The second topic for our Read Around the Rainbow webring is Weird Internet Searches. We’ve all done them, right? Googled some weird expression you’ve never heard of, wishing you’d never done it when the search result shows up on your screen, often followed by helpful illustrations that you wish you could unsee, and when you hear a sound in the other end of the house, you slam the laptop shut and hope your significant other doesn’t ask you why you’re so red-faced.
You’ve been there, too, right?
But for authors, it’s our job. When we write about a person who has cancer, we google everything there is to know about cancer treatment, if we write horror, we search for topics like 10 Ways to Kill Someone With A Spatula, and when we write M/M romance, we google stuff like “foam party” and “glory hole etiquette.”
Yes, that last part was me 😆
My book Awakenings & French Songs is about Iggy who has an identity crisis. When the book opens, he’s out celebrating his 36th birthday with his friends, an activity he’d usually enjoy. His friends know him well and took him to a foam party, where he’d would jump around, slide his body against other half naked bodies and do stuff with his hands that we won’t talk about here on the blog 😀
But something is off this time. He’s not enjoying himself, and after spending a couple hours in the bar drinking too much, he hides in the bathroom, where he’s doing some soul searching…but he’s rudely interrupted by an erect penis coming through a gloryhole in the wall 😆
Since I’ve never visited a gloryhole and since I’m not an expert on gloryhole behavior, I didn’t know if it was even considered rude to just stick your junk into the hole without warning, or if that was something you had to be prepared for should you visit such an establishment. So I googled “gloryhole etiquette” and learned that yes, it was considered rude to just stick it in there without a warning.
“Don’t just walk in and shove it through, unless you know there is a bona-fide cum-slut on the other side,” someone writes on Reddit. “Wait for a finger to come through the hole,” WolfDaddy writes in this informative set of instructions, and this blog post agrees; “If you notice another fellow in an adjacent stall, you can initiate contact by wiggling a finger through the hole, which is how you say “hello” in international gloryhole signaling.”
International gloryhole signaling. I’m glad it’s an international language, should the need arise to visit a gloryhole in a foreign country 😆
All jokes aside, I’m glad my research showed that it was rude, or I would’ve had to re-write the scene. And although I google a lot of stuff all the time (and not just for my writing, but for my personal life, too), this is probably the most bizarre thing I’ve ever googled.
Tell me about something weird and wonderful from your google history.
Also, check out my fellow webring authors who write on the same topic. I can’t wait to read about their bizarre internet searches 🙂
A.L. Lester :: Holly Day :: Ofelia Gränd :: K.L. Noone :: Ellie Thomas :: Fiona Glass :: Addison Albright :: Amy Spector
Here’s the scene I wrote that initiated my weird search:
I heave a sigh. I might as well just text the guys and get out of here. I pull my phone from the back pocket of my painted-on jeans and start typing a message to Dylan, when someone, without warning, sticks his erect dick through a dingy-looking, duct-tape lined glory hole I didn’t notice earlier.
The head is dark purple and already glistening, a clear indication that the owner gave themselves a little hand before offering me the treat. How thoughtful.
”Suck me,” he hisses from the other side of the wall.
“What?” My question comes out like an aggressive bark.
“Suck meeeee,” the stranger repeats and waves his cock like it’s a wand, as though he’s Harry freaking Potter trying to cast a spell on me.
“How about checking if I want to first? Ever heard of glory-hole etiquette, asshole?”
”You never say no, Iggy.”
I scowl at the dick as though it can see me. How the fuck does this guy know my name? And while what he said might be true—I’ve been called a slut more than once since I discovered what my cock is for—a little common courtesy never hurt anyone. “Yeah, well, today I do.”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
“Great way of convincing me, dude.”
The erection flags a little and I fight the impulse to flick it and force it back to where it came from. Someone give me a medal for my restraint!
“Come on,” the guy whines.
Whining. A huge turn-on. Not. I roll my eyes.
“You don’t even have to get down on your knees. Just toddle over here on your short, little legs and put your mouth on my meat.”
That’s it. I’m leaving. As I unlock the door and exit the stall, I curl my hand into a fist and slam it hard against Dick-Dude’s door when I pass it. “Making fun of my height. Very original. And attractive.”
An existential awakening and lots of French chansons equal a favorite neighbor seen in a new light.
Iggy Wilker never expected his 36th birthday to turn into an existential crisis. When Iggy’s friends celebrate him with his usual favorite pastime—drinking, dancing, and willing guys—he suddenly wants nothing to do with any of it. He’s fed up and ready for something else. The question is what?
Ronan Clenney has had his eye on his neighbor forever, but as a single father of a precocious eleven-year-old, he’s never believed he stands a chance. But over a late-night cup of tea, it seems that circumstances have changed. Is this the right time, finally?
Iggy has never believed in romance, but can Ronan show him he’s wrong? That love is a real thing?
M/M Contemporary / 11 120 words
An existential awakening and lots of French chansons equal a favorite neighbor seen in a new light.
Nell Iris 