I rushed into the toilet outside the Science Faculty’s office at Carslaw Building after printing out my class timetable for this semester.
As I entered the toilet, I saw you standing in front of the long, metal trough where we fine gentlemen relieve ourselves.
You stared at me as I entered.
And I stared you as I entered.
But I averted my eyes to give you some modicum of privacy as you did your business. I hastily entered a cubicle at the other side of the huge toilet to relieve myself.
As I was in the cubicle, I heard some footsteps walking up and down the length of the toilet.
After spending 10 minutes in the cubicle, I exited, only to find myself face to face with you.
Okay, not exactly face to face. But you were standing near the metal trough and was facing the direction of my cubicle. Your entire body language was in one big hesitant question mark, as if you wanted to see if I was still in the cubicle.
Or else you wanted me out of the toilet but was unsure of revealing your deep desires.
At that instant, I realized who the footsteps belonged to.
You glared at me as I walked towards the sinks to wash my hands. Through the mirror, I saw that you returned to the same position at the metal trough and unzipped your jeans. At first, I thought you suffered from an extremely shy bladder or had some urinal problems.
Or perhaps you had an enlarged prostrate. Or trucker’s bladder. Or whatever the f*** it is.
Until you started furiously stroking your penis.
If you were shaking it up and down, I would have understood. Maybe you were trying to get rid of some urine stuck in your urethra.
But no, you were stroking the entire shaft of your penis.
And I became momentarily blinded by that sight.
Blinded with disgust.
At the same time, you stared at my reflection.
I hastily looked down and washed my hands with the concentration of a surgeon. As I turned off the taps, I glanced up and saw through the mirror that you were still staring at me, but this time you gave me a look.
A look that seems to say I know what you did in the cubicle.
I grabbed a few paper towels, sandpapered my hands dry in my haste and exited the toilet.
To the Old Man in the toilet at Carslaw Building at University of Sydney this afternoon, I was in the cubicle taking a huge dump because I ate a tonne of barbecued sausages during the Unimates’ Welcome BBQ.
I was not in the cubicle doing what you thought I was doing.
I now regret eating those sausages.
I now regret, even more, going into that toilet at that time.
So Old Man, if I ever see you in a toilet (and I remember you very clearly, how can I not?), I will make a quick exit, regardless of how urgent I have to answer nature’s call or how crowded the toilet is.
Because I don’t ever want to watching you f***ing masturbate in the public again.
What a f***ed up blog entry this is.
What an even more f***ed up situation.