I went to Petticoat Lane’s public toilet this evening. I’d heard so much about it at http://www.thecruisingground.com — stories of group sex, fit lads, horny cums and transgression — that I felt today was the day I’d break my self-imposed ban on anonymous sex. At most, I told myself, I’d stand at one of the corners of the urinal and hungrily watch the action.
I searched for the toilets’ location on a map, then got off at Aldgate East tube; I wandered the cold, emptying streets until I finally came across Petticoat Lane market. There was hardly anyone around; the street was covered with leftover plastic bags; the empty structures of market stalls stood on the south corner of the street and a solitary van was gathering its merchandise. I found the toilets but they were closed, with some kind of red seal wrapped around the gates. I wonder if the place has been shut down for good after one-too-many complaints.
Every time I psyche myself for one of these adventures, I get nervous: my mouth goes dry, my cock disappears inside me and my heart feels like its about to give up.
The fool/full moon should be leaving me alone soon…