She opened the door and we walked inside. “I hate wearing this stuff,” she said, pointing to her uniform, “I am going to change before we talk.”
“Sounds good,” I replied. She walked to a different room.
Her apartment itself was surprisingly nice for the unpleasant wrapping. I had walked into a small living room with freshly painted walls and a new couch against one wall and a chair opposite it. I could see on the far side of the room a bar with a galley kitchen behind it. Michele had darted into a room to the right of the kitchen that I assumed was a bedroom. There was no bathroom, but I figured it was through the bedroom. I decided to make myself comfortable so I would be harder to kick out. I walked over to the couch and sat down.
A few moments later Michele returned from the bedroom. She had changed into a loose fitting sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants. Her long hair was now pushed back behind a headband. She looked cute. I tried to keep that out of my mind. I was here for information.
She still appeared nervous as she left her little galley kitchen and took a seat on the chair opposite me. For a moment we sat awkwardly in silence. I knew what I wanted to ask, but didn’t really know how to get started. “So,” she said, “Would you like anything to drink?” she asked. I shook my head. For whatever reason, her talking kick started things and I was able to talk.
“I appreciate it, thank you, but I think we should just dive in. I know you are bit uncomfortable so I would like to get started. That way, you will see there is nothing to worry about.”
“Okay,” she said. She pulled her legs up into the chair, putting them against her chest in a sort of modified fetal position.
“So let’s just start then, how old are you?” I asked. I had a few preparatory questions to get her warmed up. “Nineteen,” she said and I was a bit surprised, I had thought she was closer to my age. But, now that I looked at her she appeared quite young.
“And are you from around here?”
“Yes,” she said then she turned her head to the side, “Aren’t you going to take notes?” Notes! I hadn’t even thought of that. Of course I should be taking notes. I tried to control my reaction and thought of a good lie.
“Oh, uh no. I mean, sometimes people will take notes. But, as I said I want to protect your anonymity. Direct quoting could give something away. If I go based on my memory, which is quite sharp, I think that I can get the information while protecting you,” I said. She nodded solemnly. That seemed to work. With that we dived back in. I asked the remaining preparatory questions about her job (waitress!) and educational background. We zoomed through them. The more I asked, and the more she saw my professional demeanor, the more comfortable she became. Finally, I felt we were ready to get into the heart of things.
“How long have you been frequenting the glory hole,” I said and she winced. I hadn’t meant to come out of nowhere with that, but I didn’t know how else to get into it. She paused a moment, blushing deeply. “Since about a month after I started at the bar,” she explained, “So like 8 months ago. I heard someone at the bar talking about it so I checked it out.”
“How many times have you visited the glory hole?” I asked, leaning forward.
“I don’t know, probably a dozen or so,” she said. She bit her lip as she thought about it, her eyes shifting away from me. It was sexy. I shook my head. Talking about this was already starting to turn me on. I had to keep it together, that wasn’t why I was here.
“What sort of sex act do you engage in there?” I asked. I just needed to ask the kinds of questions a sex researcher would ask. She laughed uncomfortably when I said that and I could hear her breathing. She pulled her legs in tighter.
“I, uh, I give blowjobs. That’s all,” she explained. I wanted to let her know that what she did was far more than a blowjob, but I kept that to myself.
“Do you pleasure yourself when you do so?” I asked.
“No,” she replied quickly and without elaboration. I decided to stop with the purely mechanical questions. I wanted to know what she knew.
“Why do you go to this place and pleasure men in anonymity?” I asked. She sighed slightly and shook her head. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw her breath hitch in her throat and her eyes glisten slightly. “I just, I just like for no one to know who I am when I do that,” she said.
“Why is that?” I asked. There was clearly something to this, I needed to dig into it. I wondered if she was going to talk about connections between bodies and the liberation of anonymity. Something to give me hope. “Do you feel that you reach people on a different level when the appearance of the body is removed?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t leading so far. She looked at me, confused. I saw now that the glisten in her eye was a tear and it rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away rubbed her beautiful mouth with her hand.
“What? No,” she said finally. I felt shocked. What was happening here? I started to become nervous. I had hoped to open her up, not to make her cry. Why was she upset? “Let’s talk about something different now, like something less about my thoughts.”
“Why then?” I pushed further and ignoring her request.
“I go there because it is the only place I can go. I get so lonely and… I just feel so… I don’t know,” she said, breaking down in the face of my questioning. I felt like my legs were taken out from underneath of me. She was lonely? How could someone with such beautiful knowledge of the body and the ability to give pleasure be lonely?