Public Restroom Sex

B_VinylBoy

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If I said that I never did it, I'd be lying my ass off.
With that said, I remember when I walked into a bathroom the first time and saw it all happen. I was about 14 and just so happened to run into a public bathroom at a train station on my way to meet some friends. There was a row full of people at the urinals. And as soon as the door to the bathroom closed, I noticed everyone was being a little too friendly and "nosy" among each other. Some even started to have sex.

I'm not sure if I was more shocked or turned on when it happened... but it changed my life forever.
 
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RSMH

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If I said that I never did it, I'd be lying my ass off.
With that said, I remember when I walked into a bathroom the first time and saw it all happen. I was about 14 and just so happened to run into a public bathroom at a train station on my way to meet some friends. There was a row full of people at the urinals. And as soon as the door to the bathroom closed, I noticed everyone was being a little too friendly and "nosy" among each other. Some even started to have sex.

I'm not sure if I was more shocked or turned on when it happened... but it changed my life forever.

Your honesty is greatly appreciated. I too know many who have walked in on (or perhaps better said eventually discovered) men being men like this and many who thought it was so hot to them as well (even perhaps as life-changing & eye opening as you said it was for you):


Sntl2's Video


(Once it gets going this video linked right above shows the art and timing today of this natural relaxed attitude to real men being men and relieving another bio need in a timeless fun hot communal way, a true brotherhood experience of sorts for those who are willing to just relax and enjoy!)



 
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petetown

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If I said that I never did it, I'd be lying my ass off.
With that said, I remember when I walked into a bathroom the first time and saw it all happen. I was about 14 and just so happened to run into a public bathroom at a train station on my way to meet some friends. There was a row full of people at the urinals. And as soon as the door to the bathroom closed, I noticed everyone was being a little too friendly and "nosy" among each other. Some even started to have sex.

I'm not sure if I was more shocked or turned on when it happened... but it changed my life forever.

Grand Central Station in 1971.....you just told my story!
 

B_VinylBoy

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Your honesty is greatly appreciated. I too know many who have walked in on (or perhaps better said eventually discovered) men being men like this and many who thought it was so hot to them as well (even perhaps as life-changing & eye opening as you said it was for you).

If anything, that day made me realize firsthand that the world was not as innocent as it's sometimes portrayed. Some of the guys were rather rough looking, others were really hot in business suits. It was also the first time I ever saw someone get blown to climax in person. Then the the door opened again and everyone scurried about to look "normal" again. I was literally like a deer caught in a set of headlights, and never mentioned what I saw to a soul because I didn't think a single person would believe me.

But that was over 20 years ago. God I was so naive back then!
 

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If anything, that day made me realize firsthand that the world was not as innocent as it's sometimes portrayed. Some of the guys were rather rough looking, others were really hot in business suits. It was also the first time I ever saw someone get blown to climax in person. Then the the door opened again and everyone scurried about to look "normal" again. I was literally like a deer caught in a set of headlights, and never mentioned what I saw to a soul because I didn't think a single person would believe me.

But that was over 20 years ago. God I was so naive back then!

I once saw a cartoon depicting "what women do when they go to the bathroom in groups"; it was a complete lesbian sex fantasy. :biggrin1::cool:

I was so young and inexperienced that I'd never even thought of such a thing. I remember being completely gobsmacked and trying to hide that my world had turned over and I had no idea which way was up. :redface:

Remember that scene in "Men in Black" when Tommy Lee Jones' character tells Will Smith's character that "15 minutes ago, you knew people were alone on planet Earth"? Well, 15 minutes before I saw this cartoon, I knew that there were lesbians, but I'd never imagined the particulars of women having sex together in a bathroom--or, for that matter, the archly ironic worldview that would produce such a cartoon as a witty comment on the age-old question of why women go to the bathroom in groups.

:eek:

I'd like to think I grew up a lot after that.

NCbear (who was once an innocent, naive kid, believe it or not :tongue:)
 

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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.
 
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B_VinylBoy

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MLB - That's a wild story, especially about the shoe shining. The only stories I have ever heard about gay life before the 70s was how exceedingly secretive the community tend to be. But that just sounded like an all out suck-fest. Makes what I saw back in 1987 at the Back Bay Train Station in Boston pale in comparison. But the image of two guys that looked like they came from two different parts of the world going at it, and knowing that I was just a few feet away from being able to touch either one of them, was just insane. The look on the man's face who was getting head (as well as the uber-deep gasps he let out when he came) was permanently seared into my mind to this day.

Probably explains why I have the hots for older, stocky to somewhat muscular guys with the right kind of facial hair up to this day. Probably also explains why I'm a major fan of oral too. But now I'm just making myself all bothered and I have work to do, you naughty bear... :biggrin:
 

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MLB - That's a wild story, especially about the shoe shining. The only stories I have ever heard about gay life before the 70s was how exceedingly secretive the community tend to be. But that just sounded like an all out suck-fest. Makes what I saw back in 1987 at the Back Bay Train Station in Boston pale in comparison. But the image of two guys that looked like they came from two different parts of the world going at it, and knowing that I was just a few feet away from being able to touch either one of them, was just insane. The look on the man's face who was getting head (as well as the uber-deep gasps he let out when he came) was permanently seared into my mind to this day.

Probably explains why I have the hots for older, stocky to somewhat muscular guys with the right kind of facial hair up to this day. Probably also explains why I'm a major fan of oral too. But now I'm just making myself all bothered and I have work to do, you naughty bear... :biggrin:

Dear VB:

Are you suggesting that you never had the occasion of going from public urinal to public urinal (the one's built into the bridges) in the middle of Central Park?! My, but you are quite young.

And you're too young to have lost several days at the docks on the lower west side, I assume? Again, another amazing place that no longer exists.
 

B_VinylBoy

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Are you suggesting that you never had the occasion of going from public urinal to public urinal (the one's built into the bridges) in the middle of Central Park?! My, but you are quite young.

My first trip to NYC wasn't until the early 90s, and by that time I was far more interested in places like the Sound Factory and the Roxy than to go through Central Park. I remember saving up $100, catching that last Greyhound Bus from Boston to New York at Midnight on a Saturday night with a change of "club clothes" and my Walkman so I could listen to the mix shows once the bus crossed into New York. It was just enough to get a round trip bus ticket, cab fare & admission to the big club which would party till noon, and perhaps a small brunch at Florent or some other diner. I thought I was so "cutting edge" doing that every month or so.

And you're too young to have lost several days at the docks on the lower west side, I assume? Again, another amazing place that no longer exists.

The docks were legendary... stories about that place still linger among members of the "houses". When I started going to New York, there were still portions of it left and plenty of people carrying on. It's all gone now thanks to new park renovations. I must say that it looks nice though, despite the missing boom box playing house music and queens voguing, trans-genders performing impromptu shows, and various men going as fa-aaaaaar back on the dock as they could so they couldn't be seen.

I managed to get glimpses of certain spots, but nothing like what you've seen I'm sure. :redface:
 

RSMH

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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.

Thank you so much for sharing this history with us!

Oral history (pun?, lol) can disappear if never recorded and history is rich with varied experiences, perspectives, and knowledge that should be shared.

The fun sex should, does, and must live on!