Glory Hole Encounter at Sears

The fluorescent lights over the Sears hardware aisle buzzed like something dying, and Arjun stood under them longer than he needed to, turning a socket set over in his hands he had no use for. He was twenty-eight, off a warehouse shift early, killing time the way he did when his apartment felt too still and his body felt too loud. Rubber belts and fresh paint hung in the air. A couple argued softly over drill bits two aisles over. He set the set back on the hook, felt the low pressure that had been building since the parking lot, and walked the long corridor past appliances toward the men's room at the back of the store.

The door sighed shut behind him. Tile, bleach, the hum of a vent. One stall was latched. The others hung open on tired hinges. Arjun chose the one beside the occupied stall, slid the bolt, and sat. The partition was old painted metal, scuffed dull at knee height, and there, where his eye landed when he leaned, a small round hole with edges worn smooth. His pulse kicked hard enough that he felt it in his throat. He told himself he was only curious. He leaned in and looked.

On the other side a man sat with his pants open and one broad hand wrapped around a cock that was already thickening under slow, unhurried strokes. Arjun would learn later that he was thirty-five. In that first second he registered only the body: heavy thighs spread, a work shirt rucked up over a flat stomach, a handsome face tipped back, eyes half-closed, mouth parted. The fist dragged from base to tip and the shaft filled under it, veins standing, the head darkening where his thumb rubbed. Arjun's mouth went wet. He swallowed and could not look away. His own cock stirred against his zipper, sudden and insistent, and he shifted on the seat so the denim wouldn't pinch. He watched the stranger stroke himself like he had the whole afternoon and nowhere else to be, lazy pulls that made the heavy hang of his balls shift, the slit catching a bead of wet that shone in the bad light.

The man's eyes opened. They found the hole. For a beat neither of them moved. Then the corner of his mouth lifted, a small knowing smirk, and he did not cover himself. He stroked once more, deliberately, letting Arjun see the full length of it, the girth his fist could not quite close around, the way the head flared when he squeezed. Arjun's breath fogged the metal. He should have looked away. He stayed, mouth watering so hard he had to swallow twice, cock throbbing in time with the slow fist on the other side of the wall.

Paper whispered under the partition. A torn scrap, folded once, nudged across the tile by two fingers. Arjun bent and picked it up, heart hammering. The handwriting was blocky, hurried, pressed hard into the paper.

Want to suck my cock? Tap your foot twice if you do.

Heat flooded him so fast his hands shook. The wanting was already a yes roaring through his chest, clear and hungry, and the note made it simple. Consent, asked for and his to give. He set his foot down on the tile. Once. The sound was small. Twice. Clear. Eager. He heard the man exhale, a low sound that might have been a laugh, and the paper disappeared back under the wall as if it had never been there. Arjun's cock jumped against his zipper. He palmed himself once through the denim and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning out loud.

Fabric rustled. The toilet creaked. Then the head of the stranger's cock appeared beneath the stall wall, flushed dark, slick at the slit, and the thick shaft followed, rigid now, angled toward him like an offering. His balls came with it, heavy and warm-looking, drawn up slightly, the skin of them soft in the flat light. Arjun stared. Up close it was bigger than it had looked through the hole. Thick enough that he already knew his fingers would not meet. Hot, he could tell, even before he touched it. His mouth flooded again. He got off the seat and dropped to his knees on the cold tile, belt biting his hips, and crawled the short distance to the partition with his pulse loud in his ears.

He wrapped his hand around the base and felt the man jerk, a full-body flinch of pleasure, and a groan leaked through the wall, muffled and desperate. The shaft was fever-hot in his fist, velvet over steel, a vein pulsing against his palm. Arjun leaned in and licked the head. Salt. Skin. The faint bitterness of precum beading at the slit. He chased it with the flat of his tongue, slow, savoring, then closed his mouth over the crown and sank down, taking as much as he could in one hungry slide.

The cock filled his mouth, stretched his lips, pressed his tongue flat. He sucked, cheeks hollowing, and pulled back slow so the stranger would feel every inch of wet heat leaving him. Then down again, deeper, until the head nudged the back of his throat and his eyes watered. He did not gag. He wanted it too badly to gag. His hand worked the base in time with his mouth, stroking what he could not swallow, thumb rubbing the underside where the pulse was strongest. He swirled his tongue around the head on every upstroke, tracing the ridge, dipping into the slit for more of that salt. Spit ran down his chin and onto his fist, slicking the shaft until his hand moved easy. The stall filled with the wet sounds of it, obscene and loud in the quiet restroom, and Arjun moaned around the thickness because he could not help it.

"Fuck," the man said, low, almost a whisper through the wall. "Yeah. Just like that. Suck it."

Arjun took him deeper. The vibration of his moan made the stranger's hips twitch, pushing another half-inch into his throat, and he took that too, lips sealed, nose nearly brushing the cool metal of the partition. He bobbed faster, sloppy and eager, tongue working, free hand cupping those heavy balls and rolling them gently while he sucked. They were hot and full in his palm. He tugged them lightly, felt the man shudder, and rewarded him by sinking down and holding, throat fluttering around the head, hand stroking the base in short tight pulls. His own cock was leaking in his pants, a wet spot spreading against his thigh, untouched and aching. He did not care. All he cared about was the weight on his tongue, the heat, the way those thighs trembled against the partition when he took him deep and stayed there, swallowing around him, spit shining on his chin.

He pulled off just long enough to breathe, a string of spit connecting his lower lip to the swollen head, and looked at what he was doing. The cock glistened, flushed almost purple at the tip, thick and veined and shining with his mouth. He licked a long stripe from the balls up the underside, slow, then took him back in and sucked hard, cheeks hollowed, hand twisting on the downstroke. The stranger cursed softly. His breathing had gone ragged. Arjun could hear the stall wall flex when he braced a hand against it.

"Close," he gritted. "Gonna—fuck—gonna come. You want it?"

Arjun answered by sinking down and staying there, sucking harder, tongue swirling under the head, hand pumping the base in desperate little strokes. He wanted every drop. He wanted it down his throat. The cock pulsed once, warning, and then the first rope hit the back of his mouth, thick and hot and sudden. Then another. Then another, pumping in heavy spurts that flooded him faster than he could swallow. He gulped greedily, throat working, not wasting a drop, the taste bitter and salty and overwhelming, coating his tongue, sliding warm into his stomach. Cum leaked at the corner of his mouth and he chased it with his tongue, sucking through the aftershocks while the stranger shuddered and groaned on the other side of the wall, hips jerking in small helpless thrusts that Arjun rode with his mouth.

When the pulses slowed he kept his lips on him, gentler now, licking him clean. He traced the slit for the last beads, suckled the sensitive head until the man hissed and eased back an inch, oversensitive, still half-hard and shining. Arjun licked the shaft once more, base to tip, slow and thorough, and pressed a soft open-mouthed kiss to the crown before he let him go. His lips were swollen. His knees ached against the tile. His jaw throbbed in the best way. His cock was a hard, leaking line in his pants, and his mouth tasted like the stranger, and he had never wanted anything more than he wanted to do it again.

Paper slid under the wall a second time. Arjun wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still on his knees, and unfolded it with fingers that were not quite steady.

A phone number, written clear. Beneath it, in the same blocky hand: same time next week.

He smiled at the tile, breath still unsteady, the taste of cum thick on his tongue. His foot tapped once. Agreement. Promise. Already he could feel next week in his knees, in the ache of his jaw, in the way his cock throbbed at the thought of dropping down and taking that thick cock into his mouth again, slower this time, longer, until the man forgot the store and the hour and everything but Arjun's throat. He folded the note and slid it into his pocket like something he meant to keep.

He stayed on his knees a moment longer, listening to the other man tuck himself away. Zipper. Belt. A low, satisfied exhale. The stall door creaked. Footsteps crossed the tile. The restroom door sighed open and shut, and Arjun was alone with the hum of the vent and the taste still coating his tongue, his own cock aching, his mouth already lonely for the weight of what he had just swallowed.

He would spend every hour until next week ruined by a cock he had never seen attached to a face.