Glory Bound

The truck stop off I-80 had a sign out front that said *Big Moe's* in letters that had once been red but were now the color of dried blood. Gary pulled the rig into the gravel lot and killed the engine. The sudden quiet was a physical thing, a weight pressing against my ears after six hours of diesel rumble and the same three CDs we'd been rotating since Pennsylvania.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

I wasn't. That was the thing. I'd been sure when I found the place online, scrolling through forums at two in the morning while Gary snored beside me, his calloused hand still resting on my hip like he was afraid I'd float away without him. I'd been sure when I mapped the route, when I packed the overnight bag with the black lace teddy he'd bought me for our anniversary and never seen me wear. I'd been sure when I told him over breakfast, watching his face go through about four different expressions before settling on something between terror and curiosity.

Now, staring at the squat cinderblock building with its flickering neon and a parking lot full of long-haul trucks, I felt the certainty draining out of me like air from a slow leak.

"Tracy."

"I'm thinking."

Gary didn't push. That was one of the things I loved about him. He could wait out a silence longer than anyone I'd ever met. He just sat there in the driver's seat, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his overalls, watching the truck stop like it might reveal its secrets if he stared hard enough.

The place looked exactly like the photos on the forum. Single story. No windows on the side facing the lot. A metal door painted green, the kind you'd see on a utility closet. Above it, a sign that said *Adult Video Arcade* in letters that had faded from pink to gray. Under that, a smaller sign, handwritten on a piece of cardboard and taped to the door: *Gloryholes in back. $20. Cash only.*

Classy.

"You can still change your mind," Gary said. "We can drive into town, find a motel, get some dinner. Pretend this was never on the itinerary."

"I don't want to pretend."

He nodded slowly, the way he did when he was turning something over in his mind. His hazel eyes caught the neon light through the windshield, and for a second he looked younger than his fifty-three years. Almost boyish. Almost nervous.

"You're not scared?" I asked.

"Terrified."

"But you're still here."

"I'm still here."

I reached over and put my hand on his thigh. The denim was rough under my palm, warm from his body. He covered my hand with his, and his fingers were dry and scratchy, the nails permanently rimmed with grease no matter how many times he washed them. I loved those hands. I loved what they could do to an engine and what they could do to me.

"Twenty dollars," I said. "That's all it costs to find out."

He laughed, a short, surprised sound. "You make it sound like a oil change."

"Cheaper than an oil change."

"Not by much."

We sat there another minute. A truck pulled in, air brakes hissing, and a man in a baseball cap climbed down from the cab and walked toward the building without looking at us. He went through the green door like he'd done it a hundred times. Maybe he had.

"Okay," Gary said. "Let's go."

The gravel crunched under my heels. I'd worn the red ones, the ones with the ankle straps that made my legs look a mile long. Gary had raised an eyebrow when I'd put them on that morning, but he hadn't said anything. He knew I was dressing for something. He just didn't know what.

The door opened into a narrow hallway that smelled like bleach and old carpet. A counter on the left, behind it a woman with bleached blonde hair and a face like a bulldog. She didn't look up from her phone.

"Twenty each," she said.

"We're together," I said.

She looked up then. Her eyes went from me to Gary and back again. Something flickered in her expression, surprise maybe, or amusement.

"Twenty total," she said. "Booths are down the hall. Doors lock from the inside. You got thirty minutes."

I handed her a twenty. She gave me a key attached to a wooden block with the number seven burned into it.

"Seven's at the end," she said. "Left side. Has the best view."

The hallway was narrow, lined with doors that looked like they belonged in a peep show, which I guess they were. Muffled sounds came from behind some of them. Moans. The wet slap of skin. A man's voice saying something I couldn't quite make out.

Gary walked behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. His hand found the small of my back, a steady pressure that kept me moving forward even when my feet wanted to stop.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm okay."

"You're shaking."

"I'm excited."

He didn't say anything to that. But his hand pressed a little harder against my back, and I knew he was feeling it too. The strangeness of it. The wrongness that felt right. The fact that we were about to do something we'd never done before, something we'd never even talked about until three days ago.

Booth seven was at the end of the hall. The door was painted black, the number stenciled in white. I slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door opened into a space about the size of a closet. A bench along the back wall, covered in vinyl that had cracked in places. A small screen mounted on the wall, dark now. And in the center of the opposite wall, a hole.

It was about the size of a softball, cut into the wood at waist height. A piece of black fabric hung over it on the other side, blocking the view. On our side, a small light above the hole, currently off.

"Jesus," Gary said.

"Too late to back out now."

"I wasn't backing out."

I closed the door behind us and locked it. The click of the deadbolt was loud in the small space. For a moment we just stood there, looking at the hole, at each other, at the hole again.

"Did you read the instructions?" Gary asked.

"The woman at the desk said there's a switch. For the light."

I found it on the wall beside the bench. A simple toggle switch, up for on. I flipped it.

The light came on, a soft yellow glow that illuminated the hole and a small circle around it. On the other side, the fabric moved. A shadow passed over the opening.

"Someone's there," I whispered.

"Someone's always there," Gary said. "That's the point."

I knew that. I'd read the forums, the stories, the tips. The women who came here knew what they were doing. They knew the rules. You turned on the light, you waited. If you didn't like what you saw, you turned it off. If you did, you stayed.

The shadow on the other side shifted. A hand appeared, fingers curling through the hole, testing the space. A woman's hand. I could see the nails, painted a dark color, maybe purple. The fingers were long and slender, the skin pale.

"Hi," I said.

The fingers wiggled. A voice came through the hole, muffled but clear enough.

"Hi yourself."

Gary made a sound low in his throat. I looked at him. His face was flushed, his eyes fixed on the hole, on those fingers. He looked like a man who'd just realized he was in way over his head.

"You can leave," I said. "If you want."

"I don't want."

"Then come here."

He crossed the small space in two steps. I took his hand and guided it to the hole. His fingers touched the woman's fingers, and I heard her sharp intake of breath on the other side.

"Nice hands," she said.

"He's a mechanic," I said.

"I can tell. Rough."

Gary's breath was coming faster now. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his shoulders. He was waiting for me to tell him what to do. He always waited. Even after twelve years of marriage, he still waited for me to lead.

But tonight I didn't want to lead. Tonight I wanted to watch.

"Show her," I said.

"Show her what?"

"Whatever you want."

He looked at me, and I saw the question in his eyes. Are you sure? Are you really sure? I nodded. I was sure. I'd been sure since the moment I'd found this place, since the moment I'd realized that the thought of him touching another woman, of another woman touching him, made me wet in a way nothing else ever had.

He unzipped his overalls. The sound was loud in the quiet booth. He pushed them down past his hips, and his cock sprang free, already hard, already leaking. He was always ready. That was one of the things I loved about him. He could get hard just from looking at me. Just from thinking about me. And now he was hard for a woman he couldn't even see.

He guided himself to the hole. His tip touched the opening, and the woman on the other side made a sound, a low moan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest.

"Beautiful," she said.

"He is," I agreed.

Her fingers wrapped around him. I watched, mesmerized, as she stroked him slowly, her thumb circling the head, spreading the wetness down his shaft. Gary's head fell back, his eyes closing, his mouth open. He was beautiful like this. Vulnerable. Open.

"Does he like it?" the woman asked.

"He loves it."

"Does he want more?"

"Yes."

"Do you?"

I thought about it. Did I want more? I wanted to watch her touch him. I wanted to watch him come in her hand. But more than that, I wanted to see what else she could do. What else he would let her do.

"Show me," I said.

The fingers disappeared. A moment later, a mouth appeared at the hole. Lips, full and red, parted slightly. A tongue darted out, wetting them. Then the mouth moved forward, and I watched as those lips wrapped around my husband's cock.

Gary groaned. The sound was raw, animal. I felt it in my own body, a sympathetic vibration that started in my chest and traveled down to my cunt. I was wet. Soaking. My thighs were slick with it.

"God," Gary breathed. "God, Tracy."

I moved closer. I wanted to see everything. The way her lips slid down his shaft. The way her tongue flicked against the underside. The way his hips jerked forward, fucking her mouth, even though I knew he was trying to hold still.

"She's good," I said.

"She's incredible."

"Better than me?"

He opened his eyes and looked at me. Really looked at me. His gaze was heavy, full of something I couldn't quite name.

"No one's better than you," he said. "But this is different."

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Just different."

I understood. It was different because it was anonymous. Because she was just a mouth, just a hole, just a warm wet space for him to use. There was no history there. No expectations. No need to perform. He could just take what he wanted, and she would let him.

I reached down and hiked up my dress. I wasn't wearing panties. I'd made that decision that morning, when I'd put on the red heels and the black lace teddy and the dress that was too short for a woman my age. I'd wanted to be ready. I'd wanted to be able to touch myself whenever I needed to.

My fingers found my clit, and I rubbed slow circles while I watched my husband fuck a stranger's mouth. The woman on the other side was making noises now, wet slurping sounds that mixed with Gary's grunts and the slick sound of my own fingers.

"You like watching?" the woman asked. She'd pulled off for a second, her voice breathy.

"I love it."

"Does it make you wet?"

"Dripping."

"Touch yourself for me."

"I already am."

I heard her laugh, a low, throaty sound. "Good girl."

The words hit me somewhere deep. I wasn't a girl. I was forty-two years old, a business owner, a wife. But something about the way she said it made me feel young. Made me feel like I was doing something naughty, something forbidden.

Gary's hips were moving faster now. He was close. I could tell by the way his breathing had changed, the way his fingers were curling into fists at his sides.

"Are you going to come?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In her mouth."

"Do it."

He groaned, a long, low sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest. His body tensed, and I watched as he came, his cock pulsing, his seed spilling into the stranger's mouth. She swallowed. I could see her throat working, could hear the soft sounds of her drinking him down.

When he was done, he pulled back. His cock was slick, still half-hard. The woman's mouth appeared at the hole again, her lips wet, her tongue licking them clean.

"Delicious," she said.

Gary sagged against the wall. His overalls were still around his ankles, his shirt rucked up around his waist. He looked wrecked. Beautiful.

"Come here," I said.

He stumbled toward me, and I caught him, pulling him down onto the bench. He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.

"That was..." he started.

"I know."

"I can't believe we did that."

"I can."

He pulled back and looked at me. His eyes were wet. Not crying, exactly, but shiny. Full.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm more than okay."

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"I don't know. I just... I don't know."

I kissed him. His mouth was warm, familiar. He tasted like coffee and the mint he'd had after lunch. He tasted like home.

"I loved it," I said against his lips. "I loved watching you."

"You did?"

"I did."

"Even though..."

"Even though what?"

"Even though it was someone else."

I pulled back and looked at him. Really looked at him. His face was flushed, his hair mussed. He looked like a man who'd just been given something he didn't know he wanted.

"That's why I loved it," I said. "Because it was someone else. Because I got to see you let go. Because for once, you weren't thinking about me."

"I'm always thinking about you."

"I know. That's the problem."

He didn't understand. I could see it in his eyes. He didn't understand how exhausting it was, sometimes, to be the center of someone's world. To know that every decision he made, every move he made, was filtered through the lens of what I would think. What I would want. What would make me happy.

Tonight, for thirty minutes, he hadn't been thinking about me. He'd been thinking about his own pleasure. His own desire. And it had been the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"I want to do it again," I said.

"Now?"

"No. Not now. But again. Some other time."

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

I kissed him again, softer this time. Then I stood up and pulled my dress back down. My legs were still shaky, my cunt still aching, but I didn't want to come. Not yet. I wanted to hold onto this feeling, this strange, electric buzz that was humming through my veins.

"Let's go home," I said.

Gary pulled up his overalls and zipped them. He looked at the hole one last time. The light was still on, but the woman on the other side had gone. The fabric was still.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For this. For bringing me here. For... I don't know. For being you."

I took his hand and led him out of the booth. The hallway was empty now. The woman at the front desk didn't look up as we passed. The gravel crunched under our feet as we walked back to the truck.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Gary opened the passenger door for me, and I climbed up into the cab. He got in on the other side and started the engine.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Starving."

"There's a diner about twenty miles up the road. Best pie in the state."

"Sounds perfect."

He pulled out of the lot and onto the highway. The truck rumbled beneath us, familiar and steady. I reached over and put my hand on his thigh again. He covered it with his own.

We didn't talk for a long time. We didn't need to. The silence was comfortable, full of everything we'd just done and everything we might do again.

But something was different. Something had shifted. I could feel it in the way he held my hand, in the way he kept glancing over at me like he was seeing me for the first time.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Gary."

He sighed. "I just... I didn't know you had that in you."

"Had what?"

"That. The wanting. The... I don't know. The hunger."

I laughed. "I've always had it. You just never let me show it."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just... don't forget."

"I won't."

The diner appeared on the horizon, a neon sign promising *PIE* in letters that flickered. Gary pulled off the highway and into the parking lot. There were a few other cars, a couple of trucks. Normal people doing normal things.

I looked at my husband. His hands were still on the wheel, his knuckles white. He was nervous. Not about the diner. About us. About what came next.

"Hey," I said.

He looked at me.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Nothing's changed."

He nodded, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. He didn't believe me. Not yet. But he would. I'd make sure of it.

We got out of the truck and walked into the diner. A waitress with gray hair and a kind face seated us in a booth by the window. I ordered coffee and a slice of apple pie. Gary ordered the same.

"So," he said, after the waitress had gone. "What now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... what do we do with this? What we just did. What we're going to do."

I thought about it. I thought about the forums I'd been reading, the stories I'd been collecting. I thought about the woman on the other side of the hole, her fingers, her mouth. I thought about the way Gary had looked when he came, the way his body had shuddered, the way he'd said my name like a prayer.

"We explore," I said. "Together."

"Explore what?"

"Whatever we want."

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he smiled. A real smile, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made him look like the man I'd married.

"Okay," he said. "Let's explore."

The waitress brought our pie. We ate in silence, watching the sun finish its descent. The sky went from orange to purple to black. The stars came out, one by one.

I thought about the hole. The light. The woman on the other side. I thought about the way Gary's cock had looked sliding into her mouth, the way his hips had moved, the way he'd groaned when he came.

I thought about doing it again. Somewhere else. Some other time.

And I smiled.

Because this was just the beginning.

The drive home took four hours. Gary drove, and I watched the headlights cut through the darkness. The radio played low, some country station he liked. I didn't pay attention to the songs. I was too busy thinking.

The thing about the booth, about the hole, about the woman on the other side, was that it hadn't felt like cheating. Cheating implies betrayal. It implies sneaking around, lying, hiding. What we'd done had been the opposite of that. We'd been together. We'd been honest. We'd watched each other, seen each other, in a way we hadn't in years.

I thought about the way he'd looked at me after. The way his eyes had been full of something I couldn't name. Awe, maybe. Or gratitude. Or love. A different kind of love than the one we'd had before. A bigger kind.

"You're quiet," he said.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"About what we did."

"Regrets?"

"No. You?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "No. Not regrets. Just... I don't know. Processing."

"Processing what?"

"The fact that I liked it. The fact that I want to do it again. The fact that I'm not sure what that says about me."

"It says you're human."

"It says I'm a pervert."

I laughed. "Gary, you're the least perverted person I know."

"That's not saying much."

"It's saying everything. You're a good man. You've always been a good man. And good men can still want things. Good men can still enjoy things. That doesn't make you bad."

He was quiet for a long time. The road stretched out ahead of us, dark and endless. The stars were bright, brighter than I'd seen them in years. Out here, away from the city, the sky was a different thing entirely.

"I've never told anyone this," he said. "But sometimes... sometimes I think about what it would be like to watch you. With someone else."

I felt a jolt, a spark. "What?"

"I know. It's weird."

"It's not weird."

"It's not?"

"No. I think about it too."

"You think about watching me?"

"I think about you watching me. I think about you watching me with someone else. I think about you watching me while someone else touches me."

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Jesus, Tracy."

"What?"

"You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because we're driving. Because I can't do anything about it."

"Who says you have to do anything?"

"I can't just... you can't just say that and expect me to keep driving."

I reached over and put my hand on his thigh. Higher this time. Much higher.

"Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over. There's a rest stop up ahead."

"How do you know?"

"I saw the sign."

He pulled off at the next exit, into a rest stop that was empty except for a single semi parked at the far end. He killed the engine and turned to look at me.

"Now what?"

"Now," I said, "you're going to watch me."

I climbed over the center console and into the back seat. The cab of the truck was spacious, but not that spacious. I had to bend my knees, duck my head. But I managed.

"Tracy..."

"Shut up and watch."

I hiked up my dress and spread my legs. The seat was cold against my bare skin. I was still wet from earlier, still aching. I'd been thinking about the booth, about the woman, about Gary's face when he came, for the entire drive. I couldn't wait anymore.

I touched myself. Slowly at first, just my fingers on my clit, circling. Then faster. Harder. I pushed two fingers inside, then three, fucking myself while Gary watched.

"God," he said. "You're so beautiful."

"Tell me what you see."

"I see you. I see your fingers. I see..."

"What?"

"I see how wet you are. I can see it from here. You're dripping."

"Touch yourself."

"I..."

"Do it."

He unzipped his overalls. I watched him take his cock in his hand. He was hard already, harder than I'd ever seen him. He stroked himself slowly, matching my rhythm.

"Tell me what you're thinking," I said.

"I'm thinking about the booth. I'm thinking about the woman. I'm thinking about her mouth."

"And?"

"And I'm thinking about you. I'm thinking about watching you. I'm thinking about you watching me."

"Good."

I pushed my fingers deeper, curling them, finding that spot that made me gasp. Gary's hand moved faster. His breath came in short, sharp bursts.

"I'm close," I said.

"Me too."

"Don't come yet."

"Why?"

"Because I want to come first. I want you to watch me come."

He groaned but didn't stop. He slowed his hand, teasing himself. I watched him through half-closed eyes. His face was flushed, his mouth open, his eyes fixed on me. On my fingers. On my cunt.

"Now," I said. "Now."

I came. It was a wave, a flood, a rush of heat that started in my cunt and spread through my whole body. I cried out, arching my back, my fingers still inside me. Gary watched. He watched until I was done, until I pulled my fingers out and brought them to my mouth, licking them clean.

Then he came. His seed spilled over his hand, onto his overalls. He groaned, a long, low sound that seemed to shake the truck.

For a moment, we just sat there, breathing. The rest stop was quiet. The semi at the far end hadn't moved. We were alone.

"Holy shit," Gary said.

I laughed. "Yeah."

"I can't believe we just did that."

"I can."

"At a rest stop?"

"It's not the first time."

"It's not?"

I climbed back into the front seat. "Remember that trip to Niagara Falls? Our first anniversary?"

His eyes went wide. "The rest stop in Ohio?"

"Uh-huh."

"You mean..."

"Yep."

"I didn't know that."

"You weren't supposed to know. You were asleep."

He stared at me. "You masturbated in the car while I was asleep?"

"I was horny. You weren't putting out."

"I was tired."

"I know. That's why I took care of it myself."

He shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're something else, Tracy."

"I know."

He started the truck and pulled back onto the highway. The rest of the drive was quiet, but a different kind of quiet. A good kind. A comfortable kind.

We got home at two in the morning. The house was dark, the dogs asleep on the couch. Gary let them out while I went upstairs and ran a bath. I soaked in the hot water, thinking about the day. The booth. The woman. The rest stop. Gary's face when he came.

I thought about what came next. The forums had mentioned other places. Other holes. Other women. Other men. There was a whole world out there, a world I'd only just begun to explore.

When I got out of the bath, Gary was in bed. He was asleep, or pretending to be. I climbed in next to him and put my arm around his waist. He shifted, pulling me closer.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For today. For everything. For being you."

I kissed the back of his neck. "You're welcome."

We fell asleep like that, tangled together. And I dreamed of holes in walls, of mouths and fingers and strangers' eyes. I dreamed of Gary watching me, of me watching him. I dreamed of everything we hadn't done yet.

And when I woke up, I was smiling.

The morning came slow, the way it always did on Sundays. Sunlight crept through the curtains, and the dogs scratched at the door to be let out. Gary was already up, I could smell coffee. I stretched, feeling the ache in my thighs, the soreness in my cunt. Good soreness. The kind that reminded you of something you wanted to do again.

I threw on a robe and went downstairs. Gary was at the kitchen table, reading the paper. He looked up when I came in.

"Morning."

"Morning."

"Coffee's fresh."

"Thanks."

I poured myself a cup and sat down across from him. The dogs, two mutts he'd rescued from the side of the road, were curled up at his feet. He reached down and scratched one behind the ears.

"Sleep okay?" he asked.

"Better than okay."

"Me too."

We sat in comfortable silence for a while. The clock on the wall ticked. The birds outside sang. It was a normal Sunday morning, the kind we'd had a thousand times before. But it didn't feel normal. It felt different. Charged.

"I looked up some things," Gary said.

"Oh?"

"Last night. While you were in the bath."

"What kind of things?"

He pushed the paper aside. "More places. Like the one we went to. There's one in the city. Closer. Easier."

"Easier how?"

"It's a club. Not a truck stop. More... upscale."

I raised an eyebrow. "Upscale gloryholes?"

He laughed. "I guess. It's called The Velvet Room. It's members only. Couples welcome."

"Couples welcome how?"

"Couples can watch. Or participate. Whatever they want."

I took a sip of coffee. The liquid was hot, bitter. I let it sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I want to go."

"Just to watch?"

"I don't know. Maybe more."

"More like what?"

He looked at me. His eyes were steady, serious. "More like what we did yesterday. But different. More."

"More how?"

"I don't know. I just... I want to see what's there. I want to see what we're capable of."

I thought about it. The Velvet Room. A club. Members only. Couples welcome. It sounded like a different world. A world where people like us could do things like this without shame. Without judgment.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?"

"Let's go."

He smiled. A real smile. "When?"

"Next weekend. Saturday night."

"I'll call. See if we can get in."

"You do that."

He got up and came around the table. He kissed me, long and deep. His mouth tasted like coffee and toothpaste. His hands found my waist, pulled me close.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

"Thank you for being you."

"Thank you for being you."

He kissed me again, then went to call the club. I sat at the table, drinking my coffee, listening to his voice in the other room. He sounded nervous. Excited. Alive.

I thought about the Velvet Room. About what we might do there. About what we might see. About what we might become.

I thought about the woman in the booth, her fingers, her mouth. I thought about Gary's face when he came. I thought about the rest stop, the dark, the quiet.

I thought about all the things we hadn't done yet. All the things we were going to do.

And I smiled.

Because this was just the beginning.