Chapter 1
Mark Weaver closed the door of the tiny booth and sat on the vinyl-covered chair. His hands were shaking as he placed a ten-dollar bill face up beneath the flashing green arrows in the bill acceptor. The instant that the bill was swallowed the video screen he was facing lit up. The upper right-hand corner displayed the numeral "1" showing that he was watching the first of one hundred and twenty-five different channels. The upper left hand part of the screen displayed 5000 credits that he knew represented about a half hour, maybe closer to forty-five minutes of viewing time.
On the screen, a Japanese girl was sucking a smaller than average-size brown cock of a young Japanese man. Mark kept pushing the up arrows until the numeral "80" was displayed on the screeen. This wasn't the first time he had watched this channel. The evening before he had entered this sleazy adult bookstore with the peep show/video arcade in the back and discovered this channel. This particular channel featured a series he found especially exciting. In the series, pretty women took a load in every hole. He didn't know why but he found himself fascinated with the closeup shots of freshly deposited semen oozing out of swollen vaginas, rectums and being swallowed by lipsticked mouths. The few other channels that he had watched showed men pulling out and shooting on the woman's abdomen, her back or on her face. These videos didn't do anything for Mark.
Last night was the first time that he had ever ventured into a place like this. In fact he didn't really know--from a first hand experience-- that such places existed. If they did exist in his hometown of Fargo, North Dakota, they must have been well hidden.
He had been in Los Angeles for three days, with three more days remaining of an accounting practice management training conference. The successful completion of this conference was a necessary rung up the ladder that he had been climbing, hopefully, to a partnership in the national accounting firm where he specialized in corporate taxation. In the evenings, most of the men-- and a few of the women who were also attending the conference--would go out on the town in groups of twos, threes and fours. However, that wasn't for Mark. He wasn't a social animal, more of a loner.
The first two nights he had stayed in his room watching television, reading journals or a pocketbook, the materials that had been provided at the conference and dutifully calling home. Last night he found himself bored to death with the routine. He felt like he had been incarcerated. The small hotel room had become his cell and he was in desperate need of a pardon.
The hotel where the conference was being held was near the Los Angeles Airport--LAX as his more traveled classmates called it--and not convenient to anything else. There were no movie theaters, restaurants or shopping centers nearby. However, as he walked East, along Century Boulevard, he noticed a flashing neon sign in the distance beckoning him. The sign read: "Adult Book Store, 125 Channel Video Arcade."
Mark didn't know what possessed him to do it but he found himself drawn into the gaudy establishment. Instantly, he realized that he was very out of place. The two or three other men that he saw were wearing jeans and T-shirts while he was still wearing his grey suit, blue oxford cloth button-down shirt and a silk, burgundy tie. He saw row after row of video cassettes, adult magazines, pocket books and a section along one wall that featured what they referred to as "marital aids."
At the very back of the store were heavy red drapes with a sign over the entrance that read, "Video Arcade." He walked through the drapes and found himself in a long dark hall with small booths on both sides. Over some of the doors to the booths he noticed that a red light was illuminated. He realized that these were occupied and those without a light on were vacant. Before slipping into one of the vacant, cramped booths he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one had seen him.
He slipped a dollar bill in the acceptor and learned how the video system worked. In the cramped space he also discovered something about himself as he surfed the channels. Those videos in which the women were pierced, tattooed or had gigantic, silicon-enhanced, unnatural breasts were turn-offs. He also skipped those videos that had girl-to-girl sex. What he did find very interesting were the ones that featured women with very pretty faces and model-like bodies, women with faces and bodies more like his own wife, Mary, who was back home in Fargo waiting for his return.
Within a few minutes, he had surfed up to channel 80. He never did find out what channel 81 or any of the 45 channels above 80 featured. He was hooked. He couldn't believe what he saw. Just then a message flashed across the screen warning him to deposit more money. He quickly slipped a five-dollar bill in the slot beneath the flashing green arrows and bought more uninterrupted time. Just him, the darkness, the flickering images and his hungry, impressionable mind that was being fed a very different kind of sensory food.
The series he found so fascinating featured three black men who made love to very beautiful, seemingly amateurish, white women. One of the men was huge, very black and totally bald. Another, slighter, except for his enormous endowment, had dread locks cascading down from his head. The third man was very handsome with a much lighter shade of skin than the other two. Like the others, however, he too was similarly blessed in the genitalia department. Mark had no idea that penises came in such extra-large sizes.
Last night, Mark had spent an hour in the booth and watched as five different women in the video series willingly and enthusiastically allowed the three men to cum in their mouths, vaginas and rectums. Each segment ended with the grey liquid the men had deposited oozing from each pink glistening orifice. Before the first segment ended he was fully erect. He unzipped his trousers, fished out his swollen cock and stroked it as he watched the other segments of the series.
"Knock it off Weaver," he berated himself more than once. "Grow-up. You're forty-two, a professional, a pillar of your community, a devoted father and faithful husband. What in the hell are you doing in a sleazy video arcade holding onto your throbbing cock like a lovesick teenager?"
He didn't knock it off but kept watching raptly. Sometime before his five-dollars worth of credits ran out, a segment featuring a very pretty brunette appeared on the screen. He couldn't help but compare her with Mary. His wife and the woman on the screen had similar features. Both possessed wide-set brown eyes, long lustrous brown hair, full lips and creamy clear complexions. Within a minute or two the three black men had her dress off. The similarities between the woman on the screen and the love of his life didn't end with their very beautiful faces. He saw that both were tall and thin and neither had gigantic breasts. He knew that Mary's were a full B-cup and guessed the other woman's breasts were the same cup size. It looked as if the woman on the screen had never given birth whereas Mary had born two children but one could know it by looking at her flat scarless tummy.
There were, however, three very noticeable differences between the two women. The woman on the screen, who was deeply kissing one of the men while the other two fondled her breasts, was nearly hairless while Mary's pubic hair had never been trimmed except in the labor room each time she gave birth. Also, the woman on the screen had bright red finger and toe nails while Mary's were always natural. He remembered Mary telling him that she thought brightly painted nails were cheap. The final difference he noticed was the size of their nipples. Mary's were very small and pink while the woman on the screen had huge, turgid brown nipples.
Mark was certain that the woman in the video wasn't faking it. He recognized the same subtle encouraging gestures that Mary signaled to him when she wanted more. He didn't quite understand what was going on in his mind but he came to realize that he thought of the woman on the screen as his wife. In his mental substitution, it was Mary who was sucking the black cocks. It was her saliva that coated the three giant penises. It was her pelvis that pressed itself against the thick black lips locked at the juncture of her widespread thighs. Then, it was her pussy that surrounded and sucked in the long, thick cock of the black man with the dread-locks. Mary's asshole, not the strange woman's, absorbed every inch of the bald man's cock. In Mark's mind, the bright red lips and the mouth behind them were Mary's that made passionate oral love to the third man's huge, black shaft.
It wasn't a strange female who curled her toes and screamed out when she climaxed, to Mark--for reasons he didn't understand at all--it was his loving wife in the throes of ecstasy. As he watched other segments, he found that it didn't matter if the woman had similar coloring and features of his wife, in his mind each one became her.
There were two other differences, he came to realize, that distinguished this series from the others. He noticed that most of the women were married as manifested by wedding rings and that they tended to be a little older than the ingenues that performed on the other channels.
Mark was desperate for release but managed to hold off cumming. He planned to call home when he returned to his room and hoped that Mary would be in a playful mood.
As Mark left the book store last night, he sheepishly poked his head out the door and looked right and left to make sure that none of the people attending the conference saw him. Then he walked quickly back to the hotel.
Chapter 2
It was two hours later in Fargo than it was in Los Angeles, nearly midnight when he returned to his lonely, confining room. In his bedroom at home in Fargo, the television was on though Mary wasn't watching it and was about to drift off to sleep. Except for her and the dog, the big house was empty because the kids were at college and Mark was in Los Angeles. She had gotten used to him calling an hour earlier and thought that she wouldn't hear from him that night then the ringing telephone startled her.
"Hi honey." Mark said.
"Hi yourself love," she said dreamily. "I had almost given up on hearing from you tonight," Mary said, stifling a yawn, as she rolled on her side and curled up.
"Sorry, I should have called earlier but I was out for a while." Mark said as he slipped off his suit jacket and tossed it on the chair.
This was a surprise, Mary thought. She knew that he hadn't gone out with guys while he had been out in Los Angeles. He had told her that they just wanted to drink and cat around. "Where have you been?" She asked softly.
"Oh, I just went out for a walk. There's really not much around here, just other hotels, the airport and office buildings."
"So, where did you go?"
He was ashamed of where he had been, what he had been doing and feeling. Nevertheless, he had never lied to her and he was quite certain that she had never lied to him. He wasn't about to start now. "Oh, there was this place a few blocks from the hotel that I went into, kind of different . . ."
"What kind of place?"
" . . . just a place, a bookstore . . ."
"Mark! This is like pulling teeth. Tell me where you were and what you were doing."
"I don't think you really want to know."
"Oh, this is so exasperating. Will you please just tell me? I wouldn't ask you if I didn't want to know." My goodness, she wondered, what in the world does her husband of 21 years, predictable Mark Weaver, have to hide from her. She sat up in bed waiting for his reply, now very wide awake.
"Honey, I don't want you to think I'm a lowlife, or some kind of a sick pervert but the bookstore was an adult bookstore."
"So, did you buy some magazines or something? I remember that we both agreed years ago that we would never have Playboy or Penthouse in our home."
"No, I didn't buy any magazines, nothing like that. In the back of the store they had these private booths. You could put money in and watch hardcore videos." He recalled that once when they had been surfing cable channels they had come across "Real Sex" on HBO. After watching it for a few minutes Mary said, "let's not watch that stuff. Find something good." That was her, not so subtle, way of saying that the program was bad.
"So Mark, are you saying that you went in one of those booths and watched porn?" She asked accusingly.
He hesitated then said, "yeah, that's what I'm saying. There were a lot of channels to choose from and I watched for about an hour."
"Did you . . . did you . . . I mean well, did you masturbate?"
"Not really. I mean I held him and stroked him but I didn't cum."
"But did these videos excite you? Did they make you hot? Did you have an erection?" She asked lowering her voice and scooting back down under the covers.
"Mary, I'm sorry that I went into that place. It was kind of crummy and I suspect that its patrons aren't like any of the people we know . . ."
