March 5, 2017



How I accidentally went cruising

How I accidentally went cruising, OR I was cleaning it and it went off in my hands, your honour.

Stories of queer life and even queer-er sex.

Always interesting, definitely amusing, Probably True - the repeatedly-award-winning, slightly filthy storytelling project tackling LGBTQ issues in a fun and engaging way.

Much like its creator, it is a smutty-but-charming collection of personal misadventures working to make the world a better place, one silly, sexy story at a time. //  @ScottFlashheart

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I remember the first time I went cruising. It was a complete accident. I’ve had sex on park benches after dark and stuff like that, including one time on a footbridge over a main road in Vauxhall that was lots of fun until someone walked past and we were just kind of stuck there, awkwardly standing as this guy inwardly accepted that this was a thing that was happening and he was going to have to walk past it if he wanted to get home. 


He put his head down and just walked past us. I was a bit drunk and feeling cheeky, so I said ‘Ow do’ as he walked past. Seemed only polite to me. It’s not as if we could pretend it wasn’t happening. He didn’t respond, which I thought was a bit rude.


But that kind of stuff always been with someone I’ve known, at least for a few hours, y’know, we’d go on a date, have a bit to drink and end up feeling a little frisky and we either couldn't wait to get home or didn’t have anywhere we could go, so we’d end up somewhere a bit secluded… Or at least out of the way. 

Speaking of, I miss the days when I used to work in the centre of Soho, and had a key to the shop… But that’s another story. Several, in fact.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, sex. I’d  only really got into those kinds of situations with people I knew, rather than going somewhere alone and hanging out hopefully waiting for a completely anonymous stranger to come along and help me get the job done.


To be honest, the first time was an accident. I just really needed a wee, so I nipped into the toilets in Canary Wharf. There was a row of urinals, all with men in suits standing at them, apart from one, which I stepped up to and relieved myself. While I was in full flow, I realised that none of the other guys seemed to be actually peeing, they were all just standing there. Then I realised they were watching me pee. And moving their hands.


For a moment I felt like a lamb that had somehow wandered into a pack of lions and has just realised that they’re not smiling, just baring their teeth… Because obviously I’m such an innocent and sweet young man. But it did catch me off guard, and as I stood there, the only one of the line actually peeing, as everyone else just stood there, silently watching me and gently fiddling with themselves, I started to get a little nervous and eventually just burst out giggling, which was definitely not what the rest of the room was expecting. I got some glares and they went back to each other as I zipped up and ran away.


And yeah, that was my first experience of proper cruising.

We can pretend that’s the only time, if you like. That I stumbled accidentally into something secret and naughty, and ran away giggling as quickly as I could. I was tempted to stop that story right there, because that would be ‘acceptable’, wouldn’t it? A bit cheeky, a bit naughty, but essentially an innocent mistake. Something that wasn’t my fault, so there’s no possible shame attached, but still makes for a nice story. 


But that’s not how it went. I went back. Not because that first encounter had awakened some dark desire in me and led me down a ruinous path of self-abuse and shoving traffic cones up me, or anything wanky like that - it was just harmless fun. 


When I went back, of course, I knew what to expect. So less giggling then. Still very silent and intense, though. There was lots of attention, as I stood there to pee, and it was kinda hot, letting them look at my wang while they were playing with their own. 


After a couple of minutes, one or the other of them would make a grab for my junk, and I’d have to fend off his advances firmly but politely with a wave of my hand and a shake of my head. This wasn’t about playing with strangers, just about the attention. 


It’s kind of addictive, in its way, I suppose. The adrenaline rush, the excitement that you’re doing something a bit naughty and could be caught at any time, although I doubt there’s much in the way of consequences. Can you get arrested for touching your penis while standing in front of a urinal? And how would the policeman explain the fact that he was standing in a public toilet, watching people wee in case someone shook it more than was acceptable. I’m almost certain that “more than three shakes is a wank” isn’t actually the law. Anyway.


The silent intensity of it got on my nerves after a few visits, though. It got to be a bit like some kind of hobby group - everyone would stand there, staring, without speaking, you’d see the same people every time, and they’d all know one another enough that if someone walked into the room, they’d recognise the face and carry on, or all scatter and do some of that really bad ‘acting normal’ everyone tries when they’ve just been caught doing something naughty… Stuff like washing hands, repeatedly messing with the hair in a mirror, taking forever to check a text message, pretty much everything except actually say the words ‘dum de dum’... that kind of thing.


Occasionally, there would be a really hot guy, or someone that I found really interesting, that I wanted to get to know more about, but it’s always awkward trying to flirt in that sort of situation, and there’s no easy way to ask a guy for his number while you’re standing at a urinal. And I’m sure, because I know how life works, it’s only a matter of time before the universe does that sitcom thing where I go for a job interview, or get introduced to someone’s husband and realise that yeah, they look familiar...


It’s not the sexiest of situations, if I’m honest. The adrenaline of ‘ooh, what if we get caught?’ is quite sexy, and especially if there was a hot guy to watch, but the sounds don’t exactly inspire horniness. There’s nothing guaranteed to kill the mood faster than the soft plops of a massive poo hitting the water a few feet away from you. 


And while there’s always the possibility that you could find a hot guy and nip off to a cubicle for a little more than just watching each other wank, you probably wouldn’t want to. Not just because of the angry African cleaning lady who might come and shout at you until you slink out, embarrassed, in full view of everyone else there, both those who were there for the same reason and were glad it was you that got caught instead of them, and also all the unsuspecting people you were in there just for a wee..


No, the main reason that you probably wouldn’t want to do that would be because it’s not an environment in which you would want to spend any amount of time breathing through your nose.