Date: Tue, 01 Dec 2015 04:55:39 +0000
From: Chezdon <chezdon1997@gmail.com>
Subject: Innocence Waning Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A surprising good run of weather in Melbourne welcomed me into the extreme
light of the day which made the ensuing walk to Port Melbourne for a latte
at the old converted train station, now the final stop of the 109 tram line
in Beacon Cove very pleasant. I regret not taking my sunglasses with me as
I relax and sip the morphed roasted beans and frothed milk. Casually, I
check my phone to find out what time it is. There are just enough seconds
left I muse to finish my morning pick-me-up before my 10:30 AM appointment
in the toilet block with the mystery man and fortunately there are no
messages or notifications from social media to distract me.

Strangely, it is the heat of the rays of the sun that I feel on both my
neck and exposed shoulders as the jumper that I choose to wear this morning
is quite loose so it was more comfortable to just take it off. The few
people that are out on Sandown Beach stare at my shiny white skin and laugh
at my untanned upper arms. Taking the time to admire the sand, bay and
architecture of the beachfront property still allows me enough time to
arrive at Westgate Park before my meeting of sorts.

Normally the small cark park is filled to capacity at the entrance to this
reserve but it is abandoned completely today which I find very queer. The
weather remains glorious however there are a few black clouds on the
horizon that are ominous which are concerning, but they are still some time
away from arriving. It is as quiet as a morgue potentially making this
visit to the public toilet even more anticipated, but also private and
dangerous in the same respect. I look at the clock on my phone once again
and learn it is 10:30 AM on the dot. My bladder is legitimately bursting so
I have a legitimate cause to enter the shithouse and really don't think
twice as to how or when I shattered the screen of my phone as I slip it
into the back pocket of my shorts.

Walking into the public facilities, I abandon the sun and peaceful dirt
patch outside and substitute it for a darker and harder concrete box where
not only the old familiar metal trough sits against the wall but also a
lone figure that calmly turns his head to leer at me as I enter. My natural
reaction upon seeing the smiling man is to stop and then nervously rub my
hot damp neck which I can feel has been scorched by the sun, before making
my way to stand on the cold metal grate of the trough. Despite urgently
needing to vacate my bladder, I gaze into the eyes of the bloke next to
me. I am certain that he is the brazen guy which passed me the scrap of
paper so indiscriminately yet boldly the previous day, which is only a
handful of minutes when you relate it to time, which equally seems like an
aeon ago.

My new acquaintance breaks his gaze from my face and looks down at
himself. I watch him stare at his massive throbbing erect penis proudly
which looks like an inverted exclamation point, something that resembles
punctuation from a menu in a Mexican cantina. Despite my bladder being
painfully full, I side-step closer to this character; the shifting of
weight causing an odd sounding clunk to resonate from the trough. A timer
goes off and water starts following down the back of the trough, supposedly
cleaning it but instead it produces an awkward smell and a sound that to
even a layman would indicate to be a problem with the pipes. Not to be
thwarted by these distractions, I reach out and put my hand around the
shaft of the man's hard cock. Not being familiar with a foreskin, I first
marvel at the pink head of the penis exposed by choice. I do not worry
about the dynamics but instead decide to live in the moment. My small yet
soft hand then gently glides down the shaft of his penis until its travel
is thwarted by balls and public hair. I then realise that my hand is so
small my index finger and thumb cannot even meet whilst gripping this
monster schlong and it makes me feel inadequate.

The pipes continue to make a loud rattling sound which is horrible and
distracting. My stomach and then my left thigh begin to heat up to the
point that I feel like I am starting to burn. My organs are not as warm as
my neck and face in comparison but it is the ambient noise that at first
deafens me and then a blistering pain in my left side that jolts me from my
dream and back into a consciousness.

It takes a few seconds to process my new found reality. Like a dog, I
return to the living world on my bathroom floor in a large puddle of urine
as seemingly I relieved myself during the dream sequence. Jayden managed to
knee me in the side in his rush to get to the toilet to speak into the big
porcelain telephone once again, a practice that I received a fair amount of
experience doing in some minutes or even maybe hours prior given the acidic
taste in my mouth. The wretched noise that Jayden is making drowns out
whatever music videos are being played in the bedroom on the television.

The warm urine that has saturated my underwear is getting colder, much to
the relief of my body but to the disgust of my being. Reality starts to
take hold as I come out of my self-induced stupor and realise that I have
some of Jayden's spew on my torso and leg. The retching sounds continue as
I extricate myself from ground zero and prop myself up against the wall. My
head not only hurts but the thumping on the right side of my temple matches
my fast heartbeat. Messaging my head proves to be of little value and
instead I feel the urine running down my legs gently as I use every ounce
of strength that I have left to get to my feet. Much like legs of wine
would run down the side of a Riedel glass, the by-product of good times
experienced previously now gradually falls back to Earth courtesy of
gravity, a place I yearn for as the nausea returns and as a result, the
room starts to spin a bit.

Not having any concern for modesty or decorum, I pull down my saturated
boxer briefs and step out of them, leaving them in the puddle of bodily
fluids next to my best friend. My erection still hasn't receded as a result
of the erotic dream however the only thing I care about is getting into the
cold shower to cool me down first and foremost and then as an aside to
clean myself.

The cold water in the shower has never felt so good and out of desperation
I drink the equivalent of two pints of the essential life force from the
exploding showerhead and then prop myself up against the wall hoping that
my equilibrium will stabilise. Jayden has rolled away from the toilet bowl
by this time finally and looks less than impressed and exhausted.

My senses are overwhelmed and before I can reconcile the memories of the
previous day, gravity once again takes hold and my legs gradually give
way. I feel my back gliding down the face of the wet tiles and finally back
sitting on my arse, holding my legs I look up to the shower head
ejaculating in my face from a distance and close my eyes once more.


*****

chezdon1997@gmail.com