A gay sex story: Surprise at the Glory Hole
Editor’s note: this fictional work contains scenes of fictional incest or fictional incest content.
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The glaring, bright fluorescent lighting and faint smell of urine had been jarring the first time I walked in here several weeks ago. My bursting bladder had scarcely allowed me the time to even glance around threatening to erupt through the seal and cause me an embarrassing accident the moment I’d stepped through the threshold of the men’s public toilets. I glanced around erratically until my eyes set on a toilet hiding just inside a cubicle a few feet in front of me. I dashed in, pulling my junk out and sighed as a long, heavy stream landed loudly into the shallow water of the toilet bowl in front of me. Only then could I begin to take in my surroundings.
The walls of the small cubicle had clearly been painted over numerous times, but still it was covered with graffiti; obscene drawings of dicks, and crude sketches of oral and anal sex surrounded me. By now I had stopped peeing and without noticing it, my dick was growing hard in my hand. What really took my breath away and caused my cock to become totally engorged in my hand is what I saw written all over the walls. It was like a phonebook with short messages scrawled beneath:
“Sucker here Saturdays”
“Will suck XL cock 567 894 9689”
The walls were awash with messages both offering and seeking sexual services. As my eyes passed over the crude images of variously sized, imposing phalluses, I felt an overwhelming sensation in my groin. I hurriedly rushed home and fantasised about what I had seen, jerking myself furiously on my bed while I still had the house to myself.
Over the coming days, I felt drawn to this obscure little building hidden away on a back road on the edge of the park between my home and high school. I had barely noticed it before, and now I purposely found myself taking this route home just to go there again and again. On the days I had nothing on, I would get out of school at 4pm, which gave me plenty of free-time before my dad would get home just after 5. I’d become fascinated with one particular comment in the furthest cubicle, which kept drawing me back to it.
“Good cock to drain – 4:30 weekdays”
It looked fresher than some of the other messages that had been half-heartedly scrubbed away. A roughly drawn arrow pointed messily, but inescapably down towards a hole in the partition. I might only be a high school senior, but I’d listened to enough locker room banter, and exaggerated adolescent fantasy to know what a glory hole was.
So far I had passed a few minutes before half4, and had yet to bump into anyone suspicious who might have left this intriguing message. I’d come back here daily, and with each new visit had just bottled it before daring to stay long enough. Behind the small building there was a mound of earth that marked the boundary of the park, part of the fence had been forced open and a path was worn into the hill as a shortcut over to the main road on the other side – I could climb up and save myself a good 10 minutes on the way home. I soon realised that in the bushes a few feet above the public toilet I also had the perfect lookout to watch over all the comings and goings to the men’s toilets.
Over the next week or two, I hung around there hiding up at the top of the mound for a few minutes desperate to catch a glimpse of whoever the man was that would come by at 4:30 to avail of the glory hole. A few men came and went, but none seemed to take too long inside, except for one; a man, in his late 20s or early 30s with a scruffy beard and equally scruffy looking attire. His anorak covered his upper body, so as to mask what type of body he might be hiding underneath, and a worn-out pair of jogging bottoms which hung loosely from his hips. The fabric was so thin or worn that it allowed for a bulge in the front where I could only imagine what lay beneath.
I recognised him after his third or fourth visit to the toilets around the same time each visit. He didn’t come every day, but when he was there he loitered around awkwardly before finally going inside and emerging a few minutes later wringing his hands. He wasn’t at all a man I found attractive, in fact I thought he was pretty ugly, and yet crouching secretly high above a boner raged in my pants, consuming me and turning me on more than any fantasy I had ever had before. I tried to push myself to descend into the toilets, but the nervousness of what I had in mind caused me to tremble in anticipation, and I still hadn’t dared to wait for him inside.
It was while I was crouching up above one day scanning the path leading up to the toilets, that I sat eyes upon a familiar figure marching strongly up the path. It took me a moment, but all of a sudden I realised with a shock that it was my father.
‘Oh shit!’ I gasped to myself, leaping up frantically.
I’d lost track of time, and I’d forgotten that he would walk through the park on his way home too. I jumped down the other side of the mound, relieved to gain those 10 minutes headstart and ran home to start the dinner. If the potatoes were not at least on to boil, I’d definitely be getting a swift spanking. Fortunately, I just closed the door on the oven as I heard him step inside the house. His footsteps neared the kitchen and his head popped around the door.
‘Ready in half an hour!’ I said as chirpily as I could.
‘Hmm,’ he grunted, ‘I’m going to work out in the garage,’ and with that he trotted off to get changed.
Since my mom had passed away, we had fallen into a pretty set routine; he went out to work early and I mostly took care of myself. He gave me an allowance to take care of myself and it was my job to make dinner during the week after school. He seemed to distract himself by working out – like clockwork when he came home he would hide away in the garage for hours sometimes, only coming out to slouch in front of the TV and drink a beer at the end of the day. He was what I would describe as gruff.
The weekends were the only time we really spent together, and even then it was him encouraging me to learn to workout with him, which I’d been doing now, on and off for the best part of two years. Gradually I was seeing a change in my body. Obviously I was reaching the end of puberty, but I still looked pretty young and boyish – so the deadlifts and squats were helping me to get toned and build some muscle. It was nothing compared to him though. Occasionally I would find my eye gliding over the ripples of his arms, inwardly impressed with the firmness and bulk of his muscles; he was definitely in a different league to any of the other dads of guys I saw in school. Maybe a few of the meathead football players would give him a run for his money, but secretly I felt pretty proud to have him as my dad.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but notice his self-imposed exclusion. He didn’t date, he socialised a little but only with a few guys that he had known since before I even came into this world, and we had no family close by. Jasper was such a small place that there weren’t many prospects for him as a single dad anyway.