Tales From the Show Floor 03

So far I've talked about tales of arrogant bullshit ( of which there will be more ) and tales of blinding speed ( of which there's just the one ) but what I have yet to talk about, is what are probably the bread and butter of these experiences at shows. The vast majority of these guys are hopeful, or surprised that their dick is going to get a chance to play some tonsil hockey with me. So without further ado, let me begin the tale of generic comic book show #237.

In the year of the show, 2010, the comic book market was coming into a resurgence. Iron Man had begun a chain of events that I've seen change the industry to this day. And so I find myself dressed up as supergirl, helping a man in his mid 60s sell the remnants of his collection at a comic con down in florida. I arrive at the show in my civies, then make an A-line for the women's restroom. (no phone booths inside the convention hall)

I make my way past the larger companies, towards the back of the hall where many of the small and independent vendors are. This guy that hired me has this tiny little booth. It's all personal collection. No toys or posters. Just boxes of cheap books. Initially I feel sorry for the guy. I know what I charged him to be there. I have a pretty good idea of what renting the space costs. I don't see those numbers adding up to less than what he could possibly have in all his longboxes. I say this because sellers don't put their wall books in longboxes. The books that go anywhere from $10 to $10,000+.

"Wow, you're right off of the page, miss. How can I help you?" he says to me, and I realize he doesn't recognize me from our email exchanges and photos. He eyes me toes to head, and only stops to stare at my tits for a few seconds, which is impressive in this industry.

"I'm Jessica. You hired me. I guess I should be asking how can I help you?" i say, smiling, offering him my hand. He blinks, than laughs, swearing as he does recognize me at the mention. He compliments my choice of costume, and I say how I thought it would really be great for the crowd, leaving off that at the time, it was just one of the few costumes I had from previous shows that fit the bill.

He asks me what I know about comics, and I tell him basically nothing. He seems slightly disappointed, but I reassure him that what I lack in comics history, I'll more than make up for with my salesmanship. I walk over, thumbing through the boxes, seeing that they're at least organized by price, but it's a lot of bulk. Lot's of 3 for $5, 7 for $10 deals. He makes some small talk, asking how my flight in was. I say i'm in town visiting my parents (which I was) and the flight was nothing special. He asks if i want a coffee, he wants to run over to the food court before things pick up. I say, sure, and he's off.

I watch him leave. He's a little frumpy, but he smelled pleasant, no visible sweat stains, and didn't leer at me like some sex-starved lunatic, which I can't say about a lot of these guys. I'm kinda into him. I make a mental note to actually try to move books, not just go on autopilot.

The doors to the hall open, he's still not back from the food court. I put on a smile, calling guys over as soon as I can see them, asking them what they're looking for, who their favorite character is, what movies they hope get made. These guys just eat this stuff up. For the most part, anyway. There are some really jaded fans that get annoyed when I don't know every tiny little detail about supergirl. There always are, always will be. But they get a smile and a tour of the booth same as everyone else. It's slow going at first. It's easier to get dull men to the booth, but it's easier to talk a kid into buying a bundle of cheap books. They just want to read. I offer to pose for a picture with anyone that buys a bundle.

By the time my boss gets back with the coffees, business is doing well. I've sold about a box's worth of books and there's a dozen more people standing around contemplating buying some more.

"Sorry, this place is packed," he apologizes. He offers me my coffee, but i decline, telling him to set it somewhere safe, and get back to work. I make a point to put my arm around his shoulder, as I walk with him and ask about taking credit cards. I'm maybe a half foot taller than him, and my cleavage has a little bounce in that spandex top, and I can see him fighting hard not to turn his head and stare as we talk. He says he'd rather just stick to cash, as all he has is an old manual swipe.

Now that he's back, I really up my game a bit, as much to show him how hard of a worker I am as I do to show him how friendly I am too. Making a point to let guys put their hands on my hips, shoulders, even my ass from time to time, as I usher them around the booth, sometimes even pushing them along playfully. Laughing, licking my lips, holding books right under my cleavage. Drawing attention to myself as much as I can. It's about 11am, when I feel a hand on my behind, and then hear his voice, asking me how I'm holding up.

"I'm good. Everyone's just so friendly," i say, cheerfully. He gives my ass a pat and says I'm doing great. I watch him walk over to one of the tables with boxes, and can tell he's definitely happy with himself, as if he just did a good deed. I also see him turn towards the table and try to subtly adjust the crotch of his pants, and I find myself involuntarily licking my lips. Then I turn my attention back to the crowd.

So, one of the things that keeps me coming to these shows, is they make me pretty horny. An hour of two of flirting, posing, and strutting around in a sexy outfit really does it for me, and I love the attention. Which also means, even if i'm lukewarm on a guy at the start of the show, by the time noon rolls around, I'm all too eager to pretend he's someone else from the waist down, if that's the direction he wants to take it. And today is no exception.

"Hey um, you want a break?" my boss asks about quarter after 12, "I was thinking I put up a sign, cover the boxes, and we hit the food court."

"Sure, whatever works for you," I say, shrugging my shoulders. I help him cover the boxes, he puts a sign up, asks the guy at the booth next to us to keep an eye on his stuff, and we begin our walk towards the food court.

"So, what's your fancy," he asks, "I saw a subway, some Chinese place, sbarro. Think there were a few more."

"Honestly, I'm not real picky about what goes in my mouth," i say cheerfully.

And there it is, one of my two (the second for a later story) favorite invitations to toss out to a guy. If he's as horny as i am, and is paying attention, it's definitely a green flag. And if he's dense or just not into me, or maybe just worried about a lawsuit (no, really, those last two happen more often than not) it's a throwaway statement.

"Oh, come on, with your figure, you can't eat just anything," he says, shaking his head. I'm actually just the tiniest bit disappointed. He was a little flirty earlier. Maybe that was enough for him. Maybe he just has really low self confidence. Or maybe he thinks that's just how I talk to everyone.

"No, really. Pick something to put in my mouth, I'm sure i'l like it," i say, which, right after I say it, I feel like it's even more vague than my last comment. And I figure it's a lost cause. But then he stops in his tracks, and lots at me. He starts and stops a sentence two or three times, and i just grin a bit. I can see the wheels turning in his head, but whatever he's experienced in his past is putting up a fight with what's happening right now.

Then, after what feels like a minute of us staring at one another, he musters up a sentence.

"Um, how about we go someplace downtown instead of the food court?" he asks.

"You're the boss," I tell him.

He nods, and we take a detour, and eventually enter the parking garage. I'm pretty sure he got it, but all the same, I try to casually step ahead just enough to glance down at his pants, and it's clear he's sporting a very stiff cock through his slacks.

"My car's just over here," he says, leading me to a sky blue cadillac. He unlocks my door and opens it for me, then shuts it and slides into the driver seat. I don't bother to put my seat belt on, just slide a bit towards the center (thank god no bucket seat) . He puts the key in the ignition, but doesn't turn it. Instead he sits back and looks at me. I put one arm on the back of the seat, the other drumming my fingertips on my knee. I smile, but don't move. Again the conflict in his eyes. Then he moves his hands down to his pants, and unzips, fumbling to pull out his stiff cock.

That's my queue. I don't say a word, just lean over, dropping my head into his lap and wrapping my lips around his member. There's nothing quite like sliding a rock hard cock into your mouth. I love it when I don't have to do any work to get a guy to that point. From above, I hear a sharp intake of breath as i slide my mouth down along his length. For my part, it's a very straightforward, thoroughly enjoyable experience. It's not too long after he sits up. He grabs the steering wheel or dash, I'm not quite sure, and I feel his hips jerk a bit.

His grunts seems bit more ragged. I continue bouncing my head dutifully.

"I..." he gasps out, followed by a series of shallow pants. The taste in my mouth barely registers, but there's a bit more viscous fluid in there then there was a minute ago. I continue administering to his member for another 10 second or so for good measure, then sit up and swallow. He's panting like he just ran down ten flights of stairs. While he gathers his composure, I pop open his glove compartment and find a napkin to clean up my lipstick with, checking in the rearview mirror. He watches me fix my makeup, then realizes he's still sitting there with his cock out, and tucks it away, zipping up. I can tell he wants to say something, but instead turns the key and starts the engine.

"uh, so, lunch then..." he begins, as he backs the car out of his spot.

Until next time.