Tit For Tat

I'd could tell you I don’t actually know why I do it, but that wouldn't strictly be true and anyway, why lie at my age? Embarrassment? Maybe, although I think I'm getting a little long in the tooth for fretting about what other people think of me. It's just, well, when you're a woman who's pushing fifty five-ish, living alone and ugly as sin, you need something to remind you you're still alive and still a woman at times. I've been through menopause of course and this initially left me feeling very low indeed. However, these hormone replacement patches work a treat for me. In fact, if I stick two or three on at time, I can find myself positively gagging for it on a good day. When I say "it", I mean sex but of course, you already know that don't you. The only problem with this is, being, as you can see, as ugly as sin, whenever I try coming on to some guy, he suddenly turns into an Olympic sprinter and rapidly disappears into the distance.

So, what's an old boiler like me to do for a bit of erotic excitement? Well, I've devised this cunning plan, you see. It goes like this: I find a public toilet and when I'm sure there's no one either in it or about nearby, I sneak in the men's section. I love the smell of men's toilets. I find the subtle blend of urine and disinfectant rather erotically intoxicating and sometimes, if I'm really lucky, there's semen. If the place isn't cleaned regularly, it's usually there if you look carefully for it: on the floor, spattered on a tiled wall, on the bit of the urinal above the flush point or on a toilet seat. Just traces maybe but its there and wherever I find it, it's mine. I claim it. I own it. If I can't have the man, I'll have his leavings. Finders keepers, losers weepers, I say. I love the smell and gooy feel of it on my fingers and that strong, sour, musky taste on my tongue: heaven! By the way, I'm not shocking you am I? Putting you off? No? Good!

Okay, let me come clean here. I say I've devised this cunning plan but in point of fact, its just something that happened to me once by chance that I now try and replicate. What's that you say, what happened? Well, if you promise not to judge me and buy me another brandy and peppermint, I'll tell you.

I was on my way to the cinema across Victoria park when I got caught in a rainstorm. I had my rain mac on but didn't really fancy my hair getting soaked, so I took shelter in the lady's loo round the back of the sports field changing rooms. Whilst there, I thought I'd take advantage of the facilities but, wouldn't you know it, no toilet paper in any of the cubicles. Well, the sound of the rain splashing down outside was really making me want to pee but I didn’t relish sitting in the cinema in smelly, soggy knickers. So, I looked out and seeing the coast was clear, I popped next door to the gents. As it turns out, there was no paper there either, but what there was there was graffiti. Lots of it. Lewd, crude, filthy and I loved it. There were written invitations a-plenty to have "cock fun" via certain telephone numbers. There were also Graphic images of squirting penises, plus some rather fanciful representations of the female anatomy. I had this mental image of a man, sat on the toilet with his trousers round his ankles, pen in one hand, erect cock in the other, wanking away as he scrawled his pervy message on the cubicle wall. One sequence of scribble read:-

"My mother made me a homosexual."

"If I sent her the wool, do you think she'd make me one?"

"No problem. Two balls please."

This made me laugh out loud, but my laughing stopped abruptly when a manly voice said, "what's the joke." It wasn't a question; at least the flat monotone way he said it didn't seem to suggest he was expecting an answer. He was merely announcing his presence. He was young. Barely twenty, I guess and though his voice had sounded severe, he looked incredibly nervous. He was staring at me. More specifically, he was staring at my chest, which arguably is the only half decent womanly thing about me. My bosom was certainly of interest to him and to have my figure ogled in this way in a men's toilet was.... well, bloody fantastic really. This kid was clearly undressing the top half of me with his eyes and I was rather hoping his hands might join in at some point.

It's strange really, as a young woman and in a similar situation to this, I'd have feared for my life. This leering adonis stood between me and the way out. There was no way I could get past him without coming into physical contact and what with him being bigger and stronger than me, he could do anything to me. I mean, men are always and killing women aren't they; you read about it in the papers. On this particular occasion however, my chief fear was that being gawped at was all I was going to get from him.

He was young enough to be my son and our age difference made the situation feel even more deliciously perverted. I therefore got a genuine tingle of excitement all over from this gawping youthful stranger's attention. He didn't do or say anything, he simply carried on staring, lips parted and breathing rather heavily. In the end, the silence started getting on my nerves so I began to explain to him why I was there and how I'd become distracted by the graffiti. He asked me if I liked the graffiti in a slightly tremulous voice and I said yes, it was . . . interesting. He then proceeded to undo his raincoat and I couldn’t help but notice the conspicuous bulge in the front of his trousers. A bulge that suggested he hadn't come in there simply to piss. My guess was he'd come in all excited and looking for cock fun with some random guy and found me instead. Well, I couldn’t give him any cock, that was for sure; but given the opportunity, I was sure I could keep his cock amused for a few delightful minutes. However, this young-enough-to-be-my-son hunk of masculinity looked so nervous I knew he'd run a mile if I sought to take the initiative. So instead, I played the frightened, helpless little woman for him; just to give him the confidence to actually do something to me. Anything. I'd have settled for a quick mauling since I'd already decided that being stripped naked and on the toilet's hard, filthy, cold, wet, concrete floor was too much to hope for.

As it happened, I was standing at the entrance to one of the cubicles, so I made a point of glancing back into it. This was to subliminally suggest to him the possibility that he might me into it, trapping me there at the mercy of whatever naughtiness he had in mind for me. An increase in his rate of breathing told me he was considering my covertly implied suggestion. I too began breathing heavily and started to exhibit falsified signs that I was in fear of him; that I considered he might me at any moment and that I'd be powerless to resist him. I even threw in a pathetic little whimper for dramatic affect. I then glanced around as if looking for a means of escape, before looking him up and down with a terrified look on my face as if in awe of his physical presence. Hunching my shoulders in mock fear and timidity, I quietly murmured, "what are you going to do to me? Please don’t hurt me. Please be gentle."

There! I'd done all I could make him feel in complete control. I glance back again, this time at the toilet seat. I saw him look at it too, but to give him further encouragement, I begged him, "no please, don't take me in there. We can talk out here can't we? There's no room in there for me to do . . . anything." That seemed to decide it for him. Wide eyed and trembling with a mixture of fear and lust-fuelled excitement, he stepped forward, grabbed me in a tight embrace and wrestled me backwards and down onto the toilet pedestal. Immediately, his hands went to his flies and brought forth the most pleasingly engorged piece of pink penis I'd ever seen. Not that I had long to observe it as the soft tip of it was immediately pressing against my closed lips while his trembling hands held my head steady. Fearing premature ejaculation, I didn't resist for long and let his manhood into my mouth, which by now was positively ravenous for him. He had a strong, salty flavour which I much relished and the mass of him filled my mouth most comfortably. There wasn't much room for my tongue to play with him, but it did its best as I sucked enthusiastically. This was wonderful. Here I was in a men's toilet with an overgrown schoolboy's cock in my mouth. Fuck the cinema, this was it. I was actually having this kid, if you know what I mean; feasting on his sex like a vampire. I expected him to work my head on him, but he didn’t. I knew why that was: he was trying not to cum, the poor dear. He wanted to squeeze something more in before climaxing and suddenly, he was leaning over me, forcing his hands like multipronged chisels down the neck of my clothing and grabbing hands full of my breasts, wrenching them up out of my bra. His fingers dug painfully deep into my softenss (ironing out all those wrinkles of middle-age they usually carry I imagine) and the feel of my readily yielding feminine flesh was enough to bring him to immediate orgasm. He ejaculated forcefully. I felt pulse after pulse striking and sticking to the back of my throat as my mouth began to fill. This was my moment of triumph. All the while I'd been sucking him and allowing him to fill all my senses, waves of sexual, sensual tension had been flowing out from my vagina to engulf the rest of my body. Now as he orgasmed, I orgasmed in an ecstatic explosion of blissful release. I felt my vaginal muscles spasm as my cunt gushed. Whether this was with vaginal discharge, piss or a mixture of both, I neither knew nor cared.

Now my lover moved. He tried to thrust, almost dislodging my glasses and almost making me gag, but by then it was all too late and he soon gave up. Instead, he just stood there as I continued to suck, even as his cock wilted in my mouth. I wanted every drop out of him and so kept my lips tightly sealed around his diminishing shaft so not a drop might leak out. I even wrapped my arms around his hips to hold him in position while I drained him, digging my fingers unto his firm young buttocks as I did so. At this point, I believe he began to realise that he wasn't the one in charge of the situation and that, maybe, he never had been. Whatever he was thinking, he tore himself away from me and fled the building with his flaccid cock still hanging out. As for me, I remained sat on my pedestal, savouring my mouth full of cum. I spread it around with my tongue until everything in my gob was covered in this divine living elixir. Then and only then, I swallowed, feeling the burn in my throat as masculine acids did there worst, only to be overcome in just a couple of minutes by the neutralising agents in my saliva. Wet knickered, wet legged and wet haired, I floated home through the park on a fluffy pink cloud of very pleasant memory, and with a deliciously acrid taste my mouth.

Anyway, thanks for the drink love. It's not every gentleman I meet in public conveniences that takes me out for a drink afterwards - and I really needed this drink by the way. That filthy wet concrete floor was really cold on my naked back! Who knew there was a web site for guys looking for ugly women to fuck, eh?