The Psychology of Glory Hole Fantasies
There was a time in which I had to hide my dirty little secret. I was filled with shame, self-disgust and mostly anger. My parents were religious, and always turned to God. So as a teen, I also turned to God and asked the obvious question. Why did you make me fucking gay? What is it about men that pulls me in? How am I supposed to accept a lifetime of fleeting sex in cruising locations, parks, public bathrooms and glory holes? And why can’t I go to a bar like straight people and meet someone out in the open?
Looking back now, the psychology of glory hole fantasies makes perfect sense when you grow up learning your desire is dangerous.
Times changed, and luckily we progressed and now I can do all of those things. But growing up in a small town, surrounded by religious people, I was the freak.
And you know who else I met along the journey of self-discovery wading through all these cruising locations? Straight men. Bi men. Curious men. They had urges too, and for whatever reason, they found the same places to meet others for quick, easy, discreet sex.
Repression doesn’t kill desire, it just makes it sneakier. Shame doesn’t stop behaviour either, it just pushes it underground.
And that’s why I write gay erotica that centres on closeted men, curious men, bisexual men, men in traditionally masculine industries that refuse to accept homosexuality. Mechanics, construction workers, cops, sportsmen. It isn’t because I fantasise about these industries or the types who work in them, but because over the years I’ve had sex with many of them.
That shame and self-disgust I talked about earlier? Therapy helped with some of it, sure, but also talking about it, meeting others, writing about it, that’s the real catharsis. There’s a certain validation in fucking the jock footballer, then later seeing him publicly settled into a straight life. He chose me, and that makes me feel less like what I did was shameful and more natural. The only shame is that he felt shame for what he did.
Many straight-identified and curious men do have experiences with other men. I know this from experience.
It’s taken me a lifetime to realise that I wasn’t the freak, but the people who believe a man in the sky made their son gay just so they could turn their back on them. They’re the freaks.
I’ve met enough parents of LGBTQIA kids who are horrified by how some parents treat their children’s coming out. Mine was horrific, and even more horrifying is that I’m not alone.
Over the decades, it’s become darkly predictable watching politicians, priests, fathers and husbands get caught in scandals because someone exposed their tendencies. This wouldn’t anger me if they weren’t so openly homophobic. I’d support them. But I will not support bigotry.
The popularity of gay porn and erotica proves there’s a far wider audience than people admit publicly. I know for a fact a large chunk of my following are closeted men, many of whom identify as straight or curious. Of course there are women too, and I nod to them for both enjoying my work and supporting it.
I think back to my early days of cruising public toilets and glory holes and I no longer feel any shame or self-disgust. In fact, I’m proud of myself for being strong enough not to let society dictate what was right and what was wrong. It wasn’t about cheap thrills, although it certainly felt like it at the time. It was often about being human, exploring who I was and finding my identity.
Psychology of Glory Hole Fantasies
The prevalence of glory hole fantasies in heterosexual men isn’t shocking when you understand how secrecy breeds intensity. It’s a thrill that can feel addictive. It’s hot, it really is. I know, I’ve been there. For several minutes, what we’re doing is incredibly satisfying, rewarding, validating.
Until it’s over. Then they run. That’s when the shame kicks in for them. I’ve seen it, and it makes me sad that so many still experience it. We live in a world that dictates what’s acceptable by people who are often doing the very thing they condemn.
What turns people on isn’t just the hole, although let’s be honest, that’s a big part of it. It’s the freedom from being seen. The discretion of it.
The psychology of glory hole fantasies makes sense when you grow up learning your desire is dangerous. People still ask, is it normal for straight men to fantasise about glory holes, and the fact we even have to ask that tells you how deep the shame still runs.
And maybe that’s why what happened to me later hit so hard. I’d already spent a lifetime watching how control and punishment actually work.
I recently had an experience with a vindictive narcissist that nearly destroyed my life. I’ve written about that elsewhere, but I raise it now because it taught me things I only understand in hindsight. And the lessons weren’t about spotting narcissists early, but about what comes after.
I view collective society like a vindictive narcissist.
But look at the facts. Society, just like vindictive narcissists, thrives on controlling behaviour. It punishes difference, gaslights, rewrites history and plays victim when challenged. It shames you, then mocks you for being ashamed.
No. I’m done playing along.
I refuse to be shamed. I am reclaiming my desire, because it is mine. Whether God gave it to me or whether it’s biological, I don’t know. But it is me, and I will never be sorry for being me.
Nor will I accept a society that tries to sanitise or moderate my work. Fuck you.
I write gay erotica. There, I said it. And I’m proud of it. I’m good at it, and my readers love it.
I’m proud of my success on sites like Substack, where my glory hole stories have done well and continue to bring in new followers.
And if you want to see what happens when I stop explaining myself and just write it the way it really is:
The Hole in the Door – my first ever glory hole book on Amazon
The Pleasure Hole – on Substack
The Hole Story – on Substack
Blue Eyes at the Glory Hole
And if construction workers having sex is your thing, check out Sweat and Sawdust or The Construction Worker at the Glory Hole.
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