Last week I had an urge to suck cock for a few hours, get some cum in my mouth, maybe some on my tits, rub myself off once or twice while I did it.
I went to an adult bookstore on Colfax just east of the state capitol where my boyfriend (a bisexual cumslut named Teddy; he's fantastic but he's been on the west coast for work) told me he'd gone a few times to enjoy the gloryholes, sucking the cocks of random barflies and curious young men who'd wandered in from the street to peek at porn.
The bookstore was typical, if a bit small: DVDs, sex toys, some slutty outfits along one wall, a selection of lubes, condoms and other supplies. Low-rent, shabby, seedy. A single young clerk behind the counter with a try-hard scraggly beard. College boy, I thought.
There was a curtained door leading back to the arcade, the darkened maze of jerk-off cubicles with porn playing on screens in each one. That was where the action was, according to Teddy.
I had arrived with a purpose, and I was dressed for it: my grey pencil-skirt, yellow blouse, and my walking sneakers -- nothing fancy, nothing overtly sexy either (thought the skirt flatters my hips nicely), just clothing that lets me move easily, get dressed and undressed quickly, and if need be, fuck, just by hiking up the skirt. My mouth was watering, my pussy was so wet I could catch my own scent, and my hands were trembling just a little -- I'd never done gloryhole before, but Teddy's stories had been fuelling my masturbation fantasies lately.
I slid a twenty on the counter and asked for arcade tokens. "How's it all work?" I asked. "This is my first time here."
College Boy looked up from the magazine he'd been flipping through and shook his head. "No unaccompanied females in the arcade, sorry."
My mood went from dreamy and horny to instantly sharp. "The fuck? Why?"
College Boy gave me his best apologetic eyes and leaned in to speak in a lower voice. "Um, we've had some issues with... working girls? Using the arcade to sell... services. And the cops raided, and it's happened a couple of times, so... it's men and couples only. You could do it with your husband if you brought him next time?"
"I'm not married."
"Boyfriend?"
"I only have girlfriends right now." It was a lie, but if he wasn't going to let me suck some gloryhole cocks I'd at least have the satisfaction of being contrary.
"Oh, that's... well I'm sorry but those are the rules. I could get fired if I let you back there by yourself. And it's probably not safe anyway," he ventured. "Drunk dudes looking for kicks, you know?"
"I just want to watch some videos," I said. Another lie, one last attempt.
"We can rent you anything on the floor out here for home viewing," he said, and that was that.
That was last Friday. Now it's THIS Friday. My femme look is gone: I'm wearing Teddy's baggy blue sweatpants, teddy's dress shirt, and teddy's loose-fitting denim jacket. My tits are pretty small so they feel invisible in the loose clothing. I got a boyishly-cute pixie cut and I've got that under a green trucker cap, and my hands in Ace Hardware work gloves -- for men. My face has always been a little ambiguous, and without my usual makeup I think I can pass if I keep my hat brim low.
It's snowing outside, and the parking lot is dirty slush with just a few cars. It's a little early, I guess.
College Boy is working again, with his attention in another magazine.
I hear a loud DING-DONG sound as a man ahead of me walks through the curtained door to the arcade, shaking snow from his flannel shirt. A system to announce to everyone that there's fresh meat in the dark in there, I guess.
This time I don't ask questions, don't look College Boy in the eye, and adopt my most masculine walk. I slide a ten onto the counter and just say "tokens" in a voice I hope isn't too cartoonishly low.
College Boy doesn't even look up from his magazine this time; he just grabs a pre-counted stack of tokens from behind the counter and slides them across to me. "Have fun."
I take the tokens quickly, without answering, and head into the dark corridor leading to the arcade. DING-DONG, sounds the alarm. More fresh meat for the boys to play with.