I know what people would think if they knew. They'd call me a pervert, a degenerate. Maybe they're right. But they don't understand the thrill. It's not about the place, not really. It's about the risk.
I'll be at work, or in a mall, or at a restaurant, and this feeling starts to build. A low hum under my skin. I'll make an excuse, tell my coworkers I'll be right back, and find the nearest men's room. I always pick the one at the end of the hall, the one with the heavy door that muffles sound.
The moment I lock that stall door, everything changes. The world outside disappears. It's just me, the cold tile, the faint smell of disinfectant. My heart is already pounding, not from arousal, but from the adrenaline. I can hear people outside, washing their hands, talking, laughing. Their footsteps echo on the floor. Each sound is a potential threat, a potential discovery.
That's the fuel.
I unzip my pants, and my hands are already shaking. I'm hard before I even touch myself, just from the sheer audacity of it. Every creak of the stall door, every flush from the urinals, every voice that gets too close sends a jolt of electricity through me. Will this be the one? Will this be the person who notices my feet are facing the wrong way? Will this be the kid who tries to push the door open?
The orgasm is secondary. It's almost an afterthought. The real pleasure is the tightrope walk. The whole time I'm stroking, I'm listening. My senses are on high alert. I'm picturing the scene in my head: the door rattling, a voice asking if everything's alright in there, the shame, the exposure. And that thought, that terrifying, humiliating thought, is what pushes me over the edge.
I finish quickly, silently. Clean up. And when I unlock that door and walk out, back into the normal world, I feel this incredible sense of calm. I've cheated the system. I've taken this private, forbidden moment in the most public of places. I look at the people who were just outside the door, completely oblivious, and I feel a power they'll never understand. They live by the rules. I just found a way to break one, right under their noses. And I'll do it again. I always do.
I'll be at work, or in a mall, or at a restaurant, and this feeling starts to build. A low hum under my skin. I'll make an excuse, tell my coworkers I'll be right back, and find the nearest men's room. I always pick the one at the end of the hall, the one with the heavy door that muffles sound.
The moment I lock that stall door, everything changes. The world outside disappears. It's just me, the cold tile, the faint smell of disinfectant. My heart is already pounding, not from arousal, but from the adrenaline. I can hear people outside, washing their hands, talking, laughing. Their footsteps echo on the floor. Each sound is a potential threat, a potential discovery.
That's the fuel.
I unzip my pants, and my hands are already shaking. I'm hard before I even touch myself, just from the sheer audacity of it. Every creak of the stall door, every flush from the urinals, every voice that gets too close sends a jolt of electricity through me. Will this be the one? Will this be the person who notices my feet are facing the wrong way? Will this be the kid who tries to push the door open?
The orgasm is secondary. It's almost an afterthought. The real pleasure is the tightrope walk. The whole time I'm stroking, I'm listening. My senses are on high alert. I'm picturing the scene in my head: the door rattling, a voice asking if everything's alright in there, the shame, the exposure. And that thought, that terrifying, humiliating thought, is what pushes me over the edge.
I finish quickly, silently. Clean up. And when I unlock that door and walk out, back into the normal world, I feel this incredible sense of calm. I've cheated the system. I've taken this private, forbidden moment in the most public of places. I look at the people who were just outside the door, completely oblivious, and I feel a power they'll never understand. They live by the rules. I just found a way to break one, right under their noses. And I'll do it again. I always do.
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Swipey
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