I went down the cages in Bombay in 1968 with two oppos, and the following occurrence needs to be reported.
In the middle of each street in the cages was a "clubhouse". This was where you took the woman you had selected to have your brief encounter. (For those of you that are unlike me Civilised, read that as ****)
So in this clubhouse we entered the place was divided up into cubicles about 8x8ft each containing a bed and a chest of draws.
The sides of each cubicle were about 8ft in height and there was like a trellis over the top acting as a kind of ceiling. The lights were attached to this, so if you were above the ceiling standing on the top of the dividing walls, you could remain invisible to those below.
So there I am minding my own business casually observing the young lady who was sucking my antenna like a jack on a rum bottle, when I heard a very familiar voice coming from somewhere within the club.
Putting the human hoover on hold I decided to go investigate. Climbing with stealth and utmost sneakiness I mounted the top divides and walk along until I found what I was looking for:- the killick of 3E mess my own beloved focsul part of ship L/S Jan C...S.
He was lying on his back with a sublime look of joy on his face as he beat his meat into the mouth of a young sperm receptacle. She was somewhat of a captive participant as he had his hand tightly clamped in her hair at the nape of her neck. As he reached the vinegar stroke she desperately tried in vain to dislodge his engorged member ( I read that in a book) from her lip locker. Alas in vain and she was the somewhat reluctant recipient of a full load of steaming man fat. Oh how I sniggered as she spat the offending jism out and grabbed for the glass of water only to find it was shall we say GREY water.
Being very impressionable and a girl costing less than a can of beer I decided to emulate my Leading Hand and re-enact his somewhat inspiring performance.
Alas me being so young and my selected victim being so wise to my intention, I failed miserably but did manage to spaff in her left eye, which I thought was commendable for a first attempt. I did as time progressed master the art form as we spent ages running to and from Iran (Bushire and Bandar Abbas) to Bombay evacuating poor souls before the arrival of the Ayatollah bogyman.
Eventually like John Wayne's side kick, I could hit a Prairie dog in the eye at ten paces.