Getting a closer look….

The Story of the Glass Eye…

When I say weird stuff happens in this industry…

I mean weird stuff.

By now you’ve probably read a few of my stories, so you already know that working in a studio means you see things the average person couldn’t make up if they tried.

This one, however…

This one has always been one of my favourites.

So pull up a chair.

Let me tell you about Marty.

I’m calling him Marty because, sadly, he has since passed away, but I had the absolute pleasure of knowing him for well over ten years. He became one of my regulars and, honestly, one of the most memorable clients I’ve ever had.

Marty had one of those wonderfully dark senses of humour wrapped up inside what I can only describe as a shorter, chubbier, slightly naughty Christmas elf.

Freckles.

A little round.

A little stumpy.

Always smiling.

Picture a mischievous ginger elf that somehow wandered away from Santa’s workshop and discovered brothels instead.

That was Marty.

Underneath all of that, though, he was genuinely one of the sweetest men you’d ever meet.

The first time he came into the studio was about ten years ago.

He walked in carrying a box of doughnuts with the biggest smile on his face.

I remember thinking,

“Who is this guy… and why do I already like him?”

Over time I learned he’d lost his wife a few years earlier.

Truthfully, I think he missed companionship more than anything else. Sure, he enjoyed the physical side of things—he was definitely what we’d call a fondler.

Not in a creepy way.

More like a sweet little dirty old man that just couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

It was almost… endearing.

Now, there was one thing about Marty that stood out.

He had a glass eye.

At first I didn’t even notice because he wore glasses when he came in.

But once the glasses came off…

Well…

You noticed.

He actually had beautiful blue eyes.

Or…

One beautiful blue eye…

…and one very shiny additional blue eye.

I never mentioned it.

I wasn’t sure if it was something he tried to hide or whether he simply preferred people not to acknowledge it.

Kind of like when someone gains a bunch of weight or loses a bunch of weight.

If they want to talk about it, they will.

Otherwise…

Mind your business.

So I did.

Years went by.

I saw Marty regularly, and eventually the eye just became…

Normal.

Although I have to admit…

Every now and then it’d catch me completely off guard.

Not because it was creepy…

Just because sometimes it looked like it had wandered off and found something way more interesting than the rest of him.

Fast forward a few years.

Marty comes in for another perfectly ordinary appointment.

Nothing unusual.

We head into Room One.

Now, this was at the old studio.

We called it the Blue Room because literally everything in there was blue.

Blue walls.

Blue tile.

Blue fabric hanging from the ceiling.

Why was there fabric hanging from the ceiling?

Because of a fire.

But that’s an entirely different story for another day.

Anyway…

The session goes exactly as you’d expect.

Nothing remarkable.

Afterwards we’re lying on the bed, chatting and cuddling, just talking about life like we usually did.

Eventually Marty reaches over for his glasses.

Side note…

I’ve never understood why someone with one eye still needs glasses…

But apparently the remaining eye still has expectations.

My ADHD appreciates you allowing that detour.

Back to the story.

So Marty reaches over for his glasses.

He rubs his eye…

And suddenly he jumps off the bed.

He’s frantically searching the floor.

Naturally, my brain immediately assumes:

“He dropped his glasses.”

Makes sense, right?

I don’t even remember asking.

I just jumped off the opposite side of the bed and immediately joined the search party.

He’s looking.

I’m looking.

We’re both crawling around this dimly lit blue room.

I get down beside the massage table and start reaching underneath, expecting to find a pair of glasses.

Instead…

My hand touches something.

It feels smooth.

Round.

Definitely not glasses.

For a split second I actually thought,

“Huh… that’s a weird rock.”

Without thinking, I picked it up and carried it over to the tiny little lamp in the corner of the room.

I opened my hand…

And nearly had a heart attack.

It wasn’t a rock.

It was Marty.

Well…

Part of Marty.

I was standing there…

Holding his eyeball…

And to make matters even better…

It was looking directly at me.

I swear that thing made eye contact.

Literally.

I slowly turned around.

Marty looked over.

Saw me standing there holding his eye.

And without missing a single beat…

With the biggest grin on his face he says,

“Well… I was just trying to get a closer look at your titties.”

I absolutely lost it.

We both started laughing so hard neither of us could breathe.

I awkwardly handed him back his eyeball—which, by the way, is not something they prepare you for in life—and he casually wandered over to the sink to rinse it off like this was a completely normal Tuesday.

While he was washing it, he told me how he’d lost the eye years earlier in a farming accident.

I finally asked him why he’d never mentioned it after all those years.

He shrugged and smiled.

Growing up he’d always been self-conscious about it.

So if people didn’t ask…

He simply didn’t bring it up.

Honestly?

I respected that.

It sounded exactly like something I’d probably do.

From that day forward, every now and then Marty would come in, grin at me, and ask,

“Wanna see a trick?”

By then I already knew exactly what “the trick” was.

Out came the eyeball.

Every.

Single.

Time.

And somehow…

It stopped being weird.

It just became…

Marty.

His sense of humour was one of a kind.

His kindness was genuine.

And although I never expected one of my favourite memories in this industry to involve holding someone’s eyeball…

Here we are.

I still laugh every time I think about him.

And I have no doubt he’s probably somewhere up there…

Still trying to get a closer look.