GAY EROTIC STORY
"The Glory Hole"
Hank’s in charge of a bar called the Glory Hole. Actually, he’s only a bartender, but when he’s there, he’s in charge. With his long, black moustache, two-day beard growth, and leather jacket, his six-foot-plus body is a wet dream for many customers. Bears, cowboys, bikers, the leather crowd – I’ve watched them all come on to him. When he works shirtless, he probably doubles his tips – but from what a few guys have told me, no one has made him. He keeps his distance. He must have a lover. Lucky man!
No drinks or drugs are allowed in the back rooms, the glory holes, but everything else is. I’ve cruised it a few times – no harm in looking, in fact a lot of guys like being watched – but I prefer my sex private. I’ve seen men in chaps getting fucked; two bears sharing a guy’s low hanging balls while all three shoot their loads; and lots of eager mouths sucking any cock that wants a blow job. My preference is for sweaty jockstrap sex with a hairy, hungry bottom, but it’s been a long time since that happened.
I’ve been coming here since my lover and I split a few months ago. Long story, but it’s over, and the Glory Hole, the front section, is relaxed. Sure, guys come on to me – not anything like they come on to Hank – but I’m content to have a few beers, head home, work out for an hour, and then hit the sack, alone.
This evening, for some reason, I feel primed. Full moon? Who knows? And when I enter, Hank gives me a big smile and then winks. He’s never done that before, and it turns my crank, so I sit at the bar, not at my usual table. Hank leans against his edge of the counter, his leather jacket unzipped, showing an inviting display of chest hair above his white tank-top. He grins and says, “You’re in a good mood.”
“Oh, aren’t I usually?” I reply, surprised.
“Sure. But you look more relaxed tonight. I notice these things. That’s my job.”
“You obviously do it well. I’m impressed. By the way, my name’s Karl. That’s with a K.”
“I know,” he says. “One of the regulars told me. He’s been trying to pick you up.”
“You win that game, Hank. Almost all of the customers want to pick you up – and everybody knows your name.”
“I try to keep my life private,” he replies. “Otherwise it becomes everyone’s business.”
“Wise thinking,” I say. And then I notice the leather strap on his left wrist. I don’t remember having seen that, so I ask, pointing to it, “That’s new, isn’t it?”
“Just got it today. But excuse me for a moment, while I serve those guys,” he says, nodding towards the other end of the bar.
I look at his butt as he walks away. Tight. Really firm buns. When I imagine them naked, against my hips, my groin quivers. Slow down, Karl, I think. He said “private.” Better assume he means it. But the other side of my brain tells me he also said “I try,” so maybe, maybe ....
When he returns, he’s wearing a silly grin. “Sorry, I forgot to ask if you’d like a beer. Your usual?” he asks.
“Yes, thanks – and what’s with the grin?”
Hank goes to pour me a beer, glancing back a couple of times, then returns. “One of those guys – he nods to the other end of the bar – asked me if you and I are partners.”
“What did you say?” Hank hesitates and then stuns me with his reply: “I said ‘no, but I’m interested’.”
“I’m very flattered,” I manage to blurt out. “But you realize that you’ve just made your private life their business.”
“Fuck it,” he says. “Fuck them.”
I’m not sure how to react to that, and after a short silence, he says, “Sorry.”
“I understand,” I reply. “However, you might want to do some damage control, assuming you’d like to continue working here – and keep your life private.”
“I’d be happy to quit, but it’s all I’ve got.”
“We can talk about that sometime, if you’d like. But if you want to fix this, at least as far as they’re concerned,” I say, looking at the other guys, “I’ve got an idea.”
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