Departing the Big Apple, I arrived at midday into Amsterdam Schiphol on a layover towards my final destination of not-as-booming Graz, Austria, for a what I can only best describe as a Midsommar-inspired porn production in the middle of the mountains and sprawling forest.
No, this is not a tale about said production and the very titillating and hyper-erotic week filled with self-discovery in seclusion with the crew and some sexy boys. This is the story of something a bit more 'tame' in comparison to a high-concept shoot with a mountain of bodies in the mountains.
I’ve been dying to join the mile high club for years. Cruising isn’t necessarily in my Top 5 for fetishes or kinks but rather it has been a tool of necessity in particular circumstances - specifically hosting issues, by and large. Sure, the idea of swapping spit and loads in places you really aren’t supposed to, and the idea of being 'bad' is hot in theory, but more often than not, the logistics of a public hookup don’t fully align.
Things like the comfort of a bed where one can truly utilise moves learned in yoga or Pilates isn’t really an option in a small stall or a bed of rocks and dirt or towels if things get just a tad too juicy, or just the luxury of howling like a true diva when he hits that spot simply due to the fact that most octaves will most certainly get you caught and possibly incarcerated or ticketed.
All that said, and contradictorily so, getting hot and bothered while crammed in a shoebox bathroom thousands of feet in the air is what I’ve been craving. Unfortunately, I have yet to get my membership card for Mile High but as a consolation, I’ve settled for the airport bathroom stall.
During my 2-hour layover in Amsterdam, I did as I always do in a foreign land and check out the local trade on the apps. Tapping and woofing and chatting away, I found myself unimpressed with the current offering and gave up my futile attempts of getting my dick wet before my final destination. I settled for coffee, cigarette, and a bathroom break before scurrying to my gate.
I’m not sure why but I always find myself in the dodgiest areas of any establishment or place on earth. Something about a dark, liminal space just gets me going.
I found myself in a random restroom, down a set of stairs from a gate that was all but empty. The lights going down this set of stairs were dimmed - most people wouldn't have noticed this set of bathrooms without close inspection of the toilet sign.
I entered the restroom and noticed a red-head middle-aged otter in the corner on his phone. I tried not to make too much eye contact - so as to not create an unnecessary awkward moment in an already awkward place to engage with another human.
I went over to the mirror to pretend to readjust my clothing and fix my hair, while giving side-eye to the fox in the corner. I truly did not enter this strangely located restroom to cruise, I legitimately had to go, but something about the current moment felt straight-up like a Sniffies hookup waiting to happen. Something about this fairly attractive man just there on his phone in the corner of one of this airport’s more secluded restrooms just seemed so damn CRUISEY!
My side-eye met his side-eye from the glare of his phone screen. He smirked. I licked my lips with a smirk. His eyes moved side to side subtly. He was inspecting if there was anyone around.
He inched his body towards mine on the opposite side of the restroom. We exchanged the casual “hey” and then the casual gay handshake of grabbing each others crotches. His eyes pointed towards the stall on the far right and I nodded.
As this moment transpired, another traveller entered from the ominous staircase of the vacant gate. The man brushed past us and went straight into a stall - which is what is normally done in a bathroom of an airport.
Waiting to hear the lock of this random man’s stall door, I entered the stall on the far opposite end, leaving the door unlocked. The fox entered seconds later, locking the door behind him.
I tried to lean in for a kiss and he pulled away. I was confused. He quickly took out his phone and began to rapidly text. I looked down to see his rock-hard cock bulging from his trousers. He flashed his screen to me and the text very simply said “can I cum on your shoes?”
I was curious, interested, and undeniably aroused. It’s not often that someone asks to cum on your $1200 Balenciaga Crocs.
I nodded yes and he instantly whipped his 7-inches out. I took mine out and we swapped hands as he darted his eyes towards my shoes.
He went on his knees and began to kiss, lick, and worship my souped-up, thick, gargantuan croc. Seeing him so turned on had me just as turned on.
Rapidly jerking, he blew his load all over the rubber and plastic and - soon after - I blew my load right onto his face.
He licked the remaining drops from the head, stood up, roughly tissue-papered his face and beard, said thank you, and departed the stall.
I decided to wait a few seconds to be sure the coast was clear. In the meantime, I decided to snap the momentous moment and my christening into airport bathroom-play.
I then gently wiped the cum from my Balenci, exited the stall, opened the bathroom door back to the dark, liminal space, and ascended to the main floor.
I chuckled to myself at the whole encounter. It was so random and strange and hot.
Honestly, it would have been great to actually fuck the stranger, but the nuance of the whole 10-minute encounter did it for me.
Like many, I enjoy the afterglow post-orgasm but I didn't have the luxury of rolling around a mattress and I suppose a quick hookup equates to an equal amount of time to appreciate your handy work.
I had all the time in the world and all the time to kill but now, with 20 minutes to departure to Austria, I exited the fantasy and mad dashed to my actual gate.
I suppose this was my warmup for the sex Olympics of the weeks ahead during my European Whore Tour.
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