Glory Beyond the Hole

Chapter 3: Crumbling Walls

It was one week later and I was sitting in my car in the parking lot between the pet shop and the bar. My car was turned off and I had already been sitting there for quite a while. I was stewing in self-doubt and extreme anxiety. What the hell was I doing? Was this legal? Would any of this work even if I pulled everything off? What did I want? Every few seconds, I thought about driving away, going home and never thinking about any of this stuff again. But I never moved. Any time I thought of turning my keys in the ignition, my mind flittered back to the previous week, there, in the bathroom stall, when I'd really felt alive.

It was the strength of that memory that had brought me here in the first place. It brought me here despite the fact that I'd already experienced bitter disappointment in trying to explore this connection before. The previous week when Michele, the waitress at the bar and, I was certain, my lover, had waited on me I'd been absolutely tongue-tied. Somehow, I'd managed to stammer out "hamburger" and "red wine." And she had cheerfully gotten my food.

There was no doubt in my mind that she was my girl. Her lips were so unique and I'd known them so intimately. And, when she spoke to me, I was certain I could hear that same voice that I'd heard groaning and slurping on the far side of the stall separator. I know that sounds crazy, but I could just feel the connection. Despite that fact, I was never able to say much more beyond "thank you" to Michele as she served me. I don't know if I would have been able to talk when I was searching for her, but finding her in the bar had thrown me for a loop. I was much too taken by surprise to talk. And even if I could where would I start? I didn't know how to begin the conversation and, plus, she was far more beautiful that I'd ever thought possible. She was intimidating! Why was she going to a glory hole?

I'd tried no fewer than four times to speak with her that evening, to just say anything, but it didn't happen. Finally, I just admitted defeat, paid for my meal and went home. Once again, I told myself I was lucky. It was better not to risk exposing myself. Exposing my true identity and exposing my inner vulnerability. And, for a brief period that night, I really believed it. What had I been thinking? My actions even as they had been were far too dangerous, let alone talking to Michele.

But, as time passed, my certainty that I dodged a bullet eroded further and further. In moments when my guard wasn't up, I would slip back to those precious few moments in the bar when Michele was right next to me, when all I had to do was speak to her and I could not. In my mind I would engage her in conversation and feel the depth of our connection and then, somehow, learn something about myself. But then, I would shake myself out of my dream. Then I would tell myself to keep up my barriers, to not give in to the temptation and invite scorn. But with each passing day my thoughts about Michele and idea of connection grew stronger and my fears and anxieties (while still intense) grew less persuasive. Then, on Tuesday night, I was sitting on my couch, zoning out while watching television, and daydreaming about the time I spent with Michele in the bathroom of the pet shop. And suddenly, inspiration struck. I had an idea, one that seemed full proof. A way to speak to Michele and really get down to the issue I wanted to talk about, but in a way that would absolutely maintain my anonymity and shore up my personal barrier. The more I thought about it, the more airtight it seemed. I spent the rest of the night fine tuning my idea, working out the angles, and preparing to put my plan into action.

So that was why I was sitting in my car the next night, watching the door to the bar and also to the pet shop, wondering if I would see Michele. I had come around the time I figured an afternoon waitress would get off. I'd been there about forty minutes when I saw the door open and I saw a head with black hair step out. My heart started to race and I had the almost uncontrollable urge to slouch down in my chair. I thought about the reasons I had avoided any kind of human contact for all these years. I thought about my last night of sexual innocence with Dave, I thought about my bond with another waitress in Rita, I thought about my shattered body in the hospital, and I thought about humiliation and self-hatred. Why was I trying to step back out?

The rest of the person came out from behind the long dark hair. It was not Michele. It was an older woman who was much less attractive. I let out a sigh of relief. But, I realized, I hadn't fled. I'd wanted to, but I'd stayed. I'd waited to see what would happen. I took that as an omen and felt my spine stiffen. My plan was solid, I would stay safe if I stuck to the plan. I took a deep breath and waited.

About an hour later, I was starting to think that regardless of my new-found confidence, that Michele wasn't there. I had assumed that she worked the same nights every week, but that was sort of a silly supposition I guess. When I was a waitress I hadn't had consistent hours. My back was aching from sitting for so long. I resolved to leave now and come back some other day. I closed my eyes and stretched my arms out in front of me, letting my muscles tighten and then relax. Then I opened my eyes back up. And there was Michele.

She had walked out of either the bar or the pet shop while my eyes were closed. She was standing right between them. She was dressed the same as she had been the first time I saw her, I guessed it was a uniform. She was walking through the parking lot. I looked to see what car she was taking, but, as she crossed to the far corner of the lot I didn't see any cars around. Then I saw where she was head. Right in the corner of the lot was a bus stop. I thought for a moment. Should I follow her home in my car? What if she wasn't going home?

I debated for a few moments longer, but then I saw a bus pulling up the street toward the stop. I saw Michele start to jog a bit. It was her bus. I made up my mind, grabbed my keys and my purse and ran from my car. I was about 100 yards from the bus stop and I had to sprint to get there in time. Michele was already inside when I stepped, panting into the bus. I looked into the bus and saw her sitting in the back. The bus didn't have a back door, so I sat near the front, so I could see when she got off.

Listen, I know now that you are thinking I am a total creeper and you are right. I admit it. But I wasn't planning anything evil or anything. It wasn't so much different than looking up someone's information on the internet. I promised myself I wasn't going to cross any lines and if she ever said anything or did anything that indicated she was uncomfortable that I would stop.

We rode on the bus for what felt like forever. I felt myself getting antsier and antsier the longer things went on. I didn't know when she was going to get off and I had to resist the urge at all time to look back at her. I wanted to see her again, I wanted to be sure she was as beautiful as she had been the first time I saw her. I don't know why, I just wanted to talk to her. But something about the beauty of her body and the fact that she, like me, visited the gloryhole at the pet shop made me feel like she really did have something to show me.

It felt like we had driven for hours. I had never been in this neighborhood before and didn't recognize where I was. I knew from the looks of things that it was not a great place to live. Lots of liquor stores and empty store fronts. This made me feel a little bit hopeful. I know that sounds terrible, but I was afraid that she might live with someone and that could made her reluctant to talk to me. The fact that she lived in a place where a waitress in an expensive city could afford to live alone was a good sign.

At the last stop before the end of the line at the bus depot I was starting to lose hope. I looked behind me to see if she had somehow disappeared. She was still sitting in the back, no one else was around now. As the bus stopped she rose. I was ecstatic, I couldn't take anymore driving. I waited for her to pass me and then got off the bus as well.

Now I was a little worried. I had to follow her and I was afraid of how to do that inconspicuously. I guess I didn't have anything to worry about. As we stepped off of the bus we were at an intersection. There was a large red brick apartment building right on the corner near the bus stop. Michele immediately started walking towards it. My already speedy heart rate started to race. There was only about twenty yards between the bus stop and the front door. Michele was only a few steps away from making it inside, I needed to act now.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. She was getting closer to the door. I needed to get louder, "Excuse me miss?" I said. Michele hesitated for a moment then kept walking. I had to pull out the big guns, "Um, Excuse me Michele?" I said. Finally she stopped. She turned and looked at me. She was smiling awkwardly and looking a bit nervous.

"Um, hello," she replied. I jogged slightly to catch up with her. She was looking around now. Like I said, it was a bad neighborhood. I think I was making her nervous. I smiled brightly and tried to put her at ease, "Do I know you," she asked as I reached her.

"Um, well yes," I said. I had practiced what I was going to say a million times the night before and during the day, I had planned every scenario, but now that she was there I was tongue tied.

"I am sorry, I don't remember you," she said after a long pause. This was about to get very uncomfortable if I didn't do something soon. I needed to get it together. I took a deep breath and spoke.

"Yes, well we met briefly last week at the bar, where you work," I said. She kept the same look on her face, but at least she wasn't trying to run.

"Oh, a customer?" she asked and I nodded. She shrugged awkwardly, "So what can I do for you then?" Now was the time. I had to jump into my plan.

"My name is Dr. Rose Malloy," I said. I figured that I could use my actual name, just throw a 'doctor' on the front. "I am psychologist at the state university in town. I am actually an expert on human sexuality." Michele reacted instantly. She sort of backed away from me and her pale cheeks turned a dark shade of red.

"Oh, I don't go to college, I think you have me confused with someone else. I need to go, I am sorry," she said. I could see the dread rising in her. This confirmed to me that Michele was really the person I was looking for. Not that I had any doubt before. She moved like she was going to walk to the door, but I knew I had her now.

"Michele," I said more loudly than she would have liked, "I am doing research on people who engage in anonymous sex," I stated. I figured all night that this was my best chance to get her to talk. I'd pretend I had a dispassionate reason for doing so and she would never know the difference. She looked completely startled and moved closer to me. I felt bad that I was making her nervous, but I promised that I would make her comfortable and that I wouldn't do her any permanent damage.

"Shh!" she said and moved close to me conspiratorially, "Don't talk about this stuff out here. I have to live here," she said.

"Michele," I said now in a very low whisper, "I know that you use the gloryhole in the bathroom of the pet shop. I learned about that place online and I have been observing people." Her eyes grew wide as saucers.

"You have the wrong person," she breathed sharply. I smiled and shook my head.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of Ms...?"

"Harper," she said and I felt good that she felt like talking.

"Ms. Harper. I am not here to judge you. I just want to ask some questions. Let me be clear and up front," I said. Here was the moment where my little plan would sink or swim. Here was where I ensured that I didn't do anything I was ashamed of. I gave her an out, "I would like for you to talk to me about your experiences. There is absolutely no obligation for you to do so. Tell me to leave and I will. However, if you choose to talk to me you should know that I will offer you complete anonymity. You will simply be referred to in the research as a 'woman in her 20s.' Furthermore, if you choose to speak with me I can offer you a one-time cash payment of $1,000.00."

I watched as she relaxed a bit as she started to hear me out, then I saw her eyebrows rise as she heard about the money. I had cleared out my checking account to make the promised accurate. I had no idea if that was something that a social scientist could even do, but I didn't think Michele would ask questions. I knew she was a waitress and $1,000.00 is a lot of money.

"So if I talk to you, then you just keep it quiet and sort of just use me like statistics?" she said and I smiled. It had worked? Just like I'd planned, it was working perfectly.

"In essence yes," I said.

"If there are things I don't want to answer I don't have to?" she asked.

"No. If you feel uncomfortable you can decline."

"And you give me money and then you won't ever talk to me about this again?" She asked. This was the kicker. I didn't speak, I just reached into my purse. I had a small envelop inside. I opened it slightly and fanned out several hundred dollar bills. I looked up at her and raised my eyebrows. She looked down at the money, her already big eyes bulging from her head. She looked around briefly, nervously like she was wondering if this was really a good idea. But the allure of the money was too much.

"Let's talk inside," she said finally. I felt my heart skip and I had to be very careful to control my excitement. It took all of the self-possession that I had developed over years of pretending to be something I was not to avoid smiling or giving anything away.

Michele turned now quickly and walked over to the front door. I followed her now. She unlocked the front door and we walked in. The lobby was dingy but not in awful disrepair. The paint was peeling and the carpet looked old. We walked past an elevator with an "out of order sign." I could tell why she wanted $1,000.00. We went to a stairwell and made our way up several flights of stairs. The stairwell was even dirtier and uglier than the lobby. She didn't speak or look back the entire time and I could tell she was nervous. Finally, we got off on the fourth floor and walked to the first door after the stairwell.

She opened the door and we walked inside. "I hate wearing this stuff," she said, pointing to her uniform, "I am going to change before we talk."

"Sounds good," I replied. She walked to a different room.

Her apartment itself was surprisingly nice for the unpleasant wrapping. I had walked into a small living room with freshly painted walls and a new couch against one wall and a chair opposite it. I could see on the far side of the room a bar with a galley kitchen behind it. Michele had darted into a room to the right of the kitchen that I assumed was a bedroom. There was no bathroom, but I figured it was through the bedroom. I decided to make myself comfortable so I would be harder to kick out. I walked over to the couch and sat down.

A few moments later Michele returned from the bedroom. She had changed into a loose fitting sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants. Her long hair was now pushed back behind a headband. She looked cute. I tried to keep that out of my mind. I was here for information.

She still appeared nervous as she left her little galley kitchen and took a seat on the chair opposite me. For a moment we sat awkwardly in silence. I knew what I wanted to ask, but didn't really know how to get started. "So," she said, "Would you like anything to drink?" she asked. I shook my head. For whatever reason, her talking kick started things and I was able to talk.

"I appreciate it, thank you, but I think we should just dive in. I know you are bit uncomfortable so I would like to get started. That way, you will see there is nothing to worry about."

"Okay," she said. She pulled her legs up into the chair, putting them against her chest in a sort of modified fetal position.

"So let's just start then, how old are you?" I asked. I had a few preparatory questions to get her warmed up. "Nineteen," she said and I was a bit surprised, I had thought she was closer to my age. But, now that I looked at her she appeared quite young.

"And are you from around here?"

"Yes," she said then she turned her head to the side, "Aren't you going to take notes?" Notes! I hadn't even thought of that. Of course I should be taking notes. I tried to control my reaction and thought of a good lie.

"Oh, uh no. I mean, sometimes people will take notes. But, as I said I want to protect your anonymity. Direct quoting could give something away. If I go based on my memory, which is quite sharp, I think that I can get the information while protecting you," I said. She nodded solemnly. That seemed to work. With that we dived back in. I asked the remaining preparatory questions about her job (waitress!) and educational background. We zoomed through them. The more I asked, and the more she saw my professional demeanor, the more comfortable she became. Finally, I felt we were ready to get into the heart of things.

"How long have you been frequenting the glory hole," I said and she winced. I hadn't meant to come out of nowhere with that, but I didn't know how else to get into it. She paused a moment, blushing deeply. "Since about a month after I started at the bar," she explained, "So like 8 months ago. I heard someone at the bar talking about it so I checked it out."

"How many times have you visited the glory hole?" I asked, leaning forward.

"I don't know, probably a dozen or so," she said. She bit her lip as she thought about it, her eyes shifting away from me. It was sexy. I shook my head. Talking about this was already starting to turn me on. I had to keep it together, that wasn't why I was here.

"What sort of sex act do you engage in there?" I asked. I just needed to ask the kinds of questions a sex researcher would ask. She laughed uncomfortably when I said that and I could hear her breathing. She pulled her legs in tighter.

"I, uh, I give blowjobs. That's all," she explained. I wanted to let her know that what she did was far more than a blowjob, but I kept that to myself.

"Do you pleasure yourself when you do so?" I asked.

"No," she replied quickly and without elaboration. I decided to stop with the purely mechanical questions. I wanted to know what she knew.

"Why do you go to this place and pleasure men in anonymity?" I asked. She sighed slightly and shook her head. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw her breath hitch in her throat and her eyes glisten slightly. "I just, I just like for no one to know who I am when I do that," she said.

"Why is that?" I asked. There was clearly something to this, I needed to dig into it. I wondered if she was going to talk about connections between bodies and the liberation of anonymity. Something to give me hope. "Do you feel that you reach people on a different level when the appearance of the body is removed?" I asked, hoping I wasn't leading so far. She looked at me, confused. I saw now that the glisten in her eye was a tear and it rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away rubbed her beautiful mouth with her hand.

"What? No," she said finally. I felt shocked. What was happening here? I started to become nervous. I had hoped to open her up, not to make her cry. Why was she upset? "Let's talk about something different now, like something less about my thoughts."

"Why then?" I pushed further and ignoring her request.

"I go there because it is the only place I can go. I get so lonely and... I just feel so... I don't know," she said, breaking down in the face of my questioning. I felt like my legs were taken out from underneath of me. She was lonely? How could someone with such beautiful knowledge of the body and the ability to give pleasure be lonely?