Quote: Vader @ December 19 2011, 9:34 PM GMTI'd assumed you were a guy for some reason. That reminds me of one of the two times that I remember when a guy looked at my genitalia when I was using a urinal, he must have been about 50 years older than me, I felt like punching him, but I'd probably have killed him. Possibly. Even if I hadn't I suspect people would have been on his side, but if they'd have been as creeped out as I was they'd have certainly felt like punching him.
Being perved on by oldish women, or relatively young and good looking gay guys when fully clothed is bad enough , but an ancient gay guy when you're straight, it could only have been creepier if I'd still been a child and/or he'd tried to touch me, but if it'd been much creepier I think I'd throw up every time I thought about it, and I've all, but blocked out the most disturbing parts.
I imagine straight women would be more creeped out by an old man than an old lesbian woman though. You meet some right fruit cakes in mens toilets, but thankfully most are nowhere near that bad.
More recently I met a gay guy who looked like a hunkier Phillip Schofield who seemed to want me to look at his genitalia, but that was fine by comparison.
Thinking about it, he might have been more like 60 or 70 years older than me, proper ancient. I wouldn't be against being allowed to punch old perv's, at least there'd be some deterrent...
You simply must read The Orton Diaries, especially this magnificent passage from July 1967:
In the evening, braving the rain in a mac borrowed from Oscar, we all went into Brighton. Our intention was to see the new James Bond film - You Only Live Twice. We couldn't get in. The others, including Kenneth, decided to see In Like Flint. I couldn't face the idea. I said I'd go for a walk and then go home. I left them going into the box office and trudged through the drizzle about the town. After walking for a long while I found a gent's lavatory on a patch of grass near a church. I went in. It was v. dark. There was a man in there. Tall, grand and smiling. In the gloom he looked aristocratic. When the lights were turned on (after about five minutes) I could see that he was stupid, smiling and bank-clerkish. He showed his cock. I let him feel mine. 'Oo!' he gasped, not noticing the sinister sore that had developed on the end over the last week or so. 'Oo!' I asked if he had anywhere to go back to. 'No,' he said, 'I don't have the choice of my neighbours, you see. They're down on me and I couldn't take the risk.' He nodded to a dwarf skulking in the corner of the lavatory. 'He'll suck you off though. I've seen him do it.' He made a motion to the dwarfish creature, rather as someone would call a taxi. The dwarf sucked me off while the other man smiled benevolently and then, I suppose, went back to his neighbours refreshed.
I walked about Brighton. I had a cup of tea at the station. I thought a lot about Prick Up Your Ears. And things in general. Then I walked on and found myself, inexplicably, in Old Steine. I hit the Royal Pavilion at one point, got back to the front, found I was walking in the wrong direction, trudged three quarters of the way back to Shoreham and then managed to catch a bus.
I use my real name.
