Gloryhole Switch

Week Seven

It happened again. Just as Marston was about to feed his cum to the fag on the other side of the wall, he imagined that he was the one sucking. It almost spoiled his orgasm, but not quite. He felt the familiar ripple in his cock and the undulations in his ass as he spurted in the man's mouth. He was momentarily breathless and sat down on the toilet.

He was in a nearly-forgotten multi-stall men's room in the basement of the city's oldest mall. When family-friendly, wheelchair-accessible rest rooms were incorporated into the main floor design of the mall in the eighties, it was as if this washroom was forgotten by the mall planners and security. That couldn't be quite true, but it did seem as if a blind eye was turned toward the activities that took place down here.

The stalls had long since succumbed to the boring of holes in their walls to allow men to commit anonymous sex acts between the cubicles like the one Marston had just experienced. He had been coming here for weeks and his empathy for the man on the other side of the wall had only grown in that time.

Where was it all leading?

*****

Week One

Marston heard of a meeting place for men to have anonymous sex from the rumour mill in his workplace. The janitor of his office, Clive, occasionally remarked he would rather clean the washrooms in his building than the old one in the mall. Bill Derek, a senior staffer, talked about going there in the late nineties to get his first blowjob. There was the odd, occasional reference from someone else. Nobody seemed to know if the washroom was still in use or not.

Marston was curious. The idea of such a place tantalized him. Free blowjobs, no strings. Marston wasn't gay, he told himself, but he could see the appeal. That senior staffer, who was gay, often said nobody gave a better blowjob than another man. It stayed with him until one Thursday night, a couple of hours before the mall closed, he decided to investigate.

He went to the mall and looked for the way downstairs. First, he went to the elevator and tried pressing B for basement, but however many times he tried, the indicator wouldn't light up. That floor was locked out.

Exploring the mall itself, Marston found a single door that wasn't on the directory map. It was marked "Employees Only". It didn't lead to the mall offices, which the mall directory said were on the second floor. Confident that he had located the fabled basement entrance, he tried the door and was surprised when it opened easily. He expected it to be locked. Sure enough, there was a stairwell down. The lights over the stairway flickered but the corridor beyond was faintly lit. He looked around the ceiling and walls. There were no cameras down there.

Better and better. The corridor was not long. There were a series of locked doors on one side, possibly the utility, generator and boiler rooms. Marston was no architect, but he assumed the rooms served some such purpose. On the opposite side of the corridor were the two rest rooms, marked "Ladies" and "Men".

The Ladies' room was padlocked. The men's room had been padlocked too at some point, because the broken lock lay on the floor before the door and the latch was open.

Marston was amazed when the door pushed open easily, as if in constant use.

The bathroom was dim. There were fluorescent lights lining the ceiling but they were out. Only two lights, small fluorescent bulbs stationed over the sinks and mirrors, were still operational.

The room itself was from another age. There were no change stations for babies, no electric hand dryers, only long empty paper towel dispensers. There was a stand-up ashtray inside the bathroom door. Marston wasn't old enough to remember when smoking was allowed in public spaces like a mall.

There was no wheelchair-friendly-sized stall, but four regular-sized cubicles and four urinals, their white porcelain stained by rusty water stains. The outside walls of the stalls and the walls of the room itself were covered in writing. There was some graffiti, a few genuine works of lewd art, and a lot of names and phone numbers of the "call for a good time" variety. Marston wondered how many of those phone numbers were still in service, how many of those names were counted among the living. He briefly wondered if Bill Derek, the senior staffer, had ever called any of those numbers.

There was a scuff. It sounded like a shoe scraping on the quarry tile floor.

Marston nearly panicked and ran out, but then he realized there was only one reason someone would be here. The same reason as him. To get some. Nobody would come here to use the toilet. There probably hadn't been paper in decades. He had been stealthy in his search for the room. Now that he found it, perhaps he'd found the rest of what he was looking for. He must stay.

The door on the first stall was off its hinges and the second hung open. The sound must have come from one of the last two stalls. Where are you, Cocksucker? Marston thought. He trembled as he approached the third door and gave it a gentle push. It was not latched. He entered the stall and locked the door behind him.

The stall was lit only by reflected light from the ceiling from those bulbs over the mirrors. Marston didn't want to take his cellphone out and switch to flashlight mode just yet. He wasn't sure what kind of attention he was attracting. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw what he expected: a toilet, complete with dusty seat. It was white and easy to see. The walls of the cubicle were a darker colour and he strained his eyes to make out the hole he expected to find.

It was there. And two white fingers were tracing its edge.

Marston hadn't grown up with adult bookstores where gloryholes had been commonplace. He was introduced to the idea by that gay senior staffer who occasionally regaled him with his adventures when they went out for a drink after work. From there, Marston had taken to the internet and researched gloryholes in case he found one.

He knew what the gesture of the two fingers meant, and right now, he welcomed the tension relief that went with the idea; it was an invitation to put his cock through the hole and be serviced. Marston, who hadn't had a date in five months and hadn't had sex for even longer, didn't need an engraved invitation.

He fumbled at his belt in the dark, then clawed at his button and zipper. He had a frightening thought as he thrust his erection into the wall. What if this was some kind of madman on the other side of the wall? What might he do to the exposed penis of his victim? Nobody knew Marston was there. Nobody saw him come in and nobody had to see him leave. He shuddered in fear, but hope and expectation kept his pecker at full staff.

He started when he felt a breeze on the head of his cock. Fuck, he was jumpy! Someone was blowing on it. It felt good, but then fingers closed around his dick and began to massage it and that was something else altogether. He felt shivers through his entire body.

The light touch of those fingers carried on in gentle rubbing for a minute or two, then the hand closed tightly around Marston's cock. It began jacking him off ever so slowly. The other hand joined the first, grasping the glans of his cock and tracing circles over the tip with the thumb.

Marston had to admit that Bill Derek might be right. A woman had never taken this much effort to stimulate his cock before a blowjob. He was horny and wanted this cocksucker to get his mouth into the game, but Marston forced himself to be patient. Based on how this was starting out, it might well end in a fantastic pay-off.

His cock spasmed slightly and Marston knew he'd just slicked the thumb rubbing his glans with pre-cum. The man on the other side of the wall took that hand away for a moment and Marston heard lips smacking loudly in the next stall. He had licked the pre-cum off his thumb. Then his hand was back massaging his cock-head as if he'd never stopped.

A moan of ecstasy escaped Marston. He'd never experienced a situation that was more of a turn-on than an anonymous handjob in a derelict restroom under the mall. But that too was about to change.

The man took his hand off the helmet of Marston's cock and replaced it with his warm mouth. He completely enveloped the bulbous glans and ran his tongue in swirls over its sensitive skin. Marston groaned. He heard a small laugh from the man in the other stall. It was stifled by the cock-flesh in his mouth.

The man concentrated on Marston's cock-head for some time, but maybe to show off a little, he occasionally sucked Marston's entire dick in his mouth, every inch that was on his side of the wall. This felt good, but the man had a technique of jerking Marston off in tandem with his oral efforts on the helmet of his cock that made Marston shiver with delight.

After about five minutes, Marston knew he was close. He had read on the internet that it was proper etiquette to knock on the wall when one was ready to come, but he wasn't quite there yet.

Marston imagined the man on the other side of the wall. What was he like? Tall or short? Old or young? Out or closeted? Employed or homeless? None of it mattered to the free blowjob of great quality he was receiving, but it helped with his fantasy. He knew he would come back here again.

"Ahhh," Marston groaned. He knocked on the wall. It was time. He half-expected the mouth to desert his cock to avoid tasting sperm, but the cocksleeve around him stayed hot and tight, the tongue continued to rove over his glans. The spasms overtook Marston as he blew his load in the wet, hungry mouth. He shuddered with release.

When his throes passed, the cocksucker licked Marston's organ clean and let it go. Marston pulled himself back through the wall and fastened up.

He was wiped out. His legs wobbled under his weight. He was exhausted. He sat on the ancient plastic toilet seat and was grateful it supported him.

A raspy whisper came from the other side of the stall wall. "Do you want it?"

Marston panicked at the suggestion that he might want to suck a dick, even in return for the pleasure he had received. He bolted upright and started smoothing out his suit to prepare to leave.

"It's alright," the raspy voice said. "No strings. If you want me to blow you again, come back next week at the same time."

Marston did not say a word. He fumbled with the lock on the stall door and finally managed to open it. He charged the bathroom door. Once he was in the corridor outside, he smoothed out his suit again, making double-sure he didn't have any dust on him from that toilet seat. Then he strode up the stairs and out the door that led into the mall proper. He looked around and believed no cameras covered this door. He would wonder later why that was, but for now, he was just relieved.

When he made it to his car, he took a deep breath. He told himself not to go to the gloryhole again. But as he drove away, he knew he was not convinced. He had received a sublime blowjob from a complete stranger and he wanted more. It would seem like a long week.

*****

Week Two

"Why don't you come out for drinks with the rest of us?" Bill Derek asked Marston as their work shift ended. "You always used to."

"Uh, not tonight. Just have plans to visit, uh, my mother."

"Okay, well, you'll be missed."

The two men parted to walk to their respective cars in the employee parking lot. The truth was Marston could have used a drink or two to steady himself. He was more than a little excited that Thursday had rolled around again and he would get his cock sucked again. He hated lying to Bill and the other staffers, but he felt he could hardly be honest about his real intentions.

Marston drove home for some supper out of a box in the freezer. He showered, changed to something more casual than his suit of last week and killed time watching TV. When the hour arrived, he picked up his keys and headed out to the car.

Fifteen minutes later he was in the stall, having his cock sucked. He thought about what the man in the other cubicle was doing to him and marveled at his technique. In his mind, he saw lips closing around the glans of a cock, a hand grasping the shaft and jerking. Not being able to see who was doing this to him, it was his own lips and hands he imagined working the cock, which must then belong to someone else.

It disturbed him to fantasize in this way. He was here to be sucked, not to do the sucking. So why didn't the troubling thoughts diminish his erection? If anything, he was harder than ever.

He knocked on the wall and filled the mouth on the other side with his cum.

As he recovered himself, he waited for that raspy voice to invite him to suck his cock, but it didn't. It just said "Same time next week if you want it."

*****

Week Four

"Not coming out for drinks this week either?" Bill said, disappointed. "By the way, how was your mother?"

"My mother?"

"You said you were going to visit her last Thursday. I forgot to ask how she was."

"Oh. Yes. She was fine. She IS fine."

"What you got on tonight then?"

"Um..."

"You got a date?"

"Yeah. It's early days. I don't want to spoil it."

"Good for you, Son. Have a great time."

Once more, the two men went their own ways after work.

A few hours later, Marston found his mind wandering as he was blown. What a loving creature this was on the other side of the wall. He gave freely, and with great skill, an unimaginable pleasure. To do that would be a kind of calling. To take cock in the mouth would be to take on a great responsibility and trust worthy of being repaid.

No, I'm not sucking a cock, Marston told himself. He was deeply upset about how lacking in conviction his own denials seemed. Then the cocksucker, attuned to how close Marston was to coming, intensified his siege on the pleasure centres of the dick in his mouth and hand and Marston gave a whimper and knocked on the wall.

*****

Week Six

As the cocksucker manipulated his organ, Marston could only imagine his every move on him with graphic detail. He was feeling the blowjob, but in his mind, he was also giving it. This had to stop. But how could he stop coming here? Stopping getting the most mind-blowing face-fucks he'd ever had?

As he came, he imagined tasting semen in his mouth for the first time and wondering if he could handle it. He cursed the thought, but he could not banish it.

He pulled up his pants and ran from the rest room before he did something he might regret.

*****

Week Seven

Marston sat on the old toilet seat. It wasn't dusty anymore given how often he'd polished it with his ass over the past seven weeks. His cock and his mind had been blown and while his dick was satisfied, his need was still great.

For the first time in weeks, the voice on the other side of the wall spoke to him in that raspy whisper.

"Is it time?"

Marston was resigned. "Yes."

"I need to hear you say it."

"I want... I need to suck your cock."

There was silence from the other cubicle.

"Please," Marston said.

There was the rustle of clothing on the other side of the wall, audible through the aperture through which men extended themselves. With eyes used to the darkness of the rest room, Marston could see when the cock emerged from the other cubicle into his. He could not see it well, but it was beautiful to him anyway.

His fears had evaporated and all there was in this world was him and this dick. He put his hand on another man's member for the very first time. He enjoyed the way it was both hard and soft at the same time. He traced his finger along the vein on the top. Then, in replication of the methods with which he'd been taught these last seven weeks, he closed his hand around the shaft and began to gently jerk it off. After a minute or so, he leaned in and took the head of the cock in his mouth and began to map it with his tongue. He drew lines of latitude and longitude over the imperfect globe and explored the great slit in the front of it. He tasted the sweet and salty nectar that emanated from there.

He had a boner again, despite everything.

"That's it, kid, you're doing a great job."

Marston's eyes flapped open as he realized the voice was familiar. Some people said the best way to disguise a voice was to whisper. This was the full-throated voice of the man on the other side of the wall. He'd heard it before. But could that be? And anyway, losing himself back into the fascination of his work, did it matter?

He accelerated his efforts after a few minutes and there was a knock on the wall. Marston steeled himself to accept his prize and his taste buds were flooded with semen. The taste was like the pre-cum, but more concentrated, and there was so much of it that he had to swallow the first bursts to make room for the remainder. There was a sharp aftertaste, but nothing that Marston couldn't handle. To Marston's astonishment, he had not let up on sucking the dick. The groans from the other side of the wall told him that enough was enough though. He licked the cock clean and sat in wonder at his own boldness.

He had sucked a cock and swallowed cum. And he wanted to do it again. What had he become? What had the gloryhole done to him?

He put himself away in his pants and walked out of the stall. He was curious about something and he waited in the hallway. A few minutes later, a man walked out of the bathroom.

Of course, it was Bill Derek.

"So, now you know."

"I didn't even suspect until tonight."

"You should have come out for drinks those Thursday nights. You'd have loosened up before now and we could have shared a ride over."

"I think it was better this way."

"So, what are you thinking? Same time next week?"

"I'm thinking round two, your place, right now."

"Do you think you're ready for that?"

"I didn't think I was ready for this."

"You were ripe."

"I don't understand."

"I don't just talk about that place to just anybody. I saw your eyes light up when I mentioned it the first time. You hardly date, but you're obviously horny. The idea of having your cock sucked by a man didn't seem to upset you. You looked excited in fact."

"I'm that transparent?"

"To someone who knows what to look for."

"Well, what about that drink?"

"I have a ten-year-old Scotch at home."

"Is this a special occasion?"

"Isn't it?"

"Yes," Marston said. "I guess it is."

Marston thought for a moment. There was something he was curious about.

"How is it that nobody else ever came in while we were together?"

"Not that many people know about the place now. It's become almost an urban legend. People see that 'Employees Only' sign and never try to go any further. The only people who visit there now are a small club of us, including our Clive, the janitor at our work, and the mall manager, who makes sure Mall Security turns a blind eye. Some nights, there's nobody there and other nights, there are two or three. New blood is pretty rare and pretty much by invitation only. The way I invited you. Or maybe sometimes a little more direct. I think you HAD to find the place yourself. It's the only way it would have worked."

"About invitations... are we going to your place or not?"

"We sure are, kiddo, we sure are."