No minors are depicted here, everyone is over the age of eighteen and engaging in good, clean, consenting fun. Copyright belongs to the author.
I was mesmerized by this cock dangling through a hole in the wall.
It wasn't impressive in any way, as I've said. Just a pale average cock, twitching and visibly growing harder, a little fringe of ginger hair peeking out around it.
And yet, I realized immediately this was something I had always wanted, without even knowing it.
Just a cock. No stupid small talk. No guy pouring drinks into me to get what I already wanted to give him anyway. No awkward goodbyes or empty promises.
Just a cock.
I looked over my shoulder. Dave was still pressed to the wall on the other side, his bare ass facing me, his pants at his knees, his cock undoubtedly being enthusiastically serviced by the fat homely chick on the other side while, I guessed, her boyfriend watched. Or maybe, I hoped, fucking her from behind.
And this cock was all mine.
I leaned forward and slipped my mouth neatly around its droopy little bell-shaped head. I slid my tongue across its modest little bottom. Right away, it started twitching in my mouth, straining to stand straight up.
Oh you bastard, I thought, I bet you don't even know what a good blowjob is.
I started sliding my face back and forth on his needy knob like the anonymous fuckhole I was. It wasn't preposterously wide like Dave's cock was. It was easy to suck. Right away, I could taste the bitter pre-cum oozing from it into the back of my mouth. I pressed my nose right into his wispy pubic hair. He was a lot cleaner than Dave. This guy isn't going to last five minutes, I thought.
He didn't last two minutes. I was pumping my face on him like a dick-milking machine when he just went off. At first, like a good little bitch, I tried to swallow it all, but it was too much. He filled my face with scummy ball splatter and I just starting coughing it up. And he still kept going.
I spit his dick right out -- something I prided myself on never doing -- and just started yanking him off onto my face. Four, five, six huge splurts all over me. On my nose, across my forehead, finally just in my hair, my humble strawberry bangs. Oh, you poor man, I thought. You are not getting enough pussy.
And I also had to laugh. I was a fucking mess.
I released his already softening dick and watched it retreat back through the hole. And then, again, his eye appeared.
"Thank you," he said. I could tell he was appreciating the mess he had made of me.
"Oh, no," I said. "Please. Thank you for all..." I gestured helplessly at myself, "... all this cum."
*****
"Here," Dave said, "go break a twenty."
I was still wiping warm anonymous slime off my face. My hair was a lost cause.
Twenty dollars was a lot of money in 1982. You wouldn't want to just send it off into the money slot in one particular booth. What if you wanted to switch booths? Someone else would get to watch all your precious, paid-for porn videos. Ha ha, I know, a different world.
I took the twenty from Dave's hand and went out to the register in the front. There were different people out there now. Two more guys leafing through shrink-wrapped magazines. And two couples, too, each checking out the outrageously sized dildos and cheaply made bondage toys.
One, I thought, had potential -- a woman in her late twenties maybe, wearing a skirt like mine and a Ramones T-shirt that she'd cropped with scissors to show off her slender midriff and emphasize her big boobs. She very clearly was not wearing a bra. Her boyfriend had a nice ass in slim-fit Levis.
What were the chances that these people would follow me back to the darkened booths? Pretty good, I thought. Certainly the guys, but I hoped at least one of the couples would be tempted.
The front checkout area was on a high, raised platform. After many trips to adult book stores in subsequent years, I'd find out that this was always the case. Adult book stores were cash-only businesses that functioned as money-laundering storefronts for the mob. Just like go-go bars, only there was merchandise for sale on the premises. The incredible markups on cheap-shit Japanese-made toys and easily reproduced videotapes made those guys a fortune in the '80s. Later in life, I met some of those guys. They were businessmen. They had little patience for theft, unless it was their own thieving. The registers were always high up so the managers could watch for stealing.
But I digress.
I approached the register and reached up with Dave's twenty. The girl up there looked down at me and gave me her professional smirk.
"Having fun?" she said.
This girl was about my age, twenty or so. She was a slim blonde, hair feathered in the style of the day, neon new-wave eyeshadow. A far cry from me in my smeared makeup and simple strawberry bangs bearing big streaks of drying cum.
"Sure," I said gamely. "Very educational."
"I bet." She had taken the twenty and was plucking singles out of the register.
"Have you ever..." I said, and then ran out of words. There were a bunch of little squeeze bottles of lube next to the register.
"No," she said. "I never have." She handed me a sheaf of singles. "Hurry back. I'm sure the boys are waiting."
"How much are those?" I said, pointing at the lube.
"Two bucks," she said.
I handed two singles back. Dave would never notice. I slipped the little bottle of lube into the front of my denim skirt, inside the front of my pantyhose. I had no pockets, of course. When I re-entered the booth I'd left, I found Dave, the new love of my life, standing there casually with some guy kneeling in front of him, sucking his dick.
"What the hell?" I said.
*****
