Waiting For Lift Off

Everyone has a 'what if' story. Mine is from an airport a long time ago, when I was in my teens.  I had a long wait before my flight, and no money; as a hormonal, repressed teenager, I didn't have much to fill my time.  The obvious thing was free, intensely pleasurable and would make time pass quickly.

I made my way to the toilets and found a cubicle. Locking the door, I sat on the toilet and lowered my trousers. I was already aroused with the idea of what I wanted to do, and it took only the lightest touch to have me hard and ready in my hand.  

I kept an ear out for the orthodox comings and goings of the toilet. I made sure there was no sound from my mouth or my penis as it grew even more aroused. It became more and more difficult not to gasp and sigh as the warmth of desire spread its fingers through my body.

I stopped as I heard the door of the toilet, footsteps growing louder, before seeing the shadow on the floor under my cubicle as the door adjacent to me closed.  I waited. I should have waited longer, but I thought - in my teenage naivety - that I could be silent, internalise my desire.  I resumed my self exploration, hand wrapped tightly, up and down, up and down, faster, ever growing urgency. Lost in the blissful sensations, not caring what noises escaped my body, aiming solely at achieving the blissful inevitability of orgasm.

In my pleasure-dulled mind, I became aware that the cubicle next to me was still occupied.  The door had not opened.  Those footsteps I had heard had not receded to the final open and close of the door. I paused, my fingers slippery, while the desire in my body begged me to resume.

Even with my fingers wrapped around my thick and longing cock, I leaned down to the divide between my cubicle and the other occupied one.  I felt an emotional knife stabbed into my arousal as I saw something I had not expected and yet, deep down, I knew was happening.  I saw a small shaving mirror being held, angled in such a way that the unknown occupant had been able to watch me drive my body towards orgasm.  I never achieved that climax.  I felt shock and the shame of being caught in a state  i should not have been in.  I didn't run but I pulled my underwear and trousers back over my erection that, even concealed, was so obvious.  I fled out of the toilet and through the security gates, not followed but wondering, until I landed at the end of my journey, if I would be recognised.

Years later I still think back to those anonymous eyes watching me, doubtless attached to an aroused body, possibly masturbating as I too had masturbated.  I ponder the lost opportunity of smiling into that mirror pointed at me, gesturing with my finger towards my cubicle and seeing the shadow move as I momentarily unlocked the door.  What experiences might we have shared together if I hadn't fled in shame but embraced our shared desire for mutual gratification? The memory still has me reaching into my underwear so I guess there was a happy ending after all.