****** Union Station by Trainman4835 ******
===============================================================================

Union Station


I hate people who always talk about "the good old days." You know the type:
"When I was young, we never had air-conditioning. We had to figure out other
ways to keep cool." "They don't teach kids to spell nowadays! And handwriting?
Why, we all had to learn penmanship." "The music nowadays is just no good. Give
me Elvis and The Beatles every time!" "People are so inconsiderate! When I was
growing up, I was taught to be courteous and polite." Yada yada yada.

But you know something? Back in the 50s and early 60s it was a lot more fun to
be a young homosexual on the prowl. AIDS hadn't reared its ugly head, and every
subway, bus and train station, downtown office building and movie theater had
an active men's room. Indeed, any public rest room was likely to be
interesting, if not thrilling, and many of my most memorable early experiences
occurred in one or another of them.

Places like Union Station in Chicago were absolute Mecca for gay men. Long
before renovation, the place had turned a little seedy as the golden age of
passenger rail service was just coming to an end. But all of the services were
still there, including an absolutely huge men's room off the main waiting area.

Used by both commuters and long distance travelers, you entered by going down a
flight of beautiful marble stairs that curved down into the lower level and
insured that anyone below could hear you coming. At the bottom of the stairs
you turned left and entered the first of two large rooms. It contained nothing
but toilet stalls along facing walls, with a large walkway, perhaps 20 feet
wide, between. The room had at least 30 stalls; maybe 15 on each side. Each
stall was large and had the usual partitions, but these were built of marble,
and each stall finished with a beautiful ebony or deep mahogany door. This led
to another room toward the back, where there were rows upon rows of sinks along
one wall, urinals across the back, and more stalls on the opposite wall.

In the history of that men's room one could trace the fortunes of railroading
in the United States. I'm old enough to remember when the rooms were staffed
with bootblacks and attendants who handed out towels and provided brushes and
combs and aftershave to those who needed them. These men were invariably black
and middle-aged, and reminded me of the sleeping car porters or dining car
attendants one found on the trains. Those were the good years.

As railroading began to give way to the highway and, later, to jet planes, the
attendants disappeared, and passengers had to fend for themselves. The stalls
began to look a little beat up, and their doors often lacked locks, or had
holes gouged in them that were never repaired. Somehow, somebody had figured
out how to drill holes between the marble partitions, or gouge them out with
some tool. After a while, almost every stall had at minimum a little peep hole
into the next stall, sometimes ranging to a very large hole big enough to put
one's hand through.

More years passed, and passenger train travel continued to decline. While the
commuter trains continued their daily excursions, the rest rooms for commuters
were on the other side of the depot, and this main room had fewer and fewer
visitors. Almost everybody who now used this men's room did so with purposes
not dreamt of by the designers. In an effort to prevent such practices, the
management began to remove the doors to the stalls, assuming that nothing
untoward would go on behind open doors.

This, of course, made matters inevitably worse, so far as the protectors of our
morals were concerned, and soon they felt the only solution was to remove all
the doors of all the stalls. The stalls in the back room were exempted from
this procedure, should there be anyone too shy to be seen relieving themselves,
but the doors came off all the rooms in the front.

It was about this time that I became actively interested in these affairs. I
had learned that certain men who had many of the same desires as I would search
out such places, and that if I wished to be among those who felt as I did, this
was a splendid place to be, especially around rush hour in the late afternoon
and early evening.

But I was young and too inexperienced to use the open stalls, at first. I
enjoyed walking through the room, checking out the action (which was inevitably
very quiet, since they had heard me come down the stairs and stopped doing
whatever it was that they were doing.) I was starting to get the idea, but I
preferred the closed stalls in the back, at this stage.

One night, quite late as I remember, I came down to the men's room (was it
after a downtown movie?) just to check it out. Perhaps three people were in the
open stalls, two on one side and one on the other, so I continued to the back.
I chose the best of the closed stalls, off to the side where one could catch a
glimpse of the urinals if one opened the door slightly. It also had a small
peephole into the next stall.

It was quiet, unlike rush hour when sometimes you had to wait to get into these
closed stalls. But I was horny, I remember, and I also remember I immediately
dropped my Levis (did we wear Levis back then? I think so.) and my boxer shorts
to the floor and began playing with my pride and joy. I was all of 15 by then,
I think, a freshman in high school, but just developing into what eventually
turned out to be a rather neat package. At the time my upper body left a lot to
be desired, but I already had enough in the cock department to cause gasps in
the school shower room. And it seemed to need attention, 24 hours a day

After some time, I heard the familiar sound of people coming down the stairs,
and soon a couple of the urinals at the end were occupied. I looked through the
opening at the edge of the doors (approximately one-quarter to one-third of an
inch wide on all sides) but I couldn't see much, so I stood quietly and
carefully opened the door just enough to be able to look over. One older
gentleman was finishing his task at the far end, and in the middle, a young man
was busy fumbling at his pants.

I watched for a moment as the young man seemed to be having a bit of trouble,
but then his back arched, his head was thrown back a bit and a look of pained
delight came upon his face as he obviously let go, pissing loudly into the
urinal. This went on for an inordinately long time, I thought, until finally
the sound faded, he finished, and his head came down again to a normal
position. By this time, the other fellow had left. I sat down once again, but
left the door ajar, knowing that I could hear anybody else who might come in
and had plenty of time to close up if necessary.

The young man seemed to be standing at the urinal for a long time. I looked
over again, and he appeared to be weaving a bit from side to side. It dawned on
me that he might be ill, or drunk. What seemed a very long time went by and the
fellow didn't move much, until I saw his right arm moving rhythmically at his
side! I immediately determined the cause of the movement, having been so
familiar with it myself and, indeed, myself doing exactly the same behind the
closed door of the stall. He was masturbating, just as I was. And then he
looked around, as if aware of his surroundings for the very first time. His
eyes took in the row of stalls. He hesitated, then stopped his arm motion,
evidently returning the offending member to his slacks, and turned toward the
stalls. There was a large suitcase behind him, and he lifted it and began to
carry it with him.

Doors banged. He was looking into the stalls. None seemed to please him,
either, until he reached the one immediately next to mine. I had closed and
locked my stall at the moment he left the urinals and was again seated at the
toilet when I heard him banging around, lowering the toilet seat next door and
loudly closing the door. Immediately the pervasive, sickly smell of alcohol
filled my nostrils. The guy smelled as if somebody had poured a bottle of
whiskey over his head.

Although the odor almost made me gag, I looked through the peephole. I could
see quite a bit of the next stall, and saw clearly as he sat down, pants still
on, and, dragging his suitcase, managed to get the door closed. Then followed
the sound of the suitcase being opened and I could see much moving about. He
was obviously searching for something.

Suddenly he stood, and I could see he was taking off his shirt. Much grunting
and motion accompanied this action, until the shirt came free and he had it
off, left standing in his slacks and a tee shirt. These were fairly large
booths, and people often used them as changing rooms in those days. Evidently
my new neighbor was going to change his shirt. I was looking through the
peephole now, and I could see him carefully folding the shirt, which he then
ceremoniously stuffed into the suitcase (or so I assumed, since I couldn't
quite see). Next the tee shirt came off, leaving him bare chested, and giving
me a tantalizing glimpse of a nicely-haired, masculine and muscled chest, with
two large aureoles in which could be seen a couple of pencil-eraser sized
nipples. The motion of my hand increased.

He went through the folding procedure once again, but instead of replacing the
shirt and tee shirt, began to undo his belt and began what seemed like the
arduous task of getting rid of his slacks. One leg at a time, much banging
about and lurching and a few mumbled curses later, he was in his briefs. He sat
down with the exaggerated care the inebriated can sometimes take. Rifling
through the pants pockets, he evidently cleaned them of change, keys and other
contents, because I heard a jingling sound and then the sound of change and
other metallic objects being laid on the top of the toilet paper dispenser,
which in these booths was level and equipped with a large ash tray.

He folded his pants and I could see him bend to the suitcase once again. Then,
suddenly, he stood yet again, and off came the briefs. I couldn't see that far
down (dammit!) but I did see the underwear in his hand. This, too, evidently
went into the suitcase, and I expected any second now to see replacement
clothes.

But he sat down once again, and leaned back. I saw his upper body now, quite
masculine and attractive. All was quiet. I couldn't see his face, but I had
seen him as he turned from the urinal and noted then he was very attractive,
dark haired and young, perhaps in his early twenties or younger.

I peeped once again, and soon saw the rhythmic movement of his arm. It became
obvious that he'd once again begun the activity he'd been involved in at the
urinal.

This was very hot! I was sorry I hadn't chosen the stall with the big hole down
at the other end, but who knows if he would have taken the one next to it
anyway. But as I strained to see something through the peephole, my desires led
me to a bold move. I stood, and slowly opened the door to my stall, trying to
keep it from making any noise. I knew nobody was there, so I needn't worry
about being caught, but I carefully stood, pulled up my pants, and went
outside.

Standing just outside my stall, I leaned over to the right, where I could see
into the one my neighbor occupied. I looked quickly, then pulled back quickly,
so that if he saw me he would think I was just passing by. But in that glimpse
I could see him leaning back, eyes closed, one hand caressing his balls and the
other moving back and forth on an erect penis of large proportions.

This is what I had come for! Imagine, a naked dude in the next stall, jerking
off! My hands went down to my pants and I freed my erect monster, and returned
to the opening in the door. I was standing outside the stalls, now, looking in,
pounding my pud watching him pounding his pud, when his eyes opened suddenly
and he saw me. I jerked back, but he had seen me, I knew it.

Retreating to the safety of my stall, I sat quietly for a moment, then went
back to the peephole. It was black; I could see nothing. Then a little light
came through, and I realized that he was looking at me through the hole, just
as I was looking at him! I sat back, caught for the second time.

Just then, he moved his suitcase from in front of him, to the side away from my
stall, and I heard the twist knob on the stall door being opened. I thought
maybe he was going to come out, but silence soon reined once again, and I was
drawn back to the peephole.

There he sat, once again, nude and jerking. I could imagine, though, that this
time his eyes were on the peephole to see if I was looking. I stood once again,
then carefully opened my door and stepped out into the room. Leaning over
slightly, I looked in. Again his eyes were closed, but his hands were in
motion. This time I could see the door had been unlocked; it was slightly ajar.

It was obvious the dude was inviting me in, so I opened the door and stood
there watching. His eyes opened; he looked at me for a second and then averted
his gaze, but reached over and pulled me into the booth. I knelt down just as
he stood, and his erect penis was at eye level, drooling some precum. I took it
in my hand, and then into my mouth, and I could hear his sharp intake of breath
as I sank his cock deeply into my hungry throat.

The smell of liquor was still strong as I worked on his beautiful weapon,
swallowing deeply and trying to siphon out his love juice. He moaned, grabbed
the back of my head and pulled me to him. I grabbed his naked legs, then his
muscular ass cheeks, running my hands up and down his backside as I continued
to suck for all I was worth. He grunts and moans continued, filling the
cavernous men's room with the sound of a man being sexually gratified. My hands
continued their exploration, up his back, out to the sides, over his lovely
pecs and down the front into his crotch once again.

Suddenly he reached down and pulled away and his cock came out of my mouth with
a sort of "plop" sound. He pulled me up so I was standing, grabbed the back of
my head in both his hands and brought his face to mine. He kissed me full on
the mouth, tongue dueling with tongue. The smell of alcohol was almost too much
to bear, but I bore it, and, indeed, was even getting off on it as he tried to
get his tongue down my throat.

The kiss went on, and during it he tore at my belt, trying to release my Levis.
I hadn't buttoned up when I came in, so all he had to do was undo the top
button and slide them down, and my 9" cock was out in the open, throbbing and
dripping precum. He sat down and began sucking me now, slathering his tongue
around my cock and then swallowing my entire weapon as if it had been nothing
more than another shot of whiskey. He was obviously as consumed with lust as I
was, and he sucked as if he couldn't get enough.

His hands began to roam up my shirt, underneath the shirt and the tee shirt I
always wore. He found my nipples and started squeezing them, a huge turn-on for
me, as he continued to suck noisily. I gave thanks that it was late and few
people were around, remembering that I could hear them coming in plenty of time
anyway.

By this time he had pushed my shirt all the way up, and I assisted him by
pulling it off, taking my tee shirt with it, and just dropped it all on top of
the suitcase that was sitting next to him. There we were, two savagely lusty
male animals, naked together, attacking each other as if our lives depended on
it, almost as if we were eating each other's flesh. It was the hottest scene of
my young life and I knew I couldn't last much longer.

I pulled out of his mouth and made him stand once again so I could suck him for
a while, and by this time he was so hot he just pistoned his 8 inches in and
out of my mouth as if he were trying to nail me against the door. I grabbed my
dick and started jerking as I sucked. Suddenly he froze, threw his head in the
air and gave out a deep groan, and I felt his cum filling me up. He must have
shot ten times, each load filling my mouth and some leaking out, drooling down
on my levis below. I couldn't wait any longer, and soon joined him in ecstasy
as my own orgasm began. I came so hard I almost sat down on the floor, and what
seemed like a cup or two of my cum accumulated at the base of the toilet and up
his hairy and muscular legs.

I grabbed him around the waist and held on for dear life as silence descended
on the room once again. Our breathing slowly returned to normal, and he gently
pulled me up once again and kissed my full on the mouth. All the while, I had
noticed, he avoided looking at me, as if he had been ashamed of what we were
doing, or of his obvious lust. I pulled up my pants, grabbed my shirts and went
back to my own stall.

He soon had his suitcase open and began to dress again, as did I. I sat back,
still sated and somewhat stunned at the almost feral intensity of our coupling,
which I guessed was caused a little by the fact that he must have been quite
drunk at first. Perhaps the booze had loosened his inhibitions enough to want
to do this, although he certainly had seemed experienced enough.

My drunken friend was only the first of several intense experiences I had in
that men's room, but I remember it so clearly. Why? Perhaps because there
wouldn't have been such a scene had he been sober. I got the feeling that while
he wasn't completely straight, this kind of casual sex didn't happen to him
very often, and hardly ever unless he had some alcoholic stimulation. At any
rate, I found it very hot, indeed, and I was probably in my late 20s before I
stopped coming there on a regular basis. Union Station has provided many lovely
memories.

II

It wasn't long thereafter that my interests in homosexual encounters began to
go beyond the occasional blowjob. I liked everything about man-to-man
encounters, but soon learned that there was more to it. I began to take an
interest in those open stalls when you first entered the men's room.

The procedure was relatively simple. One came into the first large room after
having descended the by now well-worn marble stairs, and chose a stall along
one wall or the other. This choice was made, usually, by looking to see who was
sitting on either side, which of them seemed attractive and interesting, and
then taking a stall on the opposite wall. After a while, certain conventions
became understood. If you were there to take care of the business of relieving
yourself, you simply took down your pants and underwear just enough to uncover
your rear, and sat down, drawing your pants up as high as possible so that
privacy would be respected. If, on the other hand, you had something else in
mind, you would simply let your pants and underwear drop to the floor, leaving
your naked bottom half visible to all.

Sometimes you'd start with your pants high up while reconnoitring, and soon
they'd be slowly lowered, depending on what was going on opposite. Being new to
this, I must have seemed very innocent indeed, because it took me several
visits to get the hang of this. Although I saw a good deal from the very
beginning, I was unaware of how one indicated his willingness to join in the
fun at first, and so had to be satisfied watching other people make contact.

When I tell younger guys about these days, they look at me as if I were a
little crazy. They have no idea how hot these experiences were, because they've
never had them, nor do they now have access to such public places as we did
then. But it was hot, just to come to this room and take a seat and watch the
courting dance going on.

After you decided you were going to join in, the next step would be to take
your hard cock out from between your legs, sit back, and let all those on the
other side see you as you stroked it. Usually, several or all of those people
were doing the same thing by this time, or joined shortly thereafter.

Then, depending on the situation, one or several of the people might stand up
while manipulating their dicks, showing them off to those across the way. This
led to others on the other side to do the same, and eventually, somebody would
step out of the stall into the room and check out the stalls on either side.
Sometimes, there was mutual masturbation, or one stall mate would take the dick
of another and start to jerk it. Often one would go down on another.

It could get pretty hot. I saw that room one time with maybe 30 guys going down
on one another, or playing with each other and, in several cases, fucking each
other. When the door opened above and the noise of someone on the stairs was
heard, everybody would scurry back into his stall, pull up his pants and
pretend that nothing was happening.

I know this sounds fantastic, but it's all true. You can ask anybody of my era
about this kind of public sex, because it went on almost everywhere. I made
several one-time conquests during these outings. One guy took me to his car
upstairs in a public parking lot near the station and I had to pretend that I
was forcing him to suck my cock before he would let me go.

Another time I saw an older dude with a huge dick just across from me; it must
have been 11 inches at least, but rather narrow. I remember standing up, taking
down my pants and turning my ass toward him, holding open my ass cheeks to
indicate that I wanted him to fuck me. When I turned around he was smiling and
indicated that there was no way I would be able to take him. I motioned for him
to come across, and he did. When he got to my stall, I pulled down his pants,
turned around, and shoved his dick into my asshole as far as I could, before he
took over. He laughed again, and said he was sorry he had doubted my abilities!

He fucked me until he came in my ass, and by that time we had an audience of
about five other dudes, who were jerking themselves and each other while
watching us fuck. I exploded too, right out into the room, and several of the
other guys came then as well.

There were many older and unattractive guys in those stalls during those days,
and so one wasn't always successful in attracting the kind of partner one
wanted. I remember one time, a young fellow in a dark blue business suit sat
across from me, perhaps three stalls down, and began to read a newspaper. He
was extremely handsome, a blond, about 6'2" or so, and perhaps 25. I tried my
damndest to get his attention, and finally just stood up, massaging my 9". I
stepped out into the room, and looking over, saw that several of my stall mates
were doing the same thing. Business suit just kept on reading.

Then a guy came in, taking the stall next to me but one. I didn't see him
closely, but I could tell he was attractive. And all of a sudden, the blue
business suite dropped his trousers, leaned back, and out came a beautiful 10"
dick, with a huge plum-colored head, obviously charmed by the new arrival. We
all watched with jealousy when the suit and the new arrival both zipped up and
left together. Ah, well! You can't win all the time!

In all, I guess, the actual one-on-one meetings I had as a result of those
Union Station sessions weren't very memorable. But I'll never forget the
atmosphere and the sexual heat that was generated there. It would be so much
fun to have a place like that to go to these days! Public sex may be alive and
well in some places, but nothing like in the good old days.

Any comments? Trainman4835@AOL.com

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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