Terry did not really know what kept drawing him to the shabby little adult bookstore just off the interstate. Each time he would tell himself he was never going there again, he found himself slinking inside through that goddamned metal door with that stupid sign. That sign that said persons had to be "18 or over to enter—NO EXCEPTIONS". The fact that some dumb fuck had to add the last two words in bold letters with a Magic Marker always made Terry shake his head.
Inside, it was the usual shit just a different day. The squirrelly older guy behind the counter with all those pens in his pocket often made Terry wonder if there were any more Bics left for sale at the discount stores. The old dude had one hell of a mouth on him, though. Terry had cum in it, so he knew. The old dude did know how to treat a cock, even if he was kind of freaky.
Terry never did get the man's name. He never wanted it, and it was never offered. Every so often, when the place was dead and it was only the two of them, the clerk would tape the sign "Back in ten minits" on the door. It never took that long for the old man to take Terry where he wanted, perhaps even needed to go.
When "every so often" came about, Terry was always out of there like a shot afterwards. Just a quick "Thanks, man", and Terry was done. The old dude never complained. He never asked for reciprocation. He just gulped down Terry's load, slipped Terry's briefs back into place, kissed Terry's cock through the cotton and smiled.
The strange part was that Terry always felt something was missing each of those times. He often told himself it was because he rarely got to watch any porn in the booths. He never got to see some big-titted whore being slammed by one of those circus cocks for which porn is best known. Certainly, he had gotten off, and the old man's oral skills were far better than average; yet, Terry always left with a sense of something left undone.
Yes, deep down, Terry knew what was missing, but he could not make himself come to grips with it enough to even fathom admitting it. Terry would never admit that he particularly enjoyed cock. In fact, he enjoyed a spurting dick just as much as the old dude with all those ballpoints.
However, admitting that would be to admit the fact that Terry went to that seedy little place for more than just getting his own rocks off. Terry would not and could not ever admit that, not even to himself.
"Back again, youngun?" Mr. Bic asked.
"Yeah," Terry mumbled, trying hard not to meet the old man's eyes. Slipping a crumpled five onto the glass counter which displayed butt plugs of all shapes sizes and colors (Why were the biggest always black?), Terry said, "Tokens, please."
"All of it?" Mr. Bic asked. Terry nodded. His tone was now more professional than the flirtatious one with which he had greeted Terry. The old man knew Terry better than Terry knew himself. Terry never liked small talk. With three people, two of them a male-female couple, browsing the assorted books and videos along the walls, Terry liked small talk even less.
The old man knew Terry always needed to have a few drinks to be able enter that metal door. Lots of the guys, who patronized the place, were that way. He could always smell the odor of gin or bourbon on them, even with the counter separating him from the patrons. Still, as Terry took the bronze colored tokens and furtively turned for the thick, red curtain which served as the border between the brightly lit lobby and the peeps, the old man licked his lips. He tossed a quick, knowing wink in the direction of another regular, the guy without the girl, as Terry slipped into that red-lighted hallway.
The thing about red lights is one doesn't have to struggle to get one's bearings. While the light conceals many things, unlike darkness or more dimly lit environs, a person does not have to stand in the doorway and let their eyes adjust.
As Terry entered this red world, his demeanor changed with the lighting. While he was all business in the glare of the lobby, this hallway elicited that thing in Terry that could readily admit that the sensation of a cock sliding between his lips was a good thing---a very good thing. It was that part of him that needed to be used and used well.
Only in this place was Terry comfortable with exactly what he was—a cock hungry bitch. The sounds of the grunts and moans in the occupied booths from videos and video watchers, the smell of cum and even the disgusting, soiled booth floor caused Terry's urges bubble to the surface. Instead of his usual long, purposeful strides, Terry always found himself moving so that his ass rolled with each step. He met eyes and sometimes even drew his tongue enticingly (he thought, anyway) over his upper lip, as he slipped into a booth and left the door ajar behind him.
To Terry's deep disappointment, though two of the booths were occupied, they were across the hallway from each other. One was Number 7, which Terry knew had no glory hole. Twelve, down at the end of the hall, had a glory hole; however, the adjacent two booths on either side were out of order.
Terry resigned himself to perhaps waiting for company or even jerking off to a fuck flick; until, that is, he sensed the curtains open behind him and heard the footfalls of another lone male behind him. Without even a glance back at who might have followed him in, Terry slipped into his favorite booth, Number 4. Four had glory holes on both sides, and a long bench. It was the largest booth in the place. Terry always wondered why it was larger, but he only wondered about it when he was not in it. For now, he was just thankful it was spacious.
Terry eased in, pumped four tokens in to the slot beside the small screen and waited. He had left the door unlatched, but he had not left it open, even a bit. He always worried about cops checking the place out, and since he was so close to the lobby with no one in the preceding booths, he took the appropriate precautions.
