Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Park Cruising

My heart is pitter-pattering and racing and doing all sorts of crazy in my chest. My nerves are getting the better of me and shutting my body functions down — like my need to piss. I’m in here to piss, I keep telling myself. I’m not in here for anything else. Certainly not for…

Fuck. I can’t lie to myself.

I’m here for ... for … for whatever it is that guys do when they cruise.

I’ve never touched a guy before, never even admitted to myself that I want to do so, even though I secretly watch gay porn when my roommate is asleep. Because straight guys can like gay porn too, right?

Damn it. I’m not even convincing myself.

I need to get out of my head, just let my body lead.

I’m here for … for what? What do I really want? I don’t even know. I’m just … here.

This dirty men’s room in the back of the park is supposed to be a hot cruising spot, or so the forums say on that website I found. But I’ve been here, standing at the trough urinal for something like five minutes and not a soul has come in. And I haven’t pissed a drop in all that time, despite my nervous bladder screaming at me that I need to let loose.

Suddenly, the door clatters and I jump and gasp. I look over my shoulder but then jerk my head back forward. I’m-I’m-I’m too nervous to take the lead, to let the guy know I’m into … into something. I don’t have the guts to send him a signal, whatever that signal might be.

Piss, I tell myself, piss. I gotta piss. I’m just standing here.

The other guy steps up to the trough, an arm’s reach away. He unzips and pulls out and oh my fucking god he’s huge. He grunts and starts pissing.

I can feel my cheeks burning with a hot blush. I focus on myself and my own cock. Piss. Piss. Fucking piss. Finally my bladder lets loose and I piss too. I let myself empty, let the remnants dribble, and give myself a shake — but before I pack it away and walk out, I cast a subtle glance toward the guy beside me.

He’s done pissing — and he’s stroking. Fuck, he’s cruising me.

How does this work?

He tilts his head and catches my eye. My cheeks are flaming hot as I look down again, down at my quickly-thickening cock in my hand. My heart is slamming against my ribs, threatening to break through. All I can hear is the blood rushing through my body. My vision even seems to narrow a bit.

Just do it. That’s my libido, my deep unacknowledged desires, speaking up, telling me what to do.

I’ve been driving through this park and past this washroom for weeks now, each time telling myself that today was the day that I would finally park the car, get out, go in, and let my cock hang out. Well, today is finally that day.

The guy is still stroking. Maybe because I haven’t left yet and my cock has long drained of piss so he knows that I’m here for more than just bladder relief.

I watch him out of the corners of my eyes, just enough that I can see his hand stroking his thick cock, but not enough that I accidentally make eye contact. I can’t look at his face right now.

Fuck, his cock is huge.

It’s not until several thundering heartbeats later that I realize that I’ve started stroking my cock too. He notices, then shuffles closer, closing the distance between us. My breathing gets shallower, my heart races faster, and my hand slowly drops from my cock — I’m so in over my head and unable to do anything more than watch.

Then he reaches across and takes my cock in his hand, stroking both of us in time. I groan softly and let my head fall back, closing my eyes. Fuck. It’s just a hand job — I’ve had girlfriends give them to me many times before — but it feels fucking amazing.

He keeps stroking me, not seeming to mind this over-exaggerated response I’m experiencing simply from having his hand on me. If anything, it seems to drive him forward. He grips my dick a little firmer and strokes a little quicker.

I open my eyes and stare down at my dick — I’m so hard and almost as big as him now, but it’s mesmerizing watching a thick, manly, hairy hand stroking my dick. A hand that’s not my own. A hand that belongs to another man. A man that’s going to make me come.

I look across to his dick. The head of it is dark and it looks like he’s about ready to blow. Somehow, this is turning him on as much as it’s turning me on.

He starts flicking his wrist as he strokes up my shaft, giving extra sensation to the hand job, bringing me ever closer to the edge. Suddenly, he shifts position, but I still can’t look at him to see what he’s doing — I’m not able to look at his face yet. He’s still stroking me, but he’s moving closer, he’s — fuuuuuck … he’s kissing my neck. His stubble is scratching against my skin, sending currents of electricity through me, currents that are shooting straight to my dick.

It’s too much. I can’t hold back anymore. I—

“Fuck…” I moan, the first word spoken between the two of us.

I look down at my cock as he pumps even faster and harder. A surge of overwhelming energy rushes through me and suddenly I’m shooting a thick load, casting a heavy white line against the metal trough, more of it shooting to the bottom. It somehow feels far more intense than any orgasm ever. He grunts and pivots his hips toward the trough urinal and soon his thick cum is plastering the metal trough alongside mine.

I stare at the two messy lines of cum. My chest is heaving, my breath coming in pants, and I feel lightheaded. But I also feel amazing. That was … amazing. I have no words for it all.

A moment later, I hear him zip up and head out, the door clattering behind him.

I don’t even know what he looks like. I don’t know if that even matters.

And now I want more.

I zip up and go to wash my hands, not quite ready to leave this place. As I’m drying them, the door clatters and a different man comes in. He gives me a look that’s far too long and lingering to be a passing glance, then steps up to the trough and unzips.

I watch him for a moment and he looks over his shoulder at me, turning his body slightly so that I can see his cock in his hand. His eyes flick from my head to toe and back again, then he turns back to the trough.

My heart is still pounding heart, thrashing against my ribs — but the immense nervousness has abated.

I act on impulse.

Instead of leaving, I step up to the trough.

Cameron D. James is a writer of gay smut. His most recent publication is the (surprisingly smut-free) gay YA romance, Gay Love And Other Fairy Tales, under his YA pen name, Dylan James.


  1. Oh,Cameron! I love this. It's so real, so deeply felt, and at the same time so sexy.

    AND perfect for the topic!

    Thank you!

  2. Very cool. I've often wondered how men feel the first time they participate in the "tea-room" trade. No such thing happens in women's washrooms -- at least not in any I've been in.


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