A Chance Encounter

NO GLORY HOLE FREQUENTER, I

I do not frequent glory holes. In fact, the state of New Jersey no longer has glory holes, in the traditional sense. There are adult emporiums. Some of these have individual video booths. Occasionally, someone, some eager pecker, usually the proprietor or some lackey, has drilled a hole through the plywood or particle board partition to facilitate the propagation of anonymous oral lovefests. Often, these holes have been re-sealed with a piece of wood. Sometimes, someone has drilled another hole through this wood patch. I have actually observed multiple patches, with successive holes drilled and re-drilled. Call it the eternal persistence of surreptitious homoerotic desire. Call it what you will, faggots will find a way to suck cock where there seemingly is no way.

I had a close friend who worked in one of these emporia, in the scruffy little burg of Lumberton, New Jersey. Deacon in the church, brilliant theologian, frustrated wannabe actor, full-time queer. He loved his job, but could not keep his hands off the merchandise. I occasionally visited him at the emporium, and he found great joy in showing me the multi-image video camera views on the CCTV screen at his cashier's booth that allowed him to watch the activity in each and every one of the video booths. In those days, I never ventured back into the video booth area. It smelled bad, and it seemed that men were always just hanging around there, ruminating on something or other.

My friend loved his job, but couldn't avoid mixing business with pleasure. He approached the wrong gent in an amorous way in one of those booths one fateful day, and had his head bashed in as a result. When I saw him several days later in the hospital, his head - his entire head - was so swollen that it looked to be perfectly round, like a beach ball, with mottled dark red patches interspersed throughout his face and forehead. He suffered severe brain damage, and when he was able to speak again, some weeks later, it was only in very slow, short phrases.

He recovered somewhat, but never fully, from that traumatic brain injury. Still a youngish man, he basically retired from work, and much of life. He was fortunate to be fawned over by a spinster of a deaconess of the church, who eventually married him and cared for him. I hope he has found some comfort and peace. He was a good guy, and a cautionary tale.

I recalled all of this while fondling my still flaccid penis in a video booth in that emporium in that scruffy burg, just as a burly-looking, barrel-chested, middle-aged man in relatively good shape, with thick arms and a mustache, leaned against the outside wall of my booth, which had no door, just a baffle that prevented direct observation of the activities within without actually entering the booth.

What followed was a somewhat violent physical struggle, followed by capitulation, submission, and, ultimately, conquest. The memory is still somewhat vague, and raw, in my mind. All I know is that "Tank" (his nickname, as I came to know later) fucked me silly - "drilled and re-drilled my hole", so to speak - in that video booth and that he now owned me, or at least part of me - the part that sits and evacuates.

Days later, Tank called to tell me he was going to share me, what he referred to as "trade-in-kind", and that I was to go to an address he gave me at 7:00pm that evening, adjuring me, with the implicit threat of physical violence to my person, to be on time. For the second time in one week, Tank had emasculated me. This time by phone.

FIRST CAUSES

What makes a faggot?

It's not just being homosexual. And it has little to do with being effeminate. My college roommate was homosexual - openly so. Effeminate in all manners, consistently so. He knew who he was, and we accepted him for who he was. Not everyone did, and I defended him on those occasions. He was no faggot.

No. It's the incongruity. The descent from being "one of the guys", laughing, swaggering, riding tall in the saddle. Then, suddenly, maybe in a moment of panic, becoming a mincing, swishing pansy, preening for the boys and sashaying into, or out of, their attention, and into oblivion.

It can happen in a high school locker room. One minute you're getting changed for baseball practice, already shy and intimidated by your teammates, who are jocks, and who seem so much more masculine. Nervous, an outcast, you try to strike up a conversation with two of them, just standing there. You're tongue-tied, starting to shake, the sound that emerges from your throat is effeminate, soft, with a distinct lisp. To make up for that lack of vocal fortitude, you attempt a hand gesture, but your wrist has suddenly gone limp, the stereotypical fairy salute.

How did this happen? And, so quickly. You didn't even know you were a faggot. Suddenly, here you are, waving a limp wrist in front of the boys like a kerchief. Maybe you can drop it to the ground with dainty priggishness and one of them will pick it up. You can praise him for being so gallant in your little sissy voice.

They are stunned as well, mouths agape, eyes widening. Smiles of an awakening idea beginning to curl up the corners of their mouths. "What do we have here?" Best to walk away without inflicting any more intrapsychic damage. Walk away on plastic cleats, clicking rhythmically. Like high heels down the runway. Careful, keep those hips from swaying, or this locker room exit will become your very own catwalk to infamy. Maybe it already has.

Several weeks later, I somehow ended up at a party with those same jocks. A small, fateful party. How I ended up there was incidental, a matter of chance. What happened is a mystery. A singular moment erased from an otherwise eidetic memory. A neural pathway lost in a cluster of synapses, hidden by my own subconscious under folds of white matter.

There was a poorly lit room. Voices. Male voices. Jock voices. Laughter. My own voice - effeminate, giggling. A girl's voice - mine again. Fade to black....

Then, somehow - I do not recall how - I arrived home early the next morning. Broken. What happened in between lost in the recesses of my memory.

Perhaps it could have stayed hidden forever, but it happened again, and as an adult. Working, in a meeting, called upon to present, caught off guard and unprepared. The same effeminate, soft lisping sound emanating from my sissy lips. I'm frozen in place but the voice won't stop. Is that a hand on my hip? In a very feminine, and provocative, stance. The other hand now gesturing in limp-wristed spectacle. Fuck me! It's happening again. I'm back in the locker room. But now surrounded by a sea of surprised faces, some with expressions of growing awareness, some just worried. My place in that room, in that group, forever changed.

Jill was in that room, part of that group. Friendly to me, serious, sometimes scowling, a young woman with an off putting-ly forceful but attractive - to me - demeanor. I asked her out. Her reaction was telling, a barometer of the impression I had made. With a smile that sought me out and knew me long before I knew myself, she said she was not available, and besides, I was "kinda" gay.

"Kinda" gay!?! If she could see me now. Tank had deflowered me, made me his bitch, in that quietly eventful little video booth, and now I was being called in for round two. I arrived, as advised, promptly at 7:00PM.

CAVE DULCES LIBEROS

Ashley answered the door of the house at the address I had been given earlier in the day by Tank. She introduced herself to me in a friendly, polite manner. Taking my hand in hers, she led me into the front room. A living room, poorly lit, early evening shadows cast on the wall. Hooded spectres, silently watching. Watching and waiting. Portents of impending doom.

She wore a snug, form-fitting short-sleeved plum top with a large hoop zipper in front that was pulled down three quarters of the way to reveal her particularly healthy and ample bosom. I stole a quick glance to see that she was wearing a tight, white lycra mini-skirt and white high-heeled wedge sandals. Her bare legs were nicely tanned, and, I pondered, would be soft and smooth to the touch.

She asked me to sit down next to her on the sofa, one of two in this simple living room anterior to a landing in this smallish split-level house. She looked into my eyes. I into hers. Her eyes were beautiful, deep, dark blue with flecks of gold and silver. True wonders of melanin and sagacity. Eyes that appeared to see through me, behind me, and into the future.

Ashley told me that she knew why I was there, that I was not "an unattractive guy", and that I could kiss her if I liked. Not quite believing my good fortune, and forgetting for a moment why I was there, I kissed her on the lips, closing my eyes as I did so. She offered her sweet mouth to me, and I felt a jolt of electricity when her warm tongue sought out mine. There was a sudden rush of blood coursing through my body, to my head. So much so, that I heard the "thump thump" of blood in my ears and nothing else.

I was a child, happening upon free candy, in a place I should never have ventured.

I sat with my back to a stairwell that led up to a landing, and then to several rooms on a second floor. So warm and sweet was her kiss, so oblivious to all else was I in this moment of rapture, I did not hear the man coming down the carpeted stairway towards us, and was unaware as he approached us. My momentary bliss was shattered by his first words: "That looks hot! Really want that mouth on my cock."

Silly me. For a split second, I concluded that he was addressing Ashley. But, in a flash, she was up and away from me, and next to him. Deke, whose given name was Daniel Kelly, preferred the nickname "Deke", given to him by friends in his biker club who first shortened his name to the initials "D.K.", then dropped all pretense and shortened it to the monosyllabic moniker "Deke".

Ashley snuggled up against him, reached her left arm around his waist from behind, in front with her right, and flashed open and shut the black silk bathrobe Deke was wearing and which I quickly realized was the only thing he was wearing, aside from a pair of black work boots. Deke then held the front of the bathrobe open, while Ashley, expertly and daintily feigned a case of the vapors upon seeing his genitalia, waving a hand just in front of her chin and exclaiming, "Oh, my!" with an accompanying lighthearted giggle.

Deke was amused by this. Noticing a smile on my face - I was trying my best to maintain my composure as I was experiencing the aura of oncoming emasculation - he scowled at me and barked, "What the fuck are you smiling at, faggot?"

With those words, my neck, cheeks, and ears flushed crimson. At the same time, the rest of my face, along with the remainder of my being, paled to ghostly white. I could feel blood drifting south - trying to escape my body through the soles of my feet, my heart pounding in my chest, struggling in vain against oncoming syncope. I began to slowly slide down from my spot on the sofa, involuntarily. Powerless, the poor, weak prey in a nature film, bitten by the viper, slipping into unconsciousness and demise. Another victim of natural selection.

FALLING CARPETWARD

Deke snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor. Luckily, I was already headed "carpetward" at the time. His direction was somewhat gratuitous.

I was on the floor, on my knees, looking at the carpet, unable to look up. I attempted to raise a hand and place it on the sofa to lift myself back up, but when I did, I noticed that the wrist was completely limp. My sissy wrist was aware of my plight before the reality had fully dawned in my mind.

I dropped my hand back onto my knee, and sat there, attempting to form words with a mouth completely dry and moving of its own will. The sound that came forth was at once hoarse, soft, and completely fucking gay.

It all had happened so suddenly. I could not breathe. Wondered somewhere in my head if I would ever breathe again.

But before I had time to react, or to think any other thought, Ashley was next to me, over me, with a hand under each elbow, lifting me up gently, while tenderly encouraging me with her words, "Come on now... relax faggot... we have to get you up and out of those clothes."

As I stood up - was stood up - under her support, I looked at her and again attempted to speak. All that I was able to mutter, in gay, lisping whisperspeak, was, "I... I... I'm not ready for this."

She assured me that I was, in fact, ready for this. She cheerfully offered that this was not her fucking problem anyway, and confirmed to me that, regardless, it was going to happen. She unbuttoned my shirt, belt, and pants for me, my trembling hands following hers in a sick and silent pantomime. She took off my shirt and dropped it to the ground. She put a hand on each of my shoulders, turned me away from the sofa with a quick twisting shove, and then with another pushed me down on the sofa. She knelt down in front of me and pulled off my sneakers and tossed these to the side. She stood up and stepped away.

"Take off your pants, bitch", directed Deke. With still-trembling hands, I began to comply.

"Hurry the fuck up, faggot!"

I quickened my pace as well as I could. I pushed my pants and underpants down to my ankles, and then sat there, my whole body shaking, arms folded in front of my chest, looking down, and wheezing.

"All the way off! Socks, too."

I reached down and pulled off the pants and underpants, and then the socks also. Deke walked in front of me and casually kicked the discarded clothing away and into the corner.

"Look up, you faggot."

In spite of the complete paralysis so recently affecting my body, I raised my head to come eye level with the largest, thickest penis I had ever seen - in life or on film. The testicles hung loosely, like ripe mandarin oranges swaying in a warm summer breeze. The shaft itself hung down far below the level of the testes. The purple glans penis - large itself - was dwarfed by the incredible girth of its member swinging gruesomely above it, slowly, methodically, like the pendulum to some pornographic grandfather clock.

Deke grabbed his dick with his right hand at the base and lifted it up, exposing the underside. The urethra itself was so thick, surrounded so snugly on each side by that fibrous tissue, it reminded me of the space shuttle at lift-off, huge external fuel tank jutting out from between two booster rockets.

"You want this, you fucking faggot?"

"Yuh, yuh, yes." I was becoming accustomed to the faggoty sound of my lisping whisper. A warm, fuzzy feeling began to tingle from the roots of my hair.

"Yes, what, faggot?"

"Yuh, yes, Master."

I was history. Deke's strong, broad left hand was behind me, clasping the back of my head and neck. His balls were against my lips. His intoxicating musk penetrated my nostrils.

"Lick my balls, bitch."

I complied with a rapidity and energy that surprised all present. I licked, and moaned, and licked. I was again aware of Ashley's presence in the room when a titter of laughter erupted from her, followed by her disdainful tone, "What a fucking bitch."

"You wanna suck this?" "Speak, faggot!"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then beg me."

Pleeeease, Sir, pleeeeease!"

Deke let go of his member, letting it drop with a deep, resounding "thump" on my forehead. He then grabbed it again and slapped it down onto my forehead several times, and then from side to side with glancing blows to each cheek. I let out an involuntary "Oooooooh" to the sheer heft of it against my face, which Ashley mimicked in a high-pitched squeal, "Oooooooh", while tossing her wrist in mockery of my limp-wristed dilemma.

Then he stopped. He took a half step back. That enormous and wondrous phallus waved slowly back and forth directly in front of my stunned, open mouth. There was a pause. Deke cleared his throat. And waited.

A LONG, SHORT DIVE

I dove into that beautiful cock for all I was worth, too quickly at first. Deke slapped the back of my head, "Slow down there, faggot", followed by, "...and watch those fucking teeth."

I slowed into a more leisurely rhythm, pushing my mouth as far onto the shaft as I was able, gagging considerably, but unable to stop myself. Even if I had wanted to, the force of Deke's outstretched hand on the back of my head prevented me from withdrawing.

Ashley spoke. "The bitch's mouth is dry."

She went to the kitchen, came back, and took a long swig from a bottle of water. I heard her swishing the water around in her mouth, then gargling it. Deke backed off me.

She stood in front of me, cheeks puffed out from the water she held in her mouth, and nodded at me. I tilted my head back and opened my mouth. She aimed a steady stream of warm water from her luscious mouth, into mine. I could almost taste her as my parched mouth took in all that she offered. When she was done, she inhaled through her nose with a grunt, hocked a thick loogie, and spat it directly into my eye. It stuck there for a moment, then drifted down along the ridge of my nose, over my upper lip, and into my eager, open mouth.

"Drink up, bitch!"

Then I was back to work on Deke. After several minutes, he reached behind my shoulder pushing me forward and onto the floor. He sat down on the sofa, snapped his fingers once again, and pointed to his cock. I was back on that cock in no time, like a champion, head bobbing slowly, deeply, and rhythmically as he relaxed into the sofa, easing himself against the back and tilting his head back to rest there.

"Just like that... mmmmmhhh."

"You think this faggot mouth has potential, Ash?"

"What. A. Fucking. Pig." Her punctuated response.

I made the mistake of reaching my hands up to hold Deke's knees, to which affront he immediately erupted with a raised fist, shouting, "Don't ever fucking touch me without permission, pig!" He added one quick but forceful backhanded slap to my cheek.

"I'm suh, suh, sorry, Sir," I stuttered lispingly.

"Put those hooves behind your back, pig."

"Now!"

I complied.

I heard Ashley get up and leave the room, and then quickly return. A jingling sound emanating from something she carried. She cuffed me, hands behind my back, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head as she did so, and whispering softly in my ear, "Now you did it."

"Crawl up here next to me and get back to work." I managed to stand, and then kneel down next to Deke on the sofa, head in his lap and ass pointed away and up in the air, exposing my asshole. He pushed on the small of my back with his right palm, forcefully, while telling me, "Stick out that ass and get used to this position."

"Shake that ass for me, Mary."

I shook my moneymaker like a little fag rattle, all the while bobbing up and down on his shaft like a thirsty crane.

Voices back and forth to each other, Ashley and Deke. She leaves, returns with a tube of something and gloves. The snap of one glove on a hand. The sound of a cap snapping open, a short pause, the cap snaps shut again. A digit enters my rectum, deep and probing, like a doctor's.

"Is that asshole ready, faggot?"

"Taste it."

The same digit now thrust in my face, waiting for me to give suck. When I am about to, the finger is pulled away with laughter from both.

"What a fucking bitch."

"I guess he's ready!"

Deke stroked his huge cock up and down along that tree trunk shaft, slowly, leisurely, pausing at the glans to circle it with his thumb. It glistened with seminal fluid. It seemed to throb. A perverse mauve pileus fit for Bosch's libidinous triptych.

Deke told me to stand up. I struggled to get back up, hands still cuffed behind my back. I made my way, pushing my knees behind me, twisting, and standing on the floor in front of him. He directed me to straddle him - one foot on each side of his waist, knees bent. I complied. I was kneeling in front of him in a squatting position, like a hiker in the forest about to defecate on some dry leaves. Deke looked me directly in the eyes, for the first and only time, and said, "I won't lie. This is gonna hurt, a-whole fucking-lot, but you're gonna thank me after. In fact, you might fall in love tonight."