A while ago when Russel Brand still had his Radio 2 show, in a more innocent time before the whole Sachsgate saga, he ran a feature called ’sounds nice is nasty’, in which he pointed out that things like infanticide and melanoma are nice sounding names for pretty nasty things. I thought this feature was great and although I didn’t think of it at the time, I wish now that I’d written in to suggest cottaging to Old Russ.

If you asked someone more innocent, like maybe your granddad, what cottaging is he’d probably suggest it was visiting, staying in, or perhaps even renovating country cottages (although if instead of answering he just stares into the distance with a longing look in his eyes, then I think he may have a secret past that he’s not telling you or Grandma about). Either way, cottaging sounds relaxing, tranquil, and very middle England. I can imagine the scene now, a couple are sitting down to breakfast, then one lowers the morning paper and across the table says, ‘darling, shall we go for a weekend of cottaging? You pack the hamper and I’ll prepare the scones’.

However, as nice as it may sound, and for those of you who don’t know, cottaging is actually the act of anonymous sex between two men in a public toilet. It is called cottaging because ‘cottage’ was Victorian slang for toilet – at the time toilet blocks often looked like small cottages. This term was then adopted by gay men in the 60’s to give a name to their practice.

But what’s wrong with that you might ask, what makes it nasty? Well it’s not the ‘two men having sex bit’ I object to. I’m no homophobe, two of my best friends are gay – and I know saying that makes me sound like one of those racists who tries to justify themselves by adding the caveat ‘but I have loads of black friends’ to their bigoted speeches.

In truth, I am pro-freedom of choice and therefore pro-gay. I want everyone to do what they feel. So my issue comes not with the ’sex between two men bit’, but the ‘in a public toilet’ bit. Because if you do have sex in public toilets then innocent bystanders can get caught in the crossfire, innocent bystanders like me.

So here’s my tale of accidental cottaging. I’m telling you this so you can avoid a similar experience, or seek it out if that’s your thing, but also because writing about it is cheaper than therapy.

It was lunch time yesterday (Thursday), and Bob ‘can’t quit facebook‘ Foster and I were walking around Soho looking for something to eat. I needed the toilet and without thinking twice I walked towards this pubic toilet on Barrett Street, Soho. Looks nice from the outside doesn’t it? Quite quaint.

Walking down the steps into the toilet unaware, I just needed a wee. At first everything seemed normal.  Normal toilet, normal urinals, normal people. All were occupied so I waited by the sinks, fixing my gaze on my feet as usual. Still nothing to report. But then, on the fringe of my peripheral vision I saw something odd. A big bald guy at the urinal nearest the sinks (and me) was jerking off.

At first I tried to explain it away, “He’s probably just shaking a bit too vigorously. No one wants piss stains on their trousers do they?” Then it got weirder. He started looking over his shoulder, craning his neck and looking all around the room at the other men, still dick in hand jerking off. I was freaked out, but stunned at the same time. “This guy is mental”, I thought. “Just hurry up, have a piss and get out”.

Thankfully, the guy at the opposite end of the urinals finished and left the toilet, I hurried over to the urinal and did my business as fast as I could, trying to observe as little as possible about my surroundings. After finishing I made my move for the door, but this meant I had go back past the jerk off guy. ‘Maybe he’s left, maybe he’s gone’ I hoped, and turning I quickly headed for the door.

When I did turn around what I saw was beyond belief. At first I was relieved to see that the first guy had stopped jacking off, but relief was instantly replaced by revulsion as I saw that he was now crouching by a guy in a suit, sucking his cock.

I didn’t see anything graphic, I couldn’t have handled that. All I could see was the back of this faceless middle aged guy in a suit  standing at the urinals, and then the fat neck and bald head of this huge forty-something bald guy which disappeared into his  groin. I got the fuck out of there!

All I wanted to do was go to the toilet, but instead I’d had my eyes opened to this hidden world of middle aged men meeting for anonymous blow jobs in public toilets. As families, shoppers, and office workers strolled about overhead, indecent things are going on beneath their feet.

Stumbling back up the stairs and onto the street I was dumbstruck. My brain tried to compute and absorb what I had just seen but at the same time repress it. I walked to Bob ashen faced and it was a few minutes before I could speak and tell him what went down.

I saw cottaging, live and in 3D, with surround sound.

But here’s the thing, I’m no prude, I have no objection to middle aged guys having sex with each other – if it makes them happy, it can’t be that bad, right? But I don’t want to have to see it when I go for a piss. Maybe I was naive going to an underground toilet in Soho, maybe it’s a cottaging hot spot (I have not and will not research this to see if it is the case), but It was just shocking and weird to me.

Later that day, after I’d had time to reflect I couldn’t help thinking about what my politics A level teacher used to say about the limits of free speech. He used the old example of how it would be dangerous and socially irresponsible to shout ‘fire!’ in a crowded theater. I feel the same way about this. I have no objection to these guys doing whatever they want to each other, but  not where innocent people can stumble in on them. At least put up a warning sign or a note – warning blow jobs ahead, precede with caution.

That said, the whole experience did make me remember the great character Geoff from Monkey Dusty – the nervous cottager. So at least I had a laugh at the end of it all.