Date: Sun, 02 May 2004 19:38:14 -0500
From: MyDad's MyJohn <m_g_h_j@hotmail.com>
Subject: "The Guest Cottage" Part 1

"The Guest Cottage" PART 1

by Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE
ghj_eatsU@hotmail.com


Disclaimer:

The following story is written for men. It's a masturbatory tale of
anonymous public sex among male strangers. Be warned: within various
paragraphs, men may come across terms such as "deep-throating", "bareback
man slut", "sucking off any cock poking through that hole", "dads needing
some quick oral relief", "licking piss slits of oozing precum", and similar
erectile-arousing phrases. Turn away now if either your libido or trouser
zipper can't handle it.

It's strongly encouraged that readers be male, of legal age and in a mood to
masturbate prior to perusing the story which follows.

The issues of anonymous, gloryhole, public and/or bareback (semen
exchanging) homosexual sex are of any reader's own concern. The reader is
urged to dig deeply into his own moral conscience or Jockey shorts, whatever
his decision may be. If one does not like cum-chugging man sex, one is
reminded that this is but words flickering on your monitor screen. Men may
enjoy & learn more on this topic at:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/gloryhole_living


"The Guest Cottage" PART 1

by Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE

The once glorious Devonshire Park was no more.

Descendents of its original swans had been removed from the lush ponds in
the late 1970s by activists after a rash of swan poisonings. And just a few
years later, hundreds of acres had been barred from public use after a
massive afternoon gang rape of a young teenaged boy on a picnic table in the
1980s.

And finally, by the early 1990s, as the county faced massive financial
losses, the park closed completely.

After years of protest and legal actions, the more than six hundred-acre
park, built in 1918, was sold to a large residential developer. The county
courts decided that the bulk of the park's acreage, making for lots east of
County Line Road, could be no smaller than one acre each.

But the remaining land west of the road, a sprawling thirty-five acre
parcel, could be sold and developed as a single lot. This was decided
because Old Twiggins Road, a busy, light commercial-industrial road, had
already defined the back, northern end of that smaller western parcel long
ago in the 1950s.

And so, the morning following the court decision, Morgan Custom Homes, Inc.
began construction of its Devonshire Estates, a development of five hundred
and sixty-five Tudor-style custom homes east of County Line Road. And that
same morning, knowing that the enormous lot to the west would be a harder
sell, Morgan Custom Homes, Inc. promptly listed it for sale. Yet much to
their surprise, by noon that same day, they'd re-sold the thirty-five acre
parcel to Bulldog Builders, a smaller building contracting company owned by
the wealthy, rugged and ravenously homosexual, Dirk McDonnell.

Seeing great potential in what had been part of a former public park, Dirk
had authorized his company's purchase of the land knowing full well that he
had in mind to build on it for himself. At forty-three, he'd never married,
never had kids -- instead choosing to fellate and eat the sperm out of more
than half the men of northern Illinois, including most of his workmen. When
he'd first seen this parcel of land years ago being argued over in the News
and then again that morning for re-sale by Morgan Custom Homes, Inc, he knew
he had to make the site his own.

The thirty-five acres, although surrounded on its perimeters by what would
soon be busy roads, was a parcel large enough for anyone to virtual forget
that civilization swirled around its borders. Its rolling lands were heavily
and beautifully wooded, just as had been the hundreds of acres to the east
-- across County Line Road -- prior to Morgan Custom Homes, Inc replacing
the mighty oaks with hundreds of Tudor-style split-level houses.

Once he bought it, Dirk visited his sprawling, wooded acreage every night
after work knowing exactly what he had planned and how he'd enjoy the
property for years to come.

And whenever there'd be a free moment back at the offices of Bulldog
Builders, Dirk would pull over his head foreman, handsome Bob O'Shea, to
look over the county's plat for his newly-acquired land. On the property,
was a large pond -- virtually a small lake -- and also, as detailed in blue
ink, one improvement or structure.

"What are you planning to do with this?" Bob asked as he pointed to the
small building identified on the plat. "We can knock it out the day after
tomorrow, if you like. Shouldn't take more than a half a day."

Dirk looked at Bob with a fantastic expression. "No way we knocking that
down, Bob!" He was amazed that his foreman, a handsome and well-built
married Irishman with six kids would even suggest such a thing. After all,
in the five years they'd been working together, he'd eaten more milk out his
forty-eight year old foreman's hefty nuts than a one gallon jug could
contain.

"What do you mean?", Bob asked still not sure what his boss was saying. "You
don't want some park toilets on your property, do you?"

Dirk gave the man a look that clearly let the Bob know the "improvement"
would be staying.

"It's a fucking shithouse", Bob chuckled in amazement. "You actually going
to keep these park toilets on your estate?"

"Damn fucking bet I am", Dirk said as he reached and gripped his foreman's
crotch. "A public suck hole right on my own land? You fucking bet its
staying."

With that, Dirk squatted, opened his married buddy's jeans and let the man
screw and bust his nut down his throat before letting him go home for the
day.

The two then met the very next morning on the property. They strolled about
the lovely rolling land, considering a site for what would become Dirk's
dream house. Afterwards, the two men made their way to the opposite, north
end of the property where it met busy Old Twiggins Road. Through dense
foliage, they could see cars speeding by back and forth.

Through the substantial bars of the former park's high wrought iron fencing,
put in long ago back in the 1920s, they could see there was a large auto
body shop directly across the street. They then made their way down a few
yards more through dense thicket to an elaborately wrought double gate. This
had been the original entrance to the park, long ago permanently closed.
Looking through the gates, the men could see that a bit further down on Old
Twiggins Road to the east was a sports bar; and down the other way, to the
west, was a small bookstore with a discreet yellow and black sign out front
reading in three-foot-tall letters, "Mimi's XXX Books".

"Well, you got all the neighbors any man needs", Bob chuckled as he looked
up and down the street.

"That's what I thought", Dirk agreed with a leer. "But I'm planning to
become the best fuckin' neighbor to all the guys in this area. Plan to take
some business away from each of those places, if you know what I mean.", he
added as he pointed to a pretty brick building on the property not but a few
yards behind them.

"That must be it, huh?", Bob said a bit embarrassed. Although he'd gotten
his nut off plenty of times deep inside his boss' slick, clamping throat, he
was still, after all, a married father of six...and an Irish Roman Catholic.
Hell, it was one thing to unzip and let yourself get a discreet buddy
blowjob. But it was a whole other thing to openly and knowingly help a queer
cockpig build his dream outhouse.

The two walked over to the well-built structure, a red brick and
shingle-roofed building looking like the finest cottage or little house of
its period.

"Talk about a brick shithouse", Bob said as he assessed the restroom
cottage's walls solidly built by post-WWI contractors. "They built 'em to
last back then."

"That's why I love those guys", Dirk smiled as he lightly pawed his own
crotch. "A hundred years ago they built their park suck houses like the
Egyptians built their pyramids. Can you imagine the generations of guys
who've gotten off in this place? Hell, those builders back then knew what
they were doing. They built these toilets so their sons and grandsons and
great-grandsons could have a place to bust a nut when the need arose. They
knew they were building what was, in 1918, a man's only option for quick nut
relief."

"Damn, when you look at it that way...", Bob muttered as his blue eyes
scanned the cottage's lines.

"Sure do gotta think of that, old Bob", Dirk said as he squeezed the man's
large bulge in his jeans. "Think if just one horny dude a day popped into
this place from when it was built after WWI ...until the county closed the
park in '92. Hell, in seventy-four years, that would be 27,010 guys looking
for sex in here. And if they each actually encountered another mouth or
dick, double it to 54,020 dudes. And that's just if two guys came in here
each day!"

"'And had to be way more than two guys in here a day...". Bob added quietly
as he tried considering the numbers. "I mean, this was a super popular park.
Hell, my brother used to take his kids here all the time."

"Damn right", Dirk said as he lewdly squeezed the fat cock of his foreman
through the denim. "We all know these shithouses were busy all day, super
busy all afternoon and evening...think of the dicks that have shot seed in
this place...the loads cockpigs have gulped down - one after another - under
this roof. Heck, if just forty guys a day used this place for some quick
fun, that could easily come to more than a million dudes who have gotten off
under just this one roof! Hell, probably included even your brother and your
nephews when they lived around here."

"Well, you ever need money, you could sub-divide and sell this place for
$200,000, Dirk", Bob said as he entered the men's room of the abandoned
toilets. "Must be a over a thousand square feet between the ladies room and
this men's room." The two men looked around at the five stalls, as many
sinks and the large trough-style urinal.

"This place could hold more than forty a one time", Bob muttered as he pawed
his jeans mound. "Bet even more than forty a day bust their nut in this
place..."

Dirk was happy to see he'd gotten his married foreman to consider the
wonders of the tearoom in which they stood. After all, more than two-thirds
of guys busting a nut in these places were fellas just like big Bob O'Shea.

"Come here", Dirk said as he waved his buddy over to the stalls. With a grin
he pointed, "And they're all ready for business."

Between each stall, scrawled with both homosexual and extremely perverse
graffiti, were large gloryholes.

"Seems this place served the community well before they shut it down", Bob
quietly said looking at the obviously heavily-utilized holes.

"You bet your hot dad ass", Dirk said as he again groped his buddy lewdly
and unzipped the man's jeans. "Seems a waste of more than a decade since
this place been put to good use. Lets say we make our sperm the juice to
re-christen this place...come on, what do you say?"

Dirk squatted, opened the man's jeans and started to blow his foreman who
stood with his jeans wide open and arms akimbo. With his eyes directed up at
the ceiling as his boss sucked him, he was both enjoying the licentious
homosexual act on his thick, fat boner -- as well as, assessing a potential
rewiring of the restroom's overhead lighting.

As he sensed his buddy was nearing climax, Dirk stood up and opened his own
jeans. "Let's say we hose down the place? Welcome it back to life for the
men in this neighborhood...my new neighbors!?"

Dirk beat off allowing Bob to sneak peeks at his lengthy erection -- as any
straight married father must. "Come on, lets consecrate this cottage to its
renewed function for which its original builders intended."

The two men beat off, the loud slapping and thwapping of their meat the only
sound echoing in the cool shithouse. Almost simultaneously, the two men
ejaculated onto the partitions of the one stall they were both in, aiming
their thick blasts of white semen at the same gloryhole. As they finished,
both men looked upon the massive and heavy pudding their shared loads made
on the rim of the gloryhole as their mix of semen viscously drooled down the
wall.

"Hell, like thousands of other loads that must have shot at those holes,
eh?". Dirk sneered as he stuffed his long schlong back into his jeans.

"Yeah", Bob muttered, "Like you said, there must have been a lot of them who
shot their stuff in here --  like we just, huh?"

Dirk snickered, "And more gulped down I bet...or bred into hungry man asses.
Can you imagine how many tongues or pink puckered cum holes must have been
open to the public at these gloryholes or in the open stalls or at that
trough? 'Hell just as they will be again, Bob", Dirk said as he went to the
brick wall shared by the ladies restroom on its other side,"What you think
we punch a door through here?", he asked as he stroked the solid wall
dividing it from the men's room.

"Make it one big men's room you mean?", Bob said with a crack in his voice
and a blush of red in his cheeks.

"Yeah, exactly", Dirk said as he looked at the wall. "You see how busy this
place could get with what's in the neighborhood...I got to be able to be a
good neighbor to all, you know."

"Yeah, we could probably knock this out." Bob said as he looked for load
bearing beams.

Over the few weeks, Dirk and Bulldog Builders' head residential home
designer, Stuart "10-Incher" Heinz, a married former cop-turned-architect,
drew up plans for Dirk's imposing house. By the end of the summer, it was
completed - a large and elegant colonial with a separate wrestling gym and
swimming pool.

But the plan for Dirk's estate was not complete. The day he moved in, he
scheduled for Bob to come out to the house to begin work on the "guest
cottage". Bob took with him a truck filled with heavy equipment along with
two strappingly built young lads to help out.

Bob, as well as, Dirk knew that these two particular nineteen-year-old
bucks, Frank and Trent, could both be trusted with the "guest cottage"
portion of the work on the property. After all, each young man had most
willingly enjoyed the numerous blowjobs from their boss ever since he'd
hired them at the beginning of the summer season. Heck, although wiry and
tall Frank had worked with his dad on building A-frames in the Dells, Dirk
had only hired the beefier blonde, Trent -- a teen with no real skill in
construction, only once the kid had opened his tight jeans and hauled out a
wrist-thick schlong.

And, also, after all, Dirk was relying on the fact that when these two boys
returned to school the following week, they'd spread word among their frat
buddies about his "guest cottage" only a mile away from their campus.

So, at seven in the morning, as Dirk met the three workmen already laboring
at getting the abandoned gates operational again along Old Twiggins Road, he
knew that it would not be long until the cottage would again be of use to
all his "guests" from the neighborhood.


To be continued...
ghj_eatsU@hotmail.com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/gloryhole_living