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Somewhere, in the cosmos, lies the truth of our existence. It's siren song drives us forward, forward into the unknowable reaches of space, and time. Hoping to boldly discover their secrets.
What is it about the unknown that drives us so? What is the appeal of knowing? Is it the value of the knowledge we will gain? Is it the thrill of the risk we take? Or is it the superiority we feel from having something others can not? Perhaps it's just the value of a new experience? Or something else all-together?
Whatever the case, this small, poorly-cut gloryhole off of route 68, outside a town called Breeding, Kentucky doesn't hold the truth of our existence. But it does exist, and it does trade on the same currency.
This gloryhole can expose a lot about the unknown, it's draw, it's thrill. It's exposed who people are, it's lifted mirrors into their very core, it's broken metaphorical (and actual) chains. It has let people wear masks, and it has helped them remove them. It has brought people together for one night, and many more afterward. It has driven people apart for one night, and many more after.
You look and see a hole. A hole meant for a single male phallus, to be used by an anonymous person for a few minutes of consensual fun. What I see, is a beacon for the strange, wonderful, terrifying happenings that define the sexual experience of our species.
So sit back, dear reader, and let us tell you it's story.