Who wouldn’t take a few risks for an easy fuck? That was its appeal: the lack of emotional involvement, of ulterior motivation: its honesty.
Risky – the local bus drivers patrolled the toilets – but I wasn’t exactly thinking with my head. But for me nothing beat sex in the cottage itself. Sometimes you’d find a secluded spot elsewhere with a guy you’d met in a cottage. Toilet walls were messaging boards of interests, times and phone numbers. Not all sex happened in the cottage itself. In the mid-90s it was easy and cock available pretty much whenever. This was my first experience of cottaging – in the States they call it the 'tearoom trade' – the act of procuring or having sex in a public toilet.įrom then on, I looked for sex in toilets whenever I could. I would be lying if I said I didn’t know these things happened: I’d loitered looking at the graffiti and explicit scrawlings. The spring in my step as I walked home wasn’t because of academic success. I then walked to school to pick up my GCSE results. He closed the door.Ī gentleman never tells: suffice to say when I left I wasn’t a virgin. It seemed like an eternity but eventually I followed him into the cubicle.
