This is an adult gay story if you aren’t an adult or “gay” isn’t your thing, you’d better look for something else to entertain you. Cheers, Blake. 🔞
Hi Guys, Blake here. Just a quick word before you go ahead. Writing takes time, a lot of time, and it’s something I love doing so I’d like to thank all of those who are supporting me with their paid subscriptions. I know that option isn’t possible for everyone and I’m certainly not judging.
Here’s the link to the first part, so we all know how we got here... (This chapter also begins with the last paragraphs of the first part)
The day after I spoke to Kate, I had the formal job interview with Jade.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” That’s all she said before diving straight into the details of the job: what was required of me, what I should expect, how many shifts, setting my price. Ordinary things like that; hadn’t we been talking of how I felt about being blown by a man? I’d rather not think about it. Had I ever given head before? No! Being rimmed? Weird. Rimming? Are you serious? And escalating to “You might want to consider getting fucked.” No way!
By the end of the interview, my profile; or calling card as Jade referred to it, was ticked.
I agreed to being blown, rimmed, wanked, and, if asked, I’d jerk off and fuck the punters, at least to begin with.
“As you get more comfortable, we’ll update the card. You know, the more you are open to, the more clients you’ll get, simple as that. But don’t worry: with the way you look, they’ll be happy to pay just to see you in the box. By the way, get it out for me.”
Shit, I didn’t expect this to be part of the job interview, but I had to admit it made sense. I was sweating.
I pulled down my jeans “Nice hairy legs” Jade was licking her lips, then I took off my boxers.
My cock was soft, a large piece of meat, the hood nice and long, closing around the head and some.
- Nice, uncut, they like that. Can you get it hard for me? - She was dead serious.
I closed my eyes and started tugging on my flaccid cock.
- You know? You can look at me? - When I did, I noticed Jade had pulled her skirt up over her stomach, revealing a neat pussy with a stud pierced at the top. She was touching her labia with her well-manicured fingers, spreading the folds for my pleasure.
It worked, I felt the blood rush to my cock as it lengthened and hardened under my tugs until it reached its full potential.
“Great girth. I like how straight it is. I’m happy with that, but feel free to finish yourself off, if you wish”. I felt like an animal in a zoo, but I guess I had to get used to it, and I actually quite enjoyed my little foyer into exhibitionism.
“ No, thanks, I’m fine.” I pulled up my jeans, washed my hands and, after signing the contract, went home and had sex with my wife.
Two days later, in the morning, I started my first shift at the Glass Box.
“We’ll take it slow at first. I have a few punters I trust with my virgins,” Jade said virgins with a wink. “Did you check your profile on the website?”
I did, of course I did. In those two days, I’d had 732 views and counting, but it meant nothing to me.
“Your numbers are good, excellent in fact, you should be busy.” I should also have been happy, but that wasn’t exactly how I felt. My stomach was in knots.
People weren’t allowed to book one of her guys, as she called us, on the website. They could only look at our photos, dressed, standing in one of the glass boxes, see what we were willing to offer, our dick size, and hope that what they liked was there when they came to the joint. That’s what Jade wanted: she wanted the Glass Box to be busy, for people to hang out there, outbidding each other for one of her guys.
I started this piece writing how funny it is that sometimes I still find myself driving in the wrong direction, as if nothing had changed, as if I hadn’t lost my job four months ago.
That’s not all: I should also add how funny it is how we get used to situations that were previously considered off putting or at least alien to us. Sure, I’ve read about people who’ve found themselves in the most extraordinary, scary, disgusting, or often all-of-the-above circumstances, and who simply coped by adapting to them: making them their new normal.
I guess I fall into this category, and I’m definitely not trying to compare what I do to the terrible ordeals so many people have to go through.
Simply put, gay sex isn’t for me! Nothing against it, just not my cup of tea. I suppose if I had to place myself on the homo to hetero spectrum, I’d be significantly far out toward the latter. But at the end of the day, I have landed in a safe environment, and what I do provides me and my family with the financial security we need, and way more. Sometimes it amazes me how my body responds to the situation I’m in. Sure, there are the small screens for watching straight porn, and they can be very, very useful, but the more time I spend at the Glass Box the more I forget that the person on the other side is another man. If the glass barrier is what makes the place unique and what works for the punters, I have to admit that’s what works for me, too.
After all, we all seek validation and approval, and what’s a more raw form of validation than watching someone react to your body, willing to spend their money just to see you hard?
Jade told me that, since it was my first day, she’d broken her own rules a bit.
“Not just for you, honey, I do it with all the virgins,” she added immediately, in case I thought I was getting special treatment.
“Wayne, Harry, and Michael have confirmed their coming today, and others have said they might be here too. It’ll be a great betting war over you. Remember, they’re only paying to see you naked and hard. Everything else—a handjob, a fuck, anything—has a price, and it’s up to you to fix it,” she made it sound easy.
“What do they like?” I wondered why she’d chosen to invite those particular men.
“They just want to have a wank and for you to do the same, you and them at the same time, no touching each other. See, easy!”
Damn, I couldn’t believe I was actually about to do it, I was about to walk into a booth and wank while someone wanked watching me... a great trajectory in my journalism career.
I had arrived quite early because Jade wanted to show me the knowhow: how to best sit on the display chairs (oh yes, I forgot that I had to go through the cattle market before the milking started), how to turn on the small porn screen before entering the box, how to remove the glass rings, and generally how to carry myself; I had become a product.
It was eleven thirty when six other guys and myself took the tiered stage. Jack wasn’t there that morning, which was a shame because it would have been nice to see a friendly face, but also a blessing because I don’t think I was completely comfortable with what I was doing yet. The journalist who interviewed the hustlers had become one of them.
Not that the other guys weren’t nice; in fact, they all said hi to me and asked me all the right questions. Some checked me out and I even got a few compliments; one guy even said he’d be happy to pay for me himself! Which, I guess, was exactly what I needed to hear.
It was kind of funny how, if you took the sex out of the equation, it was just a bunch of men starting their job shift, talking about the weather, what they’d done over the weekend, and introducing themselves to the new guy. The only difference was that, instead of sitting behind a desk and turning on our laptops, we were going to pull back the heavy curtains, settle into our armchairs and get auctioned. I was number 7, top tier on the left. I’d always liked that number and hoped it would bring me luck.
Since the day of the job interview, Jade had sent me several emails with extra tips and tricks on how to get the most out of the punters.
Basically, I had to try to guess what they wanted, why they were there, and what they expected. Not necessarily from the sex, but from the whole experience. I had to be what they wanted me to be.
In a way, I think my work as a journalist helped me with that. Since I covered sensitive issues, sometimes with people who were quite traumatized, other times with people living on the fringes of the law, I had had to learn to adapt so that they were more willing to open up to me, knowing I was on their side rather then prying on them.
When I emerged from the curtains, my eyes had to adjust to the relative darkness of the room. The large neon had been turned off, and now only a blue light illuminated the space: from the bar, from the small lamps on the tables, and from a few spotlights aimed at the armchairs.
I sat at number 7, legs crossed at the ankles, sporting a relaxed attitude that couldn’t have been further from what I was feeling inside. Despite Jade’s instructions, I couldn’t bring myself to look around the room, instead I thought about earlier that morning: I had eaten a light breakfast; I kind of had to force myself to eat something, but mostly I just drank coffee. I barely spoke to Kate, embarrassed to look her in the eye. I knew that once I left, she’d go to the spare room to record something of her own. I imagine what we’d say to the new couple who was going to move in next door: “Oh, hi, I’m Dean and I’m a whore at a gay joint. My pregnant wife, Kate, is fucking herself on OnlyFans with a dildo modeled after my dick . The name of her page, you ask? Baby on board! Nice to meet you”
I almost laughed!
The guy sitting next to me stood up. He’d been chosen. He straightened up and walked back toward the curtains where we’d entered. That’s when I looked again at the bar, across the room. Above it was a sort of screen with the numbers 1 through 7, all red except for the number 6, which was green, with $70 written next to it. Numbers 2 and 5 didn’t have any dollar sign, while everyone else, including me, was being auctioned. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw $130 next to number 7, but it didn’t last long because the dollars kept piling up on my favourite number. Another guy stood up: number 4; by then we all had dollars next to our seat numbers. New guys came up on stage, replacing those who had left, in a smooth well oiled operation.
For the first time, I looked down at the punters. I think there were about twenty people in the room, some standing at the bar with drinks in hand. Every now and then, the heavy plastic curtains connecting the lounge to the entrance would open, letting in new customers and fresh dollars.
It was hard to make out their faces. If it weren’t for the smooth jazz music playing in the background, the room would have been rather quiet. A few customers knew each other and were chatting, leaning on each other so as not to disturb the auction. But mostly, they kept their eyes fixed on us and their hands on the bidding terminals available to them.
Number 7 lit up green, displaying the astonishing sum of $180 next to it. I stood up, took a deep breath, and headed toward the curtains.
Before entering the glass box, I glanced at myself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom wall that lead to it. I was wearing a dark T-shirt, tight enough to reveal what was underneath, a red belt (Jade had told me it was important to wear a belt; apparently it offered something to play with, though I wasn’t sure what yet), jeans and a pair of white sneakers.
I’d prepared for that day by going to the gym so often it dwarfed my working days—twice a week routine. After all, my membership still lasted a full month, and with nothing better to do, I figured I might as well invest my time in my assets. If the Glass Box proved as profitable as Jade had promised, that membership would be one of the few expenses I’d keep.
I looked at myself in the mirror: blond hair slicked slightly back, a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, a decent tan. I’d trimmed my chest hair so that, instead of the usual unruly carpet, it was now a velvety lawn growing into a longer bush, which I’d also manscaped, trying to strike the right balance between neat and natural. I’d studied, so to speak, hundreds of stripper videos, from Chippendales shows to X rated films. It was quite clear to me that, overall, what was offered to women was quite different from what a gay audience expected. The former apparently appreciated longer hair and smooth bodies, while the latter seemed to favor a rougher type of offering. I’d watched so many that in the end I wished I hadn’t, because I came out of my stripper marathon more confused about what was expected of me than I had been when I entered it.
And so, there I was: the narrow door leading to the glass box dared me to open it.
One last thing: I had to choose a video from the porn selection, trusting Jade to know what she was doing when she loaded the playlist, and clicked on one of the straight porn titles.
Then I pressed the handle and walked into my future.
