I'll admit that I was nervous cruising a mall washroom. I wasnt
sure what I was shopping for. Wearing platform heels and a blond
wig, I stepped gingerly through the door.
There were all varieties of men hugging the urinal wall. I blended
in. I took an open spot, pulled out my girly dick and waited to
see what Id find.
In short order, all three guys were pulling on themselves. Another
was at the sink, eyeing us. Behind me to the left, an enormous man
lumbered from an open stall door. He looked discouraged, like he
was waiting for a late appointment. Everyone was gay, it seemed,
at least for the time being. No one spoke.
For nearly a half-hour, men came and went. Men masturbated. A few
pumped each others dick. Some actually came to pee. Nobody
kissed, nobody body-surfed. Disappointing. I wasnt buying
any of it. I am a queen with all kinds of sexual interests, fromthe
perversetothe banal, but mute mutual masturbation is too button-down-collar
to interest me.
Worse still, I couldnt stand the interruptions. In the middle
of the anti-climactic action, I kept wondering, For Gods sake,
cant someone lock that door? Each time the first of the two
sets of doors squeaked open, everyone involved jumped to attention,
hiding their perky pricks in the urinal basins before the intruder
entered through the second door. Boring.
Then we had to wait until the new arrival gave a leer and jerked
at himself too, or left. Too often, kids came in. Im sure
the inappropriateness of place and the fear of being caught are
part of the appeal for some men, but I felt the bad kind of dirty.
My swollen dick penetrating a piss-filled basin with sweet kids
hanging around made me feel depraved. Being queer has been an upward
effort to leave shame behind, not wallow in it.
Id had enough public humiliation. I grabbed the hand of a
cute suit and dragged him ,into a semi-private stall. (The voyeur
in the john next to us wedged his face between the floor and the
stall wall, peering up at us. Always thoughtful, we tried not to
step on binsalmost successfully.)
Id been warned that two-per-stall wasnt safeSecurity
counts shoes so I stood on the toilet seat. I introduced him
to every dicks favourite new friend: my tonsils. When the
oral meat-and-greet was over, I readied myself to leave. He tut-tutted,
offering to switch places. He went down on me, tendeily, which I
Alas, it had to end, and, with a kiss, it did. We straightened
our respective ties and panty hose and walked casually out of the
stall. There were some new faces mixed In with the previous pud
pullers. For a moment, I felt superior, like I was the best-dressed
queen in the room. Id found what I was shopping for: Intimacy,
though by the time I washed my hands, he was gone.
Miss Cookie La Whore loves to shop, but has only tried on that