It wasn't until my second visit, when I went late enough at night, that I discovered the truth of the matter. It wasn't "people" who had sex there. It was gay men. Not that gay men aren't people. Just that I was sort of expecting that women did this sort of thing too? Like don't they have glory holes or something where women go to suck cock? You know? Like in porn?
They did have glory holes at this particular location, but it wasn't women sucking the cocks. But there's something interesting about gay men. Some of them aren't actually gay. They just like gay sex. That doesn't make sense, maybe, but that's what I've been told. Sometimes men talk to me, even though I don't talk to them. These days I mean. These days men spend time with me alone and in private. And they can see how I am. Uninhibited. Nonjudgmental. Plus the eyes. Mom always said I was "melancholy pretty". With my dark hair and dark eyes and features that just seem to convey a sort of sadness. It's easy for men to see me as somebody who would have a sympathetic ear. But back in college things were different. I was just a young slut who some not-quite-gay men were lucky enough to encounter down at the local filth hut.
The way I was, with no anxiety or inhibitions, I was an easy mark for the various perverts who hung out in that area. Though it's not really fair to say that they took advantage of me. I wanted it, after all. I went there looking to give my body away. And that's what I did. More times than I can even remember. I lost myself in it. I became the object. The sex-doll in the back stall.
The firsts guy to get me into that stall really was gay. I realized that later, though at the time I wasn't really sure. He didn't fuck me. He just sat me down on the toilet and stood a few inches in front of me with an expectant look. He was casual about it. Friendly. This was a man who was used to having his dick sucked in a toilet stall. Probably ten years older than me, though I hardly ever really notice such things. I see males. Males who want to get off, and who want to use me to do it. With this man being so casual and me being happily medicated, I did the obvious and undid his jeans and let them fall to his ankles. No underwear. I would come to find that this was not uncommon among the men who lurked in the vicinity of the hut.
He wasn't hard, so I sucked him into my mouth and made him that way. I wasn't the most experienced cocksucker in the world, but I was uninhibited and growing wet between the legs and I was eager to do a good job. I kept glancing up at him for approval as I moved my lips up and down his quickly hardening member. Each time I took him into my mouth he poked a little bit deeper into my throat. I began to gag a little bit, and looked up to see if that was okay. He looked like he liked it, but he was still mostly casual. Which made me work harder. His penis was not too thick, but relatively long. Once he grew fully erect and the length was consistent I grew used to taking him in my throat without gagging. And then I just kept doing that, bobbing my head and fucking him back into my throat again and again. I could tell this was good for him and I just kept trying to make it better. Sucking on him and licking my tongue along his shaft as I took him into my throat.
My determination to make him cum overcame the fact that I wasn't exactly his type. I watched him and listened to him and held his balls in my hand, feeling his scrotum tightening. I was in a place I'd never been before. Aside from a men's room stall. I was sitting on a toilet enthusiastically servicing a strange man with my whore mouth. I was so horny for him to feed me his sperm that I wanted to touch myself. So I did, reaching my free hand under my skirt and into my more-than-damp panties to give my burning pussy some much needed attention. But almost as soon as I began to masturbate, the man was at the point of ejaculation and he took control of me. He took my head between both his hands and held it in place while he slid his cock all the way back and began rutting in my throat. The way he was doing it, was constantly triggering my gag reflex but I tightened my belly and controlled myself, doing my best to keep sucking on him while holding and pleasuring his balls. I felt his urethra pulse against my tongue and thick fluid streamed into my throat. He came with a grunt was gratifying in what it communicated. I immediately began working my throat to swallow his load, one hand gently squeezing his scrotum, the other moving sporadically in my panties.
I looked up at him as he was ejaculating into mouth, but his face was upturned, his body shuddering. I was disappointed that he wasn't looking at me and watching me eat his discharge. But he was probably imagining some guy he liked, which I would later come to appreciate, because the main thing was he was really having a good one in my mouth. His fingers curled up to hold me by the hair and he lifted himself up onto his toes.
It went on longer than I expected. His thick cum hung in my throat like phlegm and I had to work to ingest it. Then he came back down onto his heels and just moved his hips gently back and forth, using my lips to milk the dregs of his balls out onto my tongue. Then he shuddered and extracted himself gingerly. He hoisted his pants and fastened them in a practiced sort of way, his still erect, saliva coated penis making a tent in front of my face. I looked from that up at him. Mr. Casual was gone. He looked almost concerned. But it was hard to tell. There was something kind of cold about him. Nothing hostile. I was just seeing the real him. Without the casual, friendly mask. He looked at me and said he would give me five minutes to come to my senses and leave that men's room and that entire part of town forever. He said after five minutes he'd send a man in here who would appreciate me the way I wanted to be appreciated. And then he left me sitting there on the toilet, with my hand still in my panties, trying to clear my throat of the gooey mess as if I had something to say.
