Glory Hole Apartments – Meeah Williams
November 17, 2018
Three a.m. and the knocking starts on the wall above my headboard. It’s old Mr. Cromartie again. It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m alone, minding my own business, and until ten seconds ago I was sound asleep. It’s Mr. Cromartie who is wide awake, causing the ruckus. I scooch out from under the covers and get up on my knees.
There, in the cored out hole of the cardboard-thin wall between our apartments, is old Mr. Cromartie’s pecker. All waddled, purpled, and gnarly six-and-one-quarter uncircumcised inches of it.
He claims it’s all my fault, of course.
“I’m fantasizing about you again, you bitch,” he complains. “Those tiny denim cut-offs and platform sandals you were wearing this afternoon in the incinerator room. How beautiful are thy feet in shoes!”
His voice inclines to a keening screech. “That’s the Bible, you godforsaken Jezebel, you Whore of Babylonia. Song of fucking Solomon.”
He’s thrusting his flabby belly against his side of the wall, humping it, making his tackle waggle on my side. It’s gross.
“Make it right!” he bellows.
What can I say? He’s the landlord, I’m out of work, I’m behind on my rent, and I’ve got two cats that are in violation of the lease’s iron-clad no-pet policy. He could have me thrown out on my ear without a qualm.
Mike, my last boyfriend, just didn’t understand. Not even when I explained. It’s a peculiar relationship, I admit. Mike couldn’t get used to waking up in the middle of the night with another man’s cock hanging over his head. Not a lot of guys can. At least I haven’t run into one. Not that was straight, anyway. Mike threatened to chop it off. He wasn’t the first either.
“Don’t you dare,” I cried. “Not unless you’re ready to move in together.”
That started the only argument we’d ever had in this apartment and it was a real double-doozy, Mr. Cromartie banging on the wall with both fists, threatening to have us both thrown out, his cock poking out of the wall looking more enraged than ever. Like a demented rooster.
After that night, I never heard from Mike again. He gathered up his things and left, slamming the door behind him. Good riddance. Another guy afraid of making a commitment. Better to know sooner than later.
That was three months ago.
Since then, I’ve taken myself out of circulation. Relationships are just too complicated. A hole in the wall is simpler. As proof, Mr. Cromartie cums on his side of the wall, wailing like a puppy that’s just had his tail stepped on. But after that, he quiets down and we can both get some sleep. It’s a peculiar situation, as I’ve said, but somehow it works for us. It’s become our version of normal.