Chapter 4: The Gloryhole Confession

Lilly pushed through the beaded curtain.

The plastic strands clicked against each other, a sound like tiny bones rattling, and then she was in the hallway. Thump- thump. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the dim red light washed everything the color of watered-down wine, pulsing in time with each frantic beat. The carpet squelched under her sneakers—damp, sticky, releasing a smell of mildew and old bleach that couldn’t quite cover the musk beneath it. Each step forward sent another jolt through her chest, the squelching sound syncing with the blood rushing in her ears. Thump-squelch. Thump-squelch. The walls seemed to breathe with her, the sticky air thickening around her as her pulse raced faster, faster, pounding against her throat like it wanted to escape.

She stood still, letting her eyes adjust.

The back was much larger than Lilly had expected. Much larger. The front of the store was just a taste, a lobby for the labyrinth that sprawled out before her.

The first thing she noticed were the private viewing rooms, a long hallway of doors, each one topped with a small light: red meant in use, green meant available. She could imagine the sounds muffled behind those doors, the flicker of screens, the quiet rustle of hands working furiously in the dark.

Next, she found the gloryhole section. The setup was different here, each room had two doors, one for each side of the wall. Same red and green lights. She felt her pulse quicken, understanding the geometry of it: strangers on either side, only a hole between them, no names, no faces, just need meeting need through a wall.

Then came the observational rooms. These had three doors. Two for the people on either side of the gloryhole ... and a third door. For the observation room. For someone to watch. Lilly’s throat went dry as she realized: some people didn’t come to participate. They came to witness.