Watch Jimmy Suck Cock

There was a line in the bathroom. Eager young twinks and sissies, a regular drag queen's ball, standing in agitated expectation before a hole in the wall. Jimmy walked past them to the other side.

There was a kneepad there, and a box of wet wipes. A fresh bottle of Evian, and, more strangely, someone had bolted a steel mirror onto the wall a little above the hole.

Jimmy used it to apply his lipstick.

Lois, standing in the stall behind him, didn't ask the question that was burning inside of her.

"They expect it," he said with a smile, lips now bright pink and glossy. Then he frowned. "Wearing lipstick doesn't make me gay, does it?"

"Of course not, Jimmy," she said, crossing her fingers before her back. "I wear lipstick every day and I'm not gay. That's a great color on you, by the way."

He gave her a smile that would have made the Grinch's heart melt and might have made another of his organs grow three sizes. Then he turned away from Lois and knocked delicately on the wall next to the hole.

A pale pink prick poked its way through the wall. The hole wasn't big enough to let the pretty princesses on the other side press their balls through it, so only about four and a half inches of penis presented itself. Jimmy kissed the tip, softly and eagerly, as though in an act of worship. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, sliding down the soft underbelly of the dick, and his upper lip, glistening and pink, moved to engulf the head.

Lois heard the wet slurp as Jimmy Olsen began to suck sock, eagerly and with relish, taking his time. His eyes were locked on the mirror above the gloryhole, and the reporter realized that he was actually watching himself service the shaft in front of him, eyes fixed on his hollowed-out cheeks and the dazed, lustful look in his eyes.

It was simultaneously erotic and disturbing. The reporter stared at it like a trainwreck in progress, wondering how many cocks that Jimmy had sucked, and how much in denial he had to be...and then her eyes caught on something else, investigative journalist instincts kicking into gear. A clue...