Glory Hole


It starts like this. A morning where the fridge is broken, where the hot water is O.F.F. Where the lights flicker and the picture on the TV is spewing the shopping channel and cooking network. The summer heat is hot, the air is thick and wet and Steven Dwight lies on his dirty sheetless mattress, wearing just his underwear, in his one room fuck den and sweats. Oily thick sweat. Dwight lies on his back smoking long cheap cigarettes, thinking nothing, staring at his peeling ceiling, squeezing his cock and balls with his free hand, watching beads of condensation collect on the single shadeless light bulb. Those little bastards dangle there for what seems hours, swaying in the anti breeze. Until their weight and mass becomes to much and they drop. Drop like a stone, drop like bomb, exploding into a pool next Dwight’s ugly pie eating mug.

The tap drips from the corner sink where that Dwight washes everything: his dishes, his hair, his clothes, his junk. Not that he washes much. Strewn around his room are pots and plates thick with muck and grease, glasses and cups stained and mouldy, and yellowing clothes that only a fuck like Steven would wear. This is what today is.

Still on his back, face to the sky, Dwight has been playing a game for the past hour or so. A gentle balancing act of smoking each long, cheap cigarette down to it’s butt without flicking the ash. Turning each white burning death stick into a beautiful grey fur tree. Each puff becomes more precarious, more exact and by the end it is a zen exercise of pure patience and delicacy. He takes his smoking fur tree like a mother carrying a birthday cake trying not to let the candles blow out and places it in a perfect little cigarette forest on his bedside table before sparking another cigarette and starting the whole pointless project again.

Who knows what he is thinking about at that precise moment but what ever it is the cigarette end falls on his wet naked chest and he jumps to his feet panicking and shouting “Fuck! Fuck! Fueeergh…” the sudden rush of blood to his head makes him faint and he stumbles forward across the room tripping on a pair of jeans and falling forward into the filthy corner sink hitting his head with a perfect comedy “Thonk”. He is out cold and that cigarette end is smouldering on that filthy bed of his.

If only that had been it, if only that had been the end of that ass fat’s little life, burnt to death in a fireball fitting a fucking waste of air. But no, no such luck, not for humanity anyways. The bed bursts into flame and the fire alarm begins to “MEEP PEEP MEEP”. Dwight, face buried in his carpet arse high in the air starts to come too. His head bangs, his eyes roll back and forth and he involuntarily rolls onto his back.  For a while, maybe a minute probably less, he watches his place burn, watches a bed bonfire, probably thinks it is a bonfire. Probably thinks he’s at that camping holiday when he was five when he stole the bug killer and went around spraying every insect he could find and watched it writhe in agony until it quit life for good. A regular lord of the flies was our friend S. Dwight.

His eyes clear and suddenly Dwight realises what is happening. What is actually happening, and he leaps to his feet full of panic, terror, fear, the instinctive lion fighting feelings that turn even the most pathetic useless fuck toys into relative super heroes. Super Steve without thinking rips his Che Guevara, Bob Marley, Marijuana leaf Flag off the wall and swan dives onto the fire suffocating the flames and saving the day. The little shit bag rolls onto his back coughing and spluttering, pleased as punch with his heroics. What a guy he is, what an absolute miracle to all men this hunk of meat and grease and fat really is. That’s when he sees it something that wasn't there before, right where that stupid hippy flag used to be, a perfectly spherical hole glowing with a strange pink warm light unlike anything Dwight has ever seen in his life. It is the most beautiful and magical thing and Dwight is mesmerised, a dog on a leash, a fish on a hook, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. He gasps unbelieving, in awe, in rapture as the glowing pink warmth seems to spread across the room saturating everything it touches. He sits up and shrouded in his reggae flag as the pink light pours into him, he begins to weep, uncontrollably weep. Moved by something so pure and true coming from inside that hole, it is as if he is being born again, enveloped by a warm blanket and swept into his mother’s arms for the first time. This is the first time since he was a child Dwight has felt love, but it is so much better than how that felt, deeper, truer, sweeter. It is the most perfect feeling he could imagine and the stupid little cry baby cries and cries sitting on the edge of his dirty bed in his disgusting pit of an apartment.

This goes on far too long. 20 minutes maybe until he gets his shit together. 20 minutes before he stops this pathetic little blubber show. When he finally pipes down it takes him a further 20 minutes to get up from where he is sat and another 5 to take his first tentative steps towards the glowing hole. It is about the circumference of a cucumber with jagged edges of exposed plasterboard like it had been punctured by a hammer in some sort of picture hanging accident. As far as Stevey boy knows no such thing had ever happened. He sure as hell hasn't done it and he hung his lame stoner flag when he got the place 3 years ago and it hasn’t come down since.

From the opening thin wisps of pink mist rise in plumes like a smoker about to inhale. The hole is at about waist height so Steven has to get on his knees to get right up to it. Up close Dwight can see the hole itself is opening and closing slightly like a drowning goldfish on a carpet gasping for water. He puts his eye up to the opening and stares through into the wide pink yonder. As far as the eye can see is just pink glowing cloud turning and tumbling; undulating baby and bubblegum pink smoke spinning in infinity. Dwight jumps back and runs to the window of his one room cluster fuck to check that the world is still there. it is. Same sky, same street, same people walking to and from somewhere, all on their own strange little journeys that will ultimately lead everyone to the same place, no matter who they are, what they do or where they go to.

Dwight runs to the front door, maybe the building’s on fire? He opens the door and again nothing has changed, it is the same drab poorly decorated hallway it was before. Door after door after door all leading to other small single room prison cells just like Dwight’s. In his underwear and his Che flag he takes a glance back into his apartment to make sure the hole is still there or maybe to check whether he imagined the whole thing in the first place. But he hasn't, of course he hasn't otherwise this stupid fool wouldn't be worth talking about. The wall with the hole is shared with his next-door neighbour Mrs Meadows, a twisted tree of a woman who bangs on the wall come rain or shine morning noon and night. Moans when she sees Dwight on the landing and frequently leaves offensive messages under his door; telling him he's a fucking maggot, praying he gets cancer, print outs from the internet of cows getting slaughtered and reams and reams of copy and pasted chat from bestiality forums. She is a fucking psycho but considering what we know now of Dwight maybe she was a bit of a sooth sayer.

Without considering the consequences Dwight takes his sweaty mostly naked body to Mrs Meadows front door and starts to bang on the door. “Meadows, you freak, open your fucking door” Dwight shouts, open your fucking d…” the door springs open and the gnarled shape of the 5 foot Mrs Meadows looms little in the doorway. “i’ve rung the police, if you even try to touch me….” Dwight pushes passed her and into her apartment straight to the wall where there should be a giant glowing hole. Nothing, Nada, Zero, fuck all. Meadows is screaming and fair play to her there is a half naked man in wrapped in shit flag slapping her wall and muttering to himself in in her apartment. “Aaaaaagh, Aaaaaaagh, rapist, thief, murderer, there’s a murder in my house.” But Dwight is paying no attention, he bangs on the wall a few times, pushes on it as hard as he can. put his ear right up against it but zip. He stares over to Mrs Meadows “have you been pumping this place full of pink fog to try and freak me out you crazy fucker?” Meadows is still screaming and a neighbour appears at her door. “Look, look,” she screams turning to the neighbour, “Its him he's trying to murder me” Dwight looks at the neighbour, “This crazy bitch is trying to send me through, she's pumping her room full of pink shit and making me think I'm full of drugs” The neighbour pipes up, “Look I think you need to leave, we all know what she’s like, we all know she's crazy, but you cant just barge your way in here and start to smash her apartment up just cause she is a bit….you know” he says making the international sign for crazy by spinning his finger round and round by his ear hole. Mrs Meadows turns to him and socks him straight in the jaw. He staggers backwards holding his face. “I am not….” and she makes that same crazy symbol whilst striding towards him “When the police get here I’m going to tell them that you tried to rape me and then they are going to arrest the both of you little fuckers” Dwight is still frantically hammering and stroking the wall sure that he will find some sort of secret bore hole that Meadows has been using to fuck with him. No dice Dwight, there is something special happening and you my friend are going to ruin it all.

The Neighbour, (he does not have a name, he is a bit part in the story of the end of the world,) and Mrs Meadows start to wrestle and it is clear that although she talks a good game Mrs Meadows is in fact as weak and fragile as all other old ladies and she buckles instantly falling the floor and crying out in agony “My hip, my hip, you bastard you snapped my hip” the neighbour goes white as a sheet and falls to his knees right beside her “oh my god i am so so sorry, oh god oh god…Hey you…” looking over at Dwight, “Call a fucking ambulance ok?… fucking call a fucking Ambulance” Dwight is up and heading across the room, he is right next to the pair, the neighbour is hyperventilating looking up at Dwight in absolute fear, Mrs Meadows is moaning like she's giving birth. Dwight doesn't look down, doesn't give them a second thought, he is out in the corridor’s he is at his apartment door, he is closing it behind him, he is staring at the glowing pink aperture in his wall. He is sitting down on his mattress, just him and it, nothing else in the world, nothing else matters. “what the fuck are you?” he says.

Well we know what it is now. That is a hole in the universe, some accidental rift between dimensions caused by who knows what. That pink florescent fog is the fabric of space time itself; the energy that binds all things, living and dead, solid, gas or liquid, up, down in or out. It is the stuff between and without it we are fucked. Mr S. Dwight does not know this, he knows squat, but why wouldn't he, he is party to a miracle and we can afford him a bit of leeway for his ignorance. But only a bit…

As the sun begins to set and the sweat on his greasy body begins to get cold and dry out, Dwight is still sitting there staring, The room begins to glow by the light of the hole. An intense pink incandescent like a strip club or a cocktail bar. Somewhere you go drunk and lonely. And Dwight is certainly lonely and Dwight is certainly drunk. Not on liquor but on the bath of light and smog drowning him in pink ecstasy. Out in the hall he is vaguely aware of the paramedics and the dull cries of pain of that old cunt Mrs Meadows as they try to lift her onto the stretcher but all he feels is the hole, He is aware of the police arriving and the shouts and screams of the neighbour as he tries to protest his innocence but all he knows is the hole. He is vaguely aware as his protest become resistance and bzzzz and hiss of a taser and the muffled pain of the neighbour rigid body as it tremors and fits but all he is is the hole.

Hypnotised in the pink swell, Dwight sits, his body massaged by the warmth. Dwight thinks about groping Susy Bradford in high school, how her right tit felt in his sweaty hand. How her hand felt on his hard dick, how he had shot his load almost instantly and how good it had felt to not be yanking his crank himself for once. He thinks about the porn he likes to watch, Double penetration and gang bangs. He thinks about strangers sucking dicks in toilets. and suddenly that hole in the wall doesn't seems so strange after all, it seems perfect, it seems like the answer to the dick he is rubbing in his hand. He is up off his bed, pulling his underpants down to his ankles, stroking his cock, giving that pink fluorescent crack in the cosmos the fuck me eye. “you little slut,” he says, he leans up against the wall. Spitting on his hand he oils up his dick and lines himself up and, taking a breath, he slams his baby maker in to the glory hole as hard as he can. “OH GOD” he shouts, it is unlike anything he has ever felt; the adrenalin rush like jumping from a plane and the endorphin rush from a gram of Ecstasy smashed right into his bell end. He starts to convulse as the glory hole begins to suck and squeeze and caress and vibrate. He slams his hand against the wall digging his nails into the wallpaper and scratching deep furrows into the plaster underneath. He throws his head back taking long panting breathes. “EEEEEEEERRRRNGH” he moans, His balls tighten his eyes screwed shut. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He is cumming in waves. Endless seismic waves that seem to be pulling his soul from inside his body out of the end of his cock. He is clawing at the walls he is wailing in euphoria, he is a stream of consciousness, he is connected to everything, he is screaming in agony, he is stretched infinite. Then he is gone, sucked through his dick, through the glory hole and into oblivion.

The building begins to shudder, the pink light darkening to the deepest black. The wall cracks and begins to shatter. Brick after brick sucked in on itself through the glory hole like taking a shit in reverse. Everything that had been where the building was gone in an instant including the hole. Consuming even itself in one fateful orgasm.

For a while everything is silent, except for a few car alarms and barking dogs and then there is a tremor. One that seems to shake the air itself. One that seems to shake the insides of people’s souls. One that seems to shake the stars in the sky. Every living thing one by one drops like a stone shaking in unison. A world record fish fit. Then quiet. Nothing, nada.

When people come to they don't know that the end has started. That Dwight’s hot load has pulled the lever on the slot machine and sent those reels spinning. That the world is about to pay out big. But it is. That one choice, that one stinking hard-on has changed everything and one by one they are going to learn what happens when you stick your pee pee in a trans-dimensional space rift. Glory be.