GLORY HOLE IN GALWAY
After Finn gotoff his shift, he took me to his flat where we fell asleep after a night of pure bliss. His sofa, his bed, his dining room table, and his shower. This man had an enigmatic effect on me. I couldn’t explain my draw to this blonde-haired, blue-eyed man. After a two-and-a-half-hour early morning train ride, Finn and I went to all the touristy Galway attractions. Explored the Galway Castle, and ate lunch at city center. He even put up with my historical ravings at the Hall of the Red Pearl as I spouted off facts over these medieval archaeological ruins. Before we knew it, Galway was shrouded in darkness at 10:05pm. We held hands down the dark grey brick alleyways. Spots of light shone down on us from random streetlights above us. The streets were bare and void of any human presence this late at night. I was clearly not in a good side of town. His hands unclench from mine and reach around my thick waist as the gold fabric of my mini dress is clutched tightly in his hands. My cotton candy colored wig hair blowing into my face from the short gusts of late-night wind. I pull several hairs away from my lips that get stuck in my clear gloss covering my lips.
I know, I know. Still a wig after you let this man jackhammer you for almost fifteen hours straight. The wig makes me feel less like myself. Like I am playing a role.
“Is this some bizarre check-off list off an Ed Sheeran song?” he asks.
“I didn’t think Ed Sheeran sang about screwing two men in a pub bathroom,” I sneer.
“Top charter,” he says with a teasing smirk.
“Must have missed that one,” I tease back.
“I take it you don’t ask for a threesome from random strangers, on the regular?” Finn asks.
“Only if it’s Wednesday,” I whisper.
“Touché, milady,” he smirked, nodding his head down to me.
His six-foot-four frame towered over me, and in this moment, I have never felt safer being in the arms of anyone in my life. His Irish brood was comforting yet intimidating all the same.
“It’s my penis passport,” I say quietly.
He stops mid-stride, dropping his arm from around my waist. His eyes go wide as he looks at me curiously.
“What the fuck is a penis passport?!” Finn exclaims.
“It’s a bucket list of sorts. You helped,” I say coyly.
“A sex bucket list?”
“I guess you could say that. My ex said I was a “dead fish” when he fucked me, so I set to prove him wrong,” I say, my voice trailing off.
My embarrassment started to creep inside of me. He pushes my chin up to meet his gaze with his index finger. He rakes his fingers through the cotton-candy thin hairs of my wig before licking his lips slowly.
“You are far from a dead fish. Your pussy is a straight up drug,” Finn tells me.
“I’m addicted to you,” I whisper.
“What a sweet fucking addiction we have,” he replies, so quietly, only I can hear.
He gently kisses me on the forehead before reaching down and entwining his hand with mine. He nods to the end of the alleyway in front of us.
“Come on.”
I quickly run after him to catch up. As we near the end of the alleyway the environment changes with sounds of people, music playing, and people arguing in front of us. We turn the corner to see this small area full of life.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“Stick close to me, goddess,” he says.
His grip tightened around my hand as I gaze around at the people coming in and out of pubs and random buildings. A young girl is doing a routine from Riverdance as the music plays on a small boombox to the side of her. I can’t help the smile that comes to my face as I watch the intricate footwork she displays. Her upper body stiff as it should be as her lower body exquisitely told the story of the music notes coming through the speakers. Her dark green long sleeve velvet dress was beautiful, and I admired the fact that here she is in Galway and doing what she loves. A pang of jealously enters my heart.
“You should join,” he says, feathering my neck with soft kisses.
“Please, she has far more dancing ability than I do,” I chuckle.
“What I saw in the pub is the same look I see right now. Your eyes are shining with a love for the music, for the dancing,” he argues.
I look up to him and meet those ice-blue eyes and read nothing but sincerity in his stare.
“Maybe some other time, Finn,” I say, leaning into his touch.
He gives me a dimpled smirk and wraps his shoulder around my neck as he pulls me closer to him. We walked along the grey brick alleyways for ten more minutes before we suddenly stop at a long alleyway with nothing in it except a lone black door set in the side of a rundown and dilapidated stone building.
“What’s with the wig?” he asks.
“The things I want to do, I want to experience; I want to feel less than myself. It makes me feel more mysterious,” I said.
He nods slowly and knocks on the charcoal black steel door behind his back. The sound of a metal bolt releasing made my heartbeat into my throat. I wrap my arms around my waist nervously. The door opens and a large man with long chestnut brown hair opens the door a crack.
“Rialacha an Chlub Nil aon chops níos mó gnéis,” Finn tells the man at the door in front of him.
This burly and muscular man stares at Finn as they engaged in an intimidating stand-off between them for what seemed like minutes. Suddenly, the man starts uncharacteristically laughing. He stands aside and leaves the door open before giving Finn a hard smack on the shoulder and a fist bump. I furrow my eyes in bewilderment as the rather odd exchange took place in front of me. He holds his hand out to me to take as he brings me closer to him. Mere inches from my face, he takes a deep breath and pushes a stray strand of hair out of my face.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“The password.”
“The password? Like red light green light?” I ask.
“Club rules, no cops, more sex,” he says.
He holds out his hand to me, waiting for me grab onto it. My nerves are in a bundle in the very center of my stomach. It’s unwilling to allow me to take a step forward.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks gently.