If there was the odd scribblings on the walls outside of the cubicles, nothing prepared me for what was beyond the door. It was unbelieveable - jokes, stories, suggestions, commands in many different handwritings and sorts of pen, pencil, biro, marker pens etc - and many drawings too, all of some sexual act. I was fairly, though not entirely, 'innocent' then, but still had the capacity to be shocked. And I was profoundly horrified at the crude depiction of a stiff-cocked, naked man with another man's stiff cock in his mouth. It had never even occurred to me at my then tender age that such things were done. It made me feel sick! I'm not sure if on that occasion I ever actually had the shit I so badly needed. It could well have been that I was so horrified and distracted by all these 'disgusting' writings and drawings that that particular need was no longer there. I left that toilet in a state of total confusion, appalled at what I'd seen.
But the dam had been breached. I could never 'undo' that experience no matter how I wished I could. But over the next few days the horror of what I'd seen written and drawn up there gradually lessened, though I could not get it out of my mind. This harsh feeling then reduced and was transformed into one of interest, then curiosity - and finally, into one of desire. Alone in my bed every night I'd get hard just thinking of some of the things that I'd read. Even sucking didn't seem quite as ugly as it did at first. It even became intriguing. I had to go back - just to check that my eyes hadn't been playing tricks with me. (I suppose some might say that I'd now been well and truly 'corrupted'). So after a few more days back I went - and found that not only had I seen and read it all correctly, I was finding it not just fascinating, but even 'exciting'. The 'filthier' the idea was, the more it excited me. I started exploring more toilets, more and more till I'd been to all the public toilets in the town. Sometimes there was so much scribbling that you could hardly see the fuckin' wall! I could have spent 24 hours in there and still not had time to read everything. There were always some drawings of and stories about women, but they didn't interest me. And, of course, there were holes knocked into walls and doors at a very 'appropriate' height, often blocked up with screwed-up bog paper which was dead easy to remove - but that's a blog for another day. I started grading the toilets in my mind to determine which were the ones worth re-visiting. When making some of these visits there'd be men already in there, making out as though they were having a piss but, as I soon was to find out, just loitering around until someone came in who had the same thing on their mind as they did - quick sex. (I'll tell about these actual physical experiences of mine in a later blog.) But for the moment at least I ignored them and their advances. Sometimes they even waved their big reddish horn at me! But at the beginning I was too embarrassed, even frightened, to take up their offers, though there were always some who found it hard to take 'no' for an answer. I discovered early on that now and again there'd be a bloke so desperate that he'd try to hold on to me to prevent my leaving, but I always managed to escape (though there were a few hair-raising experiences). Once outside I knew I was safe as I knew that he could never come chasing after me with a hard todger protruding out of his trousers. Anyway, they sometimes had their pants round their ankles anyway.
I got an insatiable craving to do the rounds of these shithouses and to read more and more of these 'dirty' stories. I just couldn't control it. I saw that some were messages suggesting appointments to meet up. I started writing answers to some of these but for a while was too scared to follow them through. Then I started writing my own stories on the walls (mostly out of my own fantasies as I didn't have all that much experience then.) as well as doing my own crude drawings of men fucking each other or sucking each other off, spunk dribbling down their chins. Even though I had this particular fascination of cocksucking, at this point I hadn't yet tried it myself, either giving or receiving. Nor had I yet been fucked up the bum. Funny, but I even thought that after being fucked the man's cock would come out covered in your shit! In time (not that long) I was to experience both fucking and sucking - both as doer and receiver, but that was a little way ahead as yet.
But in the years since that time, all writing on shithouse walls has fascinated me deeply. It's such a fuckin' shame that all those old, crumbling, unattended public shitouses have gone - and largely been replaced by (far fewer) horrible, well-lit, clean bogs, often attended, or even with CCTV cameras in them, ostensibly as a deterrent to drug-dealing, but deterring also a lot more than that.
So, that time has past. I'm grateful for those exciting years, but even more grateful to those kindly shithouse-wall 'artists, poets and writers' who gave me my valuable sex education - and helped me, in my own way, to pass on their and my acquired knowledge to younger guys than I am, before it was too late and these wonderful 'educational establishments' passed away into history for ever.
When I was in elementary school, our playground had swings, a slide, monkey bars, a seesaw, a merry-go-round, and this cool set of stations with things like tic tac toe. And a mild obstacle course.
ReplyDeleteSome jokester took the "tunnel" (a concrete cylinde) and drew what was supposed to be sex in spring green and even labeled the top "pussy". I have to say, at 7, I had seen my friend's older sister, and that...didn't look right.
Interesting, in a way I wouldn't be pursuing. But thanks for that.
DeleteI'd have been 13, I think, when at school morning assembly the headmaster-priest solemnly announced that the caretaker had found some sexual message written on the wall of one of the toilet cubicles - and the culprit WOULD be found and severely punished. We were all intrigued but, I being a shy, quiet type, couldn't bring myself to ask what it was that had been written there. However, the investigation was thorough, including the headmaster himself going into each class in turn and getting all the boys to write on sheets of paper the whole alphabet plus the phrase 'girl guides', this evidence then being gathered up and taken away. We had visions of the headmaster sitting there in that toilet for hours holding up each sheet of paper in turn to compare and look for clues. Quite amusing. But they did find the boy. Quite probably his mis-spelling of the word 'guides' had given him away, He turned out to be someone in my year, though not my class I was an 'A' pupil - classes were graded - he was a 'D', so not. He had at all clever. He was brought up onto the raised stage, admitted it was him, had to apologise to the school, and was then soundly beaten with a strap, the 'normal' method of punishment in those days.
I've often wondered what it could have been that he did write - though it seems that whatever it was wouldn't have done any more than to satisfy more to satisfy my boy's curiosity.