On Friday, I had two and a half hours to kill before I met friends for drinks in the evening. I left work at 5pm and decided to walk leisurely across London – stop here and there – until I reached them. I had the usual butterflies fluttering in my stomach whenever I thought of Liverpool Street station’s toilets just around the corner… everyone knows 5pm Friday is the best time to visit them.
So, as usual, I chickened out. Crossed the busy as hell station and left through the other side, back into London’s soggy night. Everyone was leaving their offices and walking against me. I still had that craving inside and couldn’t help looking at any good looking man with a little hope.
As I got closer to Old Street station, my nerves returned and I decided to pop inside its public toilets (these ones you don’t have to pay 30 pence, like in Liverpool Street Station.) Police were about but they weren’t interested in anyone going in and out of that side door.
Those toilets are a total throwback to some long-lost decade: a narrow corridor, low blue lights at the end, an absent cleaner. A urinal with no divisions and two cabins in the back. One young guy was standing to the left, an old man to the right. I took the middle position and the old guy left. The young guy stroked his cock and soon a guy joined us. He was tall with full white hair. I immediately got excited – took a peek at his face and could tell he was good looking too (late 40s, early 50s – just how I like them). He pulled out his cock, half-hard, thick, and stroked it. I stroked back but couldn’t get hard. Someone stood behind us, watching the action, wanting to join in.
I made a decision to get him outside and introduce myself. If he lived nearby, we could go there for an hour. I zipped up and he did the same. I went to the sinks and he followed, but our eye exchanges didn’t say much – my shyness toppled by his own. I left the toilets but he didn’t follow me. I stood outside, somewhat away so that it wasn’t obvious, pretending I was waiting for a friend to arrive. About five minutes later he came out. He walked past me and we looked at each other – now that I could see him full frontal, he was even more beautiful: slim and muscular like an athlete (he must have been professional in some sport once). A really nice tight ass. Fuck, I wanted so bad to be under him as he plowed my ass.
I followed him out of the station but he never looked back. His long legs took him away and I had to swallow my disappointment and keep on moving. At least I now know what’s going down there on Fridays… hopefully I’ll bump into him again.
Before reaching my friends, I did have time to swing by Oscar’s Cinema, just by King’s Cross. I walked past it and had a peek but didn’t investigate further. I hear it’s popular with older gentlemen. Maybe one day I’ll go in.