My cravings didn’t always come from below the belt.
There were nights when I visited that restroom not for the thrill, but for the quiet promise that someone on the other side might make me feel wanted, even if it was just for a few minutes.
The glory hole had been there for as long as I could remember. A crude cutout in a wall that had probably seen more action than most bedrooms. It wasn’t just about getting off. It was about being noticed, even by a faceless stranger with good hands and better instincts.
I didn’t go every week, but often enough to recognize the regulars by the way they walked into the stall. That shuffling kind of confidence. Or desperation.
Then there was him.
Dark-haired. Muscular. Early to mid-twenties, maybe. The kind of guy who looked like he’d just stepped off a football pitch. Black shorts, hoodie, cap pulled low. Not the usual type that frequented these places. Too straight-looking. And confident. Far too clean-cut.
I had seen him twice before. Once just walking in, scoping the setup like he was pretending to be disgusted. Second time, he stayed longer. But this was the first time he picked my stall.
I sat there, heart thumping like I was a damn teenager again, unsure if he’d notice the shadow of my cock already half hard and waiting.
He did.
And unlike most, he didn’t hesitate.
The restroom smelled like every public toilet you’ve ever tried not to breathe in. Urinal cake, bleach, and the faint musk of sweat and sex, soaked into the grout. But behind that, there was something else. Him.
He smelled like warm skin and cologne that hadn’t been sprayed, but lived in. Like it had become part of him. Earthy and masculine. A mix of clean sweat and laundry detergent, and just the faintest whiff of rubber from the soles of his trainers when he shifted his weight.
The door had creaked when he pushed it open. A single scuff of his shoe echoed off the tiled walls before he clicked the lock shut behind him. My breath caught. I’d caught a glimpse of his face and body through the gap in the toilet door. The way he moved. Like someone used to being watched, but not used to being touched. Yet somehow confident.
There was a pause. Then a gentle scrape of his zipper.
My pulse pounded in my ears as I leaned forward, my eye level just at the edge of the hole. A breath, his, came through. Warm and uncertain. Then a soft shuffle. His cock slid through slowly, like he was testing the idea of it. Like he wasn’t sure he wanted to be there until the tip made it all the way through.
Thick, uncut and already semi. The kind of cock that didn’t have to beg for attention.
I didn’t touch it yet.
I just looked at it, took it in with my eyes and my breath. Let my anticipation swell like a tide. My mouth watered, literally, as I imagined what he’d taste like. The skin there looked clean, taut, slightly darker than the rest of him. I could see a vein pulsing gently and I wondered if he could feel my breath on it.
I leaned closer, my hands going in to lightly touch it and stroke.
I licked the tip and the scent hit me properly. He was fresh, and the right amount of dried sweat. No cologne on his cock. Just that warm, skin-deep heat that came from a man who had been sweating under gym shorts and hadn’t second-guessed himself in years.
I let my tongue flick the underside.
His cock pulsated. Instantly rock hard.
I licked again, slower, from base to tip. I took my time with it, circling the head with the flat of my tongue, savoring the salt and heat and sheer goddamn reality of it. This wasn’t some fantasy. This was a real man with a cock in my mouth and no idea who I was.
The first sound he made was barely audible. A sharp inhale, almost a gasp. He hadn’t been expecting that. Most here just sucked and left. But I wanted him to feel every second. I guessed he’d finished practice on the far side of the field, so he had time.
I wrapped my lips around his cock fully, inching forward until the head hit the back of my throat, and I exhaled through my nose, letting him sink further. He tasted like sweat and skin and something distinctly masculine. Also, confidence. Something about the way he had just strolled in, put it through, and knew he’d get taken care of.
His hand touched the partition. I could hear the dull thunk of his knuckles hitting wood as he braced himself. I imagined him on the other side. Hood pushed back. Head tilted up. Biting his lip to keep from making too much noise.
The tile under my knees was hard and cold, but I didn’t care. The hole was big enough to fit his balls through, so I cupped them with one hand, feeling the weight of them. Warm, tight, while my other hand massaged his shaft gently where my mouth wasn’t.
He started moving. Small thrusts at first. Testing. Then a little more.
I let him control it and just sucked slowly. Ready for anything.
And when he picked up rhythm, I matched him. My tongue felt the underside of his beautiful, thick dick. And the groans that started coming from his side of the wall were so masculine and raw. Low and throaty. He didn’t sound like a straight guy anymore. He sounded like someone unraveling.
And I wanted to see what he looked like when he snapped.
But then he pulled out.
At first, I thought he was done. Maybe he got cold feet, or maybe I’d pushed too far. I let go, sat back on my heels, heart racing in that familiar cocktail of confusion and rejection, waiting for the sound of his zipper, the shuffle of his shoes, the door unlocking.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, I leaned forward and looked through the hole.
He was staring at it. At me.
His cap was off now. His hair was dark, short on the sides, a little messy up top like he’d run a hand through it a dozen times before walking in. His eyes caught mine and held them. There was something different now. A softness, maybe.
Then he shifted, knelt, and leaned in. I saw his mouth come to the hole and his hand reach through to find me. I was still hard and more than ready.
He brought his lips to my cock.
Tentative at first, like he was testing. His tongue flicked the tip, just once, and I felt the hesitation. Not uncertainty about wanting it, but about how to do it right. I didn’t care. Just having his mouth on me was enough.
His breath was hot and I could feel his lips part. And when he took me in, I gasped so hard I thought I’d startled him, but he kept going. A little deeper, then a little more.
He had a beautiful mouth. Not practiced, far from it. But he was eager.
He made little sounds, like he was learning with every inch. A soft hum as he adjusted to the weight. A short exhale when he pulled back slightly and tasted the head again. His tongue moved with curiosity more than technique, but it was somehow better. Real.
And fuck, it was good.
I let him do what he wanted. I didn’t guide him, or push. I just stood there, my hips pressed to the wall, breathing hard, letting the heat build again, hands on the stall walls to stop myself from reaching through and dragging him in.
Then he pulled back. Just long enough to say, low and serious, “Swap?”
My answer was already rising.
He stood and I crouched. His cock slid through again, thicker now, glistening. I didn’t wait. I took him in like I had before, but with more need this time. I wanted to make him lose it. I wanted to feel him shake.
His hands were on the wall. I could hear the tension in his breath in the quiet block. I could feel it in the way his hips pushed forward and held there.
I sucked him deeper. I let my spit drip, my tongue flatten and press, wrapping him in my hot mouth. I knew what I was doing and I wanted him to know it too.
His moans turned to groans. Then stifled words I couldn’t make out. Just desperate, low noises as he gave himself over to it.
I used both hands now. One cradling his balls, the other stroking the base. My mouth worked the top half, bobbing slowly, then faster, tongue swirling just beneath the ridge of his head.
He twitched and throbbed.
I felt it. That sudden shift.
I knew what was coming.
And I didn’t stop.
I wanted to see if I would do it. If I’d let him finish in my mouth. If I’d take it.
I didn’t slow at all. If anything, I built slight momentum.
His whole body tensed. I could hear the slam of his hand against the stall. One loud gasp, then silence.
Then he exploded hot jizz right into the back of my throat. Yes, I gagged, but I slowed down and kept gently sucking it.
It was thick, hot, and heavy, but I stayed on him.
I swallowed before I even realized I had.
The taste hit me after. Salt and heat and him. I held him in my mouth for a few seconds more, slowly sucking until I felt the last pulse fade and he started to soften.
I pulled back gently, breathing through the aftershock. My own cock was hard as steel. I swallowed more and more of his jizz, feeling it drip down my throat.
And still, all I could think about was the look in his eyes before he had knelt down.
I reached down to finish myself off, still breathless from the taste of him, but then I saw his fingers tapping the edge of the hole.
Apparently, he wanted to finish me.
I slid myself back through, his saliva still on my cock, still hard as hell, and the second I felt his lips close around it again, I lost control. I blew almost instantly, with no warning or buildup. Just that raw, brutal release that had been edging for too long.
But I felt his mouth pull away halfway through, and I heard it. Him spitting to the side while his hand kept jerking me off like he was committed to seeing it through. I think I unleashed a torrent, more than I knew I had in me. It hit his fingers, maybe his wrist, maybe even the wall.
And somehow, that made it hotter.
Everything went quiet for a few seconds as we both recuperated after such an intense orgasm.
There was just the sound of his hand stroking me slower now, easing the last few pulses out while I stood there, legs shaking, heart racing, completely undone.
I imagined him watching the last of my cum dripping, with fascination.
Done, I wiped and cleaned the floor, an etiquette habit I’d picked up many years before, flushed and went off to wash my hands. I hadn’t heard him leave, but he must have, as his stall was empty.
I walked out and headed to my car, already thinking about what I’d do with the rest of my evening, now the important stuff had gotten out of the way.
He was standing by my car, hoodie on, waiting for me.
I slowly approached him, confused.
“Hey,” he said, giving me a much better close-up look at his face.
“Oh, hey,” I said, wondering what he was doing there.
“I’ve seen you a few times. Wanna swap numbers?”
He was fucking beautiful. Blue eyes that caught the moonlight perfectly, carved features, and a quiet kind of confidence that made me want to stare too long.
“Sure. Do you mean to arrange to meet here or... in bed?”
I didn’t know why I said that. Hopeful, I guess.
He shrugged. “Both. Either, I guess.”
Would you like a part two? Let me know. Thanks for reading, Fox.
