COCK-WORSHIPPER'S FANTASY FULFILLED

There was a time, before health & safety and, let’s face it, common sense, when glory-holes abounded. In the 1970s, as Britain decayed, sleaze triumphed. Contractors, on a whim, nailed up temporary cottages in temporary car parks, their cardboard-thin partitions soon pierced with all manner of holes, large and small. Lay-bys and motorway stops were further areas of proliferation as a nation of first-time car-owners took to the new dual carriageways and motorways, demanding sustenance, relief, and a blow-job at appropriate intervals.

I was in my 20s then, single, bisexual. I would sometimes drive out of London, where I lived, seeking anonymous sexual adventure at glory-holes. One of my favourites was in a small lay-by on the westbound carriageway of the A40, a few miles short of Oxford. It was a wooden structure, with two cubicles and a stainless-steel pissing-trough. It was at this spot, in the superheated summer of 1976, that my greatest cock-worshipping fantasy was fulfilled.

It was a Thursday late-afternoon, a quiet period when only the real players, the cognoscenti, would be there; no interlopers, troglodytes, or time-wasters. The only other car was just being entered by an elderly man as I swung in from the main road, and he drove off as soon as I parked. I undid my safety-belt, eased down the seat back a bit, and lit a joint I’d prepared in advance. I took my time, taking three or four good tokes, turning my mind to and around the treats to come, luxuriating in the rise and throb of my thick young cock in my jeans.

Suffocating my spliff in the ashtray, I opened the door and stepped out just as an Alfa Romeo coupé swept into the lay-by and pulled in a few feet behind me. His sun-blind was down, so I could only see the lower part of the driver’s face, but he looked clean and in good shape, a few years older than me. I stepped around the front of my car and into the arousing piss-and-Dettol atmosphere of the cottage.

The place was empty. I slipped into one of the cubicles, brushing the length of loo paper from the unusually large glory-hole as I did so. I eased off my Levi’s, keeping my white briefs on, and sat on the throne, leaning backwards so that my swollen mound was clearly visible to anyone in the other cubicle. Several minutes passed before I could hear the Alfa driver step into the cottage, then enter the other cubicle. He swept the loo-paper from his side of the glory-hole, affording me a full-on view of the impressive bulge in his close-fitting olive-green corduroys.

I exhaled an involuntary gasp as he moved about and I realised his bulge truly was enormous; it wasn’t just the play of light and shadow. As I continued to gawp, my neighbour unhooked his wide leather belt and steadily, purposefully, rolled his cords down to reveal small white briefs stretched to the limit by his equipment. The thick tube of his half-soft cock curved down over his full balls, the helmet outlined in relief by the taut fabric. I tapped my fingers on the edge of the hole and he pushed the straining mound through, then slowly, lasciviously, eased down his briefs to unveil his manhood for my exclusive admiration.

Still partly soft, the long shaft was wrapped in thick veins right down to the foreskin that clung, tight and sheer, to the immense cockhead. This was not completely covered, allowing his meatus to peek out, gaping and deep: there could be no doubt this was a heavy-calibre sperm-gun. I slipped my hand through the hole to caress the lightly-furred inside of Alfa-man’s taut-muscled thigh. He spread his legs at my touch, allowing his balls to hang free and low while his shaft began to lengthen and swell. As it did so, the foreskin steadily peeled from his expanding cockhead. I moved my hand to his scrotum, appreciatively cupping, caressing, and weighing his sperm-filled bull testes while stroking the underside of his thickening shaft with my thumb.

He was almost fully hard now, his cock curving slightly upward and the foreskin stretched tightly over the deep rim of the helmet. It slipped over the last millimetre and the full glory of this dream cock was in proud display. Rooted like a redwood in a thick tangle of dark hair, then jutting out and up over full, rounded, heavy balls, the muscular shaft was almost without taper, thickly veined, and ended in a brutal mushroom head with a rim as deep as the thickness of my forefinger. A reddish-pink glow suffused shaft and testicles, giving even greater prominence to the deeper blush of the head. My thumb and forefinger just - only just - met around the shaft, less so at root than at the head, while both hands, edge-to-edge, spanned barely three-quarters of it.

Initially, I just drank in this vision, doing little more than caress the sperm-swollen balls and run my thumb along the ridged vein underneath the shaft in stoned amazement and raging arousal. I suddenly realised my own cock, a good-looking uncut seven inches, was rock-hard, the first ooze of precum already drooling from the head. Re-engaging myself with the incredible gift before me, I knelt before it and cupped the tightening scrotum in my left hand, caressing the small curly hairs lightly, then curled thumb and fingers around the top of the sac. I could then gently tug, squeeze, tickle, and caress my partner’s balls, as well as rub my thumb along the underside of his oak-hard cock, or slide my forefinger back along his perineum, caressing his prostate and the swelling root of his shaft. Starting there, I now ran my tongue, alternating with my lips, in a swirling pattern along the underside of those bull-balls, that horse-cock. I could feel the muscles contract, the entire shaft swelling and stiffening at my touch. Very gratifying.

By gentle degrees, my slavering mouth and tongue reached the tender underside of the cockhead, licking, sucking. Then, slowly stretching my mouth, I began to take the head in, licking along the underside, washing my saliva over the polished glans and wide, deep, meatus. “Mmm”, went both Alfa-man and I in satisfied unison. My lips swelled over the helmet-rim, my tongue probing underneath. Slowly, I worked my lips further down the shaft, the swollen veins sliding sensuously into my mouth. With a last lunge, the head lodged in the back of my throat as I gagged,, then recovered, gagged again, then sucked hard and wet on this perfect mouthful. “Mm-m”, we repeated, in harmony this time. I felt his cock-muscles contract, the shaft and head swelling in my mouth; my gag reflex had evidently touched his pride in that immense and handsome cock.

I alternated hand, tongue, and mouth on every part. Licking and sucking on his balls, I found that, with care and patience, I could take each fully into my mouth. Then, tugging gently down and back, I watched the shaft rear up across my face, suffused a deep pink, veins swollen in sharp relief, the dark plum of the engorged head straining. Next, I sat back on my heels and, with my right thumb nestled against the hard rim of my partner’s cockhead, my fingers stroking the sensitive underside of the glans, I cupped and caressed his full, well-rounded, balls with my left. I felt the warm shaft throb and stiffen, filling my hand. Judging my moment, again I circled the neck of his scrotum in my left hand, stroking root and prostate with my fingers.

The gape of Alfa-man’s deep meatus filled with a clear bead of precum; two, three more beads pushed the first out, then all joined in a thick drool, falling towards the floor. I felt my own cock dribbling copiously in excited sympathy, and attended to it for a few moments while I drank in the excitement of looking at Alfa-man’s beautiful erection. He played his part, withdrawing through the hole to slide his foreskin part way over the head, then returning and tightening his cock muscles to make the shaft rise and the foreskin slip back that last centimetre off the rim of his flared helmet. That was now deep purple, oozing a glistening rope of precum, the entire shaft reddening, veins in hard-edged relief. He was very close; I was even closer.

“I want to spurt for you”, I stage-whispered. He withdrew and I slid my precum-slicked cock through the hole. He got it just right for me, playing with my balls in one hand while he stroked my shaft with the other. I just relaxed and let him milk me, feeling the warmth and thickness of semen filling my prostate as he kept his strokes steady but gentle, well-lubed with precum. “Ahh!” I couldn’t help but gasp, my heart racing ecstatically as I felt my shaft swell with hot spunk, then the release as it spat three, four, five times. My partner stroked steadily and gently, encouraging the pulsing flow. There was a final, unexpected, sixth blast - a new personal record. I relaxed, still breathing hard as I felt every last drop being squeezed from my balls and shaft.

After a few moments, I withdrew and knelt again before the hole. Alfa-man’s loaded member re-presented itself slowly, the bulbed head half-hooded in sharply-veined foreskin, stretched taut. The shaft seemed to glow with heat, tightly muscled in a shallow upward curve. Last came swollen balls, the sac shrink-wrapped around them. Muscles flexed, the immense shaft tightened and rose. Again, the foreskin popped off the deep rim of the helmet just as a heavy bead of precum, streaked with semen, oozed from the open meatus. I resumed my handiwork, encircling the sperm-filled scrotum with my left hand, allowing my thumb to stroke the base of my partner’s shaft while my fingers teased his perineum. He moaned softly.

As I continued with my one-handed caresses, his moans grew in frequency and volume, precum spilling almost constantly, until he whispered urgently: “Cumming!” I increased the pressure of my fingers on his prostate, my thumb on the thick vein under his shaft. I imagined I could feel hot spunk welling up in the root of his huge, loaded, cock. Then, with a trembling I could feel under my probing fingers, milk-white semen began to pour from the engorged head. Immediately, I gathered its warmth in my right hand and worked it along the rock-hard shaft, stroking long and steady. As Alfa-man gasped noisily, cum shot out in solid gouts, the first four or five spurts jetting in quick succession across the cubicle and smacking audibly against the wooden partition opposite the hole. Another five thick ropes of manly spunk followed, arcing through my stroking hand and falling with ‘splat’ noises on the floor, then trailing hotly over my fingers. I slowed my stroke as the creamiest cum I’ve ever seen ebbed and flowed over my hand, while I felt and relished the deep pulse of each ejaculation through the root and shaft of this blazing cock.

With a jolt, there was a final, immensely thick, jet of purest, whitest spunk. Smack! It hit the widening puddle on the floor. Alfa-man was spent. I let my right hand drop, but kept gently palpating and stroking his root and balls in my left as I gaped at the sight. Over balls that now began to soften and drop, the swollen shaft glowed red and pink, the veins in hard-edged relief. The head was deep purple, still engorged, and smeared with semen. For about a minute, I just looked, letting the shaft droop, sated and emptied. At last, I gently squeezed and stroked it from root to head, releasing a final long, heavy, rope of spunk. I flicked it clear and he withdrew, letting me watch through the hole while he wiped his magnificent tool, then stowed it with some difficulty - it was still plump - in his tight briefs. Corduroys aloft, zipped, a final view of that unbelievable bulge, and he was gone.