I could feel my heart pumping as I drove. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. It was hard not to speed but I couldn't risk a ticket. I pulled off the highway onto the local streets. Red lights and stop signs were the bane of my existence. And the 30mph speed limit! UGH!!
I had found this place by almost by accident, a random comment about it on a chat forum had made me look for it. I had given up, thinking places like this no longer existed near me. And, if they did, the special little "extra" that I loved probably wouldn't really be there.
Then one day a few weeks ago I was driving hope from a job site and an accident caused my GPS to reroute me onto some back roads. And there it was. I wasn't alone, so I couldn't stop, all I could do was make a mental note of where it was.
Today was the first chance I got to go back.
Finally I pulled into the parking lot. I pulled to the back of the building and was greeted by an almost empty lot, just 3 cars. It was a little before noon. Not to worry I thought, I was probably just too early, things would pick up after Sunday Mass let out probably. Hopefully.
Chest pounding, cock getting hard in my pants, I got out of my car and walked toward the building. It was an old store front, the last occupied shop in a small, 3 shop strip mall. In the front the windows were covered with bright signs advertising the shop's wares, in the back they were just covered over. Signs hung over two of the doors, "Bookstore" and "Arcade". The rest of the doors had imposing looking padlocks and signs that read, "No Entry".
A guy who'd been waiting in one of the cars got out and followed me toward the building. I went through the "Bookstore" door, he must have gone through the "Arcade" door.
I didn't even pretend to look around at the merchandise, I just went to the counter and pulled out a $20 and asked the woman for change, 15 singles and a $5. She was probably around 55 or 60 years old (so just a few years older than me) grey haired, heavyset and black, huge tits in a too small bra and t-shirt showing lots of cleavage. It brought me back to college. The same sense of desire and fear and anticipation and excitement and shame filled me know as it did then.
She smiled at me as she slid the money across the counter. "Enjoy yourself," she said. Did she know why I was there? I like to think she did.
"Thank you, Ma'am," I replied as I put the $5 in her tip jar.
College was almost 30 years ago. It had been a different place, obviously. I took buses from campus to get there, transferring twice to be certain I wasn't followed. And the woman had been white and blond and probably 20 to 25 years older than me. But she'd been heavy set, what kids today would call a "BBW MILF", with big tits trying to escape a too small bra and t-shirt; much like the woman in front of me now. She had always smiled and made small talk when I purchased tokens from her. She knew why I was there and it amused her.
Once, when the store was empty, she asked me about it while I waited. Without knowing why I answered her questions. In detail. I was hard the whole time. She could see it. She put up a sign, "Back in 15" and took me in back. I thought maybe she wanted to have sex with me.
Instead, at her request, I masturbated in front of her, telling her more, feeling her big tits as I did so. I climaxed into her hands. Then, at the instruction, I licked them clean. She called me a good boy.
We only did it the one time, I don't know why. One day I went and there was a guy behind the counter; I never saw her again. I wanted to ask what happened to her, but never had the nerve. The place, and places like it, lost their appeal to me over time. I frequented them less and less.
I stopped doing it my Senior year. It was just a phase I outgrew, I told myself.
Like I said, that was almost 30 years ago. I married a woman. We had a kid. We divorced. I married another. We also had a kid. We also divorced. Like many (if not most men) I had lovers and one night stands over the years, most while I was not married, some while I was. Most were women, some were not.
Old desires have a way of resurfacing and the aforementioned (slightly racist) comment in a chat forum was what did it for me. Maybe I'll talk more about that another time, but for now it's not that important.
I realized I'd been standing there too long, it was getting awkward. I smiled and thanked her again as I turned away and walked through a beaded divider into the dimly lit section of preview booths.
Off to my left I saw a door marked "EXIT" in red letters. That would be the same door that marked, "Arcade" on the outside. I guess some guys liked to come and go without the judgement eyes of other patrons and shop staff upon them. To each his own.
The booths in college were just plywood boards, cheaply hung and painted black. Even in the booths without holes it was easy to find cracks to peek through or to lay on the floor and look under. The doors were also just plywood boards, with cheap hinges that looked ready to fall off. There were no door knobs, just the cheapest handles with the cheapest hook and loop locks the hardware store sold.
Back then were four groups of booths. Each group played a specific type of movie (straight, guy-on-guy, girl-on-girl, or S&M), 4 channels of poor quality videos to choose from in each group. That was the age of the VCR and when a tape ended, it would automatically rewind and start over. You didn't get to pick where you started watching the movie or rewind or fast forward, you just watched the same movies at the same point as everyone else in your little booth community.
The floors there were cheap, cracked, dirty linoleum that was probably never cleaned. The seats there were basically just plywood benches. The holes were rough and looked like they were made with a hammer. It was easy to get a splinter, if you weren't careful.
