Glory

I read The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst last semester, one of the many books I bought from the Booker and Orange selection. It was excellently reviewed after its debut so what the heck lah. Why not give it a flick?

It was written tastefully and there's a whole lot of gay jargon I couldn't have mustered. But interestingly enough, even when I couldn't really understand most of the sexually charged chapters, the word Glory Hole was somewhat intriguing. It sounded straight. Fun. Must google. Laterlah.

Today is Laterlah. The word Glory Holes has a lot of meanings. It is the method of curing petroleum, a unique feature in some dams to control the flow of water in rivers and the hole-shape of molten glass.

Glory Hole is also a special feature in public facilities. Holes in public toilet's cubicles/partition.

Flashback alert.

Dang. Those are called glory holes? Of all things, glory? Im sure that all men who'd used public toilets are familiar with these holes, along with the impromptu (not to mention raw) political forums on all three sides of the partition. Enlightening stuff, those forums.

As a person who has the habit of going to the toilet immediately after any meals taken outside home, I too have my share of experience.

My earliest recollection was a scary/horny one. I think I was about 14 when I had the courage to use public toilets. There were small holes on the partition and a 50 cent size hole that was bolted and plastered over. I sumbat all the holes with tissue paper and went along with nature of things. Until a man who was in the partition beside me blew away the tissue balls from his side of the partition. I was flabbergasted or in simpler words, terkejut nak mampos. A beady eye peeped in one of the holes. The man poured water all over the tile floor, prompting me to look down. Nah, a shadow of a pot bellied man. He noticed this too and arched his back, revealing a shadow of an alien mallet. It scared the shit out of me and left the toilet in a hurry. Run. Run. Big fat man coming to get you.

Since then, I'd never had the guts to use any cubicles with glory holes. That is, until I entered matriculation. Let's just say I had put the holes into use. Enchanging voyueristic pleasures. The animosity was so mysteriously arousing,then. Then was then.

Now if a little beady eye popped into view in one of those glory holes, I'll pretend to be shocked and slammed the hole with my elbow. Those sort of things don't interest me anymore, with the reluctance of libido as proof. Yesterday when I was at Centre Point (mall), I used a cubicle with glory holes and when I saw the flickering of light in one of the holes, I did what I'd usually do (Shock&Smack) but this time I waited in front of the sinks, waiting for the peepingtom. Then out came a greying man, spotting a set of expensive office attire. He smiled and greeted "Assalamualaikum."

Hmph.