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Glory Hole Confessional

The old man behind the counter never looked up as he handed me the twenty-four tokens my five dollar bill allowed me to purchase. Three minutes for every token should be more than long enough for me to whittle away my carnal curiousity.
Through the beaded curtain in the back of the store and to the right, a narrow hallway was illuminated by pink neon. I looked at the box cover art for today’s featured movies. It’s a veritable pornographic smorgasbord for all discerning tastes: straight, bi, bondage, gay, gonzo and the occasional parody flick. So… “Who’s Nailin’ Paylin?
Red light bulbs hang above the dozen or so doors warning the uninitiated if the booth is “in use.” Certain lights still glowed red even when the door was cracked just a little. The occasional pair of eyes stared out, surveying any newcomers, when they should be transfixed on the depravity flickering on the monitor in front of them.
Sounds of carnal pleasures could be heard in varying degrees of volume. Was it the throes of orgasmic fruition or the slight moans of self discovery?
Giggles could be clearly heard in one stall. Adventurous couple or complete strangers? My curiosity peaked, but not wanting to look predatory (as well as careful not to lean back on any of the walls), the door opened slowly revealing a man in his late fifties guiltily making his way out, the bag boy from the local grocery emerging ten seconds later. A discarded Kleenex falling out of his hand onto the floor with a wet thump.
Cigarette smoke masks the scent of sex only barely. I don’t think the clerks do a very good job about enforcing the “no-smoking” rule. Double that on the “only one person allowed in movie booth.”
I make my way to the last stall, pushing the door open with my foot. Unoccupied is good. Locks are ideal as well. I don’t want to think about what a black light would reveal where I am touching.
Reaching into my pocket for the first token, I drop it into the slot and my eyes are subjected to two leathermen going at it in a laundromat. Definitely not the right way to get clean. I reluctantly touch the “up” button to channel surf.  I stop at an interview video starring a blonde co-ed. I then remember seeing her on the box for “Campus Cuties Vol. 56.” I’m not judging, tuition needs to be paid somehow. Just as the interviewer asks her to unbutton her blouse, the screen flashes back to black. I reach for my next token.
This continues for a few scenes. I switch channels looking for the action. Just as it seems any of the videos are getting to the good parts, I have to keep feeding my dwindling tokens into the slot.
I hear the door of the next stall close. Great. I’ve got a neighbor.
“Tell me why you’re here?” the interviewer asks the demure brunette on the casting couch. “Well, I just love to have sex and if I could get paid for it…”
Why am I here is the better question.
Boredom is the easy answer. Tonight’s date went well enough. But it was technically the first, and expectations of anything more than a good night kiss would have been unrealistic. I met her on a Christian match site after all. Indian cuisine and the latest Vin Diesel action film could leave any male with unrealized… needs.
With less than half my tokens remaining and a building desire for release, I scan the channels for visual stimuli. That’s when I notice a pair of exquisitely decorated red fingers coming through an eight-inch circle in the wall. In the dim light of the booth, I hadn’t noticed it. Female, or male who liked to paint his nails? I focus on the fingers intently then turn my attention to the action on the screen. Just my luck I stop on a POV video for the orally insatiable. Just like my neighbor in the next booth.
My thoughts shifted back to the bag boy. There was no anonymity in his interaction. This was different. Sure, I could bend down and peek and see who was on the other side, but I didn’t want to see the Wizard behind the curtain.
If I decided to accept my neighbor’s invitation, it would relieve all of the pent-up energy as a result of my token-dropping. I wouldn’t have to look them in the eyes at any point of this exchange.
I don’t want to know who’s in the next room. I just want to escape my world for a few minutes.
The movie I’ve stopped at shows the beginnings of a  massage that will predictably end happily.
When will I be happy?
Only one way to find out.

2 responses to “Glory Hole Confessional”

  1. Wow! A good read. I really enjoy your work. I think your muse kicked your critic's ass on that one.

  2. Avatar ironiciconic says:

    Thank you Chris! Glad you enjoyed… I had fun with this one!

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Jumpstreet About Jumpstreet

Brian W. Castro's immediate needs are simple: his iPod, a good novel and a bottle of wine. He is a born-again New Yorker living in the Sunshine State whose self-deprecating viewpoint confuses even himself. Once a fan of "sex, drugs & rock and roll," he only revels in one of the three openly. When he's not looking for deep lyrical meanings in Duran Duran's discography, he can be found staring blankly at his laptop--hard at work on his great Filipino-American graphic novel. Incidentally, this stare doubles as an intimidation tool when his children are unruly. Brian prefers to write under pressure, acknowledging deadlines bring out his creativity. But he admits, "Like masturbation, procrastination only ends up with me screwing myself."

Read more by this author on 30POV .


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