Tearoom Terror





























 Art by Michael Kirwan

 Story by Reid Dennis

originally published in Honcho Magazine - October, 1991 issue



Darting eyes and swelling dicks!



I can't even remember a time when he wasn't around. My earliest memories always involve his looming giant-like body or his dark, wild jungle of a beard. And in the background of my memories, I can always smell his rich, manly odor and hear his deep, resonating voice. I guess it's strange. Don't most people's childhood memories involve females? There were women in my life--a whole flock of nannies attending to the prince's every whim and, later, something called "nursemaids" to wash and pick up after me. And I had a mother. But the faces of the nannies and nursemaids seemed to change weekly and, with my father the King dead, my mother was busy ruling the kingdom in my stead. Or maybe she just didn't like children. Whatever the reason, Thull's was the only face I saw regularly, day after day, year after year.


All right. I admit it. I'm a tearoom addict. I get off on public toilet sex. It's got nothing to do with my being closeted (which I'm definitely not), or hard-up for dates (which I am most assuredly not), or involved in a monogamous relationship and feeling the need to cheat (neither of which applies to me). I just get a special thrill from wild, illicit, anonymous sex in public rest rooms.


Maybe it's just the adventurer in me. Some shrinks might say I have a secret need to be apprehended (I sincerely doubt that), but whatever the motive, I get a roaring, motherfucking hard-on just thinking about going into a men's toilet for a hot little session of furtive fucking and sucking.


At the opposite end of this spectrum, there are guys who get some kind of special thrill out of busting up anonymous sex in tearooms. Such is the case with this really annoying (albeit good-looking) janitor in the local park. The regulars there have nicknamed him "Clem the Cocksucker Cop," because he seems to have added to his list of duties that of monitoring the activity in the men's room. He's made it his personal mission in life to see that not a single blowjob happens there. Just as soon as something really hot starts to go down-let's say a wild three-way at the urinals, and I'm just about to pop a big load, frantically jerking off as I watch through a peep-hole in the adjoining stall--sure enough, ol' Clem bursts through the door. The sound of the squeaky hinge, the rattle of his keys, and his loud boot-stomping, alerts me. I warn the other guys to zip up and ship out. Sometimes Clem complains aloud that the "God-damn faggots in this john oughtta be busted and sent to jail where they belong."


Clem's vigilance is kind of ironic, since he almost never does any actual cleaning in the toilets. And the park is run down and pretty much abandoned, barely used at all except by men with a bad case of the hots. It's an ideal trysting ground for horny guys on the prowl.


So despite Clem's watchful duty on prick patrol, the tearoom is a veritable hub of hot and heavy action, especially around dusk when the financial district guys are getting off from work.


This one particular time the place was really swinging. There were two hunky guys over at the urinals taking turns sucking each other off. Nearby, another pair was fucking away at the sink. This hot three-piece suiter with his slacks around his ankles was bent over the basin while a bearded man in greasy, tattered overalls pumped him from behind. I slid my knees under the middle stall wall so the guy next to me could suck my dick. In the far stall a man was standing on the toilet seat, peering over the top of the partition to watch use as he jacked off and whispered dirty fuck-talk.


"Yeah, fucker, take that fuckin' meat down your fuckin' throat," he rasped. "Faster. Harder. Yeah, fucker, that's the way. Keep it up and I'm gonna blast my load all over the fuckin' wall."


All the while, the room was alive with steamy, man-to-man sex. The sounds of slurping, gasping, and heavy panting echoed through the place. I was just about at the point of no return, on the verge of shooting my ball-juice down this guy's throat, when the squeak of the hinge and Clem's jangling keys alerted me.


I signaled the roomful of men to scurry into "proper rest room position:' I slid back from under the partition, as did the guy next to me. The dude above leapt from his "crow's nest" perch and sat on the toilet. The two pairs at the urinals started zipping up, flushing, washing, or even drying their hands--whichever pantomime seemed most appropriate. Fortunately, it was one of those rare occasions when Clem had actually replaced the paper towels, so there were "props" available for use in this little stage play.


After Clem had sufficiently surveyed the scene, he muttered under his breath, "I'll catch you creeps one of these times." He then rattled the towel dispenser, supposedly checking on the paper supply, and left with a final snide remark about "the fucking queers in this john."


Which was precisely the point: we were trying to be fucking queers in the john, and he wasn't helping! At last, when it seemed safe, we began carrying on where we'd left off.


Squinting through the peep-hole I could see the two men at the urinal about to continue their hot sucking and mouth-fucking. I was ready to slide my fat hard-on under the partition for a blow job. Suddenly, the squeaky hinge and jiggling keys sent us into panic alert again.


Clem walked in, ran a cloth over the sink half-heartedly, and just stood there quietly, obviously looking for any signs of hanky-panky. After a few moments of silence, a disappointed Clem walked back out, grumbling his usual expletives at the "stupid queers messin' around in here." Minutes later, the hot action continued.


I stealthily opened my stall door and peeked around to watch the wild scene at the urinals. My dick soon got real hard and juicy, so I knocked on the adjoining stall and the guy there came out and started sucking me while I watched the fun. The guys at the urinals were going at it hot and heavy. One was shoving his fat, throbbing pecker all the way down his partner's eager throat, so that he gagged on the mouthful of meat. And the more he choked and sputtered, the deeper that guy thrust his huge rod. It only seemed to turn the cocksucker on even more. I got so entranced with it all that I began to imitate their action. With every thrust I was watching, I would shove my big boner forward. The deeper the pair went, the deeper I went, too. It was like looking into a mirror and copying what I saw, move for move, inch for inch.


When the pair switched positions, it was only natural that I get down on my knees to take my partner's cock between my hungry lips. But that was when the copy-cat action came to an abrupt halt. His dick was so incredibly long and tasty that I lost all track of the urinal games and concentrated completely on the prize prick in my face. Christ, he must have been nearly a foot long! And he purposely, playfully teased me by easing that lengthy shaft in ever so gradually, s-l-o-w-l-y, millimeter by millimeter, so that I could feel each vein and bump rubbing along my tongue, brushing against my teeth, and finally poking at the back of my throat. Tears welled up in my eyes. He pulled back and started to take his dick out of my mouth, but I reached up and grabbed his ass cheeks, pulling him back toward me. He got the message and allowed me to struggle with the rest of his length, eagerly gobbling down every last inch, until my mouth was literally stuffed with his sausage, and my face was plastered right against his bushy crotch.


I could hear sloppy sex noises coming from everywhere in the room. It seemed the sound level was rising as the guys got heavier into the thrusting and moaning stage. My mouth was crammed full of my trick's mammoth meat. My own cock started to bob up and down, growing bigger and harder. The trick was wriggling frantically, bucking and fucking till he blasted, spewing his spunky treat down my throat, bathing my tonsils in warm, salty jizz. When I tasted his musky man juice, my cock suddenly lurched, firing out bullets of cum all over the floor. But I barely had time to enjoy it; when I looked up, I saw that Clem had snuck in during the height of our fun and was watching the whole scene with what appeared to be disgust.


We were all caught with our pants down and our dicks out. I was sure Clem would haul us all off to jail. Then I noticed the immense bulge in his overalls ... Was it my imagination, or did he have a giant hard-on in his crotch? As if to assure me that I wasn't hallucinating, Clem began rubbing the denim of his fly, causing that monster bulge to grow even larger. We just stared in awe, watching the lump grow till his pants were sticking out and that huge pecker of his was poking up past his belly button. Finally he unbuttoned his fly and pulled out an amazing, almost foot-long fuck-pole.


We just stood there in total shock as he said he'd never done anything like this before, but wanted to try it if we were willing to include him in our fun. We all stammered and stuttered, telling him not to feel excluded. I was the first to jump on that twelve-inch hard-on of his, gobbling it down right to the base.


This was even better than the trick's dick that just moments before was prodding my lips. Even though Clem told me he'd never had a guy suck his dick before, he sure as hell acted like a pro, forcefully face-fucking me into a frenzy. After just a few powerful thrusts, he was already grunting and groaning like the best of us, plunging and pouring what felt like a gallon of thick, hot spunk down my throat. Then he pulled out and started getting ready for the next player to go down on him.


The man who'd been playing with me was the eager volunteer. He was on his knees with lightning speed, lapping up the leftover dribbles from my blow job and starting to work up a brand-new load. At first he mouthed Clem's meat gently, almost reverently. But then he began to suck like a high-powered pump, going up and down on that pulsating rod with faster and faster movements, forcing his face all the way to the shaft base 'til tears were flowing from his eyes.



And that wasn't all that was flowing; the top of his dick was dripping pre-cum onto the tile floor, practically forming puddles. The way he was working on that massive dick, I could tell Clem was on the verge of shooting his second load. And judging from the look on his face, it was going to be a big one.


Sure enough, a moment later he was filling that guy's mouth, and the eager cocksucker was gulping down every drop. Not only that, he was shooting his own load right along with him, both men groaning and panting.


You'd have thought that would've been enough to satisfy ol' Clem, but he merely stood there dazed for a moment, then moved on down the line to where the urinal-boys had assumed kneeling stances. Both of them began tonguing Clem's cock, lapping at the bloated monster. The two men worked like a team, each picking a side of the thick, long, stiff-as-a-board pecker, and simultaneously lapping up to the mushroom head, then back to the base. Finally they took turns popping the head into each other's mouth, passing the cock back and forth like a baton in a relay race.


That last movement was the one that sent Clem right over the edge. His cock quivered and his ball-sack tightened up. The two "relay runners" were grabbing at the throbbing rod, each trying to go all the way down on it. But then somehow, without saying a word, they synchronized, locking their lips together and kissing with wide open mouths, both enveloping the fat head of Clem's dick while Clem thrust at them. As they slobbered on his swollen dickhead, jets of creamy spunk shot out of his piss-hole. Amazingly, even after two orgasms, he still had a decent load of ball-juice stored up. Some of the thick droplets of cum ran out their mouths and dribbled down their cheeks.


In the midst of all this sexual tumult, we failed to notice the door had opened and this tall guy in a full-length trench coat and boots was standing there. We started to scramble in panic, but he immediately opened the coat and threw it to the floor; he was totally naked, sporting a stiff cock and well-rounded butt. He motioned to Clem, then bent over and spread is cheeks open wide. We all starting whacking our cocks as Clem plowed the man's ass, shoving his fuck-meat in to the hilt. The guy winced, but then relaxed into it and began begging Clem to fuck him deeper and faster.


Clem reamed the guy's butt with a vicious in-and-out double-time stroke, followed by circular thrusts that made this guy start howling. It was so incredibly hot, such a total turn-on, that you could hear, one by one, each guy in the place start to lose it, to moan uncontrollably, and then spurt his juice onto the tiles and marble walls. Clem shouted, "Oh God, I can't hold back. I'm shooooting!" The guy getting fucked shouted right along with him, spewing his spunky stuff into the air. A few minutes of heavy panting and catching of breath followed as the group slowly regained its composure.


Clem tucked his well-worn cock back into his coveralls, much to the dismay of the couple who had been fucking at the sink. They had gotten so worked up just watching all the hot action, that it took only a few additional strokes for them to empty their balls, shooting streams of white-hot man cum all over the porcelain sink, the wall-you name it. After those two had shot, the place looked like a sexual battleground. Streams and pools of spent jizz covered the place.


Clem took a survey of the scene and announced that he had better go get his mop to clean up the mess. But I wasn't going to let him get away so easily, without a word of explanation. I gently but firmly grabbed him by the suspenders and queried, "What was the deal with you coming in here all the time and harassing us whenever we started to get it on? Man, you fucked up a lot of great action. Why, Clem?"


"Well, first of all, my name's not Clem; it's Charles. I realize you guys call me Clem the Cocksucker. But let me explain. I was just curious about what it would be like to have sex with another guy, especially since no woman has ever been able to take all of me into her mouth. But I was shy and nervous and, frankly, scared to death. So since I couldn't have fun, I didn't want any of you to have fun either. But finally I decided to just get the balls and do it!"


"Well, one thing you've got is balls, Clem ... er ... ah ... I mean, Charles. And cock! God, have you got one big fat ol' piece there!" I replied.


Charles turned beet red and quickly turned on his heels to leave the rest room. I guess no one had ever complimented him on his super endowment before, and he just couldn't handle the praise.


Nowadays, Clem is still the Tearoom Terror, but in the good sense. He sends a chill of anticipation up our spines whenever we hear that familiar sound of the squeaky hinge followed by the jangle of his keys and thud of his boots. And when I alert the group, it's not to hide, but to assume their rightful rest room positions: on their knees, mouths agape, anxiously awaiting his pleasure.




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They may not be: redistributed; sold; altered; enhanced; modified by artificial, digital or computer imaging;
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