Long before porn theaters, adult arcades, bath houses or the I-75 Truck Stop of America showers that smell like bleach and shame, there was a little innovation known only to the most perverted architects of history:
The gloryhole.
And friends, I regret to inform you—it wasn’t invented by horny truckers or 1970s homos in New York City.
It was the Church.
That’s right. The One, Holy, Apostolic, and surprisingly kinky Roman Catholic Church.
Let’s rewind to 1274 A.D.—back when the Pope wore a hat taller than your mom’s stack after a night on the pole and people were dying of syphilis without even getting the fun part first. The Church had a problem: believers were afraid to be seen publicly receiving communion during one of Europe’s many religious gangbangs—er, conflicts. So they came up with a solution.
The Sanctum Apertura — Latin for “Holy Opening.” A little hole in the confessional wall. Waist height. Discreet. Convenient. You’d kneel, the priest would slide the wafer in, and you’d suck the body of Christ right off his fingers—without ever seeing the man behind the mystery. No muss, no fuss, no eye contact.
It was anonymous. It was sacred.
And it was… kinda hot.
They said it was for safety. We know better. The first time someone realized that you could stick more than a communion wafer through that hole, the game changed. Radically. Biblically. And ultimately, litigiously
See, over time, some priests—not all, but enough to inspire a few lawsuits centuries later—discovered new “uses” for the holy hole. It started with whispered penance and hands clasped in prayer… and ended with pants around ankles and altar boys told this was just “part of the sacrament.”
And thus: the gloryhole was born.
Named, naturally, for the glory of God.
“Glory be.”
“Glory hole.”
Same difference.
By the 1500s, the Church tried to bury the evidence—like they always do.
Seal the holes. Move the confessions. Blame the Protestants.
But it was too late. The idea had already seeped into the walls of European brothels, and by the 20th century, it had found its true home—porn theaters, bathhouses, and every sleazy bookstore with a quarter-operated booth and questionable sanitation standards.
Today, people think of the gloryhole as some depraved novelty—an anonymous portal for perverts and curious bisexuals. But we here at SCREW know the truth:
It was born in the House of God.
Perfected by perversion.
And canonized by cum.
So next time you’re face-to-plywood, remember: you’re partaking in a ritual older than the New Testament, sanctified by centuries of repressed sexuality and institutional denial. You’re not just getting off—
You’re taking communion.
Duh, it’s in the name.
In the name of the Father, that is.
And the Son.
And the Holy Hole.
Amen.
You think I make this shit up, don’t you?
—P
