A Glimpse Thru a Glory Hole Caught

My thanks to Walt Whitman, who suggested the title of the narrative. All of these experiences happened, and in the location provided. I won't mention the time frame, because I don't want anyone to know that I am 110 years old.

My first experience at a glory hole was in an office building in Louisville, as a late teenager. Someone had told me about it. I fell in love with glory holes at first glimpse. To my great surprise and embarrassment, the person on the other side was my uncle's lover. He, however, “took it” in stride. Since that first one, I have seen dozens, perhaps more, some in the most unlikely places. I don't even remember all of them. These accounts are not listed in chronological sequence, but randomly selected.

One of the most interesting I found was in Redondo Beach, California, when I was in my early twenties, and always horny. It was in a large men's room right on the beach. There were about eight stalls, where guys would go for necessary business, or to change into their swimming trunks. That meant that they got nude in the stall at some point. Between each of the stalls was a hole, lined up in such a way that one could see through them from one end to the other.

What a set-up. When I entered, there were only two stalls occupied, side by side. This was a week day. I imagined what the place was like on weekends. I entered a stall about three away from them, and could tell that there was some action between the two occupied stalls. It ended quickly and one of them exited his booth, and the men's room. Then the other person came out of his stall and into the one next to me. I already had a hard on, and he quickly motioned for me to put it through the hole. He was good, and I shot rapidly. I would have liked to have remained, but a friend was waiting for me on the beach.

Columbus, Indiana lies about seventy-two miles north west of Louisville. I heard about the glory holes in the court house there and hitchhiked up there to check it out. The doors to the stalls had been removed. For me it was a waste of time. The placed was mobbed, but no one would make the first move. That’s because there were guys standing outside the stalls, waiting to watch some action between the holes. After an hour of this madness, I left, and hitchhiked back to Louisville. Fortunately, a trucker picked me up and took me almost all of the way. And I got to suck his dick in compensation for a wasted day.

Court houses and city parks are notorious for glory holes. I have often wondered why there are so many have them, especially in small towns. The conclusion I came to is that it's because they are in public places. Any decision, even one as simple as closing the holes, requires discussion among boards of supervisors, etc. No one wants to bring up such a delicate subject at public meetings. So they go unchallenged for years.

Fresh out of college, I and a friend traveled by car from New York to San Francisco. The trip took three weeks. The reason is that we stopped in every town along the way to see what the action was. We checked courthouses, bus stations, and parks in each town. We had decided to stay a couple of days in Yellowstone Park along the way. We stopped off in Cody, Wyoming, and found a glory hole in a small public park there that had two stalls. In those days Cody was still a small town, so we were surprised.

The most unlikely hole I found was in Yellowstone National Park. It was to be one of my most memorable glory hole experiences. We stayed in what I believe was called The Grand Lodge. All around the lodge were camping grounds where mostly families stayed. There were several large, communal outhouses with urinals and stalls, and I believe, shower facilities. I checked out one of them, nothing promising. I tried another, and lo-and-behold found a glory hole. It was between only two of the five or six stalls. I thought, “What an ideal set-up. Families have traveled with their kids for days. The men can=t do it with their wives, and the teenagers can't jerk off privately.” That meant a lot of sexually pent-up males.

The place was empty. I pondered, “How am I gonna direct somebody to one of these two stalls?” I went into each of the stalls, locked them from inside, crawled out under each of the stalls’ doors, leaving only the two open with the hole between them open. I went into one of the two and sat down, accompanied by my trustworthy playing cards. They were the type used in strip poker, thus pornographic.

Shortly, a teenager came into the restroom. He tried all the doors, but naturally only the one next to me was available. I could see that he although he was at least eighteen, he had a fresh, innocent look, and a nice face. I let him do his duty, then put my mouth to the hole and began to talk to him. It was chit-chat for a minute or so, then I asked if he would like to see some interesting cards. He said sure, so I passed the deck through the hole. They produced the anticipated reaction. Then I asked, “Do you want a blow job? He said, “What is that?” I replied, “Stick your dick through the hole and I will show you.” He rapidly complied. He obviously loved it, because he asked, “Where did you learn that?” I was too busy to answer his question.

Thank heavens no one else came in. He finished quickly and went on his way. I left immediately afterward, since I was afraid that he was so naïve that he would go back and tell his dad what had happened. How ironic that this hole should be only a short distance from Old Faithful, which shoots its jet high into the air every twenty minutes or so.

One time, in New York, I saw a handwritten notice on a subway men’s room wall for a glory hole in a mid-town office building. I checked it out. It was in the men's room in the second sub-basement, which housed offices and locker rooms, apparently for the building’s maintenance employees. I don’t know how long it had been there. I wish I had discovered it earlier. Regrettably, the ad had been effective, and the place was mobbed. I never went back. By coincidence, a guy loitering there was some one that I had picked up in Louisville while he was a soldier at Ft. Knox.

Someone told me about the holes at Coney Island. They were in two different public johns. Patrons had to pay to get in. I believe it cost five cents. One was dull, the other interesting. I often took the subway there on Saturday summer afternoons and lingered for hours.

Soon after I moved to State Street on a mostly-gay block in Brooklyn, a young straight couple would show up every afternoon and spend hours kissing across the street from my house. Everyone on the block commented on it. I wondered why they chose our block for this. He was gorgeous and I envied her. After a year or so they disappeared. But later I came across them on the street, and he was pushing a baby carriage. I imagine they married.

I frequented the john at the Long Island Railroad Station on the corner a half-block from my house. It had a glory hole between two of the booths. It was usually busy, but strange types went there. Once, I offered to suck off a guy through the hole, but all he would do was stick a finger thru and let me suck on that. Cheap thrill for him, I guess.

On one visit I sat waiting at the glory hole. A guy walked into the next booth and sat down. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was the kid who spent so much time making out with his girlfriend. I said to myself, “Oh, God, I want this more than anything in the world.”

I asked him through the hole if he would like to come back to my house, and he accepted. It was great, and he became a regular once a week. Strangely, he would always show up at the stroke of midnight. I didn't want to call him Cinderella, so I nicknamed him Pumpkin. He was into poppers and obviously bisexual. After a while I bored of him. I realized that he previously had ulterior motives for choosing our block to make love in public to his girlfriend. He wanted to show himself off to all of the faggots who lived there, possibly even to make out with some of them. Another locale I discovered was Atlantic City in a men's room on the boardwalk. I spent a weekend there once and had a great time. One needs to add amusement parks and recreation areas to the list of public parks and county courthouses.

Also a half-block from my house in Brooklyn, there was a glory hole in the Atlantic Avenue subway station. There were two stalls, as was usual in New York. They had no doors, and may never have had any. In these days one had to pay a nickel to get into the men’s room, so everyone listened for some to drop a coin into the slot. That gave people time to stop whatever they were doing and pretend to look “normal.” I enjoyed that glory hole there, and while I rarely picked up anyone in men’s rooms, I met three guys there whom I took home, and became friends with all of them. I remember one great experience there when I got a wonderful gum job thru the hole.

I and my lover once drove down to Ft. Myers, FL from New York to visit my father. We were exploring downtown Ft. Myers, and I spied the bus station. I told my lover that I needed to use the bathroom, so he waited outside. Sure enough I found a glory hole, and a waiting mouth on the other side, where I got fast satisfaction, whole my lover waited for me. He was none the wiser.

Doing genealogical research about twenty-five years ago in the courthouse in a small town in central KY, I needed to legitimately go to the john in the basement. Imagine my amazement when I saw a hole there. On the other side sat a farmer type, apparently interested. He wore the typical overalls, but could have been just a sophisticated queen in “costume.” I wanted no part of this so close to “home.” I finished my necessity quickly and left. I visited it again a few years later, but the doors had been removed and the hole closed.