Today, 6pm: paid a visit to Liverpool Street Station’s toilets. Men coming and going; one of the urinals cordoned off. The other urinals busy with guys of all ages. I find a spot in the back, beside a short guy with an erection. About 5 inches, medium-thick. He keeps checking my cock while I piss.
Some of the men depart, a silver-haired businessman arrives. Yum. I love them mature, with big hands, legs spread apart, their fat cocks flopped out. But he’s only interested in pissing. He doesn’t care for my wet lips, my complete desire to take him into a cubicle and suck him dry. In fact, he seems a bit uncomfortable as he zips up and leaves. Disturbed by the gays?
Water my hands and look for a drier. All the ones that face the urinals are “out of use”. One of the cleaners, a young black man, stands by the others, checking the comings and goings at the urinals. This is obviously not a good time to cruise — too many straight guys.
I’ve heard Friday nights are best. Tomorrow, however, I finish work at lunch time. I’m planning a visit to Petticoat Lane’s cottage. If anybody cares to join me, I’ll be the young guy on his knees, licking cum.