r/GayEroticaGoneWild

Dear Reader, this is the story of how I, the author, experienced the thrill not only of a gloryhole, but of an adult bookstore. Enjoy reading, and feel free to leave me your first time. I love to read others' erotic times.

The fluorescent hum of the neon "XXX" sign buzzed like an electric insect as I pushed through the heavy door, the bell chiming a dull, metallic note that seemed to echo in my chest. The air hit me immediately—that distinct, musky perfume of stale cum, cheap disinfectant, and the faint, sweet rot of old paper from the magazine racks lining the walls. My pulse hammered in my throat as I exchanged a crumpled twenty for a roll of tokens, the clerk not even bothering to look up from his phone.

The arcade was a labyrinth of narrow corridors, each doorway draped with beaded curtains that clicked and rattled like bones. The carpet squelched slightly under my shoes—sticky, permanently saturated with decades of spilled desire. I chose a booth at the end of the hall, the furthest from the entrance, my hand trembling as I slid the token into the slot.

The screen flickered to life with grainy, orange-tinted flesh, but my attention was drawn to the wall. The hole. It was crude, roughly sawn through particle board, edges worn smooth and darkened by countless hands bracing against it. I sat on the bench, vinyl cracked and cool against the backs of my thighs even through my jeans.

I didn't have to wait long.

A shadow moved on the other side—a silhouette backlit by the blue glow of another screen. Then the presence was right there, filling the hole. The cock that pushed through was already half-hard, thick and veined, the head a flushed, angry purple that seemed to pulse in the dim light. It smelled sharp and male—sweat and skin and the faint, musky tang of pre-cum beading at the slit.

My mouth watered involuntarily. I'd imagined this moment a hundred times in the dark privacy of my bedroom, but the reality was overwhelming—the heat radiating from the shaft, the way it twitched and bobbed with the stranger's heartbeat, the sound of his ragged breathing through the thin wall.

I reached out, tentative, and the moment my fingers wrapped around that hot, silken steel, a groan rattled through the partition—deep, guttural, desperate. The flesh in my hand surged, growing impossibly harder, the veins standing out like rivers on a map. I stroked once, twice, feeling the texture of the skin sliding over the rigid core, the wetness smearing against my palm.

Then I leaned in.

The taste exploded across my tongue—salty, bitter, copper-tinged, the essence of pure, anonymous male. I opened my mouth and took him in, my lips stretching around the girth, my tongue flattening against the underside where I felt the heartbeat thrumming. He tasted like sin, like surrender, like the dangerous thrill of being used by a faceless stranger who wanted nothing from me but my wet, willing mouth.

I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, the sound obscene and wet in the small booth. My own cock was straining against my zipper, aching and ignored, but I didn't care—all that mattered was the weight on my tongue, the way he thrust forward involuntarily, seeking my throat, the musk of his groin filling my nostrils as I took him deeper.

My hands found his balls through the hole, heavy and tight, drawing up close to his body as he neared the edge. I could feel them twitching, the shaft swelling even larger between my lips, the head flaring. Then he was cumming, pumping thick, hot spurts directly onto my tongue, flooding my mouth with that briny, alkaline taste that made my eyes water and my own cock leak in sympathetic pleasure.

I swallowed greedily, the warmth sliding down my throat, and as I pulled back, gasping, the cock withdrew—spent, glistening, disappearing back into the shadows. But before I could even catch my breath, another shadow moved. Another token dropped. Another shaft emerged, already rigid and weeping, seeking my lips.

And I leaned forward again, addicted, my mouth open and ready, knowing that tonight, I wouldn't be leaving until my jaw ached and my belly was full of strangers' release.

Chapter 1

The cotton of his briefs clung tightly enough to the bulge between his legs that there wasn't much left to the imagination.

It was big.

Or at least it fucking looked big.

Heavy. Thick. The fabric stretched around him, with the slightest hint of hair visible above the waistband.

I stared longer than I should have.

“Hey,” I said. “You're going to get into trouble. You need to get up.”

Nothing.

He didn't move.

I looked at his face, trying to figure out whether he was actually asleep, passed out, or just fucking with me. My own heart was pounding hard enough that I couldn't even tell whether I could hear him breathing.

Maybe he really was out.

Or maybe he was awake and knew exactly where my eyes had gone.

That thought should have made me look away.

It didn't.

My eyes drifted right back to his crotch.

Goddamn.

I could feel my body reacting before my brain had decided what the hell to do about it. Blood rushed south, and suddenly I was painfully aware of my own cock pressing against my underwear.

Cock size had always been one of those stupid insecurities I carried around. Nobody had ever called mine small. Quite the opposite. The worst insult I'd ever gotten was being called a grower, and somehow even that had managed to bruise my already fragile ego.

I reached down and adjusted myself.

Then I looked at him again.

Still nothing.

I gave his shoulder a light shake.

“Come on, man. Get your ass up.”

His body shifted slightly beneath my hand, but his eyes stayed closed.

At this point you're probably thinking, Is this motherfucker dead?

No.

He was definitely alive.

And the longer I stood there, the more convinced I became that this bitch had to be playing with me.

There was no fucking way.

I shook him again.

Nothing.

The worst part was the smell.

Not bad. Not dirty.

Just him.

That particular warm, musky scent of another man that I'd spent years training myself not to notice—or at least pretending I didn't notice.

Except I noticed.

Oh, fuck, did I notice.

I had spent enough years secretly lusting after men to know that scent. Even freshly showered, a man's body had its own smell. Skin. Sweat. Balls. Cock. Something warm and unmistakably male.

And standing that close to him, I could smell it.

My brain was rapidly losing the argument with my dick.

I wanted to get closer.

I wanted my face inches from that bulge. I wanted to know what was underneath the cotton. I wanted to breathe him in and find out whether the scent became stronger the closer I got.

My cock hardened more.

Think with the head up here, asshole. Not the one downstairs.

I forced myself back into reality.

Outside the room, the barracks were coming alive.

Boots hit the floor.

Doors opened and slammed.

Voices carried through the hallway as soldiers scrambled downstairs.

Formation.

Shit.

I checked my watch.

I was about to be late.

I looked down at him one last time.

“Seriously. Get the fuck up.”

He stirred but still didn't wake.

For one incredibly stupid second, my hand started toward his leg.

Part of me wanted an excuse just to brush against that massive bulge.

I knew exactly what I wanted.

And I knew I couldn't do it.

Then one of his roommates walked through the door.

My hand snapped back so fast you would've thought I'd touched a hot stove.

I straightened myself and gave the guy an irritated shake of my head.

“I've tried getting his ass up. No luck.”

Then I got the hell out of there.

I ran downstairs and slipped into formation just in time.

A few moments later, I saw movement from the barracks.

There he was.

Wide fucking awake.

He and his roommate hurried toward formation, managing to slide into place without the sergeant catching them.

Lucky bastard.

I tried not to stare.

Failed.

Then his head turned.

His eyes moved across the formation until they landed directly on me.

And stopped.

He smiled.

Not a big smile.

Just enough.

A little fucking half-smirk.

My legs nearly gave out beneath me.

And suddenly there was only one thought in my head.

I don't think he was awake.

No.

I KNOW that motherfucker was awake.

“Owen!”

I snapped back to reality.

The platoon leader was staring at me, waiting for my response during accountability.

“HOOAH!”

The word exploded out of me.

And just like that, I was a soldier again.

Later That Evening...

The night was hot as balls.

Or, to put an actual number on it, around eighty degrees.

That doesn't sound terrible until you've spent the entire day baking in the heat and nighttime refuses to give any of it back. Everything stuck to everything. Shirt to back. Underwear to ass. Balls to thighs.

A shower sounded fucking wonderful.

Unfortunately, everybody else had apparently reached the same conclusion.

With a three-day weekend starting, the barracks were buzzing. Soldiers were showering, changing, making plans, getting ready to hit town. After spending the week in uniform, there was something almost liberating about putting on civvies—regular clothes—and becoming something resembling a normal human being again.

I wasn't planning some heroic escape from post. My parents lived about eight hours away, and spending half the weekend traveling there and back sounded like more trouble than it was worth.

I'd go out.

Drink.

Maybe hit the clubs.

Whatever happened, happened.

For the moment, though, I had something most of the guys in that barracks didn't.

Privacy.

By pure fucking luck, my room wasn't like most of the others.

Instead of six soldiers packed into a large square room with bunks and lockers arranged in Army-approved perfection, mine was long and rectangular with only two twin beds. My bed was closest to the door. My roommate's was at the opposite end, far enough away that his side almost felt like another room.

Better yet, my roommate was hardly ever there.

Most of the time, the room belonged to me.

I FUCKING LOVED IT.

I stripped down to my underwear and fell back onto the bed.

I told myself I was relaxing.

That was bullshit.

My mind immediately went back to that morning.

Him.

That bulge.

That smell.

That fucking smirk during formation.

And, most importantly:

He had been awake.

I slid my hand beneath the elastic waistband and cupped my balls.

They were warm and heavy in my hand.

There was something about being alone that allowed me to stop policing myself for a while. Out there, around everyone else, I had to pay attention to where my eyes went. What I said. How I reacted. Whether I looked at another guy for half a second too long.

In here?

Fuck it.

Nobody could see me.

My hand moved upward until I found my dick, soft and warm, and wrapped my fingers around the base. I gave it a little tug.

Now, I suffer from a far-too-common, ego-busting social anxiety issue.

I am—you fucking guessed it—a grower.

Soft, I don't look like much.

Get me going, though, and I'm a proud seven thick inches with the slightest upward curve.

And for my sexy counterparts across the pond, I'm sorry, but you'll have to do the math yourselves. I'm fucking lazy.

Oh, and I'm circumcised.

What a joy that was to have bestowed upon me.

That has always been a contentious subject for me because I wasn't exactly given a vote on whether I wanted to remain intact. Maybe that's part of what fed my fascination with uncut men. Who knows?

Either way, there wasn't much I could do about it now. Somebody had decided that part of me needed to be chopped off like some icky thing that simply had to go.

We Americans can be some sick fucks about sex and bodies, all while claiming we're somehow more moral.

BULLSHIT!

I tightened my hand around the base of my cock and gave it a few slow strokes.

It began to grow.

And immediately my thoughts went back to him.

How fucking close I'd been that morning.

I imagined what he actually looked like beneath those briefs.

The shape.

The girth.

The weight of him in my hand.

Was he as big as that bulge suggested?

My cock grew harder as I stroked myself, and soon I wasn't imagining only touching him.

I wanted that bulge pressed against my face.

I wanted to breathe in that deep, musky scent of his body that had already driven me half fucking crazy that morning.

I wanted to know what his cock smelled like up close.

What it tasted like.

Whether he was cut or uncut.

My hand moved faster.

The fantasy became clearer.

There was no Army in my head anymore.

No formation.

No sergeant.

No fear of somebody watching me watch another man.

Just him.

Just me.

And everything I wouldn't allow myself to want when somebody else was around.

It didn't take long before precum gathered at the head of my cock.

I slowed down.

I liked watching it.

I swirled the slickness around the head with my thumb, then squeezed gently and watched another drop appear.

I caught it on my fingertips.

For a moment I looked at it.

Then I brought my fingers to my mouth.

I've always had a thing about tasting precum—mine or another man's.

Actually, thing probably isn't strong enough.

Need might be closer.

I sucked it from my fingers.

The taste only drove me further into lust, which made me leak more, which gave me more to play with and taste.

A wonderfully fucked-up little feedback loop.

By then I was in full jacking-off mode.

My imagination took over completely.

Stockton wasn't Stockton yet because I didn't even know his fucking name.

He was simply him.

The guy from that morning.

The guy whose cock I'd stared at through his briefs.

The guy who had looked directly at me during formation and fucking smirked.

In my fantasy, that smirk disappeared beneath me.

I imagined his mouth around my cock. Imagined him taking me deeper while I watched. Imagined him choking on me, working himself down toward the base while I struggled not to lose control.

My breathing grew heavier.

I imagined the sounds.

The warmth.

His mouth.

His face.

That bulge I'd obsessed over all day finally uncovered and waiting for me.

My hand worked faster.

The fantasy became so vivid that I could almost feel him there.

And then there was no stopping it.

My body tightened.

The release hit me hard enough to empty my head of everything except the sensation.

For those few seconds, there wasn't anything to hide.

No shame.

No Army.

No pretending.

Just pleasure.

Afterward I lay there catching my breath, my cock slick and slowly beginning to soften.

I reached for my undershirt and cleaned myself off.

Then I caught the warm scent of my own body.

My balls.

Sweat.

Sex.

My cock twitched again.

Jesus Christ.

Apparently one orgasm wasn't enough to knock this man out of my head.

I wanted him.

More specifically, I wanted to know what was underneath those fucking briefs.

And somehow, I needed to figure out how.

I finally got up and grabbed my towel and soap.

Maybe by now the showers wouldn't be quite as busy and I could get in and out without much trouble.

I'd never particularly liked showering with a million eyes around me, each one seemingly capable of passing judgment.

Sure, the fantasy of some hot, steamy shower scene could turn me on.

Reality was another matter.

There was nothing particularly erotic about crowded Army showers when you were constantly worried that one wrong glance might tell everyone exactly what you were trying so desperately to hide.

I found an open stall, got clean, dried myself off, and even put on fresh underwear before heading back.

Nobody needed to see ol' Johnson flopping around the hallway.

Not that mine did much flopping while soft.

It mostly poked out a couple of inches looking small as shit.

Have I mentioned I'm a grower?

I stepped into the hallway in my shower shoes with my towel around my waist.

And there he was.

Him.

Walking toward the showers.

My entire body locked up.

For somebody trained by the United States Army, I displayed approximately zero fucking courage.

I dropped my eyes and made a beeline toward my room.

But just before I looked away, I caught something.

His eyes.

On me.

And then that smirk again.

Fuck.

Had he been checking me out?

Or did he know I'd been checking him out?

Or was my horny fucking brain simply turning every look into something sexual because I'd just jerked off thinking about him?

I didn't know.

I got into my room and shut the door behind me.

My heart was hammering.

What the hell was he thinking?

More importantly, what the hell was I doing?

I got dressed and reached into my forbidden stash for a bottle of Southern Comfort.

Alcohol wasn't supposed to be in the barracks.

Neither were half the things soldiers managed to hide in barracks.

I unscrewed the cap and took a long pull.

The whiskey burned its way down.

I took another.

Then I dropped back onto my bed and tried to relax.

Tried being the important word.

Because sometime after that, everything changed.