Gloryhole Swallows – 5th Visit Pic(s)
With the first chill of autumn in the air, I found myself disrobed and nestled amongst the velvet-draped, dimly-lit anonymity of the Gloryhole Swallows. The clandestine men’s club, a notorious hideaway for anonymous and expressive sexual encounters, had become my sanctuary, an escape from the mundanity and predictability of life. I, a man of refined sensibilities and escalating desires, longed for the allure of the unknown, the unspoken secrets that promised to satisfy my deepest fantasies. Settling into my favorite corner chair, I ran the leather-bound notebook in my hands, remembering past encounters and pondering what surprises the evening might bring. The scent of sex filled the room, a heady mix of musk and perfume. The low rumble of conversation and moans echoed off the walls, inviting me to indulge in their tales of tantalizing secrets and forbidden encounters. My heart raced, anticipating the chaotic symphony of pleasure and sin that was about to unfold before me.
A voyeur at heart, I often found myself watching the comings and goings of anonymous encounters through the small peephole in the wall, the scent of spilled semen and countless feelings of elation marking my visits. With each greasy glance at the unseen, buried throbbing phallus through the glory hole, I savored the primal thrill of sating my curiosity, my need for something raw, unscripted, and painlessly passionless. As the first brief pulsation of warm need filled my vision, I let my mind wander through memories of past encounters, my heart quivering as I recalled the men who had awakened desires in me I had never known before – the rough hands that spread my cheeks, revealing a hunger so raw and primal it left me begging for more. In the dimly lit shadows, a figure approached–teddy boy chinos hanging low on his waist, a black V-neck T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders revealing hair-dusted pecs.
