A Hands-free Ejaculation

What was it, in my late forties and early fifties, that induced me to visit public toilets to read the graffiti on the walls? I found the messages and invitations did not tempt me to respond to them. Nevertheless they were often arousing and I would leave the cubicle with a firm erection that would normally have called for a swift wank. However I always avoided doing it, telling myself that I was thereby keeping clear of the blandishments of the Gay community. I wonder now if I was deceiving myself. Perhaps I was unconsciencely checking my underlying sexual orientation?

The research, if such it was, came to an end while on a business trip to the West Midlands. I was waiting to change trains and decided to check the station toilets. Having selected a cubicle I entered and sat down (I always did this to deceive my conscience that I was there for a legitimate purpose).

I cannot remember the content and style of the graffiti, but it must have been subtle and powerful because I developed a seriously hard one! Following my usual practice I refrained from finishing it off with a few deft hand strokes, but was left in a mental battle to avoid cumming. It was a tremendous struggle that I finally lost and watched my penis pulse violently by itself and shoot vast quantities of spunk. It was beyond all previous (and subsequent) experience, I was completely drained emotionally (and of semen).

It may seem strange but I have never sought to repeat that glorious hands-free ejaculation. Perhaps if I am ever on that station again I might be tempted to see if the same magic persists. It is more likely that I have discovered an aspect of my sexuality that I fear to develop in spite of its tempting prospects.