A Sin Whose Name Is Incest [ m27m27 ] [ Coming of age ] [ Glory holes ]

I am Michael Glenn Garner m27. My life partner is Todd Alan Garner m27.
You might think, Oh, they’re married—how nice. Nope.
Twins, then? Also nope.

Let me save you some time. Caroline and Glenn Garner had eight children. The first was Sydney—my mom. The eighth child was Todd, born six months after my mom gave birth to me.
You keeping up? Yep—Todd is my uncle.

Throughout our early years, Todd was the jock, and I was… well, lost. Todd became the quarterback for our high school football team. Cheerleaders, female jocks—they all threw themselves at him.
And why not? He stood 6’5”, had shoulder-length wavy dirty-blonde hair, and a cock that hung a solid eight inches.

Me? Not so much. A respectable six feet tall, curly blonde hair, a nice body—but not chiseled like Todd’s.
My cock? Six and a half inches—uncut, thick, and veiny.

Growing up, we were inseparable. If he wasn’t at my house, I was at his. My mom was oblivious to my lack of interest in girls, but my grandmother wasn’t.
She would always say:

“Mikey, you’ll love who you’re gonna love—and as long as they love you back, it’s right.”

I didn’t really understand what she meant—at least, not until high school.

She also noticed how I looked at Todd and told me:

“That boy hasn’t determined how his story will end yet.”

Another grannyism that took me years to understand.

On Friday nights, Todd partied with the team and the cheerleaders. I made my way home and watched porn—not girls.
It was raunchy man-on-man sex. Guys giving each other blowjobs, hot passionate kisses, swapping cum, and fucking each other.

On his 18th birthday, I thought we’d hang out like always. But Ronnie Gerth had other ideas—she was going to give him his “birthday gift.”
So, I headed downtown to the adult bookstores, cruising—yep, for nice, juicy cocks to suck.

The bookstores had subdued neon lights outside that practically called out:

“Get your fresh hot cocks here.”

The only people using the front door were bachelorette parties and couples shopping for toys: a strap-on for her, a butt plug for him, maybe a hot straight video to steal ideas from.

Everyone else pulled into the back lot—dimly lit, gravel-covered, cigarette butts everywhere, and full of cars.

Guys from eighteen to eighty parked and scoped the area, making sure they didn’t recognize any vehicles—or faces on the men scurrying to or from the door of shame.

I was no different. I looked around, then scurried like the rest of them who couldn’t risk being seen.

The bookstores—with their video arcades—were in their heyday.
You opened the door and were punched in the face by the smell: pungent, stale sex with subtle undertones of bleach.

Ten bucks granted you access to a video arcade in the back.
Glory holes in every booth. Old trolls lined the walls. Gay boys cruised the hallways. And men who believed the conservative hype—that if you liked dick, you were a freak destined for hell, roamed the halls looking for that free pass to hell.

I found a corner booth with just one hole to focus on. You learned to remember shoes—that helped weed out the guys you wanted to avoid.
It didn’t take long before men started coming in and out of the booth next to me, trying to figure out if I was giving or receiving.

I looked in their booth. First thing I did—checked the shoes. If I didn’t recognize them, I dropped to my knees. The guy would show me his cock. If I liked what I saw, I’d wiggle my fingers in their booth, and magically, their cock would slide through the hole.

The first one of the night was beautiful—a huge, black, uncut cock.
I took hold of it with both hands, and it grew thick and hard.
I started licking the shaft. The moans from the other booth told me he liked it.

Pre-cum ran down the head—salty, slightly bitter. I took as much of him as I could.
He started thrusting—pistoning my mouth and throat. Pre-cum flooded my tongue.

Then he stopped.

He whispered that he wanted to touch and hold me. Said he had a camper in the lot.

I didn’t hesitate. My cock was aching for release.
I stepped out of the booth—only to find a god standing in front of me.
He put his hand around my waist and said, “Come on, babe.”
I almost creamed my jeans right then and there.

I expected a pickup truck with a topper. But this guy?
He had the biggest, fanciest motorhome I’d ever seen.

He unlocked the door and, in one of the sweetest gestures, said, “You first, babe.”
I stepped in and was amazed.

I told him how beautiful it was. He turned to me, placed his hand under my chin, lifted my face to meet his, and said:

“Not as beautiful as you.”

“Do you want to watch some porn first?”

“Not really,” I replied, already undoing the button-fly on his jeans.

I got down on my knees and finished unbuttoning them with my teeth.

He looked down and pulled me up. Leaned in, resting his forehead against mine, then kissed me softly. One tender peck.
Then:

“Let’s go to the bedroom.”

I followed him back. He turned, took hold of my shoulders, and turned me so my back faced the bed.
Then, a gentle push—and I fell back.

He kicked off his jeans and pulled his polo shirt over his head, revealing a chest dusted with black ringlets of hair and a happy trail leading into his boxer briefs.

On the front, a dark wet spot announced that his cock was leaking—and in urgent need of care.

He looked into my eyes, never letting his gaze stray from my face, and undressed me—piece by piece.
Every item of clothing removed with care…

Until all that was left was me…

This is the beginning of our story, I have struggled with it previously, I’ve used AI in the past to guide me and shared that on different subreddits. I always felt dirty or ashamed of my story it never ended up telling the same story I wrote.

Please take a moment and let me know, however kind or brutally honest you want, if I should give up or keep going. Any suggestions are welcome. Mikey