(Author's note: This is only my third story here. Thank you to everyone who voted on "My Delicious Little Witch" in the Halloween contest. "Sweet, Young Stephanie" continues to be read in the TS/CD category, and Stephanie is mentioned a few times in the tale you are about to read now. I try to make each story different but all connected in some way to create a more interesting world. Over time I plan to have characters cross over into stories in multiple categories.
My work schedule prevents me from writing more than a few hours a week, so please bear with me as I struggle to get more stories posted. And yes there will be another S.Y.S. tale at some point. Hopefully you will enjoy this one in the mean time. As always, I welcome your votes, comments, feedback, and e-mails.)
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Finally, I was going to get a vacation. My damn boss never gave me any time off, but since I'm self-employed I had only myself to blame.
I run a small electrical contracting company and business is quite good. Having been through slow times before, my motto was "Never turn down work." However, I've been going for nearly two years with little more than a day or two for kayaking, or hiking, or taking Stephanie to some exotic location like an abandoned stable to show her new ways to use ropes, or maybe a jacuzzi suite at a nearby hotel. Due to her college course load and the fact that she still lived with her mom who had no idea she was screwing the older guy next door, I only got to see her two or three times a month. So it was with heavy balls that I marched into the local mall in search of one of those do-it-yourself photo booths.
See, my passport was out of date and I needed a new one if I wanted to leave the country. Well, I could leave but I couldn't get back in again. I needed the photos to include with my passport renewal application, along with the requisite form, my old passport, and of course, their fee. They said four-to-six weeks to get my new one, so realistically I needed to get the paperwork on its way pronto if I wanted to leave before the next ice age.
When I was a kid those photo booths were everywhere; a box the size of a closet where people go in, sit on a little bench, and mug for the camera. There's usually a thin curtain to conceal them from the passers-by, and they're often used by drunk kids to get those I-can't-believe-I-got-her-to-kiss-me photos that the girls often regretted the next day but the boys hung onto forever. Sometimes more than kissing went on, but the curtain stopped a foot or so from the floor and the booths were usually in crowded places like boardwalks, fairs, and shopping malls, so it was tough to get too crazy.
But when I had gone online earlier to find one I was surprised that Olympia had very few. The nearest location was the mall a few miles away, and that's how I found myself weaving among women in shopping Nirvana, kids yakking on cells phones, and families with husbands who looked like they'd rather be at the dentist. At last I spotted the booth.
It stood right in the middle of the broad walkway, people flowing around it like a river around a rock. There was a shoe shop and a couple of teeny-bopper clothing stores on one side, and a cheap import store, a black-light-filled head shop, and a (gasp) book seller on the other. Muzak echoed from the thirty-foot ceilings and a babble of voices filled the air. The place smelled of popcorn and women with too much perfume and too much time on their hands.
Walking up to the booth, I noticed it seemed bigger than the ones I'd seen as a kid. I felt a little self-conscious going in alone, kind of like a guy who goes to an amusement park by himself. But no one paid me any attention so I stepped inside and pulled the curtain closed.
The curtain was a thick, dense material that covered the door from top to bottom, a far cry from the flimsy nylon that let anyone passing by see the occupants from the knees down. And it had a latch. Very weird, I thought. It was one of those spring-loaded hooks like people use to secure a screen door. Maybe enough weirdos have yanked curtains open that the booth manufacturers decided to beef up security. Nothing scares off necking kids like being exposed to the ridicule of strangers.
I secured the latch, pulled out my wallet, and looked for instructions. The space was about five feet deep, three wide, and seven feet high, with a bench seat at one end. Opposite the seat was a video screen at head level, a horizontal slot for inserting cash, and smaller slot with a wire tray where the strip of photos would come out. But no instructions.
No sign giving the price, or telling me to sit and wait for a blinking light to indicate the shots were about to be taken. No button to push. Nothing.
I was about to leave when the screen flickered to life. White letters on a black background read:
LOOK DOWN.
I did.
In the wall beneath the video screen, a dark oval hole beckoned.
That wasn't there a second ago. I had just looked that wall up and down trying to figure out how to use the damn booth. Perhaps three inches wide and eight high, the top and bottom of the opening were precise half-circles. It looked smooth and sleek, not some ragged hole gouged through the wood.
What's going on? I wondered. I couldn't help noticing its crotch-level height. It looked like one of those glory holes I'd seen years ago at a dirty book store, but a bit larger and professionally made. What was it doing here? The screen blinked new words:
1. INSERT FIVE DOLLARS TO ACTIVATE "OCCUPIED" SIGN
2. PLACE PENIS IN HOLE
3. ENJOY BEST BLOWJOB OF YOUR LIFE
What the fuck is this?
I said, "Umm, I just want some passport photos."
The words on the screen changed to read: ARE YOU SURE?
I didn't answer. After a few seconds the words faded away. Had to be a prank, I thought. Who the hell offers five dollar blowjobs in a photo booth in the middle of a mall? But my cock began to swell at the thought of unloading right here, surrounded by oblivious young girls and stressed-out moms. I hadn't cum in a couple of days, and not for a week and a half not counting jacking off. My dick got harder and I fidgeted a bit trying to get it into a more comfortable position.
The video changed again, this time showing a woman's head from a high angle. The image had the greenish cast of a night-vision camera but it showed cascading blonde hair, oversize movie star sunglasses, and the lower face of an angel. A delicate nose curved past high cheekbones. Her pixie chin was pointy, almost faerie-like. A wide mouth with slightly plump lips smiled at me.
Though I couldn't see her whole face, what I saw looked very appealing.
Still not believing it, I whispered, "Seriously?"
In response, a face appeared at the hole. No doubt it was the same chick. When the face moved, the woman on the screen moved too. Apparently there was a camera mounted on her side of the wall, about the height of my chest, and it showed the view I would see if the wall were not in the way.
In the dim light of the booth's interior her skin looked smooth and flawless. Her lips parted in a provocative smile and her tongue slid across teeth that belonged in a toothpaste commercial. My dick got even harder and I felt a trickle of pre-cum leaking out. I stood there holding my wallet, unsure what to do.
Outside I heard the chatter of teen girls as they strolled by, jabbering about TV shows or some moronic celebrity. Glancing at those inviting lips, I again re-adjusted my cock. Did I really dare whip it out? Then something new appeared on the screen:
10...
9...
8...
Aw crap, a countdown. What if it's a sting? I thought. Cops just waiting to bust some perv exposing himself in a public place?
7...
My cock throbbed and my overloaded balls churned with interest.
6...
I'm really gonna do it, aren't I?
5...
I yanked out a five dollar bill, crammed the wallet back in my pocket, and fed the bill into the slot.
4...
With a whirring sound, the bill disappeared into the machine.
Nothing happened.
3...
Oh yeah, there's one more thing, I thought. Quickly I unbuckled, unzipped, and pushed my underwear down.
2...
My rock-hard cock sprang out like it had a mind of its own.