My obsession with public toilets (cottages) continued, and I found the ones around town where I was most likely to find success. Barely a day would go by without me hanging around, hoping for, and usually getting, a mouthful of cum. I had no respect, if they were old enough, I'd chance my arm. It was surprising how many men succumbed to my come-ons, though quite a few told me to fuck off.
Whenever possible, I like to lure them into a stall, rather than a wank at the trough. Once inside, I could take my time, edging them to the brink. I found that some guys liked my finger in their bum. I had no idea, or care, if they were gay or straight, as long as they gave me their spunk. Some came in buckets, making it hard to swallow all of it. One day, I was sucking a guy, when he pulled out of my mouth and covered my face in his cream. It stung my eyes.
Weekends were the best. I moved from one cottage to another. On a good day, my load count would reach double figures. Each time I had a cock in my mouth, I'd toss myself, but not cum until the end of the day, then blow a huge load.
I started to write my own messages in the stalls, arranging meets, saying when I'd be there, and what I wanted. It increased the number of loads I received and meant less hanging around. I still didn't think of myself as gay, I simply liked cum.
