Sunday, March 16, 2008

Making do at Sea

A funny thing happened to me in Milan, I was only there in transit on my journey from wonderful Genova to I suspect tourist hell Venice, and paid my .70 euro tariff to use the bathroom, knowing I was trapped between trains.
Locking the bike up in Milan incedently is a pain. A good reflection of italian organisation is the fact that they provide trains for bikes, and yet the stations have almost no facilities for them, pushing my bike up stairs is the finish line for me, not pulling up and hopping off my bike in front of the station.
Anyway I go to the urinals, there's 4 or so along the wall and a short little Italian man of perhaps late 20s early 30s at the end one so I go to the first one and commence taking a leak.
Next thing I know the guy at the end one is now right next to me in the second one. I glance up to recognise hm briefly then back to business.
I notice him glancing over my shoulder repeatedly and I feel insecure. Namely insecure about the electronic devices I have in my pockets feeling particularly vulnerable that if this guy was to reach in and grab my wallet or even open up my backpack, I'd have my pissing cock between catching him and a clean getaway.
Then I see that old familiar thrust of his hand sliding up and down his shaft.
He's just using my 'golden shower' as a masturbatory aid.
I relax, finish up and walk out of there. After washing my hands I notice looking backwards that the dude has slunk back to the end urinal.
I laughed. Why the fuck did I laugh? first off I guess its a matter of 'what the fuck do I care?' if the dude wants to jack off to the imagery of me pissing then so be it. It's not like my dick is standing tall 'like a strong swimmer that has just been for a swim' as per Mr.Garrison's hit book 'the valley of penises' no instead it was my loose and relaxed small form penis taking a piss. A piss! fucking hell, I laugh because I wonder about this guy, this is the information age, when did he get sick of sitting in his dark apartment infront of his computer watching gay men cornhole eachother and say 'you know this doesn't cut it.' how many times on that quiet sunday afternoon did he shoot his wad onto his chest or face and wipe it off with a designer Italian black sock and say 'these are getting harder each time, I need some new inspiration' and have to head down, pay 70 cents and stand in a combined puddle of Urine and look over the shoulders of the finest Milan Central Station has to offer (which isn't very fine) and instead of seeing erect cocks being sucked on or pounding ass but limped and pissing.
That's why I laughed, come on, that's funny.

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