I peered out of the stall at the approaching footsteps but drew back when I saw the man enter with boy at his side. The boy was maybe seventeen, eighteen, and the man had his arm atop the boy’s shoulder and they walked to an open urinal and the man slightly separated his legs as the boy reached out, slid down the zipper, and inserted his fingers into the pants flaps, carefully pulling the fat limp penis out of the separated zipper.
He gently drew back the penile-covering skin and aimed the soft looped penis into the bowl, jerking it a few times, then gazing contented as a rapid stream of heady piss gushed into the gray urinal tank,
The man farted and the boy turned his head and I saw him crinkle his nose and gape over the man’s arm on his shoulder as though trying to breathe in the fart aroma, but the man slightly nudged him and he turned back to the urinal and continued pulsing his fingers around the thick pissing cock, the urine slowly easing and dribbling to droplets and stopping.
The man glanced down at the boy and patted his shoulder and the boy shook the limp dick and squeezed out a weak pee-drop and prodded the cock back onto the pants and carefully pulled up the zipper.
They turned from the urinal and walked towards the door when the man abruptly stopped and glared down at the boy.
-Haven’t we forgotten something? he quietly said, releasing the boy’s shoulder and bracing his hand on his waist. The boy grimaced, his eyes darting about the bathroom, then gasped and blushed and lowered his head.
-I’m sorry, he mumbled. I forgot.
But the man shook his head and frowned and said, How could you forget?
-I’m sorry, the boy repeated and warily looked up at the man, then quickly darted to the wash basins at the opposite ends of the urinals. He ran water over his fingers and bobbed the release valve of a liquid soap urn and scrubbed and rinsed his hands, then shook them vigorously beneath the swift-blowing gusts of a hot-air-drying machine attached to a wall next to the wash basins; he returned to the man and held out his clean hands for his approval.
The man studied them a moment, the blurted, Put them in your pockets and don’t take them out until I tell you to do so! The boy winced, but quickly inserted his hands in his pants pockets and lowered his head.
-Haven’t we learned anything by now? the man angrily said, and swung out his arm and struck the side of the boys face. The boy yelped and pulled a hand from his pocket and touched his hurt face. The man exploded.
-What did I tell you, you little whore? he shouted, grabbing the boy by the scruff of his shirt collar and flinging him out of the bathroom. Now you’re really gonna get it! he hissed, and stormed after the boy.
I listened as their rapid steps pattered down the corridor then stepped out of my stall and moved to the urinal. For a moment, I gazed at the yellow puddle of bubbled piss glistening in the grayish bowl, then pulled out my own dick and began to pee. I hesitated, then glanced at the shiny white wash basins and the soap urn on the wall, then left the bubbled piss in the bowl and moved back to my stall.
‘The Urinal’ has previously appeared in the e-zine Velvet Mafia.
Lambda Awards Winner 2010/Bisexual Fiction for Holy Communion. A Ukrainian born inWest Germany, Mykola (Mick) Dementiuk, grew up and survived onNew York’s toughLower East Sidestreets, which are now a bare echo of what they once were. He is the author of Holy Communion, Vienna Dolorosa, Times Queer and 100 Whores (Synergy Press). His other writings in e-book are Dee Dee Day, Variety, the Spice of Life, Murder in Times Square, Times Square…inBrooklyn? Queers ofCentral Parkand A Sucker for the Circus (eXtasy e-Books), Times Square Cutie and Stallers, More Tales of Times Square Cuties (Renaissance/Sizzler e-Books).
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