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It Was Humiliating, Thanks For Asking.

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He sits on the toilet with his knees drawn to his chest, and his heels rest precariously on the edge of the closed lid because he doesn’t want to put them on the floor and risk someone recognising them from outside. He’s never done this before and he’s kind of nervous, but it’s the mouth-gushing kind of nervous as opposed to the dry-tongue-sweaty-palms kind, and he thinks that will help him out in his upcoming task. That is if anyone takes him up on his offer.

Kyle Broflovshi has always wanted to know what it would be like. He knows it’s dumb and dangerous, but he hasn’t been able to sleep at night since that first day he came into the bathroom and found the hole in the cubical wall, and it haunted him like a ghost of could-bes and maybes and he couldn’t have resisted any longer than he did or doubtless the curiosity would have killed him. He knows (hopes) with all his heart that whoever decides to play with him will understand that, and they won’t judge him too harshly even though they won’t get to see his face or hear his name. He tries to tell himself that they probably feel the same way, because it can’t be just him right? The only guy in the world who notices that some times other boys have nice legs, or kissable lips, or hot asses in their tight navy jeans. But whether or not that is true he has no way of knowing.

He can only really understand his own motivations and feelings, and when this whole event is over then he will have to answer to himself alone. How was it? Did he like it? Was it worth the days of nerves and anticipation leading up to it in the end?

Unfortunately for Kyle, the process isn’t a quick or painless one. One of the problems of this method was that for all its anonyminity, it is tedious, and in the waiting alone in a tiny bathroom stall there is plenty of opportunity for second guessing or fretting about a million little things that might go wrong. What if he chickens out? What if he gets some awful sexually transmitted disease? What if halfway through he realises that some fantasies are sexiest left just as that- fantasies. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this after all…

Three people use the cubicle next to Kyle’s over the next two hours. He waits patiently through long stretches where only guys who need to use urinals as well. Every time the bathroom door swings open Kyle holds his breath and curls his toes inside his battered green Chuck Taylors, but then the toilet flushes or the sound of some stranger having a piss fills the silence, and he feels himself relax again. Only when he is calm he realises that he was terrified. Electrified, but terrified, and impatient twitches are making him fee like picking his cuticles. Digging small stones and glass dust out of the soles of his shoes. His dick is half hard with excitement or maybe it’s just nerves, and when the bathroom door swings open for what feels like the hundredth time, he feels himself blush. He hopes it isn’t just another pair of juniors coming in to wag off classes and smoke cigarettes.

Whoever it is, they spend a moment or two at the sink checking their reflection, turning the tap on and off again, and sighing as though the weight of the world had recently fallen on their shoulders. Kyle feels an affinity for this faceless stranger already, and he hopes against past experience that whoever this guy is, he will be the one. He likes the idea of a guy vulnerable enough to sigh like that. He likes the idea of someone who sounds like they are wearing shabby well-loved shoes as they walk away from the sink. Tenuously, his excitement grows when the person makes their way to the cubicle next to his and locks the door.

He crosses his fingers and bites his lip, and tries to resist taking a peek through the hole next to his shoulder. Was the little note still there, on the other side? He wasn’t sure how to say it, so in the end he just wrote the thing Kenny had said he would use. You know, if he was going to offer a blow on the other side of a glory hole.  

Insert tab A into slot B and prepare to be blown away.

It was so lame and gross that it was kind of funny. He had pretended not to think so, and he liked to imagine that if Stan was there at the time (instead of with Wendy- he was always with Wendy and Kyle couldn’t help feeling hugely jealous every time,) he would have pretended with him. God, Stan. What was his problem? Lately it had been like kyle didn’t even exist to him and even though Kyle had thought about asking Stan what he thought before he did this, he didn’t in the end for a whole host of reasons. For one, they had hardly seen each other since senior year began because of Wendy and for two, but he hadn’t wanted his ‘best friend’ to know that at seventeen and freshly out of a long term relationship with Bebe, he was starting to have bi-curious thoughts. That was the domain of perverts like Kenny, or sexually repressed squares like Butters, (who had just gotten weirder and weirder as he got older. But that was none of Kyle’s business).

The invisible man next door hesitates, halfway through undoing his belt, and the sudden silence after the buckle clinking is the thing which makes Kyle realise he is letting his thoughts run away with him again.

What? What’s happening? Oh that’s right.

He almost craps himself when, after about thirty seconds, there comes a little knock through the separating wall and it sounds questioning. Hesitant. As though this stranger had just come in to take a shit and suddenly spotted this bizarre setup in the only free stall. It makes his guts drop and his mouth water embarrassingly. And it takes him a moment to realise that the person on the other side is waiting for a response.

He coughs an awkward little cough, to clear up his breathing ways, and knocks back. Three short taps of his knuckles.

The person on the other side finishes undoing his belt and lets his jeans fall to the ground.

There is a brief moment of disappointment, where he thinks that whoever it is has simply decided not to try, and he contemplates just waiting until they had gone and trying again some other time. The hole wasn’t going anywhere at any time soon, if the school had wanted to mend a hole the size of a fist in their toilet they would have done so six months ago so it wasn’t like he has to do it today or even the next day. He can come back whenever he’s ready and test himself then. Find out if these thoughts are for real or if it’s just some weird kind of phase. Who knows, he might even find his answer between now and then. He might not ever have to do this anyways.

But then he hears something faintly through the wall, like someone shuffling closer and letting their forehead rest against it. When he sees the tip of what is definitely, unmistakably, undeniably a semi-erect cock invading his cubicle, his stomach clenches and he thinks he might actually throw up from shock.

Oh God. Oh God and Mary and Christ who he doesn’t even worship. This is it then, the moment of truth. His resolve is too firm to back away and even if it wasn’t he has to do it now anyway; those three knocks on that flimsy shared wall? They were a promise.

Swallowing a huge mouthful of spit, Kyle melts off the edge of the toilet seat and lets himself sit on the cold tile floor. He is too weak-kneed to stand up or kneel anyway, and he is quivering all over as he watches the thing, contemplates it almost level with his chest and observes the way that it is not quite hard yet and waiting, wilting, begging for a little bit of attention.  The body it is attached to fills the hole, Kyle can see the soft dark hair curling at the base, and the pristine black band of a pair of Calvin Klein briefs bent underneath so whoever it is can let his cock free. For some reason, this underwear is beautifully sexy, and Kyle knows with a sweeping feeling of gratitude that whoever it is on the other side is well groomed with a nice lower stomach. He smells kind of familiar, like a generic body spray of some kind, or maybe Kyle is just imagining it. Who is this guy? Does it matter? He could be anyone, and he is beautiful in the standard kind of way all young guys are beautiful- with their little smiles and their square shoulders and hips which can never keep a pair of jeans up properly. He is everybody and nobody, all at the same time.

Kyle licks his lips, notes with a fluttering in his groin that this guy has an intact foreskin, and lets himself lean in close enough to breathe on it. Oh wow, this is really real isn’t it? The dick twitches, responding to his closeness, and he wants to giggle like a hysterical little girl (because it is kind of funny, objectively,) but he doesn’t because that will ruin the moment. Instead he ignores the dreadful bubbling of laughter in his stomach, and closes his eyes.

From there, gravitating forward until the cock is pressing softly against his cheek is easy, and if he didn’t know with a stomach rolling surety that the thing touching him now was someone else’s dick, it would have felt like any other appendage on his face. Warm. Kind of nice. Smelling like another body, another life.

The person on the other side of the wall exhales shakily, and Kyle takes one last note of what his virgin mouth tastes like. He has to start doing it. He has to start doing it now or he’s going to loose heart altogether. It’s easy in principle, just a single lick and that’s it. Why isn’t he doing it already? How hard can it be?

He absolutely has to do it at this exact second in time!

And panicking, scared that he might find himself on the cusp of backing out, he dives in with a long and admittedly messy lick right up the back of the entire length. It’s more difficult than he thought it would be, and in the end he has to grip the base because he realises that otherwise the cock will just keep slipping off his tongue and rubbing spit all over his face. Not that that isn’t kind of erotic.

The wall creeks, as though a greater weight has been applied to it from the other side. Kyle sucks the tip into his mouth and tries to ignore the rushing of adrenaline in his body in order to focus on what it feels like. What it tastes like. How the knowledge that he is actually giving someone a blow job sits in his skin. The boy tastes like salty skin and heat, and it’s not bad but it’s not comfortable either, having a fat head pressing up against his palate. How can the soreness in his jaw and the cluttered feeling in his mouth be so arousing? That foreskin is pulled back now, and it feels squishy and sleek under Kyle’s tongue. Oh god, it moves when he laps at it, and he tightens the muscles in his thighs as he tries to swallow down as much as he can without gagging. It proves not to be very much, but when the boy on the other side makes a soft, blissful noise, he tries again, and his own dick is throbbing with an uncontrollable heat.

He has never felt like a slut before. He never understood the appeal. All his life he had been the kind of guy who believed in relationships. In intimacy and the purity of pleasure given in affection. He has never felt so vulnerable, so needy, or so horny, and as he sucks he masturbates the parts he can’t reach like he is dying to masturbate himself inside his jeans. Holy shit this really is happening. Holy tap dancing Christ.

It’s so different from ploughing into Bebe like it might make him less pissed off about his life. It’s so different from jacking off to gay porn and having to delete his browsing history just in case Stan comes over and decides to borrow his macbook without asking. It’s different from what he thought it would be, but it’s also so much more real, and it isn’t a perfect experience because it’s kind of messy and kind of gross and it’s dreamlike in the sense that it’s unbelievable - It’s unbelievable that he is sucking at the little bridge of skin connecting a strangers foreskin to the head of his cock, and genuinely moaning in the deepest caverns of his chest about it. The front of his jeans is cramped and straining, and he can feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat across the back of his neck. His breath is short and his vision is blurry but somehow he is noticing every detail of this guys erection, and every smell and taste and texture. It’s so vivid.

The thread of precum which bungees between the tip of that dick and Kyle’s bottom lip when he pulls back glistens like a thread of glass before it snaps and disappears. Kyle realises spit and precum are dribbling over his knuckles where he is gripping this strangers body. The erection is throbbing in his hand, pulsing like it is getting ready to bust, and when Kyle rubs his lips against the back of his hand he realises they are hot and tingling and sensitive, and it feels nice to have something pressed against them.

Oh this was just going too perfectly. God yes.

He clenches his free hand against his knee and leans back in to kiss at the length. At first it’s just chaste pecks but soon they become languid open mouthed kisses, which seem to really work the other guy up. His noises become less like soft ‘Mmm’s and more like deep groans, and Kyle finally gives in and realises he is close. So close. His company is going to finish soon and Kyle is going to be left sitting on the toilet floor with a lapful of cum and an erection.

He whines when he lets himself start groping between his legs, squeezing and kneading his cock as best he can without undoing his fly. He gives the tip of that alien boner one last, loving lick, before sitting back and jacking it off with hard, well practiced sweeps of his wrist.

Against the wall, nails scrape, and a scratching like someone trying to find purchase against a vertical surface makes the hairs on Kyle’s nape stand on end. The whole wall creeks when whoever it is realises they can grip the top of the divider, and when Kyle sees their fingertips curling over his side far above, pleasure spikes through him. This is a person. Someone real, with a body he is making feel good, and their hands are the hands of an anonymous lover who might be everyone he has ever passed in the hallways and thought about and regretted. He was so ashamed then, and he should still be now. But he isn’t.

Suddenly, he feels like he has blown every guy he never let himself daydream about at once, and it’s that thought which brings him to climax inside his boxer briefs. Through the wall, his company is growing breathless, and vocal.


Kyle is panting, just coming down when he hears it, and the mysterious dick (still being worked by his hand) seems to swell as if loading itself in preparation. Kyle’s stomach drops, and his little moan is swallowed by the loud, breathless fuck piercing the silence in the bathroom. A string of hot cum hits the side of his face and jaw. The rest of it isn’t shot so hard, and it falls on the front of his shirt and onto the legs of his jeans. Under the heavy breathing coming from the other side, Kyle can hear static buzzing, and he isn’t sure if it’s shock or horror rising like bile at the back of his throat. He is still holding the dick in his hand.

Stan?!” he hears himself asking, not wanting to believe what he thought he heard. The person on the other side inhales sharply. “What the fuck! Literally what the fuck Stan?!”


Kyle releases Stan’s softening dick, and stands up as fast as he can. Unfortunately for him, his legs have turned to cooked spaghetti, and he struggles to remain standing even with his entire weight against the tiled wall on the other side of the stall.

“… Dude!” is the only thing he can say, and his face is on fire with embarassment. There is still ejaculate warm and dribbling down the side of his throat. “Dude oh my fucking god!”

The dick has disappeared back through the hole in the wall. He can hear Stan standing there on the other side completely still. Petrified.

It could have been anyone, really. Any boy he had ever seen and wished he could look at a little longer. But as Kyle lets himself crumple uselessly to the floor that one anonymous face (which could have been any boy, any boy at all,) became the face of the one boy he had promised himself above all others he wouldn’t allow himself to long for.