Western Indiana—October, 2017
This is the second of two posts about a couple of bookstore moments which don’t merit full entries. They happened on two different evening trips. Both were at the bookstore closest to where I was staying in Indiana—with the cinema on one side and the gloryholes on the other.
Another October evening. Halloween, to be exact. A Tuesday night. I think about the bookstore. I know it will be a small attendance night being a holiday and a week night. I mentally list all the things I could catch up on if I stay in my hotel room. But I listen to my cock—a louder voice— and I get in the car.
No one in the cinema. I always prefer to play where there is more room. I go to the other side and make the circuit of the booths. Two are lit and locked. One, I know has no glory hole. The other does. I go to the adjoining booth. I put a handful of tokens in the machine. I unbutton, stroke and wait. I look at the hole. I don’t kneel down and look to see who is on the other side. I don’t run my finger along the rim of the hole. Nor does he. Instead, the perfect cock pushes through the hole.
Perfect is a big word. But the perfect word. He is thick. He fills the hole. But not so thick I have to worry about my teeth. He is long. But not so long I can’t take him to the root. It is a beautiful dick: pale, pale skin, one prominent vein, a beautifully sculpted mushroom head. And he is a pre-cummer. I take him to the root—well, as close as the partition will allow me to take him. He begins fucking my face. His need is great. I have no time to show him what a good cocksucker I can be. He explodes in my mouth almost instantly. But he stays in place and lets me clean up him up. Maybe it’s the hand I’ve clamped around the base of his cock that won’t let him pull out. I finally release him when I can’t find another drop.
He grunts a “Thank you” and disappears from the hole, from the booth, from the store.
There are a couple more guys around.
A man stops me in the hallway after I exit my booth. “Stay away from the guy in the flannel shirt. He reeks.”
I nod. I move on to another booth.
I watch a piece of a movie.
There is movement in the adjoining booth. I look through the hole. It’s flannel shirt.
A thin dick pokes through the hole. I wait a second. I do an experimental lick. He doesn’t reek. His dick smells of need. Of having jerked his cock. I suck it. He sighs. He pulls out of my mouth.
“Can I come over?”
He comes in. His clothes are not new and wrinkled. They don’t smell, either. “Great cock,” he says, hefting my dick. He falls to his knees and sucks me, jerking his own. When his knees get tired, he stands and we reverse.
“Take my cock,” he grunts. “You swallow?”
I make an affirmative noise. He unleashes an amazing blast of pent up cum. I can’t clean him up—he’s out the door, before he even puts his cock away.
I’m back in the same booth after a quick tour of the entire place.
I use the tokens I have been gifted during my other times here.
There is movement at the gloryhole. A thick black cock starts to poke through—then is withdrawn. I see the man looking at me. Satisfied, he pokes it through again. I go to work. I stroke my own. I want to get off and go home—and I’m pretty sure this man is not going to suck me in return.
Once again—my face is fucked. I can only stay still and let him use my mouth.
He cums—heavily and noisily.
I splatter mine against the wall.