After hours of ghosting, bad timing, and “maybe laters,” wasn’t it obvious the universe didn’t want me getting laid tonight?
Still, I had to squeeze the lemon for its last drops—or was it twisting a dry cloth, I forget—to get some action.
That final drop turned out to be one last act of desperation: a glory hole at the edge of the night.
If I wasn’t going to get fucked, I might as well put my penis in a hole—into the vacuum of the void—to get some sexual satisfaction out of it. It would be quite a sensorial experience. With my sight reduced, all other senses would light up, especially my brain, interpreting and deducing every smell, sound, and sensation.
A confirming text and a door buzz later, I entered a building, pressed a switch on the wall, which then lit up all the lights, guiding me up the staircase to the fourth floor. There were no numbers on the floors, which made me wonder if I’d missed one. Finally, an open door was the sign that I had reached the fourth floor. I took off my shoes outside and placed them next to another pair, slightly larger than mine, then walked into the dimmed apartment.
I closed the door and found myself face to face with a large sitting Buddha statue. With a Buddha greeting me, getting killed was out of the question—right? As I walked a few steps through a clean, almost empty corridor, I got a whiff of faint incense and the low sound of spa music coming from another room. Cozy.
I stopped at the coat rack. Next to it, a black curtain draped a doorframe, and in the middle—at about waist height—was a hole: the intended glory hole. I took off my jacket, and then I heard, “Hallo… Welcome.” The voice had a distinct German accent, but there was a raspiness to it. It sounded older than the 37-year-old described on Grindr.
As I placed myself in front of the curtain, the smell of an old man overtook me. He’s not 37—he’s probably 67!
“What’s your name?” the raspy voice said from behind the curtain.
“Reggie. And yours?”
“Tom. Nice to meet you.”
I hesitated a bit, then said, “Likewise.” Oh, what the heck—might as well go with this. I’m here now, and a mouth is a mouth.
I positioned myself and flipped out my cock. I could feel his breathing from the other side — he was clearly waiting on his knees. As I placed my limp appendage through the hole, his eager mouth was on me, and my body was pulled forward. He went straight to work.
My mind was still loud—wondering if I’d been tricked, questioning what he looked like, and trying to let go. I took deep breaths. I couldn’t get hard, but he kept swirling my cock around in his mouth. It felt good, but I also felt cheated.
His hand reached out from a side opening and went to my pants, indicating I should bring them down, which I did—but not before taking my poppers from my pocket. I glanced at his hand, somewhat visible in the dark, to see if it looked old. It had veins, but mine also had veins. That’s no sign of age.
While he sucked, I heard his deep nasal breathing — paired with spa music, curling incense, and wandering hands. Maybe he was a massage therapist.
“Oh yes,” I heard him say as my dick hardened. “Oh yes, yes,” as if he had discovered gold. “Nice cock. I love it.”
There was something alluring about his voice, but it brought me back to questioning his identity. Stop being a detective, Reggie! The point of a glory hole is to leave questions out. To not know.
“Mmm, I love sucking your cock.”
Stop talking, old dude pretending to be young.
I lost my erection again. He kept going. I closed my eyes. My mind drifted to Luke—the sweet boy who was worshipping my cock not even a week ago. Suddenly, I was aroused again. The man’s breathing changed, as if my erection had sent a shock wave through his body, translating into choppy inhalations.
Please don’t talk. Let me dwell on Luke. It’s not the same techniques, but I can imagine an older Luke changing his ways. Why am I thinking of an older Luke?
I opened the poppers quickly and breathed in the toxic fumes as the man’s hand came out again, now scanning my chest upward to my nipple. Oh shoot—hit or miss. I’ll either get turned on or tickled. Oh shit—I’m getting tickled.
I almost burst into laughter but instead squirmed. I inhaled a hit, hoping the high would switch the tickling into excitement. It didn’t. But my body gave him the hint that it wasn't working, so his hand drifted down and back through the crack that separated the sheet from the door frame.
A longer hit put me in hyper-focus mode. My erection was growing; my face flushed from the fumes. I was able to stay focused on the sensation, and nothing else.
Come. Surprise me. Let go, a voice in my head whispered.
“Stop,” I suddenly said.
He stopped.
“Poppers—can I have some?” he asked, his voice raspier than before.
Was he a smoker? Do smokers have Buddha statues and spa music playing? Are they wholesome? I then wondered if too much cock-sucking had injured his vocal cords.
I passed him the poppers. He sniffed, then coughed—not once, but several times. He wouldn't stop coughing. His hand reached out with the poppers. I took them.
He kept coughing—not intensely enough to worry me, but enough to make me wonder again: Was he an old, chain-smoking fart? If he’s lying about his age, what else could he be lying about?
Maybe the clean corridor with the Buddha statue, the incense, and the spa music was just a front—an illusionary device to lure men into his trap, his web of lies.
A deep grunt pulled me back into the moment. I didn’t want to ask if he was okay. I no longer wanted to hear him talk. I only wanted him to be a mouth that sucked through a hole—a hole in a hole.
Let’s stay in the illusion. That’s the point of a glory hole, wasn’t it? A mysterious, but sensual interaction between mouth and cock. That’s all it is. That’s all it should be.
The coughing ceased. Good.
And then the sucking began. I imagined Luke again—not this Tom—and my cock slowly thickened. I went back to the bottle again and again, knowing it would make me hone in on the sensations, and it worked. I got hard—fuller, more focused than before.
He continued with his mouth, adding only the occasional touch. The harder I got, the more determined he was. I was getting pulled into the sheet, as if I were being drawn through a portal towards a blissful nothingness.
I felt the cum rising, making its way out of my cock. I wanted to say stop again, but it was too late. My mouth opened as I clenched up. He knew I was coming, so he pulled me in further to seize my whole cock in his mouth, to feel my cum deep in his throat.
And he did, like it was owed to him.
Luke. Tom. It didn’t matter in that moment. A few moments of bliss, and then suddenly I was back in the room—vulnerable, ticklish, twitching, giggling. He stayed locked on, like a creature of the night, trying to drain every last drop.
I had to pull out, laughing softly. A couple of exhales later I said, “Thank you.”
From the other side came a satisfied “Hmm,” soft and smug.
“Shame, you didn’t get to try my ass,” he said.
“Sorry,” I replied, “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Was I good?”
“Yes, of course,” I said.
“Good,” he answered, followed by a pause.
I pulled my jogging pants up.
“How old are you, Reggie?”
“Thirty-five.”
I didn’t want to ask his age. The gig was up. I wanted to stay in the illusion. So I dressed quickly.
Please stay behind the curtain. Don’t ruin this moment.
“Where are you from?”
“Canada.”
“So you’re just traveling?”
“Yes.”
“This means we won’t be seeing each other again.”
I eased into his voice. It made me smile. It oozed confidence. He sounded like someone who’d lived a long, full life. A full mouth too, no doubt—seasoned, sure of itself.
I felt strangely comfortable with the idea of an old wise man. I used to write men like him off — too old, too much. And yet, there I was, melting into his confidence. I didn’t linger to find out.
“Have a good night, Reggie,” his raspy voice said with a faint whisper.
“Good night, Luke—I mean, Tom.”
I kept smiling. As I walked out, I put on my shoes in the dark and walked down the stairs. I heard his door lock behind me. I kept descending those never-ending stairs, as if I were coming out of a psychedelic dreamland—from the webs of tantalizing deception, from the cave of a voodoo man who entranced me with his mouth for a brief moment.
