A gay story: Of Glory and Holes This story was written for the 750 Word Project 2024. The story below is exactly 750 words.
🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈Being gay was hard.
At least, it was for me. Growing up in a system of repression, fear, and self loathing. Being taught that what I was is a sin, an abomination, unnatural.
To be me in this life would mean I’d be ostracized, shunned, a social pariah. And in the afterlife? Well, I’d burn in Hell, of course.
And so, I wasn’t me. I was someone else. I was who they wanted me to be.
That is, until I was twenty-five, working my first job at a mattress factory. It was brutal, back breaking. But I was young and strong. Like the rest of my life, I hated it, but work was scarce when you were the poor son of a divorced mother in a pissant town in Bumblefuck, U.S.A.
Teddy Bear’s Adult Book Store was just a few blocks from the factory and along the path of my walk back to the apartment I shared with two roommates; both of whom would kick my ass if they found out about what I’d be doing in the very near future.
The place was clean, and well lit, at least in the front. The lights were dimmer in the viewing booths section; I assumed for the illusion of privacy.
It wasn’t my first time there. In the 80s, places like that were the only way to get your porn fix. Especially the kind of porn I enjoyed. Because I certainly couldn’t risk bringing it home.
And so I plunked my quarters into the slot and undid my pants with one hand while flipping through the channels til I found one that caught my attention.
Although it was all the same, really. No real love. No passion. Just raw lust and graphic sex.
And massive cocks. Always with the massive cocks. Making me feel inadequate even as they excited me. Stirring up that divine mix of arousal and guilt that only a repressed, closeted gay man can know.
And then it happened. A knock from behind. Startled, I turned. And there it was, thrust through what I would find out later was called the “Glory Hole.”
A real live erect penis.
Just… there. Twitching. Throbbing. Waiting.
It wasn’t even all that impressive. Not quite as long as mine, perhaps a tad thicker.
I had to laugh. What did this guy expect? That I’d just drop to my knees and suck it? I couldn’t even see his face, for Christ’s sake. He could be anyone, any age, he could be…
No one. He could be absolutely no one. Nameless. Faceless. A mirage I’d never see again.
He could be my first. Just an experiment, mind you. Just to, you know, feel something. Anything.
I would not have to pretend. For a brief few minutes, in this dark little booth in this seedy little building, I could just be… me.
And so I knelt and faced the engorged organ before me. I took it in hand and then, soon after, in mouth.
The videos had taught me the mechanics, of course. The rest I ignored, and instead acted on instinct. I took my time. I demonstrated care.
Because he was my first. And in that moment, I loved him.
And it felt glorious.
It was over quickly, of course. A surge, followed by release. I’d tasted my own before so I was prepared. His was more salty, and slightly sour. But not completely unpleasant, and there wasn’t much, so I managed to swallow easily enough.
Now I know what you’re thinking; sucking an unprotected dick in the 80s? And I fully understand your concerns. But I was young and dumb and certainly not about to go home with cum stains on my shirt.
I continued to suck until the last few drops had drained and at last he wilted in my mouth.
He withdrew himself as soon as I had released him, and before I could even wipe the dribble from my chin, he was gone, door slamming behind him, footsteps receding down the hall.
And so he was my first. But certainly not my last.
Times have changed. I’m in my fifties now. Married. To another man, of course. Diego and I met at a recovery group 16 years ago and have been happy together ever since. We even adopted a son; great kid, so smart.
Life hasn’t exactly been easy since that fateful day. But I’ve managed to fill the holes in my life, to become complete.
To just be me.