Today, I returned to the Petticoat Lane toilets and had the shock of my life: the place was open and, inside, an orgy was taking place.
I didn’t think the place was going to be open. It was past 6 o’clock and a cold drizzle fell on the streets; people were rushing home and stores were closing down. But, as I approached the toilets, I saw a business type go in. My heart skipped a beat and I crossed the street, knowing that I had to go down into the grotto and check out the place.
The steps were covered with water and trash; even the walls seemed wet. The first thing I noticed as I went in was the cleaner’s room — which was closed and empty — then the sinks to my right, the urinals to my left, and the cubicles beyond them. The urinals are strategic: two rows that face each other, so that men on the row by the cubicles face the entrance and can see who comes in.
Seven guys behind the urinals stared at me, while another one, by the urinals closer to the entrance, turned to check me out. As soon as they realized I was there for the same reason as them, they relaxed and went back to what they were doing: two of them had their trousers pulled down and were sucking each other while the rest stood around in a circle, jerking off. Two more guys arrived – a slim skinhead type and an older businessman. I pulled out my cock but, as always in these situations, I couldn’t get a hard on as much as I tried (damn my nerves.)
Whenever we heard steps, we returned to our positions by the urinals and pretended nothing was going on. The place smelled of piss and mold, as if it were an abandoned toilet. One of the guys having his cock sucked sniffed a tiny popper bottle (which got passed around). I could hear the wet sucking done on his cock; after a while, he switched places with his partner.
Nobody was particularly attractive, apart from the skinhead who arrived after me (and who stood apart, with an air of disinterest.) The other guys ranged from short and pudgy city workers to older men. After a few more minutes of this, my nerves still raw, I left. As I walked back to the station, I knew that I would have gone into one of those cubicles if an older alpha-male type had walked in. I would have gone down on my knees and begged him to fuck my face. Visiting those toilets was like catching a glimpse of what life must have been like in San Francisco, in the 70s.
I think there’s a full moon tonight. Before going to the toilets, in the tube, I spotted a young polish guy who I’d seen a few days before in the train. At the time, I caught him looking at me. His chiseled face and cropped blonde hair gave him a very romantic face. He was about a feet shorter than me, but strong as a gymnast. He looked like one of the many poles in London working in construction sites. Tonight, he must have been heading home when I spotted him. This time, I stood closer to him, amazed by how beautiful he was. Again, I caught him looking back at me, showing interest (or was it my imagination?) I pretended to be interested in my book and didn’t pursue it. But something dark must have stirred inside of me because, when the train reached Aldgate East station, I got out and rushed to Petticoat Lane.