"The Guest Cottage" PART 1
by Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE ghj_eatsU@hotmail.com
Disclaimer:
The following story is written for men. It's a masturbatory tale of anonymous public sex among male strangers. Be warned: within various paragraphs, men may come across terms such as "deep-throating", "bareback man slut", "sucking off any cock poking through that hole", "dads needing some quick oral relief", "licking piss slits of oozing precum", and similar erectile-arousing phrases. Turn away now if either your libido or trouser zipper can't handle it.
It's strongly encouraged that readers be male, of legal age and in a mood to masturbate prior to perusing the story which follows.
The issues of anonymous, gloryhole, public and/or bareback (semen exchanging) homosexual sex are of any reader's own concern. The reader is urged to dig deeply into his own moral conscience or Jockey shorts, whatever his decision may be. If one does not like cum-chugging man sex, one is reminded that this is but words flickering on your monitor screen. Men may enjoy & learn more on this topic at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/gloryhole_living
"The Guest Cottage" PART 1
by Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE
The once glorious Devonshire Park was no more.
Descendents of its original swans had been removed from the lush ponds in the late 1970s by activists after a rash of swan poisonings. And just a few years later, hundreds of acres had been barred from public use after a massive afternoon gang rape of a young teenaged boy on a picnic table in the 1980s.
And finally, by the early 1990s, as the county faced massive financial losses, the park closed completely.
After years of protest and legal actions, the more than six hundred-acre park, built in 1918, was sold to a large residential developer. The county courts decided that the bulk of the park's acreage, making for lots east of County Line Road, could be no smaller than one acre each.
But the remaining land west of the road, a sprawling thirty-five acre parcel, could be sold and developed as a single lot. This was decided because Old Twiggins Road, a busy, light commercial-industrial road, had already defined the back, northern end of that smaller western parcel long ago in the 1950s.
And so, the morning following the court decision, Morgan Custom Homes, Inc. began construction of its Devonshire Estates, a development of five hundred and sixty-five Tudor-style custom homes east of County Line Road. And that same morning, knowing that the enormous lot to the west would be a harder sell, Morgan Custom Homes, Inc. promptly listed it for sale. Yet much to their surprise, by noon that same day, they'd re-sold the thirty-five acre parcel to Bulldog Builders, a smaller building contracting company owned by the wealthy, rugged and ravenously homosexual, Dirk McDonnell.
Seeing great potential in what had been part of a former public park, Dirk had authorized his company's purchase of the land knowing full well that he had in mind to build on it for himself. At forty-three, he'd never married, never had kids -- instead choosing to fellate and eat the sperm out of more than half the men of northern Illinois, including most of his workmen. When he'd first seen this parcel of land years ago being argued over in the News and then again that morning for re-sale by Morgan Custom Homes, Inc, he knew he had to make the site his own.
The thirty-five acres, although surrounded on its perimeters by what would soon be busy roads, was a parcel large enough for anyone to virtual forget that civilization swirled around its borders. Its rolling lands were heavily and beautifully wooded, just as had been the hundreds of acres to the east -- across County Line Road -- prior to Morgan Custom Homes, Inc replacing the mighty oaks with hundreds of Tudor-style split-level houses.
Once he bought it, Dirk visited his sprawling, wooded acreage every night after work knowing exactly what he had planned and how he'd enjoy the property for years to come.
And whenever there'd be a free moment back at the offices of Bulldog Builders, Dirk would pull over his head foreman, handsome Bob O'Shea, to look over the county's plat for his newly-acquired land. On the property, was a large pond -- virtually a small lake -- and also, as detailed in blue ink, one improvement or structure.
"What are you planning to do with this?" Bob asked as he pointed to the small building identified on the plat. "We can knock it out the day after tomorrow, if you like. Shouldn't take more than a half a day."
Dirk looked at Bob with a fantastic expression. "No way we knocking that down, Bob!" He was amazed that his foreman, a handsome and well-built married Irishman with six kids would even suggest such a thing. After all, in the five years they'd been working together, he'd eaten more milk out his forty-eight year old foreman's hefty nuts than a one gallon jug could contain.
"What do you mean?", Bob asked still not sure what his boss was saying. "You don't want some park toilets on your property, do you?"
Dirk gave the man a look that clearly let the Bob know the "improvement" would be staying.
"It's a fucking shithouse", Bob chuckled in amazement. "You actually going to keep these park toilets on your estate?"
"Damn fucking bet I am", Dirk said as he reached and gripped his foreman's crotch. "A public suck hole right on my own land? You fucking bet its staying."
With that, Dirk squatted, opened his married buddy's jeans and let the man screw and bust his nut down his throat before letting him go home for the day.
The two then met the very next morning on the property. They strolled about the lovely rolling land, considering a site for what would become Dirk's dream house. Afterwards, the two men made their way to the opposite, north end of the property where it met busy Old Twiggins Road. Through dense foliage, they could see cars speeding by back and forth.
Through the substantial bars of the former park's high wrought iron fencing, put in long ago back in the 1920s, they could see there was a large auto body shop directly across the street. They then made their way down a few yards more through dense thicket to an elaborately wrought double gate. This had been the original entrance to the park, long ago permanently closed. Looking through the gates, the men could see that a bit further down on Old Twiggins Road to the east was a sports bar; and down the other way, to the west, was a small bookstore with a discreet yellow and black sign out front reading in three-foot-tall letters, "Mimi's XXX Books".
"Well, you got all the neighbors any man needs", Bob chuckled as he looked up and down the street.
"That's what I thought", Dirk agreed with a leer. "But I'm planning to become the best fuckin' neighbor to all the guys in this area. Plan to take some business away from each of those places, if you know what I mean.", he added as he pointed to a pretty brick building on the property not but a few yards behind them.
"That must be it, huh?", Bob said a bit embarrassed. Although he'd gotten his nut off plenty of times deep inside his boss' slick, clamping throat, he was still, after all, a married father of six...and an Irish Roman Catholic. Hell, it was one thing to unzip and let yourself get a discreet buddy blowjob. But it was a whole other thing to openly and knowingly help a queer cockpig build his dream outhouse.
The two walked over to the well-built structure, a red brick and shingle-roofed building looking like the finest cottage or little house of its period.
"Talk about a brick shithouse", Bob said as he assessed the restroom cottage's walls solidly built by post-WWI contractors. "They built 'em to last back then."
"That's why I love those guys", Dirk smiled as he lightly pawed his own crotch. "A hundred years ago they built their park suck houses like the Egyptians built their pyramids. Can you imagine the generations of guys who've gotten off in this place? Hell, those builders back then knew what they were doing. They built these toilets so their sons and grandsons and great-grandsons could have a place to bust a nut when the need arose. They knew they were building what was, in 1918, a man's only option for quick nut relief."
"Damn, when you look at it that way...", Bob muttered as his blue eyes scanned the cottage's lines.
"Sure do gotta think of that, old Bob", Dirk said as he squeezed the man's large bulge in his jeans. "Think if just one horny dude a day popped into this place from when it was built after WWI ...until the county closed the park in '92. Hell, in seventy-four years, that would be 27,010 guys looking for sex in here. And if they each actually encountered another mouth or dick, double it to 54,020 dudes. And that's just if two guys came in here each day!"
"'And had to be way more than two guys in here a day...". Bob added quietly as he tried considering the numbers. "I mean, this was a super popular park. Hell, my brother used to take his kids here all the time."
"Damn right", Dirk said as he lewdly squeezed the fat cock of his foreman through the denim. "We all know these shithouses were busy all day, super busy all afternoon and evening...think of the dicks that have shot seed in this place...the loads cockpigs have gulped down - one after another - under this roof. Heck, if just forty guys a day used this place for some quick fun, that could easily come to more than a million dudes who have gotten off under just this one roof! Hell, probably included even your brother and your nephews when they lived around here."
"Well, you ever need money, you could sub-divide and sell this place for $200,000, Dirk", Bob said as he entered the men's room of the abandoned toilets. "Must be a over a thousand square feet between the ladies room and this men's room." The two men looked around at the five stalls, as many sinks and the large trough-style urinal.
"This place could hold more than forty a one time", Bob muttered as he pawed his jeans mound. "Bet even more than forty a day bust their nut in this place..."
Dirk was happy to see he'd gotten his married foreman to consider the wonders of the tearoom in which they stood. After all, more than two-thirds of guys busting a nut in these places were fellas just like big Bob O'Shea.
"Come here", Dirk said as he waved his buddy over to the stalls. With a grin he pointed, "And they're all ready for business."
Between each stall, scrawled with both homosexual and extremely perverse graffiti, were large gloryholes.
"Seems this place served the community well before they shut it down", Bob quietly said looking at the obviously heavily-utilized holes.
"You bet your hot dad ass", Dirk said as he again groped his buddy lewdly and unzipped the man's jeans. "Seems a waste of more than a decade since this place been put to good use. Lets say we make our sperm the juice to re-christen this place...come on, what do you say?"
Dirk squatted, opened the man's jeans and started to blow his foreman who stood with his jeans wide open and arms akimbo. With his eyes directed up at the ceiling as his boss sucked him, he was both enjoying the licentious homosexual act on his thick, fat boner -- as well as, assessing a potential rewiring of the restroom's overhead lighting.
As he sensed his buddy was nearing climax, Dirk stood up and opened his own jeans. "Let's say we hose down the place? Welcome it back to life for the men in this neighborhood...my new neighbors!?"
Dirk beat off allowing Bob to sneak peeks at his lengthy erection -- as any straight married father must. "Come on, lets consecrate this cottage to its renewed function for which its original builders intended."
The two men beat off, the loud slapping and thwapping of their meat the only sound echoing in the cool shithouse. Almost simultaneously, the two men ejaculated onto the partitions of the one stall they were both in, aiming their thick blasts of white semen at the same gloryhole. As they finished, both men looked upon the massive and heavy pudding their shared loads made on the rim of the gloryhole as their mix of semen viscously drooled down the wall.
"Hell, like thousands of other loads that must have shot at those holes, eh?". Dirk sneered as he stuffed his long schlong back into his jeans.
"Yeah", Bob muttered, "Like you said, there must have been a lot of them who shot their stuff in here -- like we just, huh?"
Dirk snickered, "And more gulped down I bet...or bred into hungry man asses. Can you imagine how many tongues or pink puckered cum holes must have been open to the public at these gloryholes or in the open stalls or at that trough? 'Hell just as they will be again, Bob", Dirk said as he went to the brick wall shared by the ladies restroom on its other side,"What you think we punch a door through here?", he asked as he stroked the solid wall dividing it from the men's room.
"Make it one big men's room you mean?", Bob said with a crack in his voice and a blush of red in his cheeks.
"Yeah, exactly", Dirk said as he looked at the wall. "You see how busy this place could get with what's in the neighborhood...I got to be able to be a good neighbor to all, you know."
"Yeah, we could probably knock this out." Bob said as he looked for load bearing beams.
Over the few weeks, Dirk and Bulldog Builders' head residential home designer, Stuart "10-Incher" Heinz, a married former cop-turned-architect, drew up plans for Dirk's imposing house. By the end of the summer, it was completed - a large and elegant colonial with a separate wrestling gym and swimming pool.
But the plan for Dirk's estate was not complete. The day he moved in, he scheduled for Bob to come out to the house to begin work on the "guest cottage". Bob took with him a truck filled with heavy equipment along with two strappingly built young lads to help out.
Bob, as well as, Dirk knew that these two particular nineteen-year-old bucks, Frank and Trent, could both be trusted with the "guest cottage" portion of the work on the property. After all, each young man had most willingly enjoyed the numerous blowjobs from their boss ever since he'd hired them at the beginning of the summer season. Heck, although wiry and tall Frank had worked with his dad on building A-frames in the Dells, Dirk had only hired the beefier blonde, Trent -- a teen with no real skill in construction, only once the kid had opened his tight jeans and hauled out a wrist-thick schlong.
And, also, after all, Dirk was relying on the fact that when these two boys returned to school the following week, they'd spread word among their frat buddies about his "guest cottage" only a mile away from their campus.
So, at seven in the morning, as Dirk met the three workmen already laboring at getting the abandoned gates operational again along Old Twiggins Road, he knew that it would not be long until the cottage would again be of use to all his "guests" from the neighborhood.
To be continued... ghj_eatsU@hotmail.com http://groups.yahoo.com/group/gloryhole_living