Hosing down the Underground

I was at Victoria tube (subway) station one evening on my way home. I had had a few beers, just enough to loosen some inhibitions but not nearly enough to be drunk. I saw a cute young guy who had clearly had far more to drink than I. Suddenly he disappeared from the platform into the stairwell.

I followed discreetly.

He lay on his back on the stairs, undid his jeans, then pulled out his cock and tugged back his foreskin. I watched as a great stream of piss arched over his left hip and started to cascade down the stairs. Some of the piss inevitably landed on the front of his pale blue jeans and splashed onto his white T-shirt.

I made myself scarce.

Boarding a train, I sat a few seats away until he lurched off at the next station, Sloane Square. On impulse, I followed as he headed unsteadily alongs the Kings Road. Catching him up I asked if he was OK, did he want any help getting home? This had a remarkably sobering effects as he promptly told me to ‘Fuck off’ before turning down a side street. I guessed if he lived there, he must still live with his parents. Had I taken him home they would doubtless have been grateful for his return in one piece but less enamoured of my desire to munch on their son’s membrum virile.

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