Memories from Public Bathrooms

I swallowed many loads during my teens in a city centre hotel bathroom in Dublin.

I would go there on Saturday afternoon and spend four hours there, down in the basement where it was warmer and less pungent-smelling than public toilets. But it was a known cottaging place so I would go early to get the first cubicle.

I would wait to hear a single soft rap on the door and then twist the latch to let the stranger enter. I would sit on the seat as he hung his coat on the hook behind the door, then open wide as he dropped his pants and offered me a faceful of manhood. Cock, balls, pubic hair, thighs.

I would grip the cock and get it hard, peeling back the foreskin and hoping it was clean....but even if it wasn't I would suck it anyway and clean the glans with my tongue. Then I would caress the buttocks and balls and finger the asshole as I sucked, gauging his excitement by the tension in his thighs and his breathing as well as the rampancy of his cock. If I was greedy I would be merciless and make him cum quickly, my need to taste warm salty spunk getting priority over the prolongation of his pleasure.

He would lean forward and sigh deeply, legs tensing, hands pressed against the wall above my head as I devoured his glans with my tongue and lips, milking the warm jets of seed into my greedy throat. After he came, there would be an awkward moment as he pulled up his trousers and buttoned up, grabbed his coat, then opened the door and after a furtive peek, disappear out of the toilet, not stopping to wash his hands. Hardly ever a word was said. He didn't thank me for pleasuring him and I didn't thank him for feeding my addiction to this way of drinking semen, in these surroundings........

And then I would settle and await the next knock with bated breath. Sometimes the wait would be long but the anticipation building was a delicious form of torture that heightened the eventual pleasure of the next cock.

Sometimes there would hardly be time to recover when the next horny stranger arrived..... it we as addictive, so random and exciting. It was like playing the slots. You might win and you might not, but it was those great days when you emerged almost delirious from semen, that made you keep going despite the quieter days.

Of course there were regulars and though we would not exchange words, I would try to remember the cock before it was laid bare, or to recall the quality and quantity of the load deposited the previous time. I lived certain gushers and my sweet spot cock was 6-7 inches, enough to test your throat but not choke you.

Every cock had its own personalty and every load of semen had its own unique musk and viscosity.

Each guy had an individual way of ejaculating. Some preferred to try giving a facial rather than accept being swallowed.

I preferred to swallow. The mundane reason for this was so as not to get my sweater spattered . But there was a higher reason. I also swallowed because to me, that semen was a sacrament, a symbolic transfer of sexual energy. But also an actual transfer. In physics class we learned about the laws of energy transfer. Energy list in one place had to go somewhere else. As these men spurted their hot seed into my mouth, their sexual energy literally went to me, as I swallowed and assimilated the orgasmic energy.

Sometimes as they upped their loads into my mouth, and I looked up at them standing over me, I was reminded of being on my knees at the altar rails in my youth, receiving Holy Communion from an elderly priest.

"The body of Christ" he would say as he offered the water, so I could smell cigarettes on his fingers as he placed it on my tongue.

"Amen" I would say as I swallowed the little wafer.

Amen as I swallowed the life force of manhood, the wed of life - semen.