Masturbation In A Service Station - Poem by Dan Brown
Travelling in a car for two and a half hours,
allows plenty of time for sneaky, un-pure thoughts
to flit through a boy’s mind.
Is it any wonder, then, that he may have the odd erection?
And on arriving at the Services, he heads in the toilet direction?
Please don’t think ill of me, for it really had to be done.
Indeed, I was so eager, I even began to run!
In the claustrophobic toilets of a motorway service station,
you are anonymous. There is no one there to embarrass you.
The privacy afforded you by the cubicles are unparalleled,
they almost entice you make yourself comfortable.
Without concern for Peeping Toms or hidden cameras,
my peculiar solo mating ritual begins, refusing
to let an ounce of guilt spoil it. I’m here now, half-naked already,
and saluting the back of the toilet door. If this isn’t already
an uncompromising situation, I don’t know what is.
I’m past caring, though, now.
I’ve needed this, wanted this, for too long a day.
Nothing, I mean nothing, will get in my way.
In the words of another wizened old prune,
“I’ve started so I’ll finish! ”
I couldn’t agree more as I put my deposit in the bank,
thank the cashier and leave, smiling so wide I fear someone may guess.
I wonder if they have a “Mile Long Club”.
I’m still feeling the thrills,
reeling from the chills,
better than any pills,
in a service station.
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