At the time I couldn't help thinking that everyone who saw me after my impromptu visit to the adult bookstore KNEW.
They knew what naughty things I had done on my business trip to Philadelphia.
They could tell, simply from my demeanor, that I had visited the dark, dingy booths in the rear and their x-rated peep shows. That I had played with myself while watching the small screen. That I had been intrigued by what I now know to be a "glory hole."
What is worse, they knew that I had taken City of Brotherly Love to a new level and I had anonymously sucked a rock hard cock.
Not one slab of male meat, but several.
Me, an upstanding, heterosexual, married male junior executive had slipped down onto my knees and performed fellatio on someone I couldn't even see. A nameless, faceless human being with a terribly delicious cock was my partner. Not one anonymous partner, but more than one. The men had presented me with hard, pulsating and enticing cocks. Cocks that grew, spasmed and shot their seed into my mouth and onto my virgin face. These were disgusting yet exciting cocks.
For several weeks I couldn't look people directly in the eyes. I was embarrassed, I lived in fear that I had been observed or that I wore a look of a cocksucker...whatever that is.
Still, late at night after my wife was asleep, I'd work my dick into frenzy as I though of the nasty, raunchy acts I had committed in that adult bookstore. The memory of the men who watched me leave the facility was etched into my brain. Deep into one lovemaking session with my wife I fantasized my cock was slipping out of one of those glory holes and being satisfied by an unknown person on the other side of the wall instead of slipping and sliding out of her wet pussy. She didn't know what had gotten over me that night, but after the act she mentioned how great our session was. Little did she know I was fantasizing about a warm, wet mouth while pounding her soaking wet pussy.
I made a pact with myself never to get into the disgusting position of being with another male again. Heck, I had been on my knees on a dirty floor, servicing an unknown male like a whore on South Street. No, I hadn't been a whore; I wasn't paid with anything but sticky spunk.
Yet I couldn't shake the nasty thoughts from my brain. They were etched there, and like the movie Groundhog Day, it replayed over and over and over again.
As luck would have it, my boss scheduled us for a meeting in Philadelphia and we took the Amtrak express there early in the morning. We made our way to the Rouse Building, strutted out stuff, and were asked to return the following day to seal the deal. My boss celebrated the pending sale by treating me to a great dinner at a restaurant alongside the Delaware River, and we returned to the Marriott to have a couple drinks before heading up to our rooms.
It was only 10 p.m., and as I changed into more comfortable clothing I felt the magnetic pull of the bookstore on Market Street. Oh, I know, I think my mind was made up long before that I'd end up there once again, but the angel in me attempted to convince the devil that it wasn't a bright idea.
Angels don't always win.
I grabbed my overcoat and left the downtown Marriott, my alibi story in case I ran into my boss simple: I was just going for a walk to work off all the calories I'd swallowed. Deep inside I longed to gobble something else.
I made my way up the street and through City Hall, continuing through the business district. After a bit I spied the neon lit storefront a block ahead. The bookstore was open, and I made the decision to continue my trek.
As I approached I noticed a couple shady looking characters standing outside the door, and had a brief thought of walking right past. But the magnetic pull of the dingy booths pulled me inside, as I longed to return to the scene of the most exciting time of my life.
