I was 18, in college, and I was awash in sexuality. My middle and high school experience with women was the typical Geek tragedy. No girlfriends, no prospects. Wasn't even invited into the senior group picture session for the yearbook.
But in college, I remade myself. I was popular for the first time in my life. I had friends who were disappointed if I couldn't hang out with them. And, magically (at least I thought so at the time), I had a girlfriend. She lived in a different town, and that was a problem. She wasn't around all the time, and I wanted sex, all the time.
I had discovered sex the same way Columbus discovered America. Forget all the people who had discovered it, fully explored it and inhabited it before me. I had discovered it first.
And now I had a hard time thinking of anything else. In my dreams, I imagined glorious coupling with all the women I knew, and all the actresses and models of the time. I woke up every morning hard (and naked).
I would masturbate before I got out of bed, trying to quickly capture the sensuality of the dreams the night before. I always had sex dreams in those days. Then in the shower I would keep playing with my erection, sometimes for a second orgasm.
I usually wore shorts (nylon running shorts ... this was the eighties after all) and polo shirts, and when the sexual tension was high ... like it was on any day that I wasn't intimate with my girlfriend, I would often just get in the car and drive around town. On this day as it was getting dark I saw a place I had always been curious about, an adult book and toy store. I had never mustered the bravery to go in, but I needed some novelty and variety.
I had a good collection of soft core porn, mostly Penthouse (I really liked the letters), but I wanted to see if there was something hardcore that I was missing. This was the very early '80s, so hardcore porn was pretty rare in my state. And way before the internet, so if it wasn't stashed under your bed, you couldn't easily access it.
I walked into this dingy little store in the strip mall, not know what to expect. There were no windows to give anyone inside any idea of the weather or the time of day, and more importantly there was no way for someone outside to see in.
The store featured large tables of amateur construction that held all manner of magazines ... all soft core, but a far wider variety than that available in my local 7-11. There were swingers' magazines in the mix. In those days that's how swingers met, with personal ads in black and white magazines. Before CraigsList.
There were also hardcore magazines, but they clearly had been altered to fit the local laws, a black permanent marker taken to the critical areas of the photos. And there were toys, but a much smaller selection than what you would see today, dildos and vibrators mostly.
I walked around the store, fascinated and feeling entirely comfortable, within my element. And, pretty much from the moment I had made up my mind to go in, before I even got out of the car, I was hard as a rock. In those days since I suffered from the young man's ailment of a constant erection, I wore briefs rather than boxers. Tight "stylish" briefs with no fly. Briefs were the only way to keep it down sometimes
This being a retirement community, I was by far the youngest man in the room. There were two or three other men browsing, I think they were probably in their 50s or 60s, and they dressed like locals in their Bermuda shorts or golf clothes. We didn't make eye contact. It would have been too intimate, and potentially embarrassing.
I hadn't put any meat on my bones yet, so I was probably 145 or 150 pounds on a 5'11" frame. The man behind the raised counter asked for ID, and when he was satisfied that I was old enough to be there, I went back to wandering.
There was a hallway in the back of the store. Dimly lit, so I didn't really notice it at first. At first glance it looked like it might be the hall to the restrooms. I stood at the end of the nearest table to the back of the room and pretended to browse the magazines there while I looked, trying not to be obvious.
The hall was constructed of of plywood, painted black, and had maybe eight narrow doors on either side of the hall hung on simple hinges. Everything was painted matte black: the floor to ceiling walls and doors, the acoustical tile ceiling, and the concrete floor. The place smelled of bleach and Pine-Sol, not harsh, but intentionally clean.
As I stood there pretending I knew what was going on, one of the men who had been browsing went to the counter, handed over a bill and received a handful of change in return. The man tucked the change in his pocket and walked down the long hall, looking at pictures that were hung on the fronts of each of the numbered stalls. He selected a door and with a quick glance over his shoulder in my direction, shut and locked it behind him with the little slide bolt. A little green light over the door went on a moment later.
My intense sexual curiosity was burning a hole in my tight black bikini briefs. I went to the counter and took out my wallet.
"$5 minimum," said the cashier with a smirk.
I handed over the bill and he handed me $5 in quarters. I headed toward the hall, shaking a bit as I usually did from excitement at trying something sexually new. I had no idea what I would find, but my heart was in my throat.
I walked down the narrow hallway and looked at the pictures on the doors. They looked like they had been cut off the covers of the original packaging, depicting softcore pictures of hardcore activities. The movie covers had been rendered acceptable for softcore shelf display with big gold stars that said "super special" covering critical locations, or lettering tactically placed over the good bits.
But what they were clearly advertising was hardcore movies, and I didn't have a lot of experience with hardcore movies. Each booth had its own show. I picked one that seemed appealing ... I seem to remember a woman dressed in a frilly white dress on a country hillside ... I'm still really big on costume drama and role play.
I slipped into the booth, noting the position of the little brass slide lock on the inside of the door, and the position of the video-game style change receptacle on the back wall. There were no lights in the room and I knew it would go pitch black as soon as I closed the door. The lighting was so dim and the whole inside of the room painted matte black, so I could hardly see anything in the first place.
As soon as I locked the door behind me I grabbed my throbbing dick through my shorts with one hand and fished out a quarter with the other. I dropped the quarter in the slot with the other hand and the light of the projector (yes, an 8mm projector!) flickered on.
As soon as the images of the naked couple rolling around on the blanket surrounded by the trappings of a country picnic hit the white reflective screen glued to on the back of the door, I was hooked. I had a hard time breathing I was so excited. I've always been visual, always been extremely turned on by porn, and here was an ideal situation. I was locked in a little booth, by myself, with a dirty movie flickering on the screen. It was perfect for masturbation—no worries about getting 'caught' like at home or in my dorm—and I was an expert masturbator.
I took all the change out of my pocket and placed it at the back of the bench seat, more like a big plywood box attached to the back of the booth under the change slot, and then immediately took off my shorts and briefs, letting my throbbing erection slap against my belly and my cum-heavy balls dangle free.
.... There is more of this story ...