my clutch as his cum had made things a bit slicker.
When his ecstatic convulsions had ceased entirely, I slowed my jerking and simply held him. With my one hand on his chest, I could feel his heartbeat strong and strident. We stood that way for several minutes, enjoying a curious kind of afterglow. I hadn’t expected to feel so intimate with him, but I did. Hell, I thought. I feel like I’ve just made love!
He broke the stillness by reaching down for some toilet paper. I unwrapped myself from around him and moved around to see the results of my work well done. The toilet was sprayed with cum from lid to bowl. Clumps of jizz coagulated in the water, some floating, some falling slowly down. I looked at him and smiled; there was a very large, very bright smile on his face, the perfect accompaniment to the twinkle in his large blue eyes.
Without asking for permission, I crouched again, and took his dick in my mouth. Mindful that he would probably be very sensitive still, I didn’t suck. I just let my tongue glide over his swiftly softening tool. His foreskin was sliding forward, the monster reverting to its tamer alter ego.
He stood still, allowing me to finish what I had begun, and after I had cleaned up his cock, gave me a very nice kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, Patrick,” he said. I could feel the sincerity of his thanks.
“You’re welcome, Bill,” I responded. “I really enjoyed that.”
“So did I,” he stated. “So did I.”
We cleaned up what cum we could, wiping it away with handfuls of cheap, white toilet paper. By the time we had finished, I too was limp. I was certain I’d beat off thinking about it later, but for now I felt oddly satisfied.
“Well…” Bill started.
“Want to do this again sometime?” I asked, cutting him off.
He smiled a knowing smile – what he knew, I’m not sure – and replied, “We’ll see. I certainly had a nice time.”
“How do I reach you?” I asked as we poked our heads out of the stall to be sure no one else was around. The room was still miraculously empty.
He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and took out a business card. “William Fletcher,” it read. “Investment Planner.” A number was clearly printed below his name.
I pocketed it and nodded.
As we left the restroom together, he clapped one very friendly hand on my shoulder. “Thanks again.”
“My pleasure,” I said. And I meant it.
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I entered the men’s room and noticed the long row of urinals along the far wall. There they waited, placed nicely on the wall a cool foot apart from each other, inviting men to uninhibitedly bare their wares in the presence of others of like mind. I love unguarded urinals; they help restore my belief that men can be “seen” by each other without being reduced to something like embarrassed pre-teen girls, pink-cheeked and somehow ashamed that they’ve been seen…or have dared to look themselves. You want to really excite me? Give me a trough to piss in. That’s where the real men go.
So yeah, I’m a bit of an exhibitionist, and I admit it. By the time I was halfway to the urinals, I already had my long flaccid dick in hand. I’m proud of my cock, it’s been very good to me. I’m longer than most men soft or hard, and I definitely know it. And yes, I get a perverse bit of pleasure from parading it in front of guys and noticing their various responses. Most men pretend not to notice, some stare outright and other go out of their way to seem oblivious. Whatever. Look all you like. I enjoy providing a quick show.
There was only one other guy in the room, an elderly man who looked in his late 60s or early 70s. He watched as I sauntered up to a urinal a space away, already unloaded and ready to piss. I caught his eye and gave the obligatory “hey” nod of the head.
While I relieved myself, I could feel his gaze on me. I turned my head to the right and looked at him. He was, indeed, looking right at me. When our eyes met, his slowly fell to land at my crotch. I gave my dick a conscious tug and let my own eyes wander.
He held in his hands a large piece of manmeat, easily six or seven inches long and fairly thick from the look of it. He wasn’t pissing anymore, just holding it there for me to view. When he allowed his foreskin to slide back over his large pink nob, I smiled. “You win,” I said.
“Pardon?” he replied. I noticed him turning toward me, opening up my view even further. He pulled the material of his polyester slacks tighter, allowing more of his penis to emerge. It looked like a small fleshy banana was dangling from his fly.
“Oh,” I answered, turning to expose myself more to him, as well. “I said, ‘You win.’ Y’know, looks like you’ve got a monster there.” I nodded, referring to his thick hose.
“Ah, well, you’re not so small down there, yourself,” he said. He tugged on his cock again.
I was starting to get hard, not a bad thing in and of itself, but an issue in public restrooms, because my erection is practically impossible to hide. At nine long inches and a six-point-five around, it makes an obvious bulge no matter how I try to conceal it. “True, but you’ve still got your skin, and I envy you that.”
There was an awkward moment of silence. Neither of us knew what to say or suggest next. A sudden sound from the men’s room entrance made us both jump and face the urinals head-on. Turned out to be someone just washing his hands. When the intruder left, the old man turned to me again. “Well…”
I cut him off. “Come here.” I shoved my stiffening cock back into my pants and headed toward the largest of the stalls. Built to accommodate chair-bound customers, it was also conveniently large enough for two (or more!) men. By the time I turned around, he was in the stall and locking its door. I pulled him to the farthest corner. “Mind if I take a closer look?”
He didn’t answer aloud, but nodded his head and lifted his hands in the air as if I were holding him at gunpoint. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I reached down to his fly, lowered his zipper and reached inside. “Ah, you’re a boxer man,” I whispered. I felt the warmth of his dick as I lifted it and eased it out. It felt heavy in my hands. “Wow…” I went fishing again and eventually freed his balls from their previous confines. His balls were large like a small bag of apricots and sparsely hairy, but also thick and heavy, like they were weighed down with some immutable, unutterable emotion.
I leaned back to better survey his wares, wrapped one hand around his sizeable dick and cupped his balls with my other. “These are beautiful,” I whispered. He smiled briefly in response. “My name’s Patrick,” I lied.
“William,” he replied. “Bill, to most.” Shit. He’s telling the truth; quite disarming!
“Well Bill,” I remarked, “you have one of the nicest sets I’ve ever seen…or held, for that matter. They’re so heavy, so dense. You must be absolutely huge when you’re hard…” It was an open-ended question, I knew that.
He took the bait. “Keep fiddlin’ around down there and we’ll see.”
That was enough invitation for me. I crouched and gently crammed as much of his large meat into my mouth as I could take. I placed my hands on his legs to help me balance and started sucking his dick, sliding it in and out of my mouth, allowing my saliva to help me do the job right.
Bill didn’t budge, didn’t do anything but stand there, his hands holding the cool metal railings bolted to the walls. Slowly, his cock stirred and lengthened. Within a few moments, he was fully hard, curving upward toward the ceiling and bending ever so slightly to the right. Like I said, I’m not small myself, but this guy – this unassuming old grandpa of a man – he was easily ten inches long and at least as thick around as I get on my horniest day. I simply couldn’t accommodate him much longer; my jaw ached.
“Like I said,” I uttered between long, drawn-out oral explorations of his marvelous cock, “’You win.’” I stood then, but kept an eager hand around his member.
Another noise stole our attention and we both froze, silent as possible. Someone was using one of the urinals. For a few heart-thundering moments Bill and I stood still as statues. A flush broke the silence and the tension and with the retreating footsteps, Bill exhaled loudly. “I suppose we should get out of here.”
I looked at him and weighed my options: watch him try to stuff that monster back in his pants and disappear or do my damnedest to take him one base further. “Bill, when was the last time you orgasmed?”
He looked at me quizzically, as if I were asking him a question he couldn’t answer. “Oh, I don’t know…” he started. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow. “Maybe four months or so. I’m recently widowed,” he whispered. “And I don’t play with it very often,” he added. I suddenly understood the heaviness of his package.
“Can I get you off?” I asked earnestly. “I’ll masturbate you. You can cum right into the toilet. What do you say?” Part of me was keenly interested in this little affair; I’d never had a sexual experience with a senior citizen before, but I was acutely aware of how deeply I wanted to see what kind of cum machine this large dick could be.
He thought it over a moment, regarding my hand around his stiff cock. “Sure.”
I turned him toward the toilet and stood behind him. I wrapped my arms around him, cupping his soft nuts with one hand and stroking his javelin with the other. I pressed my own bulge against his ass and noticed with satisfaction that he pressed back. Widowed, maybe, but certainly no stranger to man-sex.
Up and down, I thrummed his dick, sometimes massaging his nuts at the same time, sometimes using both hands to give him a good, full-cock plunge. He moaned very quietly, unwilling to be heard, but unable to stay silent. When I felt his nuts begin to draw upward, I pressed my own throbbing crotch into his ass even harder and whispered in his ear, “You ready?”
“Yes…” he whispered back.
I could hear his breath quicken. God, don’t let him have a heart attack, I thought. Then again, what a way to go! I was glad to be behind him so he couldn’t see me smile.
As he reached the tipping point, I brought my right arm up and clutched his chest, pulling him back against me firmly. With my left hand I assailed his cock, pumping it mercilessly. I would get water from his stones.
Abruptly, I felt his body tighten. He hunched forward, the power of his orgasm crunching his abs. “Ooooooh,” he moaned. I’m sure he was louder than he wanted to be, but I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t see how much semen was launching out of his formidable cock, but I could feel thick gobs of it cascade down his dick to find and moisturize my fingers.
His orgasm lasted longer than I expected, longer than mine usually do. I was a tiny bit jealous, actually, but quite pleased to be able to pleasure him so well and so thoroughly. The last thing I wanted to do was stop pumping prematurely, so I kept at it, increasing the pressure of my clutch as his cum had made things a bit slicker.
When his ecstatic convulsions had ceased entirely, I slowed my jerking and simply held him. With my one hand on his chest, I could feel his heartbeat strong and strident. We stood that way for several minutes, enjoying a curious kind of afterglow. I hadn’t expected to feel so intimate with him, but I did. Hell, I thought. I feel like I’ve just made love!
He broke the stillness by reaching down for some toilet paper. I unwrapped myself from around him and moved around to see the results of my work well done. The toilet was sprayed with cum from lid to bowl. Clumps of jizz coagulated in the water, some floating, some falling slowly down. I looked at him and smiled; there was a very large, very bright smile on his face, the perfect accompaniment to the twinkle in his large blue eyes.
Without asking for permission, I crouched again, and took his dick in my mouth. Mindful that he would probably be very sensitive still, I didn’t suck. I just let my tongue glide over his swiftly softening tool. His foreskin was sliding forward, the monster reverting to its tamer alter ego.
He stood still, allowing me to finish what I had begun, and after I had cleaned up his cock, gave me a very nice kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, Patrick,” he said. I could feel the sincerity of his thanks.
“You’re welcome, Bill,” I responded. “I really enjoyed that.”
“So did I,” he stated. “So did I.”
We cleaned up what cum we could, wiping it away with handfuls of cheap, white toilet paper. By the time we had finished, I too was limp. I was certain I’d beat off thinking about it later, but for now I felt oddly satisfied.
“Well…” Bill started.
“Want to do this again sometime?” I asked, cutting him off.
He smiled a knowing smile – what he knew, I’m not sure – and replied, “We’ll see. I certainly had a nice time.”
“How do I reach you?” I asked as we poked our heads out of the stall to be sure no one else was around. The room was still miraculously empty.
He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and took out a business card. “William Fletcher,” it read. “Investment Planner.” A number was clearly printed below his name.
I pocketed it and nodded.
As we left the restroom together, he clapped one very friendly hand on my shoulder. “Thanks again.”
“My pleasure,” I said. And I meant it.
