Seattle 1993

SEATTLE - 1993

Back in the early 90's there were still private booth sex shows on Times Square in NYC and a few other cities like San Francisco and Seattle. By the turn of the century, most were gone as the sex industry went more mainstream and online.

This is a true story but for name changes and some story line artifice.

This is not a typical erotic tale -- It actually took place over two days. Even truncated, there is a lot of story between the "sexual" interludes. The issues of sexual abuse and mental health are not skimmed over, but much detail is left out.

It hurt to write and tell the tale and I had second thoughts about submitting it. But it speaks to a unique period in our culture, sexism, mental health and more. I am frankly embarrassed of the man I was then.

While definitely a period piece, I have written it in the present tense, as I am still not controlled enough to write in a past tense perspective. This is especially so when recounting particularly poignant moments, so I chose to let it roll in real time.

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Everyone else on my team is arriving later tonight, so I figured that it was the perfect time to head over to my secret pleasure in Seattle.

My firm produces musical events for major corporations as part of their conventions or summit meetings. They pay mega dollars to have top tier acts play for their shareholders and/or employees. We act as mid buyers and produce the shows, functioning as the bridge between two very different worlds.

It is a relatively new extension of the concert industry and we got in at the ground level. We are doing well.

But to sell our services, I had to change from a rock and roll promoter with long hair, cowboy boots and jeans into a suit wearing CEO who can convince someone like Gianni Agnelli, Steve Jobs or Edsel Ford to trust me with $2 million plus to simply put on a concert.

In doing so, I discovered that tailored clothes are actually really comfortable and I soon have no problem going back and forth from my small ranch in Colorado to LA, NY and the corporate campuses where I pitch our services.

I no longer stay at the Edgewater, a rock and roll staple for decades. I now stay in luxury at the Olympic.

Life is good! I have a successful company, we are about to do our biggest show yet for Microsoft with Aerosmith performing.

I have a night free of responsibilities and am going to indulge myself with a peep show visit and then have a nice solo dinner with a book.

Currently re-reading "The Monkey Wrench Gang", I grab it from my shoulder bag and head out the door.

I love leaving the posh Olympic in my Ermenegildo Zegna Egyptian cotton shirt, dress slacks and Girling boots, fitting right in, while knowing they are just clothes. Underneath, I am far more suited for where I am bound than this hotel.

Going from the staid elegance of the Olympic, to the dark, dank, semen sticky floors of the Lusty Lady on 1st Ave is culture shock to the extreme.

The Lusty Lady has it all.

There are old school peep show booths were you can jerk off to videos.

There is a single, large room with a semi circle of individual booths. Once you pump your tokens into the window release, you are provided a view of the room, with one or more girls, dancing, playing with themselves, posing, etc.

But you can also see across into the windows of other guys, jerking off. I tried it once and left immediately. NOT attractive to me in any way.

My kink is in the private booths. You put in your tokens and the window opens on a small room, not much bigger than your booth. If not occupied, a girl will soon arrive.

Hard to believe that anyone can get aroused in such a place. Especially to the point of actually ejaculating, while knowing that your "partner" on the other side of the window is just punching a clock.

But it works for me every time.

I am not lacking for sexual activity. Actively dating a neighbor in Colorado and two women in LA, I don't "need" to visit a whack joint. In fact, two nights ago, I enjoyed a marathon session of light switch bondage and mutual toy play before finishing it off with a sweet, vanilla missionary fuck with my cowgirl neighbor in Durango.

When I first discovered peep shows in the early 70's, barely out of my teens, they were a substitute for the sex I was not getting. Over the years, it evolved into something else. I am starting to realize that I may have a somewhat exhibitionist bent.

I am not well hung or so fit as to be of unique interest to a woman on the other side of the glass. However, I am heavily tattooed. Most of me from my shoulders to my knees is covered. I also have several piercings (nipples, lorum, frenum). Body modification has just started to break into the straight world, but is still pretty rare.

With my arms below my biceps free of ink, I can hide in plain sight, even in a golf shirt. Out in the world I enjoy the yin/yang nature of that subterfuge.

Over the past few years, I have found that exposing the ink and piercings will cause the girls to pay a bit more interest.

It is fun to watch their bored faces as they enter, find a straight looking businessman in a dress shirt and slacks who gradually unbuttons his shirt and unzips his fly to expose something a bit freakier for their amusement -- or at least provide a bit of diversity to their boring day.

It's only 5:00PM and I don't expect the Lusty Lady to be too crowded.

Walking into the dark entrance, I buy 40 minutes worth of tokens and walk through the curtain.

In the gooey gloom of the lobby area is a big security guy and one old man with a rolling bucket and a wet mop, to clean the floor after each customer is done.

Heading to the confessionals, I pick a door, enter, check the bench which appears to be clean and dry and put my book down next to the roll of paper towels, wondering what Abbey would have thought of all this. Paper towels are the one amenity provided in the booths, along with a small rubbish bin.

I pump all the tokens into the slot, watching the digital counter ascend to 40 min. I will likely be done in 15, but from the little I know, the girls get paid off the token count, so I think of it as a tip before service.

The window slides down on an empty room. The window itself is rectangular. About 2' wide and 3' tall.

I unzip and began fondling myself as Al Green's "Call Me" starts up on the sound system.

The door of the room opposite me opens and a girl walks out. Most are in their 20's and tend to look even younger. I usually think of them as girls. This one seems a bit older, and somehow different.

She has blonde hair, which I cannot verify as natural. She is waxed and her pudenda is hairless and smooth. It is also tattooed, a wall of fire rising from her loins, filling her pelvic girdle.

The work is actually amazing, with swirling grey smoke alternating with the yellow, orange and red. The outline work is solid and sumi black. It looks almost Japanese, but that's impossible.

I should know. I have three pieces from Horiyoshi III, one of the current generation of Japanese masters. Tattooing in Japan is not illegal, but is so culturally frowned upon that you are not allowed in bath houses if you are tattooed. It is thought to be a yakuza only pursuit, but firemen and several trades take pride in their body suits as well.

Horimono is the term used for full body suit tattoos, while irezumi refers to tattooing in general. It originated as a term used for the carved designs in a samurai sword. The "hori" part then became an honorific for masters of the art.

Due to the societal assumptions, it is a very underground scene. The artists do not have street shops with signs, instead working out of unmarked shops or apartments. Given the quality and artisanship of the their work, this bias is absurd.

My entrée was provided by a famous American tattooist who had apprenticed with Horihide twenty years earlier. The first visit involved several letters back and forth and finally a handmade map taking me from Yokahama station to the apartment that served as Horiyoshi's studio.

The work opposite me has hints of Japanese influence and is remarkably executed, but I decide it cannot be actual horimono.

She begins swaying slowly to Al Green, a bit glassy eyed and disconnected and I think she might be high.

A recovering addict, I can spot a fellow junkie pretty quickly. But her pupils are actually dilated, the whites bright and clear with the most amazing grey/blue irises I think I have ever seen.

No, the glassy eyed look is one of complete boredom. Absolute disinterest. And a little something else I cannot quite place. But she could not care less that there is a paying customer on the other side of the glass.

She begins by cupping and lifting her breasts while tweaking her nipples. Then she does a really silly excursion of her lips with the tip of her tongue. I almost laugh, but hey, I can't blame her.

I am still playing with my flaccid cock, and reach in to bring out my ball sack through the open zipper, my pants buttoned to keep them from falling onto the disgusting floor.

Across from me, she has gone to position #2 in her 'Bored Book of Tricks'. Her room has a larger, deeper bench, allowing her to do various positions of exposure. This next position is bent over on her knees holding her ass and pussy open for me.

Both are actually quite lovely. Her lips are full and pink and her asshole is waxed and free of the 'roid surrounds of many sex workers. My cock grows in my hand.

I pull the tails free and unbutton my shirt. Tugging on one of my nipple rings, my penis becomes fully tumescent as I watch her suck her finger and then stick it into what is assuredly a dry pussy, as bored as she is.

No matter, I'm doing okay on my own and will be finished soon. Hell, she might even get a 30 min bonus instead of 20.

Al Green has moved through "I'm Still In Love With You" and on to "Let's Stay Together" as she goes to position #3 in my imagined 'Booth Girl Playbook'.

Position #3 is lying back on her bench, legs akimbo, 'playing' with her disinterested pussy.

However, this time we actually make eye contact for a quick second and then she darts her gaze down to my exposed torso.

Her flat affect gives a little jump and returns to nothing as she keeps fingering herself -- continually adding spit, which looks hot, but I can see it's because she is bone dry and unaroused.

I unbutton my slacks and sit down on the bench, leaning back against the wall and begin pleasuring myself in earnest. Telling myself, "Yeah, Tom, you are just an exhibitionist in a safe place, that's the kink for you."

I try to imagine entering the pussy across from me, but her obvious detachment, does nothing to take me further, so I close my eyes and begin pleasuring myself with purpose while Al moves on to "Here I Am"

I idly wonder if the girls get to choose the music during their shifts. I am just grateful they are not playing Nirvana which was the soundtrack to a Sunday morning session a few months before.

Forgetting the girl on the other side of the glass, I lick the palm of my hand and begin stroking myself with my right hand as I pull and twist my nipple rings with my left. A bit more spit and I let my right hand just grip my cock as I thrust up, fucking my fist.

My lorum has a 1" diameter ring through it with a large, heavy ball closure. The size of ring and ball is specifically for my cowgirl's pleasure as it slaps her clit when fucking doggy style.

I like it as well, using it when masturbating. I put a finger through it, providing a great tug on my ball sack on the upstroke and the ball rolls along the underside of my shaft and up onto my crown as it bounces over my frenum.

The frenum is a 10g barbell, primarily for a partner's pleasure, but I like the look of it, just below the swell of my crown on its underside, the most sensitive spot on my penis.

Now fully aroused, I slip my third finger through the ring and begin stroking hard, wishing I was not circumcised, wondering what this would feel like if I was uncut with a lorum this size.

Al Green has segued to "Love and Happiness" and I am getting my stroke up on to the amazing groove being laid down by his Memphis rhythm section, specifically Howard Grimes on drums and Leroy Hodges on bass.

It's a slow, sexy grind and I know I am close.

I look down at myself, swollen and hard, a bit of pre cum on my slit. As I stroke up over my frenum, my palm catches that little pearl of jizz and sweeps it back across the belly of my shaft. It's all I needed and I get ready to stand and give the bucket man a chance to earn his money, by unloading onto the floor.

But as start to get up, I notice that booth girl has moved and I don't think this position is in the playbook.

She is standing in front of the window, hands up on either side of the window frame, just watching me. Due to the window's size, I can only see her from the waist up

Our eyes meet briefly and she is startled, but does not move. She breaks our gaze and looks down at my cock, then slowly, she moves her eyes back along my torso and engages with me again.

I worry that she is going to start licking her lips or sneering 'sexily' or some other nonsense that will likely turn me flaccid again. I am already starting to go a bit limp.

But she does not. She just keeps on staring at me. Her affect is no longer flat, but it's not engaging either. It is open and not judgmental.

And I am getting confused.

As stated, I have had several booth girls respond to my ink and my piercings, but they were frisky biscuits who at least pretended to be into what they were doing and coaxed me along my way until I finally spewed on the floor.

It was during those sessions that I began to realize I liked performing as much as they supposedly did, even though I had to pay for it.

Those were fun sessions and a nice break from the usual feigned masturbation scenarios that comprise most of the action on the other side of the glass.

However, when I was confronted with boredom or a complete lack of interest, like today, I would close my eyes and just get off.

But never had I been through something like this.

She is still watching, intently now. Her hands still on the window frame. We are watching each other, she's looking me over, I'm trying to figure out her angle while she continues to dodge eye contact.

As I am now the only performer in the two rooms, I decide that I like being watched like this. My cock swells in my hand.

With this realization, I slow myself down. Taking a look at the digital counter, I see that I am almost halfway through my 40 minutes. I might as well explore my newfound commitment to exhibitionism as I seem to have a mildly interested partner, although nothing sexual is coming off her.

In fact, the lack of sexual response is somehow getting me more aroused and I get a perspective on whatever it is that drives 'real' exhibitionists, because after all, there's nothing deviant about me...........

Al Green slides into "How Can You Mend A Broken Heart", slowing the tempo for me and I marvel at how in snych this playlist is with my jerk off session.

With 20 min on the clock, I decide to treat this as if I was in my hotel room, just taking my time. I don't have any lube or toys, but can still do more than just jerk myself.

I take off my shirt, carefully folding it on top of Albee and push my trousers to my knees and spread my legs apart.

Turning my head to my armpits, I inhale myself while collecting any sweat under my balls. Running my hand down my perineum, I slide two fingers through my sweaty ass crack and bring them up to my face.

Smearing my fingers onto the skin above my upper lip, my own musk fills my nostrils.

I lick my hand and return it to my crotch, spinning my slippery palm around the crown of my penis. Al picks up the tempo slightly as the playlist moves on to "Tired of Being Alone".

Window woman has not budged. But her look has definitely changed. She seems a bit more interested in what I am doing. Part of me thinks that is a bit odd, since every guy she sees through the window likely does some version of what I am doing.

I would say the biggest change is that she now looks relaxed. Her mouth is open and she is just letting it all happen in front of her. I close my eyes and resume my self gratification as Al bring the bpm up a bit with the rather incongruous "Let's Get Married".

Working more spit into my ass, my left fingers probe my sphincter as I squeeze and stroke my shaft. Edging myself almost to orgasm, I pull back and open my eyes.

Her position has altered slightly. Hands still on the window frame, she is now leaning in, nose almost touching the window. Our eyes fully connect this time and she blushes. I actually feel embarrassed for her and she seems to know this as she immediately shakes her head and mouths "No..... It's Okay, Okay."

I look at her, seemingly for the first time. Up to now, she was: older, blonde, waxed, cool tattoo, pink pussy, nice tits, dry, bored..............and those grey/blue irises.

Now I'm examining her as closely as she seems to be examining me. She is of course closer and fills the window from just below her navel to the top of her head. It frames her perfectly, what directors call a medium shot.

She is definitely older, a woman, and not a girl. I see that she has slight stretch marks on her belly and breasts and intuit that she may actually be closer to mid 30's, not so far from my 40.

Recognizing her as an adult, seeing her as a peer, a different embarrassment sweeps over me.

I realize how fucking ageist and sexist this whack booth peccadillo of mine really is..............And how it would appear to a woman my age.

I have no idea what my face is revealing of my internal revelations, but she seems to be reading me.

She sends a sad smile my way. It furrows her forehead a bit and I hope it may be a smile of acceptance or at least understanding. But it looks a lot more like pity.

Apparently, the uncertainty about the smile's meaning shows on my face. Her smile turns sardonic as she pointedly looks down at my hands, the left buried under me, the right holding my now somewhat flexible penis.

Then she nods her head up. Not up and down like a yes, but Up, and then Up, like a horse urging you for a carrot. It's a nudge, I take it as "go ahead, continue."

Still a bit embarrassed, I start to close my eyes, but there is a knock on the window. She shakes her head.

She has taken control of this entire scenario.

I could pull up my pants, put on my shirt and leave.

I decide to do so, but still remain seated.

I am frozen in place by a trio of conflicting jumble of thoughts and emotions.

Primarily, it's the exposure of my lie that this is all okay, not really exploiting women.

Then, the realization that I really like to exhibit myself.

Finally, the conundrum of wanting to control the situation, but wanting to let her run the 'show'.

She waits.

She is just looking at me, she does the horse nod again.

Something completely new stirs inside me and I decide to go ahead with this, even as exposed as I am. Exposed as a fraud for my sexism, exposed as some sort of exhibitionist. Nearly naked in front of this woman who has completely flipped the script on me.

As Al slides appropriately into "I Can't Get Next To You", I lick my palm and begin stroking myself to that instantly recognizable groove, the tip of my left middle finger now pushing into my ass.

And as she watches me, I keep edging myself more erect, more aroused. I look down at my cock and once again there is a knock at the window, this time she is laughing her "NO" at me. Her affect no longer flat. Her eyes are now alive, with a little twinkle to them and I mouth back "OK".