"I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?" Lon asked Sally. "We don’t have to stay for the cum-shot…"
"Okay," Sally nodded; collecting her clothing, she started climbing into it, flicking an eye over her shoulder at the big black and the older woman as they engaged in their unusual (to Sally) act.
Neither Beth nor Terence was in any mood for goodbyes; the younger couple just smiled and waved and headed out, once they were dressed. Once out in the hall, Sally diffidently opened the subject, "Ummm…"
"Yeah," Lon answered, his face letting her know that he knew the question. "I like it, so you’re gonna do it. And Beth’s right — you’re gonna get caught short at some point."
"Oh." Sally’s stomach fluttered — not at the idea of sucking a cock covered with fecal matter, but rather with the implied control that Lon was exerting. "She, uh, seems to like it…"
"Well, there are those that do," Lon agreed. "Even guys, apparently. I guess it’s no big thing, either way."
"What if I don’t?" Sally asked.
Lon’s eyes bored into hers, "That’s no big thing either way, either." Sally’s stomach fluttered again.
Fred Carter was at loose ends. They had quit early at the job site, leaving him nothing to do but think and drink. So he’d been in the bar since about three o’clock, thinking more than drinking — and what he was thinking about wasn’t restful.
Shannon was still ignoring him — and she had that look to her that said she was probably getting her dick from a new source. That sucked, because it meant another dry spell … Maybe he’d been stupid to chop Louise off, but that thing with Damian had been the last straw — there was no doubt in Fred’s mind that his stupid cunt of a wife had KNOWN she was carrying somebody else’s baby to term when she had Damian! She did it on purpose, the twat! Fred had tried to ignore the whole thing, but he’d been pretty damn sure by the time Damian hit ten — and by fifteen, he had his father written all over him! He couldn’t blame the boy — being born isn’t a choice you make yourself — so he tried not to let it color his dealings with his younger son — but he imagined that some favoritism slipped through…
Chopping Louise off didn’t seem to be as painful to her as it was to him — and now that he thought about it, she seemed to be more self-satisfied than usual, lately. Well, as soon as Terence was off to college or trade school or whatever, Fred was gonna dump her on her ass, anyway — even though he suspected that the bitch wouldn’t hurt that much for it because of her job at the hospital… (The fact that he planned to leave her saddled with Damian lurked under the surface, somewhere, but he hadn’t really dragged it out to see what a hypocrite he was being… )
Anyway, he was out of pussy, temporarily, and that surfaced the other thing. Not that the other thing didn’t surface periodically when he HAD pussy — just the lack of it made things more urgent and removed any reason to avoid it. No, the hankering came on him once in a while and after a while, he’d get stupid and go do something about it — like today, it looked like.
Fred heaved a sigh and paid his tab and headed for the door. Maybe he could limit things to just getting his balls drained and watching some videos of queers and transvestites doing each other…
Once in the car, he drove the twenty miles to get himself out of the local area where he might be recognized, headed for one of three places where he knew he could get what he needed — a fairly upscale-looking adult video store situated downtown in the next burg over. Sitting in the parking lot out back, he could see a couple of other occupied vehicles — he had no idea why someone would sit outside a place like this unless they were waiting for someone in particular — and they made him nervous while he loaded up his pockets — paper napkins, a rubber … He pulled off anything identifying him or his job, pulled a ball cap low over his eyes and headed inside.
Once through the door, he scanned the racks, pretending to be interested in the merchandise while he checked out the other customers. Fishing out his wad of bills, he was pleased to discover that he had plenty of ones, so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself getting change from the porky white bitch with the Goth makeup and piercings at the counter. Vaguely, he wondered if she worked here in order to get laid — not that he wanted any of THAT shit … Chuckling, he headed for the peep booths out back.
Stopping inside the darkened atrium, he scanned the videos while checking out the other occupants from the corners of his eyes. This place had thirty-eight booths — twenty-two of them in a U shape around the fringes of the room, and sixteen in two back-to-back rows of eight down the center. Most of them were big enough to hold one person comfortably — and two UNcomfortably — a bolted-down chair, and a TV setup with one large and one small screen. Pushbuttons above the dollar feeder changed the channel and the volume settings (theoretically, when they worked) on the big screen; the small screen showed thumbnails of four channels in a cycle, so you could scope the other content without losing your primary selection.
The four booths at the base of the U were called VIP Booths and they were larger and better appointed. They were also more expensive — Fred didn’t ever remember seeing one in use. They were for couples or wheelchair-bound fucks, apparently … His exam complete, he headed around the corner and down the left aisle to Number Thirteen.
This left side aisle — numbers nine through sixteen — offered an additional feature; they were called Buddy Booths. Buddy Booths had a hunk of glass that was normally made deeply translucent by an electrical current — but if you pushed a button AND the guy in the next booth pushed the same button (AND it all worked… ) the glass went transparent, and they could see what each other was doing — which, let’s face it, was generally jacking off…
Booth Thirteen was special, though — it had a gloryhole on the wall it shared with Booth twelve. There was a metal plate apparently riveted over it — but that was appearance; someone had gone to a lot of trouble to defeat all of the rivets, leaving the plate hanging by a single screw. Not everyone knew about it, of course, and there was always the possibility that the fakery had been discovered and the plate re-attached — but it hadn’t been fucked with since Fred had discovered it. Fred figured that the store employees knew about it — Hell, some of them probably used it! Only the health inspector — or whoever had the job of being tight assed about such things locally — would care…
Thirteen was open, and so was Twelve — a good sign. Both doors were open, and the red lights above the doors, meant to indicate that the booths were in use, were unlit. Fred slid into Thirteen, closed the door, and latched it; you could leave the door unlocked and very probably attract a visitor, but that was a bit too public for Fred. Nonetheless, he couldn’t ever remember a time when the doorknob to his booth wasn’t rattled, here.
Fred stuck a dollar in the slot to get things going, then unbuckled his belt and slid his jeans to his knees so he could get at his joint, which was already half-hard — but if you were going to display the thing, you wanted it up fully, so he stroked it a bit, watching the screen, before moving on to the next phase. Once things were going well, he hit the button for the buddy window.