What I Did in the Public Bathroom I Never Told Anyone

I was twenty-seven and had left late from a photography workshop I took twice a week. It was an autumn afternoon, almost night, and the cold had gotten me on just one cup of coffee in my system. I walked half a block to the bus stop and, all of a sudden, the urge to pee doubled me over. I wasn’t going to make it through the whole ride.

A few minutes from the academy there was an old building with an inner arcade, the kind that links two streets through a corridor full of food stalls. In the middle, almost at the back, were the public bathrooms that charged an entrance fee to use them. They had never given me a good feeling, but that afternoon I had no choice.

I paid the woman at the counter, an older lady with a bored face, and she handed me a handful of folded paper without looking up. I pushed the door and went in. The place smelled of cheap disinfectant and the walls were painted with marker, covered in scribbles and names. I chose the back stall almost by instinct, because it was the only one with the door slightly ajar.

Inside, it was more decent than I expected. The toilet was clean, the latch worked. If it weren’t for the scratched-up walls, it would even have been comfortable. I closed it, pulled down my pants and underwear, and sat down. The relief was so great I let out a sigh.

To my left was the door. To my right, the wall separating my stall from the next one. And right at face level, in that wall, there was a hole the size of a large coin. I glanced at it while I peed. On the other side everything was dark; nothing could be seen.

The stream sounded loud in the silence of the bathroom. When I was about done, I heard a dull thud on the other side of the wall, like someone had set something down. And right after that, a voice came straight through the hole.

—Is anyone there?

I jumped so hard I covered my cunt with both hands on pure reflex, as if they could see me. The voice was a grown man’s, deep and a little raspy, the kind that already had years on it. I thought he needed paper, or had run out of everything.

—Yes, do you need something? —I asked, my heart still pounding in my chest.

From the other side I heard an “ah…” that sounded different, as if he were just realizing something. Then a series of noises: fabric, a buckle, movement. I stayed frozen for about fifteen seconds, not understanding. What is he doing?

Then I noticed something moving close to my ear. Someone removed whatever was covering the hole from the other side and, for an instant, a bit of light came in. But that light was immediately blocked. And I saw the thick head of a cock slowly poke through.

***

I froze. Panic shot up my throat. I didn’t understand what was happening or why that dick was there, centimeters from my face. The man kept pushing until the whole shaft came out of the hole, thick, marked with swollen veins, still as if waiting for something. The head was purple, shiny, and the foreskin half-retracted showed the glans pulsing to the rhythm of a heart that wasn’t mine.

It took a few seconds for the fear to ease. And when it did, it was replaced by something else I struggled to recognize: curiosity. The cock was still there, unmoving, and I couldn’t stop looking at it. I brought my face a few centimeters closer, carefully, like someone approaching something they shouldn’t. The skin looked smooth, almost glossy in the dim light, and from the slit at the tip a bead of clear fluid had begun to appear.

Why is a man sticking that through the wall of a bathroom?

It was the first time something like this had happened to me. I didn’t know these places existed, or that people used them for this. I felt like I was in some kind of trance, staring without blinking. The man moved a little, barely, and the cock jerked on its own, as if asking me for something. Then it settled again, patient.

I traced the shaft with my eyes, vein by vein, until I reached the base. And there, on the wall, I found what I hadn’t noticed when I came in: little arrows drawn with marker, pointing toward the hole. Around them, phrases written in different handwriting. “Here,” “free,” “no questions,” “suck my dick,” and a couple of half-erased phone numbers.

Only then did it hit me. This man thinks there’s someone on the other side who comes here for this. He thinks I’m one of those whores. He’s waiting for me to suck his cock.

I should have gotten up, pulled up my pants, and walked out. That was the logical thing, the healthy thing, what anyone would have done. But something mischievous had slipped into my head and didn’t want to leave. Nobody knew I was there. He couldn’t see my face. I couldn’t see his. It was as if none of it really counted. Between my legs, I felt my cunt start to throb with a wetness I had not asked permission to appear.

Without thinking too much, I ran my fingertips beneath the shaft. I felt it shudder on the other side; he had noticed me. Then I took it in my whole hand, even though it was so thick I couldn’t close my fingers all the way. The veins pulsed against my palm. The skin was, indeed, soft, but underneath it was hard as a warm stone. I weighed it in my hand, guessed how much there was. With my other hand I slid two fingers between my thighs and brushed my clit: I was already soaked.

I started moving my hand back and forth, slowly, measuring every reaction. The foreskin shifted with the motion and exposed the glans each time I pulled down. I brought my eye to the hole and stared at every detail, every fold, until a thicker drop of clear fluid oozed from the tip. I caught it with a finger from my other hand, it stretched like a thread, and I spread it over the whole head, up and down, until it shone. On the other side I felt him writhing, and for some reason that made my cunt flare in a way I hadn’t expected.

***

The fear was still there, lurking, but the heat was winning ground minute by minute. The tip started to shine more, wet, leaking pre-cum, and I got an absurd urge to taste it. This is wrong, I thought. But deep down I told myself I wasn’t really doing anything bad. I was just playing, curious about something I had never even allowed myself to imagine.

Before deciding, I brought my nose closer and smelled it. I wanted to be sure it wasn’t a bad idea. It smelled clean, like soap, with only a salty, masculine undertone. That was enough to convince me. I stuck out my tongue and gave the head a quick lick. The taste was soft, a little salty, and on the other side I felt him tremble and let out a silent gasp. I knew, without seeing his face, that he had liked it. So I did it again, this time longer, dragging my tongue from the base of the glans to the tip and closing my lips at the end in a wet kiss.

I straightened up for a second, pulled my underwear and pants back up, flushed just in case, and knelt on the floor to keep going more comfortably. The stall was small and my knees were right against the cold wall. I took the shaft again and ran my tongue along the underside, over the frenulum, that more sensitive spot where the skin gathers. I heard a muffled moan from the other side, a “uhhh” clenched between the teeth.

I played with my tongue all around the head, making slow circles, until he pushed a little farther and the tip brushed my lips. I opened my mouth and let it in slowly, feeling the glans part my lips and settle against my tongue. When I felt how much space it took up, I closed my lips around the shaft and squeezed gently, sucking. Inside, I kept moving my tongue, drawing circles on the underside of the head, and on the other side there was only trembling and broken breathing.

Little by little I began to move my head back and forth, letting my lips travel the whole length. Each time I wanted another centimeter farther in. Saliva built up and started dripping from the corner of my mouth, falling in thick drops onto my chin, and that wet, rhythmic sound —“glup, glup”— filled the stall’s silence. I was so turned on I barely recognized myself. Without stopping sucking him, I unfastened my pants again, slipped one hand inside, and found my cunt dripping. I started rubbing my clit with the pads of two fingers, in small circles, at the same rhythm with which that unknown cock was fucking my mouth.

At one point I went too far and the head reached the back of my throat. The sensation made me uncomfortable and turned me on at the same time, a strange mix I didn’t understand. I inhaled through my nose and pushed again on purpose until I gagged and my eyes filled with tears. Saliva was running down my neck. It was addictive in a way I was ashamed to admit. I pulled it out to breathe and those thin threads of saliva were left connecting my mouth to the cock, hanging like cobwebs.

—Aaah, like that, yeah, take it all —the voice on the other side whispered, hoarse, urgent.

Hearing him speak made my whole skin prickle. I answered with a tight moan and shoved the glans back in, this time all at once, until I felt it press into the back of my palate. I took my free hand to my tits over my shirt, pinched a hard nipple through the fabric, and let out a whimper with my mouth full.

***

I let it go for a second to breathe and masturbated it for a while with my hand, which now slid easily over all the wetness, the saliva mixed with pre-cum dripping down the shaft and onto my knees. I put it back in my mouth. I picked up the rhythm I liked best, and the sound started again, ever more obscene, more splashing. I had never tried anything like it, and the craziest part was that I had the faintest idea who owned it. A complete stranger, a voice, a shadow. Some random guy fucking my mouth through a shitty hole in the wall of a public bathroom.

I could feel it twisting with pleasure and that pushed me to go faster. I choked on it again and again, not wanting to stop, letting the glans slam the back of my throat with every thrust. Two fingers already inside my cunt, moving in the same rhythm, and my thumb searching for my clit. I heard him moaning, louder now, short rough gasps.

—Whore… you do that so well, don’t stop, don’t stop —he muttered, and I felt my cunt tighten on its own around my own fingers.

I loved knowing that I was the one driving him there, from my side of the wall, without a face and without a name. I sped up even more, determined, sucking him right down to the balls —or as far as the balls reached on the other side of the hole— pulling it out only to breathe and then driving it back in. I felt the shaft growing harder, thicker, and starting to throb against my tongue in quick bursts.

Then, without warning, I felt the first hot spurt hit the back of my mouth. Thick, salty, burning. Then another, and another, with a force I hadn’t expected, one hit my palate and another filled my tongue. The texture caught me by surprise and brought a different gag to my throat; I spat out a good part almost without thinking and it ran down my chin, dripping in white drops onto my tits over my shirt. But he was still coming, and two more pulses managed to get into me before the shaft began to soften and curl on the other side, still spitting out thick threads that stuck to my lips.

On the other side I heard a long, animal growl, and then the heavy breathing of a man emptied out. My mouth was full of warm semen, my face smeared, my fingers buried in my own cunt and my clit throbbing as if I were about to come any second. I kept rubbing myself, clenching my thighs, with the cock still in my mouth, and I came right there, kneeling on the floor of a filthy stall, biting down on the shaft so I wouldn’t scream. The orgasm shook my whole body, down to my heels, and I felt my cunt gush juice over my fingers.

I had my mouth full of a sensation I couldn’t quite bring myself to like, and yet it had me hypnotized. I spat what was left onto the paper with a quick motion, but I still felt traces everywhere, between my teeth, under my tongue, hanging from the corner of my mouth. I watched it withdraw slowly through the hole, still dripping the last white drops onto the floor on the other side, and then someone covered the view with whatever they used. It ended as abruptly as it had begun.

I stood up with my legs a little shaky, pulling my fingers out of my cunt with a wet noise that even embarrassed me. I gathered the little semen left in my mouth with my tongue and, almost to finish what I had started, swallowed it in one go. I felt that thick load slide down my throat and the salty, slightly bitter taste settle behind my palate. It sounds disgusting said like that, I know. But the kink of the whole thing was so strong that I almost regretted spitting out the rest.

I wiped my mouth and chin with the paper, washed my hands twice, fixed my hair in front of the stained mirror, and tried to look like nothing had happened. I still had my panties soaked against my cunt and could smell sex hanging in my own breath. I went out.

—Thank you —I told the woman at the counter.

She looked at me with a half smile that made me think she knew perfectly well what had just happened in there. Outside, in the corridor, three men were waiting. They all watched me as I passed, and one even let his eyes drop to the wet stain visible between my legs through my pants. I had no way of knowing whether any of them had been the voice, or whether none of them were. That uncertainty, instead of making me uncomfortable, gave me a shiver that wasn’t fear. Any one of them could have been the owner of the cock I had just swallowed.

I walked to the stop with my heart still racing and my cunt throbbing inside my wet underwear. On the bus, while car headlights passed across the window, I couldn’t stop replaying every second. And the more I tasted semen again in my mouth, the more it turned me on, as if my body were asking for a repeat, another cock, another stall, another stranger.

That night I rolled around in bed until late, naked, with two fingers inside my cunt and my other hand pinching a nipple. I came three times in a row thinking about the sound of my own mouth splashing around that anonymous cock. I kept telling myself I hadn’t done anything that bad, that nobody had found out, that I hadn’t even seen his face. And between one excuse and the next, without even realizing it, I had already convinced myself of something I still don’t dare confess to anyone: that I was going to go back.