Clerk hears faint slapping sound in office bathroom

by Bradford W. Tilden

NEW YORK CITY, U.S.A. — While I was working at BPS Reprographics as the Accounts Receivable Specialist, I got severely bored one day (as opposed to being moderately or mostly bored). So I decided to jerk off in the bathroom simply for the sake of the experience. The layout of this particular bathroom was as follows: As you walk in you face the side of a stall, so you must immediately turn left where you note the enormous trough-like sink with an equally enormous mirror spanning the width and climbing the height of the wall to the tall ceiling studded with urban-industrial light fixtures. To your far right is the oversized handicapped stall (where the boss took his morning shit while reading the paper at around 9:00am. Sometimes he would leave the paper in there for us minions to enjoy). Continuing to the right (as if panning in a circle), you will come across two urinals side by side separated by a very small but sufficient privacy panel. To the right of the urinals you find two identical stalls side by side and then you are back facing the door. This is the layout. The ambiance is one of cold urban-industrial sterility. Exposed cement coupled with black and gray tiles. Very dungeonesque. Very apt for a sexual fantasy.

I chose the stall closest to the urinals as opposed to the stall closest to the door. I pulled my pants down and sat on the toilet. I began to arouse myself by stroking the head of my penis. My heart rate was slightly accelerated due to the thrill of the risk of being discovered. A man entered the bathroom and went to the urinal next to my stall. I froze. I was silent. I peered out the crack along the stall door to see the man in the mirror. He was one of the grunt workers from downstairs. Very unattractive. I was very disappointed, having hoped it was the operations manager I had the hots for. The man finished his business, washed his hands and left.

I resumed my own business. I got pretty hot and hard and was about to cum when another man entered the bathroom. I froze once again, letting the almost-orgasm pull back into my loins. This man entered the stall right next to me and proceeded to take a very loud and juicy shit. I had not anticipated this. Even though shitting is a primary activity in such a location, I was disgusted at his action. His bowel movement was ruining my masturbate-at-work-fantasy fulfillment.

I leaned down to see his shoes. (It is very beneficial to be aware of co-workers’ foot fashions, especially if one is to cruise the bathroom.) I recognized the dirty white Asics sneakers that belonged to the fat middle-aged ex-hippy with long greasy hair and a lecherous goatee who greeted me every morning with a box of doughnuts and an all-too-chipper smile…

I sat there frozen as if encased in a priapic mausoleum and waited. After a few minutes of silence from the other stall, I noticed a shadow that was cast on the floor between the two stalls (the panel separating them does not go all the way to the floor as we all know is common with such fixtures). It was oscillating. I realized with horror that the man on the other side of the stall was masturbating as well. I didn’t know what to do. I knew he knew someone was in the stall next to him. That made me a participant in his activity, a component of his fantasy. I wanted nothing to do with it, yet I was trapped. I felt encased in a glacier. My prick had shriveled up to the size of a peanut from the coldness of the toilet water it was dangling over. My mind was vomiting at the thought of the Asics’ concupiscence.

Silence gave way to a faint slapping sound. The sound of another man beating his meat. The repetitious slapping got faster and faster until there was a soft moan. The shadow on the floor went through a momentary seizure and then, for just a moment, silence reclaimed the bathroom. Then I heard the unfurling and wadding up of a copious amount of toilet paper. Shortly following that, a scuffle of feet and a flush.

At the sound of the flush I let out the breath I had been holding throughout the whole ordeal. I peered like a vulture through the crack in the stall at the beast who had stolen my pleasure as he washed his cum-grubby hands in the trough-sink. After he left I just sat there in awe.

The next morning I was greeted with a wide grin from the Asics. I took a cream-filled doughnut from the box he extended to me and with a huge chomp that sent cream oozing out the side and onto my fingers I resolved to get out of that place. Two days later, I gave my notice.