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An Urgent Stop
by Greg Scott


All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc.  In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it.  Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.

This story is true, vividly remembered from a different phase of my life.


We were on a boring stretch of highway in western Indiana, between Chicago and Indianapolis.  Miles of straight interstate highway bordered on each side by nearly treeless farms, flat land for as far as we could see in any direction.  It was a drive we made two or three times a year, not as painful in the summer as in the winter, when the highway was usually covered with rutted ice and blowing snow.

The "we" to whom I refer was a young married couple and their small son.  Yes, I was married for a a woman...a long story that I'll save for another place.  Our destination was our homes of origin to visit our families, the only sane explanation to travel through that part of the country.

I saw a sign for an upcoming rest area.  That's what we Americans call the publicly funded oases of toilets, sinks and a few picnic tables.  The sign was a relief for me.  It meant that I could stretch my legs for the first time since surviving Chicago traffic.  More important, it meant that we would actually get to see some trees and enjoy something green other than small corn stalks.

"I think I'm going to have to use the bathroom," I announced.  Three beats and then, "For a while."

That was my usual signal that I had to do more than simply take a leak.  Of course, I didn't really need to.  In fact, I hate doing anything more than urinate in a public restroom.  

I had discovered, somewhat by accident, that this particular rest area had one stall in the men's room with a peep hole cut into the wall.  It wasn't a glory hole, unless there is somewhat out there who truly has a pencil dick, because the hole was only a bit larger than the size of a pencil.

Since discovering that bit of information, and since it was true of no other rest area along our nearly five hundred mile journey, I somehow needed a restroom stop at that point on each journey we made.  Usually, it turned out to have been a pointless stop, although I was occasionally lucky enough to get a glimpse (or even an outright extended start) at a nice cock or two at the line of urinals.  

Only on a couple occasions had the adjacent stall been in use.  Those times, it was entirely wasted by being used by men who actually needed to it for its rather disgusting intended purpose.  So I would just sit in the stench for a while, looking at a fat, hairy leg, hoping he would leave quickly to make a space for a horny, exhibitionist.  I usually grew tired before anyone else came to that stall,  although plenty of men went to others that were not conducive to my peeping eyes.

On this particular day, I first had to assist my son with his natural urges.  That gave me plenty of time at the long line of urinals, pretending to be giving all my attention to him by instructing him about his aim, telling him not to touch anything other than himself, and reminding him to shake before putting it back in its pants.  Children make a great cover for wandering eyes!

Fortunately for me, my son was peeing at an ideal time, as several men used the urinals during that period that I managed to stretch out as long as possible.  None of the men were the least bit self-conscious.  It seemed to be an omen, but maybe only in retrospect.

So, by the time I had finished supervising my son's hand washing, I had already had what I counted a rather good stop.  But I wasn't quite ready for it to end.  So I told my son to go stay outside with his mother and that I would be out later.

By this time, some fresh men had entered to stand by the wall of porcelain receptacles.  I decided that I should join them.  My luck held.  After several other men had finished, one man and I lingered.  Neither of us were any longer able to squeeze out any pee.  I noticed his wedding ring as his left hand moved back and forth caressing his expanding member.  Of course, mine grew in sympathy with his.

Too soon, another man entered and came to the urinals.  Apparently that panicked my new friend for he somehow managed to stuff himself back into his pants, walked rapidly to the sinks, and did no more than run a little water, before heading outside, never looking back.

My newest companion was seemingly modest, neither showing nor looking in my direction.  I painfully put myself away, without zipping, and headed to my favorite stall.  

I figured that I had ten minutes at most until my wife would question my extended absence as I got comfortable on the seat, checked my angle for the peep hole, and played with myself.  No sooner was I seated than I heard the door to the men's room swing open.  Footsteps hurried in my direction.  Certain that they would continue past me to one of the wrong stalls, I prepared myself for disappointment.

Wrong!  This was my day.  The door to the stall on the left opened, and in walked a pair of shorts with some very slightly hairy thighs visible below them.  I leaned over so that I could catch sight of the shoes, usually an indicator of the type of person filling them.

They were athletic shoes, bigger than a boys but smaller than most men would wear.  I gazed at the shoes trying to calculate something about their owner, when the shorts dropped straight down onto them.  But the shoes didn't turn around facing the door.  Instead, they remained pointed toward the toilet. 

I took my position at the peep hole.  There before me stood a young male vigorously jerking an already rigid cock.  By "vigorously," I mean fast--extremely fast.  He was moving faster than I had ever jacked off.  This was obviously an urgent stop for him.

Having been nearly at full mast maybe five minutes before, it didn't take me long to join him in fully erect status.  I tried unsuccessfully to keep pace with him.  It didn't really matter, though.  Within about 90 seconds of his arrival, he shot several volleys into the toilet, jerked up his shorts and rushed out of the restroom as if it were on fire.

I decided that what I had saved up in my testicles had to await another time.  I needed to see this rapid shooter.  I put myself somewhat together as quickly as possible, glanced in the next stall to catch a glimpse of the floating spunk and raced through the door into the parking area.  

The car in which he had been riding was parked right next to mine.  His mother had her window rolled down and his dad was stretching on the driver's side with his door still open.

"What took you so long?" demanded the mother of the boy that I now gauged to be around fourteen years old.  

He ignored her query, opened the door to the backseat where his slightly younger brother sat grinning.  My boy winked at his brother, nodded his head almost imperceptibly and climbed back into the car.  The younger brother seemed to have known the purpose of the urgent stop.

In no time, the car backed out of its space and exited the parking lot and my life.

I decided that I would like to meet the boy again in ten years or so, assuming that he had slowed down a little by then.  In the meantime, his urgent stop had made my boring journey rather memorable after all.

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