Growing Up - a piece of 'faction' (fact and fiction) by Englishman. In my early teens I travelled a lot into the city by bus, which was easy to do there were many routes in and out to choose from. The bus, whichever one you travelled on, would always terminate in the main city bus station - a dark, oily place, stinking of diesel fumes and the sound of screaming bus engines. Not a very pleasant place to hang around in all in all. Built in the fifties the place remains in need of a lick of paint. One Saturday, a late afternoon it was, around the 4.30 to 5pm time, I walked back to the bus station having just spent my last few pennies on a single at one of the record stores. Checking the times the bus wasn't going to be in for about another fifteen or twenty minutes. I needed a pee and thankfully had plenty of time to find a gents - the nearest was at the back of the bus station. I crossed the various bus stands, slipping on the oily floor, so I walked steady and took my time, despite a full bladder! I located the door to the gents and walked in through the entrance door - it too stunk of pee and was filthy like the floor outside. I located the urinals - on the left as you went in. Up a sloped step to face the open porcelain urinal, it had shallow dividers between the sections, a designers attempt to provide privacy which didn't seem to work very well. I held my record under my left arm and unzipped with my right hand, pulled out my cock and breathed a sigh of relief as I'd been holding back for so long, as I peeed my cock swelled up and I found I had a handful - width more than length I have to be honest - as the pee shot out and splashed around my feet. I'd only just started peeing, perhaps a few seconds, when raised voices appeared behind me as a young bloke and an older man walked in - the older man bollocking the younger over something, Christ knows what. The older man was dressed in an old suit, grey pinstripe, looked as if it might have come from a charity shop, you know the look - in a suit but a second hand suit! The younger bloke was wearing what looked like workboots, black canvas jeans and wore a white vest singlet. He had short hair I recall and it was cut off flat on the top. He was the same height as me five feet ten or thereabouts - I noticed this because he walked up to the urinal two spaces away and as I looked across him being verballed by the man we were on a level. I couldn't understand what the older man was on about, he might have been a psychiatric outpatient perhaps - that part of the city was home to hostels for homeless men, and was also where patients gatherred around the community canteens set up in the church there. The young man stood trying to ignore the older one, I was watching the older man, wondering what planet he was off, but in my field of view the young man unclipped his belt, unbuttonned his waistband and the fly buttons and pushed down on the waistband of his pants. He arched back slightly, breathing in, hooking his thumb under the waistband of his underpants. A push down on the waistband produced a pretty amazing sight. When you're young you always wonder what it is to be grown up and public toilets always provided fascinating insights into manhood. I knew I'd get there in years to come but still my eyes wondered from left to right - looking through the side of head almost - you had to look, but didn't want to be seen and what I was seeing was fascinating because the younger man was distracted by the shoutings of the older man as I looked across. There was no eye contact between the two men. The younger man stood, belt hanging loose, left arm straight down with his thumb hooked over the waistband of his underpants, making room for his cock - he started peeing. The whole scene was odd, fancy being harassed while peeing - weird experience - but the focus of attention changed for me and time seemed to slow down from this point. The young mans cock was hanging, it was a dark shaft - almost Meditteranean possible, tanned dark skin anyway and it was laced with veins. Like me he was still intact and had a generous roll of skin around the end just showing his slit. The pee was shooting out of this splashing against the porcelain. The older man was still arguing and pointing his finger prodding the younger man, causing him to swivel slightly, his cock swung from left to right. It was a heavy piece of anatomy by the looks of things - I'd say it was perhaps six or seven inches long and it looked as thick as toilet roll card. The young mans pee splashed around the porcelain and then slowed to a trickle and then a drip. He took hold of his cock between his thumb and fingers and rolled the skin back to shake off any excess. He displayed a dark pink, fleshy red head, shaped like a slightly flatenned mushroom, which changed shape as he drew his topskin backwards and forwards. Behind his mushroom head I recall seeing wet fleshy veins as his cockskin disappeared, being pulled back with force to squeeze out any remaining drops of pee. He rolled the skin forwards again and then back. The angle of his cock changed at this point. It was curved downwards when he was peeing, but seemed to swell now becoming wider and more upright. Was this a mans hardon I wondered - it was - because the cockskin wouldn't cover his head up anymore after he had rolled it back. The head was slimy wet and beetroot red and becoming bigger as he shook his cock. His cock head was almost touching the porcelain as it seemed to grow in length and width. I'd say it was possibly about eight inches long now and was still being shaken. The young man seemed to be getting pissed off with the older mans nagging and looked across at me, I looked downwards to realise that I was becoming bigger too. He looked straight ahead again and the down, as I looked across again - out of the side of my head it felt like - and there was a very private, public, site of an aroused young man with his cock out in front of him, being hassled by this mad man. Things changed in a flash in the next few seconds. The young man had been running his thumb and fingers up and down his length for what seemed ages, but was probably only a minute or so. He quickenned his hand up and down his length and I recall his cock head flared up, becoming like a snooker ball sized and coloured mushroom - it looked painful - he shot a string of cum at the urinal. The older man prodded the younger in the chest forcefully causing him to turn to his right side slightly and letting go of his cock. The older man bought his right hand around and wrapped his thumb and fingers around the youngers cock. He jacked the younger mans cock back and forth as more strings of cum hit the porcelain. The old man tried to roll his cock skin forward but the youngers head was too swollen. The older mans fingers were dirty and nicotine stained. They were thick fingers around a thick cock. The young mans face became pained as he shot his goods into the urinal pan, prompted by the old mans violent hand movements which were accompanied by remarks to the effect that he would get him back by jacking him instead - and he did carry out his threat - I was watching him doing it. He jacked back and forth a few times more until he cold no longer see anything coming out of the youngers head. The older man withdrew his right hand from the cock and looked up angrily at the younger man. He walked out of the gents, leaving the younger standing there with a wet, fleshy red, beaten and spent cock which was beginning to hang as it did before. He looked around as he stood - there was me to his left and an old man peeing, leaning up the wall, to his right - further down the urinals. He wasn't embarassed at all - there was no regret on his face at what had happened. He took a step back, taking his right hand and holding his cock between thumb and fingers he seemed to squeeze the blood out of his swelling and managed to roll his cock skin over his tired looking head. He dug deep into his underpants and arched backwards making room for his equipment which retreated back into his pants. I heard the slap of the elastic waistband on skin and he covered it all up behind his button fly. He looked across to me and bowed his head, walking out of the gents doorway back into the bus station. I packed mine away, zipped up and left the gents for bus stand twelve, gobsmacked by what I had seen in those minutes, which felt more like an hour. I remained alert to events like this and witnessed another similar 'host-jacking' session in front of one of these all metal horse trough style urinals, where theres no privacy at all. Same kind of situation but less heated and less violent as the host jacker jacked himself off at one and the same time. The jacked - I recall - was equipped like a horse and the jacker was short and wide rather like a beercan with a phenomenal head on him. Theres more fact than fiction in this than meets the eye - if you know the bus station in Birmingham, England - then you might know where I mean! Happy imagination from Englishman. July 1997.