Playing With Myself

Fags will never publicly admit to just how much time they spend in public toilets.  It’s not something that comes up much in polite fag company.  But the fact remains that fags are remarkably loyal to their circuit of public toilets, sometimes haunting them for decades on specific dates and times.  Fags are more loyal to their toilets than they are to their bars and clubs.

A fag will instinctively plot his journey back from the gym (when he’s pumped) or from the office (when he’s stressed out) via a favourite – or a matrix of favourite – pit stops.  It becomes a ritual, an almost automatic pilgrimage, even if it is hard on the feet.  If the gym is church to a fag, then a public toilet is a sanctuary.  As pervasive as the antiseptic and the air fresher, is the communal vow of silence.  (Only gauche str8 guys in a gang make stupid jokes in the john). It’s one of the few places where the fag might turn off his mobile phone.  His sense of hearing, peripheral vision and intuition are heightened.  They have to be.  As familiar as the surroundings are, one wrong move and he could be bashed, blackmailed, threatened or arrested.

Over time, visual recognition becomes second nature.  The fag figures out when the obviously closeted married guy, the tourists, the troll, the rampant exhibitionist, that hot guy in a suit, the hustler and the gym jock show up.   He can fine tune his circuit to synchronise with their arrival and avoid those he’s not into.  Hell, they’re so predictable, he could hand out Christmas Cards if he knew their names and save on the postage.

Hardly a word is said, sometimes the occasional nod.  If a fag is caught lurking there by a fag with whom he might be acquainted somewhere else, one of 2 things will happen.  Either both will grin sheepishly and break the ice or, they’ll leer at each other in silent mutually feigned derision.  

Ironic..........

Each just Outed the other’s proclivity and both are speechless.  Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell kicks in immediately, sometimes for life.

There’s no denying that for a fag, the public toilet is a heady mix of Strategy, Curiosity, Patience, Risk and Reward.  It’s a Zone Of Recreation that can and does become addictive.

It could potentially be profitable.

Just ask British-based Captive Media that developed a urinal-mounted, piss-controlled games console for men.  A BBC report dated 28 November 2011 entitled, Toilet gaming technology targets urinal boredom sets out the story.

Currently being used in some bars, it combines gaming with advertising.  It aims to exploit the “dwell time” (on average 55 seconds) that a man spends in front of a urinal.  His cock acts like a joystick, directing piss into a choice of sensors in the urinal that allow him to control and score on the game console – and then to publicly brag about it afterwards on a digital Leader Board.

FuelMix can see how this gizmo could end up in public toilets all over town since the business model appears to be flexible enough to include revenue sharing.  Initial findings also showed that male toilets became cleaner since the sensors require controlled, accurate pissing.

If this gizmo is appearing in bars, is it only a matter of time before it shows up on the fag's urban circuit?  How is the fag going to cope with a public toilet that now looks like an arcade rather than the fantasy porn set to which he flees every evening before going home to the BF or the wife?

The appearance of this Game Boy could be a threat or an optional extra. It changes the whole dynamic of the public toilet by injecting the amusement of urethral dexterity to relieve some moments of boredom. To the toilet-haunting fag, his game of cruising is a deadly serious game of skill, danger, secrecy and sex. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he loses. His technique has been honed over time and it’s not something he brags about.

Originally published 5 December 2011
Amended and Republished 30 June 2013

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