I lived in a village for the first 23 years of my life. I really enjoyed the slow pace of life. Back in the late 70's early 80's it was a thriving little village with three pubs, a grocery shop, butchers and Post Office.
We were proud of our village and had won awards for the flower displays on the village green. At the back of the village green was a small car park popular with walkers and a toilet.
It was a typical cottage style toilet open from early in the morning until late at night.
My dad was one of the parish councillors and he encouraged me to volunteer with the parish working group. When I was a lad I helped with little picking and painting etc. The toilets also needed cleaning and when I got older I was added to the monthly rota.
I had always been an early riser and got up just before the sun most days. I would clean the toilets every morning before heading off to work.
Back then the toilets were the old fashioned type with a three section porcelain urinal and one cubicle.
It was rare to find anything written on the walls or the back of the cubicle door. However recently someone had been writing stories on the back of the door.
I loved reading the stories, sometimes there were even drawings of men doing things together. It was my job to keep the toilets clean so I had to make sure all trace of any stories was removed.
We all kept the toilets really clean but there was still that lingering smell of stale piss. To be honest I liked the smell it turned me on.
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I know exactly when my interest in piss was first kindled, it was just after my 19th birthday. I was always a bit of a wussy, I didn't smoke or drink and my mates would always take the piss out of me.
One evening I was up at the recreation ground when a few of my so called mates called me over. They were drinking cans of beer, they handed me a big bumper can full of beer. They insisted I have a drink out of it.
I wanted to fit in so I took the beer off them. I thought it was a bit strange that the can was warm but I had a good swig out of it. I wasn't used to the taste of beer so I had another swig and then another until it had all gone.
By now my mates were laughing their heads off. It was Roger that announced what they had done.
" We've all pissed in that can and rubbed our knobs around the top and you drank the lot"
To be honest I loved the taste, there must of been some beer in there as it did taste alcoholic. The thought of them all pissing in the can gave me an instant hard-on. Needless to say I've never lived the incident down.
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Each morning I head over to the toilets before my breakfast, even before I have a piss. I love pissing in those toilets, sometimes I stand so close the piss splashes back on my trousers and hands.
I'm usually so fucking hard I have to stand about 3 foot away.
I love that first morning piss it's dark and smells really strong.
If I'm feeling really horny I lock myself in the cubicle afterwards and have a wank. I cum up the wall or on the door and lick it off. I guess you're thinking I'm a sleazy perv, well you'd be right.
After that I get to work cleaning the place up ready for the first visitors.
The car park starts filling up from about 9am. It's popular with pensioners who walk in the local countryside. You do get the occasional rep pop in for a piss on the way to or from work or at lunchtimes. I think it's probably a rep writing the stories on the walls.
Recently I was up really early and went over to open up the toilets. I was bursting for a piss, my cock was rock hard I had to almost stand against the back wall.
Suddenly I heard a voice.
"That's impressive son, I wish I still had a strong stream"
I turn around forgetting to walk forward as I finish pissing.
It's Fred an old guy from the village.
"Gee Fred, you startled me. What are you doing here?" I ask.
Fred taps his finger against his nose.
"Wouldn't you like to know", he chuckles.
He looks down at my cock which is dripping piss onto the floor.
"Hadn't you better put that thing away, before you flood the place".
I zip myself up blushing.
"Don't you just love these places, that dank smell of stale piss, the writings on the walls", he asks.
I listen but don't utter a word.
"In the big cities there are cottages everywhere you know. Men like us could easily indulge in our sleazy perversions".
Fred looks at me expecting a reply but to be honest I'm dumbfounded.
"You love the smell too don't you boy, I can tell you enjoy your job. You're very efficient when it comes to removing the stories off the walls. Not before reading them though and wanking off, hey?"
I look at Fred not really sure what to say or what to admit to, but I can see a pen in his pocket and I wonder if he's the one writing the stories.
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