Amber Fountaine stories contain sexually explicit descriptions of consensual sexual activity and are not suitable for reading by anyone under the age of 18 or anyone offended by reading such material. These acts include gay and bisexual activity as well as water sports, diapers, cross-dressing and other fetishes and perversions that may please the author's whims. The characters in these stories are fictional, but are based on the author's true experiences, as well as the experiences of others he has met. This one is another that actually happened and was relayed to me by one of the characters in the story.
The Glory Holes
as told by
Amber Fountaine
I guess the first thing I should do is explain what I, a guy that had never had a same-sex desire in his life, was doing on my knees in a Men's restroom to begin with. At the time it happened, I considered myself totally straight and had a perfectly legitimate reason to be there. However, if I don't begin with a little information about my background, you'll never believe that, or any of the rest of it either. Like how a 42 year-old college graduate winds up working as a handyman. Since my sex education and my carpentry education pretty much came together, maybe that's a good place to begin.
In my teens, our next-door neighbor, Jim Kaufman, owned and operated a company called, "JK Building & Remodeling." At fifteen, I was about as young and naïve as a young man could be. All I knew about sex was the misinformation I'd picked up from my friends at school. When Jim offered me a job as a helper during that summer, I learned a lot more than I'd ever learned from my friends or my dad.
My dad's little talk on the facts of life had been almost a joke. One night he'd come in my bedroom while I was doing my homework, informed me that my mother had noticed some 'stains' on my pajamas, and that she'd insisted that he come give me the usual father-son talk about sex. Then he'd told me that when his dad had tried to do the same thing, that he'd already known a lot more than his dad had told him. "I suppose you do too," he'd told me, "so there's no sense going into all that. But if there's anything you'd like to ask, now's the time." Then, when I sat there, too stunned to even think, he'd taken my silence to mean that I didn't have any questions. "Good," he'd said after a moment. "Glad we got that out of the way." A moment later he'd been gone and the subject was never raised again. About all I learned from that sex lecture was to jack off into one of my dirty socks so that my mom wouldn't find any more stains on my pajamas.
On the side of Jim's truck, just below the company name and in smaller letters, it said, "No job too big or too small." I soon learned just how true that was. The first job Jim had me help him with was a house he was building a short way out of town. Then we went from building an entire house, from the slab up, to replacing a sink and countertop in a lady's kitchen. He explained how for every house he built, he did dozens of smaller jobs, most of which didn't require but him and one man to help him, and that he really preferred those jobs as it allowed him to get in the hunting and fishing he'd much rather be doing. I know he didn't really need my help on those smaller jobs and to begin with I wasn't any more than a go-fer, but I learned fast and sometimes I'd be doing the work and he'd be supervising.
Jim had several friends that did much the same thing and whenever one of them got a bigger job, they called on each other for help. As the kid on the crew, I caught a lot of teasing and as you might expect from an all male group, most of it was sexual. I fell for every trick and joke that any of them had ever had played on them and I suppose the very first thing I learned was to have a sense of humor. By the time they ran out of pranks to pull on me, I discovered I could ask them questions about some of their sexual remarks that I didn't understand and as often as not, get a straight answer. While my friends at school were flipping burgers and sacking groceries and not learning a damn thing, I was getting a pretty damn good education and became somewhat of an expert on things concerning sex.
I also learned that I liked the work, most of which was outdoors, and that I also liked going with Jim on some of his hunting and fishing trips, where again the conversations were usually some sort of sexual banter. My dad was an accountant, and I don't think he ever had a hobby in his life. He loved sitting at a desk all day and would often bring work home and do the same thing at night. I don't think I could have made it through high school if I hadn't had gym in the middle of the day. So for me, Jim Kaufman was much more of a roll model. Since Jim didn't have any children, I became the son he wished he'd had and he became the father I would have preferred. I worked, hunted, or fished with Jim every summer and school break until I graduated from college and moved halfway across the country.
A few years out of college, I met and married Belinda. I don't remember there being anything particularly good or bad about the first few years of our marriage. But then, about the time Belinda neared thirty, her biological clock quit ticking. Instead, it began to beat like a bass drum. Her goal was to have two kids and have them grown and out of the house by the time she reached fifty. Her efforts at conception turned our sex life into a chore instead of something that up to then we'd enjoyed. When a couple of years of effort produced no results, she demanded we both be tested, and it turned out I was shooting blanks, probably due to a childhood illness.
Within months of that news, Belinda became the woman she'd always said she'd never be - her mother. Her nagging and bitching about everything I did or didn't do reached a peak the night she threatened to divorce me because I hadn't gotten the oil changed on her car. Since she had a helluva lot more time to stop and get that done than I did, I sure didn't consider my not getting to it, the very moment the odometer said it was due, to be a marriage ending event. But if our relationship had deteriorated to the point that she did, then maybe she was right and I told her so.
They say problems always come in threes, and I know it did for me. At least it seemed like that and maybe more. A week after Belinda served me with divorce papers, the company I'd been with for over ten years decided it needed to 'down-size' like many other firms were doing. I learned the hard way that 'down-size' is a term for firing a bunch of your employees and replacing some of them with people at a lower pay rate and with fewer benefits. Without a job to go to, I happened to be home the day the man from the bank knocked on the door to find out why the last three payments on the house hadn't been made. I'd been letting Belinda handle our finances, happy to let her manage a chore I considered tedious, and was totally unaware she'd been setting me up for our divorce for months. She'd been getting all the mail before I got home and them turned in a change of address when she left. I guess I should have realized that the only mail I was getting was addressed to 'Occupant' but with the divorce heavy on my mind, it took the guy from the bank to snap me out of it.
When the bank learned I was out of work and hadn't as yet begun looking, they foreclosed. While Belinda had taken all the money from our accounts, I'd gotten a severance from my employer that would have allowed me to get all my payments current. But doing that didn't make sense without a job. If I did that, I'd be both completely broke and behind again almost immediately.
Then to add to my problems, I was sitting at a traffic light when a drunk with no insurance slammed into the back of my car, totaling it and damn near totaling me. The car was paid for, but my insurance company hadn't gotten a check in months and had canceled the policy. When they explained they'd sent me a couple of reminders, I knew there was no sense in arguing.
What was supposed to be my golden parachute seemed a lot more to me like one of those paper parasols that they put in fancy women's drinks. But it was enough money for me to become an expert on drinks or all sorts and that's all I did for a couple of months. It got so bad that I was often drunk by nine or ten in the morning. Then I decided to clean up my act and when a neighbor at the apartments I'd moved into invited me to join him and his wife at their church, I accepted. Why, I don't know. I'd never been much of a church go-er, but it did change my life.
No, I didn't become a Jesus freak. What happened was that I met an older woman, Marge Eads, and she happened to mention that she needed to find someone to do some work around her house, that her recently deceased husband had always done that sort of thing, but since he was no longer with her, she'd have to hire someone. I told her I'd be glad to help her, but that I didn't have any tools to do that sort of thing. She offered me her husbands tools, which were no good to her and that she'd intended to donate to someone anyway, if I would do the things she needed done. More important, considering my financial condition, she insisted that she pay me too. That was how I started in Jim's footsteps.
Instead of replacing my car, I borrowed some money from my dad and bought an old van, much like the one Jim had owned back when I'd helped him, that I could use to do the same sort of work. As an ironic twist of fate, the same bank that had foreclosed on my house became one of my first customers when I learned they needed someone to make repairs on foreclosed homes that hadn't been kept up nearly as nice as mine had been. Eventually, after a couple of years of doing work for that bank and a couple of others, in addition to the work I was getting from word of mouth references, I began buying some of those foreclosed homes, as is, making the necessary repairs, and either selling them or renting them out.
So that's where I was at when Sid Peterson asked me to do some work at his flea market and the whole point of this story begins.
Sid was well known for being so tight that you could put a lump of coal between his ass cheeks and make diamonds. While he might cry like a baby when you handed him a bill, even if you gave him a discount, he wrote you a check on the spot and I'd come to appreciate that. He also happened to be the uncle of the woman I was seeing, Carol Anderson, and it was more as a favor to her that I did an occasional job for him. "I try to keep Uncle Sid happy," she told me. "I'm the only relative he has and he's rich."
He might have been rich, but he always wanted everything done as cheap as possible and a few times I'd refused a job because he didn't want something done right; he wanted it done for next to nothing. But I knew that 'happiness' thing went around. Carol was making me happy, so to speak, and if making her uncle happy made her happy . . . you get the picture I'm sure. When he told me he needed to talk to me about re-doing some toilet stalls at the flea market, I assumed he was talking about some of the ADA modifications for handicap access. He'd had a maintenance man that did all the small things.
So we set an appointment for me to go by the flea market one morning so he could show me the problem. Before then, I'd never heard of a 'glory hole' in my entire life.
"What can we do to fix them fuckin' holes?" he asked me, pointing at a hole in the wall of a toilet stall when I showed up to look at the job.
The Men's room at the flea market had a trough style urinal about six foot long and to the right of it, two toilet stalls. The last one was larger, created by eliminating what used to be a third toilet, the cheapest way to do it of course, but it made the place ADA compliant. There was a hole about the size of a baseball in the stall wall between the urinal and the first stall and he said there was a similar hole between the two stalls.
I shrugged before telling him, "Whatever you want." Then knowing what that would be, I told him, "The cheapest way would be to patch 'em or plug 'em." Then to get in a little dig, I added, "But I suppose if you really want to do it cheap, you could just put duct tape over them."
Apparently it never occurred to Sid that I was having fun with him. He shook his head and told me, "Tried that. The assholes keep ripping it off."
Showing how naïve I was, I asked, "Why?"
"So the fuckin' fags can suck cock. Why do you think? The cocksuckers want to pass each other toilet paper? Those are 'Glory Holes' that they use to blow each other."
"You're joking."
"Shit no! I'm surprised there's none of them pieces of shit in here right now. They take turns sticking their dicks through those holes and suckin' each other's dicks. Let me tell you, you want your cock sucked, this is the place to come - and that ain't no pun."
I was trying to visualize what he was saying and for reasons I couldn't begin to answer, it was getting me aroused. My first thought was how could a guy get up the nerve to put something as precious as his one and only prick through a hole with a complete stranger on the other side. Then, in spite of my efforts to resist the thought, I began to wonder what it would be like to be sitting on one of the toilets and have a hard cock suddenly appear through a hole at my side. I couldn't believe those thoughts were giving me an erection and I needed to get out of there before Sid noticed.
"Well this is new to me," I told him, stalling. "Let me give it some thought."
Sid was looking around and doing some thinking too. "Guess I need for you to paint the walls while you're at it. Too bad I can't charge the sons-of-bitches for advertising space."
I'd noticed there was a lot of writing on the walls above the piss trough and I had enjoyed shit house humor on many occasions. Gives you something to read at least. But as I stepped closer to examine the hole next to the urinal, I glanced at some of the writing and realized there was very little in the way of limericks or other profound observations on human nature. Almost all the writing was phone numbers with offers of great oral sex.
"I'll need to drop back by and take some measurements and work up an estimate for you," I lied, wanting to get out of there fast. Everything I needed, in this case a tape measure and a calculator, was out in the truck and I could have done it right then. "Most places have metal walls. Someone made these out of plywood. When's the best time to get in here if you decide to have me do the work?"
"Afternoons are always busier than mornings. Weekends are the busiest," Sid explained. "This whole place is wall-to-wall people on weekends. A few of the vendors are here during the week too, but most of them close Mondays. I suppose anytime during the beginning of the week is good - and hopefully, you won't have to close the place down to work. I don't want to have to rent porta-potties on top of the small fortune you'll want to charge me."
I stepped behind the door of the far stall and about halfway inside. I didn't really need to look at anything. My problem was the bulge in my pants that I needed to rearrange and make less noticeable. But I did become aware of how neatly the holes had been made. It wasn't as if someone had knocked out a knothole. These were perfectly round, man made holes, and neatly done.
"Sid," I asked, once I had my cock pointed straight up and the bulge a little less noticeable. "Any idea how these holes were made or who made them?"
"Probably been here as long as this little shopping center. I wasn't paying that much attention to the crappers when I bought the place. This end used to be a grocery store that anchored the whole shopping center." Then after pausing to think for a moment, he told me, "Or maybe Henry put them there. He had to be hiding somewhere and every time I asked him where the hell he'd been, seems like he always told me the restroom."
Then he explained that Henry had been his not too capable maintenance man that had quit a week or so back and that Sid was trying to find a replacement. I might have enlightened Sid and told him he'd have much better luck finding a capable replacement if he paid more than minimum wage, but I knew that would be futile. Sid was one of those people that believes they're the only person entitled to make a decent living.
Like I said, I had everything I needed out in the truck, but for some reason I decided to come back after lunch. And that's when I got a demo of how the glory hole thing worked. I was on my knees in the first stall, like I mentioned at the start of this story. I'd taken some measurements and finished with that, and was just killing time, reading all the hand written notes and phone numbers on the wall. I'd set my clipboard and tape measure on the back of the toilet. To save a few bucks, it was obvious that Sid had used regular toilets instead of the commercial ones, and instead of using the commercial, metal walls, he'd had someone make new walls out of plywood and 2x4s. I was busy reading a particularly long description of they joys one man promised anyone that phoned him for a blowjob when two men walked in and moved past me to the large, end stall.
As the second of the two went by my open door, the man paused to smile and tell me, "Hey guy. Keep the door closed or you'll get all of us caught." Then he winked and followed his friend next door into the handicap toilet stall.
I can be a little slow at times, but there was no doubt in my inexperienced mind as to what they'd assumed, seeing me on my knees, or what those two were up to. I didn't need to peek through the hole to confirm it - but I did.
The first guy had dropped his pants and underwear and was holding his shirttail up to give the guy that had winked at me unrestricted access. The other guy had also dropped his pants and was sitting on the toilet, cock in hand, and thoroughly enjoying the huge prick in his mouth. After that quick glance to confirm my suspicion, I could easily have gotten the hell out of there - but I didn't.
For one thing, I'd never seen an erect cock, other than my own. I'd never even watched a porno flick and had never wasted a dime on men's magazines. So seeing a stiff dick for the first time, especially one that looked to be twice the size of my own, was almost mesmerizing. I could easily see why the sucker that had spoken to me had been smiling with anticipation. At one point, the 'suck-ee' stopped the 'suck-er' and drew his attention to me watching and the guy paused briefly to look in my direction and give me another wink. Then he made a show of licking the whole length of the guys cock while pointing it in my direction.
For a moment, I almost panicked. I thought sure the suck-er was going to have the suck-ee put his cock through the hole so I could take a turn. But just before I jumped up and ran for the door, they went back to finishing the masterful blowjob I'd been watching.
When I say 'masterful,' I'm not exaggerating. I'd had my cock sucked by several women and some had been damn good. Belinda may have had her other faults, but my ex had been great until she decided that all that baby batter needed to be saved up to increase the chances of conception. And Carol, my love interest of the moment, was as good as any of them and maybe better. Yet none of those women had shown the skill and enthusiasm of Mr. Winky. Watching him at work, you got the sense that he LIVED to suck cock. I really don't remember when, during this show, that I'd taken out my cock and started jacking it. I do know that when the guy getting blown announced he was going to cum, I started too, painting the floor under the glory hole with my cream. Then, almost in a panic, I stuffed my prick back in my pants and got out of there as quick as I could.
I was sitting in my truck in the parking lot, thinking about what I'd just seen and done, when a knock on my window scared me half to death. It was Mr. Winky, the cocksucker from the restroom, and he had my clipboard and measuring tape in his hand. I had to roll down my window to get it.
"These must be yours," he said, handing them through the window to me. When I thanked him and took the items, he winked again and told me, "You shouldn't have wasted that load on the floor. I'd have been glad to do you next."
I was too embarrassed to do anything but blush and tell him, "Okay." He stood there for a moment, hoping I guess to get me into a conversation and when I didn't say anything, he pointed to the box of business cards on my dash.
"Let me have a couple of your cards," he told me and without thinking about why he might want them, I handed him two. He put one in his shirt pocket and the other he used to write his number on the back and handed it to me. "Any time you're horny, let me know," he told me and gave me yet another wink.
The experience shook me deeply. Enough so that I didn't call Sid back with an estimate and he had to call me. What bothered me so much was that I had an overwhelming urge to visit those glory holes as a participant. I was fascinated by the idea of both giving and getting a blowjob! Never in all my adult life had I had any desire to do that. Even stranger I guess was that I began to think of Sid's desire to close those holes as cruel and inhuman. I kept trying to erase the whole thing from my mind and the more I tried the more I thought about it. Part of me wanted to go back to that men's room and another part of me knew if I did, and I ran into an agreeable man, I'd be crossing a line with no going back.
Then a few things happened within days of each other that gave me additional insight into a world I never knew existed. That weekend, in bed with Carol, I tried to casually ask if she'd ever heard of a glory hole. I was sure, since women couldn't use something like that, that she'd tell me no and I could then segue into a discussion of what her uncle wanted me to do and what I'd seen.
Instead, she told me, "Yeah. My ex-husband was bi and used to love those things. Why?"
Dumbly, I asked, "He was gay?"
"No. Bi. Bisexual. Paul liked cock as much as he liked pussy. If he'd just fucked around with other guys once in a while, I wouldn't have minded. It was the other pussy he was always chasing that pissed me off. He'd tell me he couldn't afford for us to go out to eat, then I'd find charges on his credit card for fancy restaurants and hotel rooms."
I'd met her ex and couldn't believe a guy like that would be interested in sex with other men. But for that matter, there was nothing overtly swishy about Mr. Winky, other than the obvious fact that he loved to suck cock. So I explained everything that had happened, leaving out only the parts about me jacking off while I watched - and Mr. Winky leaving me his phone number.
"Now I know why Paul used to love to go to Uncle Sid's flea market all the time," she went on. "There was a book store he used to go to and I know he liked to hang out at one of the shopping malls where there were glory holes. Any time he told me he was going to the mall or the bookstore, I knew he was hungry for some cock to suck. But I never knew about the flea market. It wouldn't surprise me if he was the one that put the holes in the wall. Or maybe Uncle Sid did. Nothing you guys do to get off surprises me any more." Then she went on to tell me all about how the loving she got after Paul had been out with the boys was always the best and how she didn't know if it was because he felt guilty or was trying to prove something to her or himself. Either way, she didn't care. The only times Paul had made sure she climaxed, and usually more than once, was when he'd spent the afternoon sucking dick.
Mr. Winky was the second thing that happened that weekend. When I got home the next day from Carol's place, there was a message on my machine from, 'the friend you met at the flea market', and telling me he had something he'd like me to look at. I was sure the 'something' he had in mind was the same thing I'd seen in his hand when I'd watched him suck that other guys cock. I tried to tell myself I had no intention of calling him back, but if that was true, why did I still have the number he'd given me on the back of that card in my wallet? Two or three times I'd started to throw away that number and had always wound up putting it back in my wallet.
Then Sid called to see if I'd worked up any numbers for him. Since he didn't know I'd gone back that same afternoon, I lied and told him it would be sometime after the first of the week before I could do that.
"Well if the cocksuckers are in there using the place," he warned, "just turn around and get the hell out. That shit can be addictive."
I started to tell him I'd had no intention of trying out the glory holes, but for some reason, that lie caught in my throat. I'd already been trying to figure a way to visit that Men's room when I'd be sure Sid wouldn't be around his flea market office. So instead of denying anything, I asked him when would be a good time to catch him next week.
"Have to be the end of the week," he told me. "I'll be in Vegas for three days."
"Loosing all that money you made this weekend?" I joked. I should have known that was a waste of time with Sid.
"I don't gamble," he said seriously. "That's for suckers. I have some investments there."
Carol had confirmed that Sid had his fingers in a lot of different pies. He kept his office in the back of the flea market because that was the cheapest office space he owned. He'd gotten me a couple of jobs finishing out office space in buildings he owned so I knew he had a lot of different investments. It wouldn't have surprised me to learn he owned one of the big casinos in Vegas.
Then, as if I didn't know what would happen or what it would lead to, I called Mr. Winky, learned his real name was Jamie, and that he really did have some work for me, if I was interested in putting in a sliding glass door and deck on the back of his house. So I told him I needed to go by the flea market around lunch time on Tuesday and that I'd be glad to visit with him at his house later that afternoon to discuss the work he wanted done. When I hung up, I would have bet everything I owned that I'd see Jamie at the flea market Tuesday and that's just what happened.
By Tuesday, I'd come to think of those glory holes as a public service of sorts. Where a couple of weeks earlier I would have thought that two men, total strangers, engaging in anonymous sex was too incredible to believe, or might have conceded that it was possible, but the chances were like one in a million, I now knew that in an area with just over a million people, there were at least a couple of dozen that had their numbers on the restroom wall offering just such a service. I couldn't help but wonder how many other restrooms like the one at the flea market there may be in the area. Or how many other men would be glad to swap blowjobs but were married or for some reason couldn't post their phone number. If Carol had her facts right, and I had no information to refute her, there were lots of married men that enjoyed cock too. So I'd come up with a plan that would assure the continued existence of those glory holes.
I showed up at Sid's office, just as Tammy, his secretary, was leaving for lunch, just the way I'd planned it. Tammy looked like a bowling ball with two sticks for legs. Why she bothered with a bra I don't know. Her belly was more than big enough to support her breasts. Sid had given me an insight into the way he thought the first time I'd visited his office. "One way to keep from being tempted," he'd told me, "is to hire a secretary that's so fat and ugly just thinking about her naked makes your dick go soft." Tammy had a cute face, but the rest of her certainly fit that description.
I gave Tammy the two proposals, each with a contract to be signed by Sid if he accepted either one. The first one, the one I knew he'd never go for, included new metal walls between the stalls, as well as tiled walls. It was several thousand dollars. The second proposal called for redoing the walls with a different material and covering the holes with small plywood covers. My intention was to use wood screws that could be removed with a coin. I assumed that would satisfy whoever had complained about the glory holes, making it look like Sid had tried to do something about it, yet not ruining everyone's fun. I had to charge a full day's labor, my minimum rate, but compared to the other bid, it looked real good.
Then I went to the Men's room and surprise, surprise; there was Jamie, standing at the urinal like he was going to take a pee. As soon as he saw me, he turned without putting his cock away and I couldn't help but notice he was semi-stiff and about the same size as me. When I just sort of froze, not sure what to do next, he took my free hand and put it on his cock. Instinctively, I wrapped my fingers around it and gave it a gentle squeeze, then began to stroke it slowly and gently. I got an incredible thrill of excitement from holding another man's cock for the first time. It was just like the one I'd had in my hands thousands of times, going back to when I'd been potty trained, but somehow it felt completely different
"I love a man with calloused hands," he whispered. "Want to go in the back stall?"
I knew he was offering me a session like I'd witnessed with him and the other man. "Yeah, I think I do," I almost whispered back, my breathing somewhat erratic, then hinted there might be a better place to do anything more. "But I'm supposed to go see a man about putting in a deck."
Jamie grinned like a child with a new toy and no surprise to me, he winked. "I wasn't sure you'd show up, so I decided to meet you here," he told me. "But we'd have a lot more privacy at my house. And I REALLY do want you to give me a price on the work I told you about. There's no one behind my house and I love to walk around naked. Sometimes I cut the backyard in the nude. Having a deck to play on would be wonderful."
While in a way I was reluctant to travel down this path, he almost had to pry my fingers off his cock so we could get going. I followed him to his house, a short ways out of town, and just as I'd imagined on the way, as soon as he was in the house, he took off all his clothes, as casually as some men would hang their hat when they walked in the door. I kept mine on long enough for us to discuss the project he had in mind and he had no reluctance to going out in the back yard naked to show me where and how he wanted the deck built. When we went back inside, he began undressing me and I didn't make any effort to stop him. When my cock popped free of my jockey shorts, it was as stiff as his.
"First time isn't it?" he wisely surmised. I nodded, too nervous to speak and he told me, "No problem. I love to show a new man the ropes. Speaking of which, are you into anything like that?"
"Like what?" I asked, proving yet again how naïve I was.
"Ropes. Whips. Chains. I'm not, but I don't mind if the other guy is. Do you have any fetishes? Like ladies clothes or pee play or anything?"
My mind raced. All I'd allowed myself to admit to was wanting to try getting and probably giving a blowjob. I wasn't anywhere near ready to try anything more adventurous than that. "Maybe some other time," I told him, not sure what the etiquette was for gay sex.
"That's fine," he told me. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. And please! Feel free to ask for anything you'd like to try." Then he grinned and told me, "I have rubbers if you'd prefer my ass."
Then he was done talking and found a much better use for his mouth. We were standing in the kitchen and I'd assumed we'd go in the bedroom or maybe the living room before we did anything sexual. I still had on my socks and when Jamie dropped to one knee, I thought he was going to help me take off that last bit of clothing. Instead, he puckered his lips to kiss the head of my cock. Then he smiled up at me, gave me another of his famous winks, and then sucked it into his mouth.
He'd barely gotten started good when I stopped him, forcing his head back. I didn't want our sex play to end in less time than it had taken for me to get undressed for it. Besides, I wanted to try it too and I knew that if I came first, I might not have the desire after I'd gotten my cum. "You're so damn good," I told him. "Will you teach me how to do that?"
"Of course!" he said smiling - and of course he winked. "Let's go to the bedroom. I have some movies we can watch."
Jamie's bedroom was . . . well sleep had never been the priority when it was designed. It looked like something right out of a bordello - a gay bordello. The artwork alone was astonishing. There'd been a few pieces in the living room that you could tell, if you looked at them long enough, were two men entwined. But the things in the bedroom, a variety of oil, watercolor, and ink sketches, were MUCH more graphic. Even the bedposts were hand carved in the shape of giants cocks. Jamie beamed with pride as I took it all in.
"I don't see how you could get much sleep in this room," I told him.
"I don't," he answered, giggling. "We built this room for sex. We sleep in the other room." Then he giggled again. "Not that we don't have sex in there too."
"You're married?"
This time he broke out in a full laugh. "Not in this State. But we did have a marriage ceremony when we went on vacation to Aruba."
"Does your . . ." I didn't know whether to say, "wife," or "husband," or what. Jamie came to my rescue.
"We prefer, 'partner.' Darrel is my life partner. He's the guy you saw me with the day we met at the flea market. I met Darrel at the flea market three years ago and a couple of times a month we meet for lunch and have sex there for old times sake."
I continued to look around the room, noticing now the smaller framed photos mixed in with the larger, artistic pieces. Then I noticed one picture of the guy I assumed was Darrel with a woman. When I took a closer look, I heard Jamie giggle.
"That's me all dolled up. Sometimes Darrel likes to pass me off as his wife and with a name like mine, I have no problem getting on an airplane dressed as a woman."
"What if you get picked for a random search?"
"I'll do what my momma told me, always wear clean panties when you're going someplace." Then he broke into a fit of giggles.
Then I remembered what I was about to ask when he had to help me with the 'partner' thing. "Doesn't Darrel mind you having men over while he's gone?"
"He knows you're here. I called him from the car while we were driving over. He knows I was going to bring you here if I could and he'd like to meet you too."
"So it's not like you cheat on each other?"
"Oh no. And we only do this with straight guys. I mean, guys like you that haven't done anything with a man but have been thinking about it."
"I never thought about it until I saw those glory holes and Sid told me what they were for."
"That's pretty much what we thought. When we saw that you'd jacked off watching us and then ran out leaving your clipboard and tape measure, and saw the drawings you'd made of the stalls and all, we knew you'd been there to do some work and had gotten excited watching us. It was Darrel's idea that I try to catch you in the parking lot. We love to initiate new men."
I was about to ask something, and was trying to find a way to phrase it, when once again, Jamie, who it seemed knew me better than I knew myself, put it in words for me.
"Would you like to play with Darrel's cock sometime? If you've never been fucked, I wouldn't suggest you start with him, but I'll bet you could suck him with no problem."
"Let me try sucking yours first," I answered, and this time I gave Jamie a wink. When I looked down at his cock, it seemed to nod in approval. Now I knew why Carol got a sort of glazed look in her eyes when she was about to suck my cock. I was sure I had the same look on my face as I tasted cock for the first time. Even before Jamie gave me his cum, I knew it was something I'd want to do again - and often.
I suppose I could end this story there, but then you'd miss out on the irony of sorts that makes this story a little different from other guy's first encounters. As you might expect, I wouldn't have told this story at all if my afternoon with Jamie hadn't turned out to be everything I'd hoped for and more. I sucked him to completion twice and short of completion at least a dozen times. By the time Darrel got home from the art gallery he owned, I was more than ready to try his big prick and Darrel was just as ready for me to do it.
While I was ready to schedule in the door and deck Jamie wanted as soon as possible, Darrel insisted on some expansion work at his art gallery first. By the time I got around to Jamie's deck, I'd become close friends with both men and so had Carol.
Carol, who by the way is now my wife, was kept abreast of everything. The only thing she got mad about was that I hadn't taken her with me to watch my first adventure into male-male sex. When she assured me she DIDN'T want kids and that thoughts of me having sex with other men turned her on, I proposed to her and she accepted. We were married two weeks later.
Now here's where some of the irony comes in. Sid didn't own a Las Vegas casino as I'd imagined. He owned a string of wedding chapels. The biggest shock with that regard was that he paid for our wedding! However, as far as the flea market was concerned, Sid was still Mister Tightwad. But as I learned, he had an ulterior motive.
Just as I'd expected, when Sid saw one bid for $500 and the other for over $5000, he went for the cheap one in a heartbeat. If he realized at the time that none of my work would prevent his men's room from continuing as a contact point for gay sex, he never let on. Instead of tile on the wall behind the urinal trough, I put up a laminate material like you'd find on a kitchen counter. It didn't prevent anyone from leaving their phone number, just made it easier to clean on occasion. The glory holes I covered with a one-foot square of similar material. With a screw in each corner, it didn't take long before someone loosened all the screws so that the holes could be opened as necessary, and then closed when the user was finished. I know, because I tried it a few times before I found the cock I was waiting for.
Jamie had hinted that the best time would be mid-week, just before lunch. But it was a few weeks - and some really delicious cocks - before I got the one I wanted. It was actually the second one I sucked that morning and I was about to give up, when I heard someone enter the restroom and go directly to the handicap stall. I wiggled my finger through the glory hole as Jamie had taught me and almost immediately a large circumcised cock was pushing my finger out of the way. After sucking it for a few minutes, the man pulled back, telling me in the voice I was waiting to hear, "Now you."
"Sure Uncle Sid," I told him as I pushed my hard-on through the hole. You could have heard a pin drop.
"Alan, is that you?" Sid asked in near a whisper.
"Suck it and I'll tell you later," I teased.
For what seemed like ages and probably wasn't more than half a minute, the only sound was the deep breathing of two horny men. Then I felt a finger give my cock a tentative feel, stroking the bottom side, and a short time later, two well practiced lips and a tongue brought me off way too quickly. It took me a moment to catch my breath so that I could do the same thing for Sid, but in that moment, he was gone.
After putting the cover over the glory hole and loosely tightening the two screws that remained of the four I'd installed, I went to Sid's office to apologize for approaching him like I had. Tammy wasn't at her desk so I went to Sid's door and opened it just in time to catch Sid climaxing in Tammy's mouth. Sitting in his chair, with Tammy between his legs, Sid could only see her head bobbing on his cock and not the other couple of hundred pounds that were out of sight.
Tammy didn't seem at all embarrassed to be caught swallowing Sid's cum load and smiled at me rather proudly as she got to her feet and went back to her desk. On the other hand, Sid seemed to be turning red as a beet and for a moment, I thought maybe the excitement of having his cock sucked had given him a heart attack. Then he smiled and shrugged and sort of sheepishly said, "So what can I say?"
"No explanation necessary," I told him. But he explained anyway. Tammy loved to suck his dick but she did nothing to turn him on. So a couple of times a week, he'd go to the men's room, get all worked up sucking cock and having his sucked on, then run back to his office so that Tammy could finish him off. For some reason, that didn't sound any more weird than any of the other things I'd heard in recent weeks.
"I just came to apologize for pulling a prank on you," I told him. "Jamie told me you were a regular at the glory holes and he was surprised that you wanted them closed."
"You know Jamie?"
"And Darrel," I told him. "You might say we've become close friends - and they're both customers. I finished out the second floor of Darrel's gallery and I'm putting in a deck and sliding glass door at Jamie's house this week."
Uncle Sid just smiled at me and shook his head. "You give damn good head. I told you that shit was addictive. That's why I wanted those holes closed up. I can't handle the temptation. Did you know they were just going to unscrew those covers you put on 'em?"
I smiled back at him. "I was sort of hoping they would." I noticed then that his cock had finally shrunken enough for him to put it back in his fly and just as he was about to do that, I stopped him. Taking the position Tammy had vacated, I teased, "Too old to do it again?"
Sid was over sixty and couldn't resist the challenge. He smiled at me as I set to work coaxing his cock back to life and remembering what Carol had told me about keeping Uncle Sid happy. If this was what he wanted, I was going to be his favorite in-law.
Comments appreciated: amber_fountaine@hotmail.com