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)
« Go Back
Brighton's best
A few years ago, I had to go to Brighton for a meeting. I parked in the railway station car park (as the meeting was only a few mins from the station). It was a cold winter morning and I was busting for a golden splosh.. so I found the toilet entrance and made my way down the stairs into this subterranean pit that was poorly lit, stank like.. well a fucking dreadful public toilet and was just all too quiet. The urinal was some distance off on the wall at the far end of khazi. As I made my way to the dimly lit porcelain wall I noted one other user, stood at the left end and judging by his motion just finishing and shaking the drips off.. so I took station at the other end and vented my swollen bladder. Resisiting that odd male occupation of taking a quick peep.. I just used my peripheral vision to take stock and realised the guy was still there… shaking off the drips. Well I put two and two together.. Brighton.. toilets.. murky.. uh oh.. he’s engaging in the delights of Onan. Now as it was just me and him in there I decided to finish up prematurely and got out of there on the hurry up, in case he decide some company in his solitary action would be better.
OK.. meeting goes ahead, many coffees enjoyed.. and it’s time to go. On the stroll up to the station.. the cold winter sea breeze hits me and I realize I need another piss. So I scurry down the forbidden steps into the toilet and stop short. There, in the left corner of the urinal is the same guy.. and by the looks of it still in action. I had been in the meeting for one and a half hours.. so that guy must have been treading water for at least an hour and forty five!!! That is true dedication. It must have been a labour of love by then. Luckily I am in control of my senses other wise I would have shaken him by the hand.. the spare non-wanking one that is..
I decided it was best to beat a retreat and relieve myself in the car in an empty bottle and add it to the Motorway Lemonade bottles along the M27.
( , Tue 6 Sep 2005, 14:47, Reply)
A few years ago, I had to go to Brighton for a meeting. I parked in the railway station car park (as the meeting was only a few mins from the station). It was a cold winter morning and I was busting for a golden splosh.. so I found the toilet entrance and made my way down the stairs into this subterranean pit that was poorly lit, stank like.. well a fucking dreadful public toilet and was just all too quiet. The urinal was some distance off on the wall at the far end of khazi. As I made my way to the dimly lit porcelain wall I noted one other user, stood at the left end and judging by his motion just finishing and shaking the drips off.. so I took station at the other end and vented my swollen bladder. Resisiting that odd male occupation of taking a quick peep.. I just used my peripheral vision to take stock and realised the guy was still there… shaking off the drips. Well I put two and two together.. Brighton.. toilets.. murky.. uh oh.. he’s engaging in the delights of Onan. Now as it was just me and him in there I decided to finish up prematurely and got out of there on the hurry up, in case he decide some company in his solitary action would be better.
OK.. meeting goes ahead, many coffees enjoyed.. and it’s time to go. On the stroll up to the station.. the cold winter sea breeze hits me and I realize I need another piss. So I scurry down the forbidden steps into the toilet and stop short. There, in the left corner of the urinal is the same guy.. and by the looks of it still in action. I had been in the meeting for one and a half hours.. so that guy must have been treading water for at least an hour and forty five!!! That is true dedication. It must have been a labour of love by then. Luckily I am in control of my senses other wise I would have shaken him by the hand.. the spare non-wanking one that is..
I decided it was best to beat a retreat and relieve myself in the car in an empty bottle and add it to the Motorway Lemonade bottles along the M27.
( , Tue 6 Sep 2005, 14:47, Reply)
« Go Back