Toilets
Toilets are weird half public/half private spaces. All sorts of stuff goes on in them. They are devious entrances and exits from venues, places to have sex, to snort drugs or even, get this, to defecate. Tell us your favourite toilet stories.
( , Fri 2 Sep 2005, 11:11)
Toilets are weird half public/half private spaces. All sorts of stuff goes on in them. They are devious entrances and exits from venues, places to have sex, to snort drugs or even, get this, to defecate. Tell us your favourite toilet stories.
( , Fri 2 Sep 2005, 11:11)
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About 2 years ago
During the particularly sticky summer, my then girlfriend and I decided to head off down to the seaside after work one evening, grab some fish & chips, and just enjoy the cool sea air. We ended up heading to Seaford, a town duller than a sack of spuds, but I knew by merit of the fact my grandparents used to live there that it had a good Fish & Chip restaurant.
As we trundled into town, it became apparent that it wasn't going to be a great night to sit and eat on the shingle beach; it was still very humid, and it wasn't helped by the fact that a dense sea mist had rolled in, and it wasn't possible to see more than a few feet. Undeterred, we got food, and headed down to the Martello Tower on the seafront, and ate. After the greasy feast, I headed off to public toilet by the tower primarily to wash my hands.
As I walked into the bog, I was aware that someone had followed me, but paid no attention, and set about having a nice relaxing slash.
I could see in my peripheral vision, he was standing about 6 feet to my right at the urinal as well, but I was rather concerned by the distinct lack of any splashing noises coming from his direction. Strict urinal etiquette meant I could not turn my head, even slightly, to see what was going on, even though I knew my worst fears would probably be confirmed. I finished up, zipped, and walked to the sink to wash up, not even giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging he was there.
I had no choice but to walk past him on the way out, however. And yes, he was standing there facing me, trying to manipulate and cajoule his nob into a frankly unimpressive semi-erection. I just sighed, rolled my eyes and walked past him out into the misty evening.
In retrospect, I guess I should have realised that this rather isolated shithouse would in fact be the local bumsex hangout, but I hadn't, and this alone kept my girlfriend entertained for the rest of the night.
So if you're in Seaford, and in need of cock, the bogs by the Martello Tower on the seafront may well be up your street.
( , Fri 2 Sep 2005, 13:06, Reply)
During the particularly sticky summer, my then girlfriend and I decided to head off down to the seaside after work one evening, grab some fish & chips, and just enjoy the cool sea air. We ended up heading to Seaford, a town duller than a sack of spuds, but I knew by merit of the fact my grandparents used to live there that it had a good Fish & Chip restaurant.
As we trundled into town, it became apparent that it wasn't going to be a great night to sit and eat on the shingle beach; it was still very humid, and it wasn't helped by the fact that a dense sea mist had rolled in, and it wasn't possible to see more than a few feet. Undeterred, we got food, and headed down to the Martello Tower on the seafront, and ate. After the greasy feast, I headed off to public toilet by the tower primarily to wash my hands.
As I walked into the bog, I was aware that someone had followed me, but paid no attention, and set about having a nice relaxing slash.
I could see in my peripheral vision, he was standing about 6 feet to my right at the urinal as well, but I was rather concerned by the distinct lack of any splashing noises coming from his direction. Strict urinal etiquette meant I could not turn my head, even slightly, to see what was going on, even though I knew my worst fears would probably be confirmed. I finished up, zipped, and walked to the sink to wash up, not even giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging he was there.
I had no choice but to walk past him on the way out, however. And yes, he was standing there facing me, trying to manipulate and cajoule his nob into a frankly unimpressive semi-erection. I just sighed, rolled my eyes and walked past him out into the misty evening.
In retrospect, I guess I should have realised that this rather isolated shithouse would in fact be the local bumsex hangout, but I hadn't, and this alone kept my girlfriend entertained for the rest of the night.
So if you're in Seaford, and in need of cock, the bogs by the Martello Tower on the seafront may well be up your street.
( , Fri 2 Sep 2005, 13:06, Reply)
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