i am a cocksucker. this is my diary.

here i post stories of my exploits, ruminations, and whatever else strikes me fancy.

gloryhole.

for as long as i’ve been sucking dick, i’ve dreamed about gloryholes. they are, to me, cocksucking at its purest: an anonymous exchange. sheer symbolism. just a mouth and a cock making love, but without all that love stuff.

for a long time, this was only a fantasy. there was a dearth of these gloryholes where i lived (at least as far as i knew) and anyways i did just fine sucking guys off not-so-anonymously. face-to-face. face-to-pubes, even.

one summer, though, i found myself in europe. left alone by my family (with whom i was travelling) for a few hours, with a couple dozen euro to my name and a couple hours to myself, i did what any decent person would: i wandered over to the gay district in search of some fun.

as it turned out, it wasn’t all that far from where we were staying. a few blocks away, i found the perfect spot in a sex shop off one of the main streets. straight to the back room i went, though doe-eyed and slightly shy at the whole situation. for all my fantasizing, i felt like a fish out of water.

that didn’t last long, though. soon, despite the foreign language and the strange store, i was very much in my element.

the back room was a maze of sorts, dark as all hell and laden with booths. each booth had the standard issue television showing a different flavour of smut, a sliding door and a gloryhole, if not two or three on different sides. the pale blue television screens seemed to be the only source of light in the whole place, aside from the clerk’s flashlight as he traipsed through from time to time, disinterested.

from a quick walk around the place, i guessed that there were eight or nine guys in the place already. it was a little after lunch time on a weekday, so i figured i’d find some dicks in need of a midday draining. as i completed my walk around the booths, i caught the eye of a man, the type of man whose eye i never thought i could catch, standing in the glow of a screen showing static.

he was a little shy of six feet tall, broad-shouldered and brawny-armed. his tight t-shirt was taut across his rounded pecs. he was muscular, but not chiseled, in a way that made my knees weak. his face was strong, with broad jaw and heavy brow, and a stare so intense it cut through me even there in the dark.

without so much as a nod, he stepped into the booth ahead and shut the door. i took the booth next to his, and peered through the hole. i watched him undo his jeans, push down his underwear and thrust through the hole what i still consider to be the most perfect package i’ve ever seen.

his sack hung obscenely against the wall of the booth, his balls pressing the smooth skin of his scrotum like two over-ripe plums. his dick was heavy and huge too, mouthwatering and uncut as european dicks always seem to be. it was a feast for the eyes, yes, but even more so for the mouth.

my mouth became a place of worship for that beautiful vessel, tugging on it with increasing suction, pulling insistently. it complied, quickly becoming engorged and thicker than my wrist, and then even thicker still. this was a seriously fat cock. my throat was nonetheless up to the task. not yet fully hard, it plunged soundly into my throat, and i sweetly stroked it with every muscle i could access, not least of all my tongue, milking it lovingly in the moist, churning depths of my mouth. he liked it; i could tell by the way his dick got even harder still, the way it gushed a warm taste of precum, the way he bucked his hips, perhaps involuntarily, toward my mouth.

lost in a cocksucking frenzy, i nursed on his dick for god knows how long until he suddenly pulled away, his gorgeous and engorged prick disappearing through the hole much larger than when it came through, and apparently much harder to fit into his jeans. he stuffed it in and left the booth as quickly as he’d come in. i sat there bewildered. it might have ruined my day, but some other guy—a tall, dark european stud—stepped right in like he’d been waiting in line. without skipping a beat, i started working on this guy’s dick, and within a minute or two he shot his load down my throat. admittedly i didn’t give him my full attention… my mind was somewhere else, wondering what happened to that first guy.

i wandered around the place, still tasting that load in my mouth, coating my throat. i needed to find him, or someone else to get my mind off of him. i must have made six trips around the place when, seemingly out of nowhere, i ran into him again. he nodded to me and stepped into a booth, just as before, and i joined him in the neighbouring booth. already waiting for me was his fat soft dick, even bigger than before from its recent swollen state. he must not have wanted to cum so soon, but in the end he thought my mouth was worth a second try. i was glowing, i’m sure, as i got to my knees and got to work. my mouth, once again, was repurposed. no longer for speaking or eating or breathing, but solely for sucking dick.

it was a religious experience, worshipping his dick. my hands pressed the wall on either side of the hole, wanting to grab at that powerful, muscular ass and pull him deeper into my throat. he fucked my mouth, and i could almost feel his hand on the back of my head as he began to spurt his hot load into my throat. he unloaded balls deep into me, and what i could taste of his load was ambrosia. i swallowed greedily, but continued to savour the taste, as i did the whole way home—filled with the strangest pride that my breath smelled of his stud’s spunk. i looked through the hole and said “thank you.” for the first time, his stern expression cracked into a grin, and then he was on his way. i stayed in that booth for a good while longer, not to jack off or anything but just to sit and savour, smiling in a near-drunk stupor.

  • 29 December 2011
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