The deep throbbing in my bladder suddenly burst into my consciousness. I have been so immersed in the book that I had failed to notice both how time had passed and how the pressure in my groin was building. It was almost ten o' clock in the night and the aisles were deserted. Racks and racks of books stood solemnly and silently. It is time to head home. But first, I needed to pee.
Where was the urinal? I was unfamiliar with the library, having moved to the university only weeks ago. The throbbing in my bladder increased in frequency and urgency. I frantically paced the aisles, looking for a sign or a door with the familiar man-sign. In this top floor there was none to ask, and there was no way I could hold to go down, and ask at the desk.
I found it, finally, tucked away in an obscure corner - a little grubby door marked MEN. Heaving a sigh of relief, with piss practically bursting from the tip of my cock, I ran in. The room was dimly lit, with one urinal at the corner and a stall at the other end. The urinal was located right beside the door, so if one opens the door it will block any view of the urinal and anyone standing there. But once the door closed, the person urinating will be in full view, from the side, of the one who comes in.
Gleefully, I stood in front of the yellowed porcelain with fallen curly pubic hairs of various hues adorning its rim, and unzipped my fly. I love those undies with a double-layered opening up front, and even though I was in such a hurry, I started my usual pee routine that I do when I am certain of being alone: first sneak in my fingers through the hole in front and between the layers, catch hold of the soft layers of my silky foreskin that usually bunches up into a soft little pouch when I am not hard, and pull on it to get the cock out. As soon as the head is out of the opening I proceed to skin my cock, exposing its pink little adorable head, then holding the base of the head I thrust forward, bringing the rest of the shaft out. This, coupled with the pressure in my bladder, usually gives me a semi-hardon, which would proceed to become a full-fledged one by the time I finish pissing and playing - hence the necessity to be alone :-)
But the door suddenly opened. But there was no one in the aisles!! How come I did not hear any footsteps? My heart jumped. Here I was, with a semi hardon which was fast reaching full mast as adrenaline pumped into my veins. Who is this? Will he think that I am a pervert playing with myself in the urinal? Is he the person manning the front desk? The way I had my cock out, there was no way I could stuff it back in.
A man, clean shaven, with a mop of black hair on top, and a set of twinkling eyes below that mop, walked in and instinctively turned toward the urinal (obviously he has been in here before), and then saw me. In order to appear to be doing what I was supposed to be doing, I was in the process of getting some pee out past the hardon. My face was crunched up and flushed with the exertion. And at the very instant he looked at me and then unabashedly downwards, something came out. But it wasn't pee, flying out from between the pink lips crowning my cock-tip. It was a drop of pre-cum, that swung down from the tip, weaving a clear thread that caught the light from the yellow overhead lamp and glowed golden. It landed on one of the fingers of my hand that was tremblingly holding my cock. A few more drops followed in quick succession, expertly swung down the thread the first one had woven, and landed on my finger.
I was red, embarrassed beyond belief, and trembling. All this only added to the turgidity of my cock, which jumped in my hands, never breaking the shimmering connection it had made with my finger. The stranger smiled, then suddenly with an adroit movement pulled my hand out from my turgid cock and, with no resistance on my part (I was too shocked to react; or did I want this to happen?), stuffed my pre-cum coated fingers into his mouth and sucked joyfully. As he did, he turned me toward him, said with a naughty grin "I have been looking all over for a faucet to drink from!" and sank to his knees. The next thing I remember, in my emotional state of surprise, anxiety (what if we were caught?) and ecstasy, is letting loose; letting a thick thread of golden piss spring out from my fountainhead, watch it climb upwards and then arc down, to splash noisily on this handsome man's upturned face and parted lips. That scene is etched in my mind forever: little droplets dancing on his taut cheeks; few rivulets of gold coursing down his wide forehead to disappear into that thick mop of hair, while others ran down from the two corners of his mouth to fall between his strong, levis-encased and parted legs, forming a foamy puddle on the floor; and finally, wringing my golden piss from that mop of now shiny, wet and tantalizingly black hair on his head, while he buried his dripping face in my crotch. Not a drop of my golden nectar was wasted on bare porcelain that day in the library.
Where was the urinal? I was unfamiliar with the library, having moved to the university only weeks ago. The throbbing in my bladder increased in frequency and urgency. I frantically paced the aisles, looking for a sign or a door with the familiar man-sign. In this top floor there was none to ask, and there was no way I could hold to go down, and ask at the desk.
I found it, finally, tucked away in an obscure corner - a little grubby door marked MEN. Heaving a sigh of relief, with piss practically bursting from the tip of my cock, I ran in. The room was dimly lit, with one urinal at the corner and a stall at the other end. The urinal was located right beside the door, so if one opens the door it will block any view of the urinal and anyone standing there. But once the door closed, the person urinating will be in full view, from the side, of the one who comes in.
Gleefully, I stood in front of the yellowed porcelain with fallen curly pubic hairs of various hues adorning its rim, and unzipped my fly. I love those undies with a double-layered opening up front, and even though I was in such a hurry, I started my usual pee routine that I do when I am certain of being alone: first sneak in my fingers through the hole in front and between the layers, catch hold of the soft layers of my silky foreskin that usually bunches up into a soft little pouch when I am not hard, and pull on it to get the cock out. As soon as the head is out of the opening I proceed to skin my cock, exposing its pink little adorable head, then holding the base of the head I thrust forward, bringing the rest of the shaft out. This, coupled with the pressure in my bladder, usually gives me a semi-hardon, which would proceed to become a full-fledged one by the time I finish pissing and playing - hence the necessity to be alone :-)
But the door suddenly opened. But there was no one in the aisles!! How come I did not hear any footsteps? My heart jumped. Here I was, with a semi hardon which was fast reaching full mast as adrenaline pumped into my veins. Who is this? Will he think that I am a pervert playing with myself in the urinal? Is he the person manning the front desk? The way I had my cock out, there was no way I could stuff it back in.
A man, clean shaven, with a mop of black hair on top, and a set of twinkling eyes below that mop, walked in and instinctively turned toward the urinal (obviously he has been in here before), and then saw me. In order to appear to be doing what I was supposed to be doing, I was in the process of getting some pee out past the hardon. My face was crunched up and flushed with the exertion. And at the very instant he looked at me and then unabashedly downwards, something came out. But it wasn't pee, flying out from between the pink lips crowning my cock-tip. It was a drop of pre-cum, that swung down from the tip, weaving a clear thread that caught the light from the yellow overhead lamp and glowed golden. It landed on one of the fingers of my hand that was tremblingly holding my cock. A few more drops followed in quick succession, expertly swung down the thread the first one had woven, and landed on my finger.
I was red, embarrassed beyond belief, and trembling. All this only added to the turgidity of my cock, which jumped in my hands, never breaking the shimmering connection it had made with my finger. The stranger smiled, then suddenly with an adroit movement pulled my hand out from my turgid cock and, with no resistance on my part (I was too shocked to react; or did I want this to happen?), stuffed my pre-cum coated fingers into his mouth and sucked joyfully. As he did, he turned me toward him, said with a naughty grin "I have been looking all over for a faucet to drink from!" and sank to his knees. The next thing I remember, in my emotional state of surprise, anxiety (what if we were caught?) and ecstasy, is letting loose; letting a thick thread of golden piss spring out from my fountainhead, watch it climb upwards and then arc down, to splash noisily on this handsome man's upturned face and parted lips. That scene is etched in my mind forever: little droplets dancing on his taut cheeks; few rivulets of gold coursing down his wide forehead to disappear into that thick mop of hair, while others ran down from the two corners of his mouth to fall between his strong, levis-encased and parted legs, forming a foamy puddle on the floor; and finally, wringing my golden piss from that mop of now shiny, wet and tantalizingly black hair on his head, while he buried his dripping face in my crotch. Not a drop of my golden nectar was wasted on bare porcelain that day in the library.
