It was the sight of his swollen penis at the filthy urinal that inspired me to begin this private (and understandably secret) diary. Encounters such as this just seemed to happen to me, through little effort on my account I can assure you, and I decided to document these intimate adventures for my own pleasure, and perhaps the edification of future generations should these volumes ever come to light.
My name is Arthur Trent (or it is for the purposes of this private diary), and I am a happily married man, 42 years old and employed by one of England’s largest steam railway companies; the name of which I shall not divulge for obvious reasons. We have no children, as my wife is of a delicate constitution and very proper in matters relating to physical relations.
Infact, at the risk of being indiscreet, I should tell you that we maintain separate sleeping arrangements, something she insisted on when it became clear that I had no control over my tumescence in the early hours of the morning, which she found both disturbing and unpleasant. I have also come to be in charge of rinsing out my own undergarments and sleepwear as she finds my various bodily discharges (particularly my nocturnal emissions) most odious.
I, on the other hand, have always found the results of these early waking hours most enjoyable, and as she made it quite clear that self-pleasure in her company was also totally unacceptable, the only solution was to remove myself to the spare bedroom where I could relieve myself in a leisurely manner. As it happens, this arrangement came to suit both of us and I moved myself into what is now “my bedroom”, to both her and my relief!
Needless to say, these domestic privations did little to satisfy my baser urges for human physical contact, and my roving eye (active at the best of times) became positively indiscreet when I was out and about during the day. Which is how I came to be standing at a urinal in the late afternoon in one of the city’s industrial suburbs, having visited the company’s engine workshop in the area, gazing unexpectedly (and appreciatively) at this extravagantly aroused member.
Now I like to think of myself as a perfectly normal red-blooded gentleman with only a modest inclination towards “uranism” (as I have heard it called), apart that is from the occasional fumble in the showers after a game of rugby, or spot of bed sharing in my old college dorm days, or maybe even some odd gropings at my club after a boozy revel or stag party; but these are surely neither here nor there.
Anyway, this chap’s todger made an appearance shortly after I had started to relieve myself against the stained porcelain, the acrid stink of the piss-stained surface assailing my nostrils, and strangely stiffening my penis even as I was passing water. I was quite hard when I noticed the stranger take his position beside me and fumble with his fly, making quite a performance of dragging out his manhood, which a furtive glance showed to be as stiff as my own and definitely larger in both length and girth.
He wasted no time with civilities as he looked down at my tool and made a crass remark concerning its excited state, going so far as to reach across and grab hold of it, which I could scarce avoid without soiling both of us with my steady flow. I admit (although not without some shame) that I enjoyed the feel of his rough calloused palm around my shaft, and in lieu of making a scene and possibly attracting attention, I allowed him to retain hold of my upright root while I completed my toilet.
He then shocked me even more by allowing my water to flow over his fingers, raising them to his mouth and sucking them as if in receipt of some delicious treat. As you can imagine, I was understandably appalled by this behaviour but could do little about it as my erection grew unaccountably harder, as did his grip around it, and I simply had to continue urinating until my flow finally abated.
During this time I had a chance to get a closer look at my assailant, and he was not quite as rough and uncouth as I had first imagined. He was wearing the simple garments of a labourer, a tattered cloth cap pulled down over unkempt black curls, a stained vest hanging open and loose over a dirty shirt which had once been white but was now a dull sweat-stained grey. His trousers were of a coarse dark material and his boots of a thick black leather, massive and heavy, befitting a man who exuded such raw muscular physicality. It was hard to tell his age beneath the thick stubble that shadowed his face, but I guessed him to be anywhere between 25 and 35; maybe more, maybe less.
I don’t know how it happened, but I allowed him to take my hand once I had stopped pissing and transfer it to his own hard root, wrapping my fingers around it and sliding it back and forth in my firm grip. The stench of his sex was incredibly powerful as I pulled his fleshy foreskin back to reveal his swollen purple knob, and he gave a guttural moan as I fell in with his needs and grasped his warm shaft almost violently, my better nature subsumed by his overpowering sensuality, and my own pent up desires.
He still held my penis firmly in his hand and was pulling my slippery foreskin back and forth in a similar fashion, and with similar results. I dragged my eyes away from his thickly veined cock and looked up at his face, intrigued to see that a look of ecstasy had softened what I’d initially thought of as rough and threatening features. His eyes were partially closed and his lips, full and dark, were slightly parted revealing surprisingly white teeth, the tip of his tongue just visible as his breath came out in long soft sighs.
I really don’t understand what came over me (my darling wife would have been appalled!) but I suddenly had a feeling of immense affection for this hulking brute of a man, and I leant in and ever so gently touched my lips to his. I don’t know what I expected would happen (bloody murder possibly!) but he surprised me yet again by opening his eyes and looking straight into mine, his free hand travelling up my spine to rest on the back of my head and pull me into him, his tongue suddenly in my mouth, and mine in his.
The sordid, stinking underground toilet that we were standing in, the cracked and stained porcelain urinal that had recently received our piss, the open cubicles with their filthy appearance, all disappeared as we kissed for what seemed like forever. He tasted like beer and tobacco and sweat (and yes, my piss) and his flavour flowed from his mouth and through my veins like blood, making me burn with a sort of delirious madness. The rough stubble on his face caressed my cheeks and chin as he ran his calloused fingers through my hair and then held me in his arms, squeezing as if he would never let me go. At that moment I hoped he never would.
The powerful smell of his sex was in my nostrils, acrid and musky, and I knew by the throbbing of his member in my hand and the rapidity of his breathing that it would not be long before his climax arrived, breaking the spell that we were both under. You must believe me when I tell you that I had never even imagined taking a man’s cock into my mouth before, but at that moment I felt as if I had never craved anything so much in my entire life.
Breaking the seal of our lips I smiled at the faraway look in his dark eyes and slowly sank to my knees in front of him, strangely unconcerned about the muck and puddles of stale piss all around us. I was sure that I could invent a reasonable story to cover my soiled condition when I returned home, but such thoughts did not concern me at that moment as I stared in wonder at his beautiful todger, slick with his juice and throbbing with life.
He put a hand on my head as if to steady himself for a moment and then with the other he pointed his hard smelly shaft at my face, pulling his generous foreskin all the way forward so that its lips puckered as if asking to be kissed, which is precisely what I did. Breathing in its powerful stench my lips caressed the slippery folds, working my tongue inside the fleshy flower to massage his bulbous knob, which made him laugh and then moan as I found the taut cord beneath his piss hole, which I knew only too well from my own evenings of self-pleasure.
As if madness was following madness, I desperately wanted to see and hold his balls which I could feel, weighty and large, through the rough fabric of his trousers, but a scrap of remaining caution told me that we had already been lucky not to be disturbed and I left them where they were hidden. I continued fondling them through the material though, as my lips pushed back the folds of his foreskin and I took his shaft fully into my mouth, almost gagging with the unfamiliar pressure at the back of my throat. None of my gentlemanly fumblings had prepared me for this, but I quickly got the measure of it.
I could feel his manhood throbbing in my mouth as he told me that he wouldn’t be able to “hold on” for too long, an unnecessary warning as I could feel and taste the cream beginning to leak from his shaft. I may as well admit here that I was too far lost in my own pleasure to stop, the sordid nature of the surroundings and the danger of the encounter with a man about whom I knew nothing not enough to deter me from this reckless path; indeed, I ask myself now whether these things aroused me further?
Suddenly I heard him gasp as his entire body spasmed and he spurted into my mouth, his semen filling my cheeks before I had the sense to begin swallowing the rich load; you may think me ridiculous, but I was worried lest some of his spunk should land on my coat and stain it! I felt his hands grasp my shoulders to steady himself as his body buckled with the force of his release, and I intuitively grasped the base of his thrusting tool in an attempt to control his assault on my stretched mouth, all the time wishing for it to go on and on.
Now before this moment I had never tasted another man’s semen (although I had naturally sampled my own) and as my mouth filled with his release I was aware of a warm, loamy richness which I found surprisingly pleasant. His penis throbbed and jerked in my mouth as my tongue coaxed out the last of his delicious cream until finally, with a laugh, he pulled himself away, his todger unable to take any more of my intense ministrations.
I was breathing as heavily as he and realised that I too had ejaculated, all over the leg of his pants, which were none too clean to begin with. My face was mere inches away from his spent tool as he pulled his slippery foreskin over his sensitive knob once again, (no doubt to protect it from my insistent attentions!) and I stared as if hypnotised as a strand of semen swung from the puckered skin, not quite heavy enough to detach itself. I leaned in and gathered it up with my tongue, delighted and appalled at how completely I had given myself over to the sordid business.
He was breathing great lungfuls of the foetid air as he recovered from his orgasm, muttering that we had best finish up before someone else came in and caused trouble. I watched sadly as he manhandled his heavy tool back into his pants and buttoned up the fly, his sweet taste still in my mouth, his powerful smell in my nose. He helped me back onto my feet, giving my limp cock an affectionate tug before I too buttoned myself up and followed him out, at a respectable distance.
He was loitering on a bench on the other side of the street when I came into the cool sunshine of the late afternoon, the beginning of an autumn chill in the air. He’d taken a packet of cigarettes from his vest pocket and offered me one as I wandered over and sat modestly on the far end of the seat. I took it and he lit both as we sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the occasional pedestrian pass by, the street all but deserted at this hour.
He introduced himself as Edward, adding that most people called him Eddie, and I gave him my name in return, telling him that it had been a great pleasure to meet him, which made him chuckle slyly before returning the compliment. It was clear that we had both enjoyed the encounter, and I felt remarkably comfortable sitting there with him in the afterglow of our mutual satisfaction.
We must have stayed there for ten or fifteen minutes before he finally stretched his legs and stood up, pulling off his floppy cap and running a hand through his luxuriantly untidy black curls. He looked down at me and smiled in a way that lit up his face, wishing me a pleasant evening and hoping that we might meet again at some stage, just by chance perhaps? The bashful look he gave on saying this melted my heart and I stood up and told him that I hoped so too, putting my hand briefly on his arm as if to reassure him of my sincerity.
With that he doffed his cap again, and with a broad grin turned and went whistling off down the street. I watched his retreating figure until he ducked into a shabby looking pub on the corner, a quick glance back and a wave filling me with an almost irresistible urge to run after him.
Despite knowing that my darling Elisabeth would be waiting for me I decided to walk the few miles home rather than catch my normal trolley bus, hoping that the cool fresh air might clear my head and dissipate the smell of that filthy and magical urinal which still filled my nostrils.
Dinner was a somewhat strained affair that evening, my lovely wife being put out by the soiled state of my trousers, which I put down to having tripped in the muddy factory yard. She was even less impressed when I indicated that I would probably have to make more regular visits to that low neighbourhood, and she retired to bed early without so much as a goodnight kiss.
I must confess, dear diary, that I took myself off to bed too, but in a somewhat happier frame of mind, the taste of another kiss still on my lips.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
