From Confused to Convinced
Chapter One
In the early 80's, I lived in Boston while attending a community college, which was located on one of the main subway lines, "The Orange Line".
The trains run extensively throughout the city and into the suburbs and a person can pretty much get to anywhere they want to go.
I always wanted to go downtown where the adult bookstores, strip-joints, adult-theaters and glory-holes were located.
Many days after class I would take the train, just a few stops further down from the school to an area called "The Combat Zone", a nefarious neighborhood located on the edges of China Town and the business and hospital districts, not far from the main shopping district of the city.
In the summertime, you would find hookers walking the streets, practically naked, never wearing panties or bras, flashing their cunts at the potential "Johns" stuck in traffic.
The cops were all "on the take", so they mostly looked the other way, as long as the prostitutes just did their jobs and didn't cause any trouble.
One day after classes, I'd headed into downtown to see if I could find some hard cock to suck on. I was still very much "experimenting" with the idea that I enjoyed sucking cock.
It wasn't long before that I had begun giving guys blow-jobs and I had only ever received blow-jobs from other men, mostly older men, but also from some college kids experimenting with their sexuality, just like myself.
I'd made the usual rounds at all my favorite places on Washington St. that day, which is the main drag, but didn't find any promising prospects.
I'd gone to all of my favorite cruising spots, a bookstore that also had an arcade filled with glory-hole booths and featured a round stripper-stage, surrounded by booths in which men would jerk-off while watching.
Most of the ladies were just a bunch of sorry looking sluts grinding away on a circular stage, fat asses and stinky cunts pressed against the clouded and dingy glass windows, which were only revealed after feeding coins into a machine.
There were also several other bookstores that were basically just filled with video booths, and I'd cruised all of them without any luck. I'd saved my very favorite place for last, though.
It was located on the 2nd floor of what appeared to be an office building, accessed from a dingy, old brick entrance way off the main street, and didn't even have a neon sign or anything telling you it was a "club" of any type.
Only the truly hungry and adventurous cocksuckers like myself and those needing blow-jobs just as desperately, would have found it.
You had to be at least a little brave and probably a lot stupid, just too even explore this darkened, old, dingy and piss stained brick stairwell, leading seemingly to nowhere.
The homeless slept there at night and everyone else used it like a public toilet to take a quick leak on their way to where ever, during the day.
The stairway actually led to a very small glory-hole club on the 2nd-floor, only 10 booths altogether, eight joined by glory-holes and two others which were private, without glory-holes connecting them.
I happened to be the lone cocksucker that day and the booth across from me was like a turn-style, one hard cock after another poking through the hole one after another, for a good hour or so.
At one point, one of the guys came into my booth to get serviced directly and the next thing I knew there was a line formed outside my booth, five or six dudes jerking their cocks and waiting their turn; all accept the last guy in line, who was in his mid-forties.
He had salt-n-pepper colored hair, of Italian heritage (I later found out), wearing a "wife-beater" and a pair of jeans which clearly outlined his huge hard-on. Those other cocks belonged to boys but this guy was a man.
He had muscular arms and a hairy chest with thick legs, and he was over six feet tall. He wore a mustache and goatee and like most Italian middle-aged men, he was balding.
I'd decided to take a break after the fourth or fifth cock and made my way out of the booth and through the crowded aisle. There was hardly any light in that place other than that which was coming from the television screens in the vacant booths, so I was almost blind coming out of the booth.
I carefully squeezed my way past everyone until the "Italian Stallion" brushed his hard cock against me as I half-heartedly attempted to get past him in the dark, rubbing my ass across his groin.
He'd worn a cock-ring and his erection was standing straight up in his well-worn jeans. His long, thick, hard cock bulged obscenely and those fat balls were held up tight and pushed to one side and his thick, hard shaft, topped off with a perfect head were clearly outlined on the other side of his jeans.
Even in the dim almost non-existent light of the club, his cock stood out.
I pretended not to notice, but my cock jumped in my shorts and as I lingered for a fraction of a second, allowing his erection to settle briefly between my cheeks, I looked back over my shoulder and found the intense glare of his brown eyes, seeming to bore a hole into my head, as he grabbed my ass possessively.
I reached down to grab his pouch, running my hands up and down all over it before pulling away to enter one of the private booths.
I purposely left the door unlocked and had just put some tokens in the machine when he quickly entered the booth behind me, pulled his hard cock out of his jeans and ordered me to, "Get on your knees and suck it, boy!"
His tone of voice and demeanor conveyed a man-in-charge and not to be disobeyed. He placed his strong hands on my shoulders and pushed me to my knees, the head of his cock and hairy balls only inches from my parted lips. He thrust his hips forward, as I knelt on that filthy floor and opened my mouth for him.
He grabbed a handful of my hair and rubbed my face in his hairy loins, shoving my face between his muscular thighs, smothering my mouth with his scrotum and feeding me his hairy, musky smelling balls. His masculine aroma filled my nostrils. I was getting cock-drunk from his smell.
He began to get pretty rough with me and grabbed my ears, shoving his cock down my throat and fucking my face and calling me "pig" over and over again. And as he fucked my throat and slapped my face with his cock, I truly felt like a "pig".
After about twenty minutes of him skull-fucking me, he pulled his cock out of my throat and told me, "Let's go to my place for a cold beer and some privacy."
I looked up past his hard from my knees on floor and simply replied, "Okay".
Chapter Two