VinylBoy:
I haven't been inside a men's room in Grand Central since 1990, at which time the mens rooms (especially those between train concourses) were the filthiest piles of crap and the smell of ammonia so strong you couldn't breathe. But they were still full of balls-to-the-walls sucking and fucking. It was the same in 1980, too. But in the 1950s through the mid 1970s they actually kept the public restrooms clean, supplied with soap, toilet paper, and rolls of linen to dry your hands. And they were balls-to-the-walls then, too.
But if you were somewhat discerning (LOL!) you didn't cruise Grand Central Station, you went to Pennsylvania (Penn) Station to enjoy the company of all the rail workers and city workers in those public restrooms. They were substantially cleaner than any place else in NYC. It was a place your mother trusted you'd be safe to go by yourself to pee. She was wrong.
The arrangement of the toilet stalls and pee troughs made it possible for men to do number two and have no idea that behind the other side of the urinal troughs men were on their knees taking on one guy after another. And the shoe shine guys (all black and in uniform) had it best. Businessmen would go into the men's rooms, turn a corner to a side room for a shoe shine, and four or six guys (who also knew how to shine shoes) would deep throat you until gobs of cum began escaping their lips. Businessmen in suits sat back and enjoyed the ride, sitting right next to one another, occasionally bending over to sample the dick in the seat next to one or the other or get a throat full of Afro-American-Sexual giant smooth and veiny dick. There were two banks of seats, four each, facing one another. So, there was usually a free seat to sit down, whip it out, and play with yourself until it was your turn. And the shoe shine guys were always tipped from $3 to $5 bucks. For the longest time I thought all black men shined shoes and sucked cock as a side line. You see, there was a sports bar/card room in SLC called the Peter Pan where one walked down stairs off of State Street into the "vice" where the shoe shine brigade was a small group of hot black men obviously in the same business. It took me a while to learn otherwise. Still, if you're black that your skin is almost blue, I'll most likely get an instant hard on, beg you to go home with me, buy you a new car and take advantage of me until you find someone new. Sigh.
Did I mention these main upper rest rooms in Penn Station were all clad in marble and polished agate? Real purty. And so were those guys who shined shoes.
I first learned about Penn Station on a Boy Scout trip to NYC when the mormons had a little "We're the mormons" booth at the Worlds Fair out in Flushing (1960?) with my troop from little, ol', backward Ewetaw. My Scoutmaster had already taught me how to fuck and get fucked. Sucking and mutual wanking off I had learned with my old schoolboy chum, "Mike." One evening our Scout Master escorted us to Penn Station after 10:00 PM with his own older sons. We spent a rather heady three or four hours being "enjoyed" by the 18 to 80 crowd. At least I had a good time. Mike told me later he was scared he was "going to Hell" for letting older guys suck him off. I don't think he still feels that way now. And our Scout Master was never happier than when he had a large piece of monster meat pounding his ass. Quite common for Scout Masters, or so it was until I was kicked out of the Explorers for having a greater interest in more mature (read that as tattoos and just out of jail) trade at the rest stops on I-15 near BYU north of Provo, Ewetaw, than play "scouts" Thursday nights at some "naughty" white married suburban guy's house while his wife was at Relief Society.
I still maintain those duplicitous "scout" dads were just jealous. (With the possible exception of one alpha male type who took us on all the summer camp outs and insisted that "everybody sleep naked together!" I liked him. I liked his dick, too.
One of the reason the NY Hysterical Society did not come to the rescue of Penn Station despite the power and effort of Jackie O at the time and which now almost everyone regrets, is because it was so widely known that just about everyone one who went to any of the many rest rooms did so only for non-stop sex. Penn Station was smaller than Grand Central and also a bit classier. It was Penn Central's restrooms where you needed change (at least a dime) to leave a tip, because you rarely got out of the first class rest rooms without being handed paper towels to dry your hands and a comfortable brush down especially between the legs and crotch. I only made it there a few times in my early teens, but Penn Station was a veritable shrine to men having clandestine sexual encounters with other men.
Fuck I'm old.