Friday, May 26, 2017
Tracking Down the Glory Hole Boy
Last Friday I had a glory-hole encounter with someone in the college library. I didn't see his face or much of his physique, just his penis -- about 7" -- and balls, and a little of his legs and shoes. But it must have been one of the three guys in the quiet study area that afternoon:
1. Hispanic, reading a pharmacology textbook: slim, big hands, round face, prominent eyebrows.
2. Middle Eastern, working on a laptop: very young looking, black hair, glasses, thin face, red t-shirt.
3. Floor Guy: on the floor in the stacks, reading a book: Anglo, tall and thin, black hair, serious tan, wearing a purple university shirt.
I don't understand anonymous encounters. I want to know who I was with. So Monday and Tuesday I wandered around the campus, looking for them.
It's not as crazy as it sounds. Between the end of the spring semester and the start of summer school, the campus is deserted. The only students around are those who live in town, and those who got special permission to stay in the dorms during the break, mostly international students who can't go home.
There are a few likely places where they would hang out: the library of course, the gym, and the Student Union.
Plus Allied Health Sciences (the pharmacology textbook), the office of the French club (Floor Guy was reading a French book), and the Engineering Building (most Middle Eastern students are engineering majors).
No luck on Monday or Tuesday.
On Wednesday I was walking through the Student Union, and suddenly I felt a strong urge: "Go upstairs to the International Student Office!"
When I was growing up in the Nazarene church, we were taught that God had a plan for the most trivial details of our everyday life. Usually He didn't care if we ordered the chicken or the fish, or went to bed at 10:00 pm or 11:00 pm, but sometimes He issued a direct command, and you had to obey. Dozens of stories from preachers and Sunday school teachers told of what would happen if you listened.
"Turn left at the next corner!" -- and you met someone you could win for Christ.
"Call your sister!" -- and she turned out to be sick.
"DO NOT board that ship!" -- and the ship sank.
I don't believe that the Creator of the Universe is such a meticulous micro-manager, and if He was, it's doubtful that He would be particularly concerned with helping me find the guy I went down on in a restroom last week, but still, when I get a strong impression to do something, I usually obey.
None of the three guys from the library were there, but I did see a cute Middle Eastern boy sitting in the lounge area outside the International Student Office, playing on his laptop.
Very cute, dark skin, beardless, thick black hair, black eyes, sensual lips. A little skinnier than I usually like.
He looked up and gave me a cruising smile: face, crotch, face.
I sat down next to him. "Hi, I'm Boomer. I've seen you around the campus. Are you new to the University?"
He reached out a slim, soft hand to be shaken. "I'm Ahmed. I've been here for a year, but I'm afraid to go back to my country for the summer. My parents think I won't be able to return."
I nodded. "Yeah, the Cheeto Hitler is making life rough for a lot of international students."
"You call him Cheeto Hitler?"
"After those orange snacks, Cheetos."
He brushed his hand against my shoulder. "That's very funny!"
"Do you have anyone to take you in during Ramadan?" During Ramadan, which begins on May 26th, Muslims aren't allowed to eat or drink while the sun is up, so
"I live with my friend." He pronounced it with that slight emphasis that suggested a lover. "He will take me to the Islamic Center for iftar [the meal that ends the fast every night]."
"I happen to live a block from the Islamic Center," I said, not sure if that would help the conversation.
Visions of a three-way with two Middle Eastern guys played in my head.
Going down on Ahmed and his friend at the same time.
Having Ahmed go down on me while his friend topped him.
Watching them do anal while I fondled the friend's butt.
Topping Ahmed and his friend in a BDSM scene. Tying them together, forcing them to kiss.
I cleaned the apartment, put out as many Middle Eastern artifacts as I could find, and prepared a dinner of dolmas (stuffed grape leaves), tabouli, and baked chicken.
Then about 3:00 pm, Ahmed texted me: "Can I bring my girlfriend? I thought she had to work, but she is off tonight after all."
Ahmed is straight?
No way I am letting his girlfriend in my house!
Fuming, I texted him back: "Sorry, I only have enough for three. It will have to be a guy's night only."
"LOL. You sound like my friend. He always wants to be with just guys."
Well, maybe the evening won't be a total loss, I thought. Maybe the friend is gay, or bisexual.
Ahmed arrived at 7:00 sharp, gave m a hug instead of a handshak, and offered me a box of chocolates. "My friend will be here soon," he said. "He wanted to stop and shower first. He's very anxious to meet you, and hear about your life in California."
"Oh, has he been?"
"No, but he always talks about how great it would be in California. Long Beach, Santa Monica Boulevard, West Hollywood."
My ears perked up. No one talked about West Hollywood who wasn't gay.
Then there came another knock on the door. I opened it. A polite "meeting a stranger" smile tuned into a broad smile of recognition and "Nice to see you again!"
In case you were wondering: Bratwurst, cut, primarily an anal bottom, but also into kissing and oral. Ahmed was mostly straight. He wouldn't kiss, but he allowed me to go down on him.
See also: The Glory Hole in the Library Restroom; A Week of Beefcake and Bulges on the Plains.