Chapter 1

The peeps at the local adult emporium were in the basement -- probably in an effort to make us all feel lower than dirt. By 'us, ' I meant the community of users of the peep booths, elite group of losers that we are... Either this tactic was so they could close the lid and roast us in case of a fire, or so the cops would only need one tear-gas grenade in case of a raid, I figured.

I'd reached that point of desperation that allowed me to countenance whatever it was going to take to get my cock sucked and put in an appearance and dropped about five bucks in the booths -- but the pickings were just too slim. There was no new or young or fresh talent -- just the usual group of old suck-whores -- toothless granddads that can't get it up any more and have learned to subsist on cum. I'd learned the hard way that while I might not get AIDS from one, there were other diseases to be transmitted by the community mouths...

I was headed up the narrow stairs, not looking at anything much except the next stair, when a pair of feet in flip-flops appeared there.

The feet in them were female -- I knew that, despite the fact that the toes weren't polished. They weren't young, either -- they were a little too wide and flat -- something about them said thirty-five. The ankles and calves agreed with that assessment as my eyes swept upward -- then we hit the skirt, a loose, dark item that hung below the knees. Moving on up, my eyes discovered a couple of decent-sized hooters wrapped in a peasant blouse -- and no bra. The amount of sag they displayed -- not serious, but it was there, confirmed earlier assessments. In passing, my eyes took in her arms and hands -- which were extended as a buffer to keep me from climbing into her -- which said forty. So did the small cluster of freckles on her chest above her cleavage and her neck and shoulders, which were sun-reddened.

Her face had been narrower, once, but had widened and thickened some -- perhaps from smiling. She had wide lips and was a tiny bit buck-toothed, something easily seen due to her "Oh!" of surprise. There were more freckles on the snub nose; the grey eyes behind her wire-rimmed eyeglasses were undoubtedly normally calm, but had widened a bit at our impending collision. Mouse-brown pigtails, streaked with grey, were pinned atop her head; undoubtedly, her hair was long, but thin. Basically, if you took one of those earthy, Holly Hobbie gingham-dressed outdoorsy-type girls and aged her for a decade and a half while pulling three children out of her, you'd get this. You know them -- the calm, pioneer mother Jesus-freak type, aging toward that phase when they seemed to have all of the excess flesh sucked off them, leaving an apparently indestructible skin-wrapped skeleton. She hadn't gotten there yet, though -- she was still thick with what I thought of as 'motherhood flesh'.

Now, I know what you're thinking -- 'Just how long did you stand there blocking the staircase and taking inventory, five minutes?' Not even close. From start to finish, it was maybe two seconds, including the jerk of surprise and the detection of the guy hulking behind her. I froze momentarily, got my eyes back into my head, and my brain said, "We're not leaving just yet." I turned around and headed back down the stairs. The soft flick of her flip- flops followed me downstairs, along with the heavy clump of the guy behind her, and I remember thinking, 'Jeezus, Honey, what are YOU doing HERE?'

Women don't go to adult video stores. Well, okay, they do -- but the male-female ration is ninety to ten, at least. And the ones that do tend to come in groups and giggle at the toys and tell everyone they're buying a gag gift for a bridal shower or bachelorette party -- which, in my humble opinion is usually a damned lie. Even in couples, the girl usually sits outside in the car in the parking lot while the guy picks out the videos, or whatever.

The statistics I just quoted were for the sales floor, though, not the peeps; for the peeps, the numbers went 'WAY up -- maybe a hundred or a hundred fifty to one, MINIMUM -- probably more in the five hundred to one range! The chances that an unescorted woman would enter the peep area were, I dunno, incalculable, I imagined -- with the exception of the female clerks, maybe, for clean up -- and I'd never seen that, either. Generally, if someone was in the peep area wearing a skirt, there was a dick under there, somewhere, no matter how good the exterior appeared to be -- and even that didn't happen often. No matter how you sliced it, this was a pretty unlikely occurrence; there was no way I was going to miss it!

At the foot of the stairs, I stood aside and let them pass. They went over to the display where the video selection in the system was displayed, and I -- and every other male in the place -- got a good look at them in the somewhat brighter light.

The guy with her was a classic -- the huge, big-headed type that was built like a Rock'em Sock'em Robot. You've seen 'em -- they have this head the size of a cinder block and obviously just as hard -- and they'll have a full head of hair when they put them in the grave. He wasn't workout muscular, more just thick and blocky, but you knew he wouldn't shy away from a fight -- largely because he could take punishment all day long. I think these guys are mostly Irish -- they can usually drink a case of beer at a sitting and not even blink. I've had friends of this type, and they're real charmers -- and they seldom do without pussy. The thing was, what was he doing with her? Her type usually saw right through this type's Jack Armstrong charm; they were looking for something a little more substantive. And while they had a reputation for fucking like a mink, it was usually with someone who met her criteria as socially responsible and genuinely concerned with whatever issues were on her ideological agenda. The guy was more the casual sex without strings type, I figured. Still, there she was, hanging back while he moved up to examine the video boxes behind the Plexiglas, but holding his hand.

Come to think of it, why was HE here? That type never wanted for women -- and therefore had no need of peep booths. Most of us were in the other camp. Me, for instance -- for females, I'm an acquired taste. I tended to run to long-term relationships once in the door, but I had to get through the door, first -- and that wasn't easy. Women pick their men on looks, mostly, and the things I brought to the table, while more valuable in the long run, weren't immediately visible to the casual observer -- or at all, in polite company...

The rest of us quickly separated into two groups. The first group got the Hell out of sight, either because they were embarrassed and humiliated to have a woman see them sink this low, or because they were no longer interested in creatures of the female persuasion. The second group (including me) hung close, trying to just get a whiff, if nothing else.

The big guy stepped back from his examination of the available entertainment and led the woman off on a recon of the peep area, with probably a half-dozen of us following while pretending not to be stalking. There were nineteen peeps in two rows, back to back, in the center of the room; Number Nineteen was a Premium booth, supposedly -- it was bigger, and it cost five bucks minimum to use. Maybe it was a little better appointed; in any case, it took up room for two or more regular peeps, and made up the end of the row nearest the feature display. If you were facing Number Nineteen, with your back to the display, booths numbered One through Nine were accessed from the corridor on the right and the remainder, including Number Nineteen, were accessible from the left. I don't guess that they were really corridors -- the double row of booths, back to back, made an island in the center of the room and the corridor was actually the space between the peeps and the wall on all sides. You could go down one side and circle around the back, ending up back at the video display -- and that's what they -- and we -- did, glancing into the open booths to see how clean they were and such.

There was another difference between the booths, not noticeable from the outside. While booths One through Nine were pretty basic -- a big screen and a smaller one, buttons to change the channel and the volume, and a plastic chair fixed in the corner -- and maybe a patched glory hole -- booths Ten through Eighteen were Buddy Booths. What that meant was that every pair of booths had a piece of glass between them. There was some kind of electrical field in the glass that made it translucent -- but if you were in the booth with the video running, you could touch a button and, if the guy on the other side had done the same thing, the glass would clear and you could watch each other whack off -- and maybe mime an invitation for one of you to join the other for a blowjob.

The Buddy Booths got some 'ooohs' and 'aaahs' from the couple as they drifted past, but they scoped out everything including Booth Nineteen. Then they reversed themselves and went looking for a Buddy Booth that met sanitary standards -- something that, frankly, was going to require some compromise. They jinked back and forth, finally settling on Fourteen -- and I was out of the pocket, being on the Booth Thirteen side, so some old guy hit the jackpot, closeting himself in Booth Fifteen.

Now, a buck buys you maybe five minutes of video viewing -- and probably more like three. They didn't stay in there that long; when they came out, the video in the booth was still playing. Some cheap bastard went in and took their place and they headed back to the display. I figured she'd seen enough, and they were gone, but I held my position, leaning against the wall where I could see them, and in a minute or so, here they came, back my way. This time, they ducked into Booth Ten, and I, after a quick tussle with the old guy at the door, took possession of Booth Eleven.

I heard the unmistakable servomotor whine of the changer sucking in a bill, so I dug in my pocket and pulled out a buck for my booth, knowing they'd settled in and weren't leaving instantly. When the video started, I rubbed my cock a bit through my jeans to make sure I had a bulge and hit the button that just might clear the glass.

It did. Rocky was standing there with his meat out, jacking it and punching the buttons to change the video feed, while the woman had just finished unzipping her skirt and was stepping out of it. She was facing my way, so she picked up the change in the glass immediately and nudged Rocky.

They had several options, one of which was to hit the button that fogged the glass -- but if they were going to do that, why bother with a Buddy Booth in the first place? Instead, Rocky reacted more or less as expected; he turned toward me and made sure I got a good look at him jacking his meat.

Okay. The ball was back in my court. The old guy they'd walked out on before was a suck whore; he'd probably offered to blow Rocky. But knowing that wasn't my primary reason for selecting my tactic -- it was just confirmation that my plan was probably better. I had at least two better reasons for deciding to do what I did -- which was undo my belt and tug my jeans down around my knees and start fondling my meat, too.

That was the right tactic; the woman smiled, and Rocky got even more obvious, if it was possible. The woman snatched her top over her head and my cock fired up rapidly, something she made it clear she was checking on while she put her top on the chair atop her skirt.

Rocky firmed up, too, but I felt sorry for him -- he was thick, but wasn't running any more that five inches, max, over big fat balls. There are bigger cocks out there -- lots of them -- but mine is my secret weapon; it comes in somewhere between seven and a half and eight inches, depending on which way the wind blew or some other criterion I hadn't managed to identify. These two had me pushing top end in about ten seconds.

The bigger I got, the bigger he got, and the happier they both seemed to get. I took inventory; the woman had a nice pair of C cup titties that sagged just about the amount I expected them to on a woman her age, capped with big, pinkish-brown areolas and pencil-eraser nipples. Smiling and eyeing my cock, she bent to snatch down and step out of her pair of no-nonsense baby blue panties -- and the window fogged.

Fuck. And things were going so well... But I heard the whine of the video machine sucking in a bill, and in a couple of seconds, the glass cleared again. Hurriedly, I took care of my end -- feeding another buck into my machine, too -- and we went back to mutual admiration.

By then, Happy Girl was down to just her flip-flops. I took in her furry pussy, noting that it matched her hair, grey streaks and all. It was good stuff. I was pushing forty and balding on top of everything else -- a nineteen-year-old might have looked better, but would have been unattainable. She laid three fingers on the fat pad of her muff and pulled up and gave me a good view of her clit and the top of her gash, then started masturbating with just her middle finger, using the other two to keep her stretched and open.

I think I could have poked my cock through the glass, it was so hard, but Rocky got restive and said something, so Happy Girl started paying more attention to him -- and I did, too, knowing which side my bread was buttered on. She knelt and jacked him, shifting her attention between him and me, and I tried to memorize the way her breasts swayed and the pattern of cellulite on her right thigh fifty percent of the time while keeping an eye on him the other fifty percent.

I was pretty much ignoring my video; we were into the next phase of things, where you find out what the other guy likes by which videos he selects. Rocky punched the buttons, settling momentarily on some gay action, then a transvestite fucking a guy, then more gays -- the video selection was weighted that way -- before finally settling on a threesome -- which turned out to be a bi flick!

This had to be just about perfect; the open question was all about whether he wanted to be the sucker or the suckee or we were gonna swap off. Would I blow him to get into her sweet muff? You bet your ass! Of course, the open question was whether she wanted to just sit on the sidelines and watch, or only play with him -- both of which were very possible outcomes. The other issue was whether I was betting MY ass or not -- something I'd pretty much avoided, to date...

In the meantime, the timer ran out on the video again. The good news was that they were pretty committed; I was pretty sure they would burn another buck. I was right, too; as soon as I heard the machine working, I fed mine, too.

The next phase was more personal for Rocky and me. Up to now, we hadn't really seen each other's faces; due to the positioning of the window, each of us could see the other's dick just fine, but our heads were out of view. Happy Girl spent a lot of her time looking at me, one way or another, but there was an issue with who looked first among the guys; while it wasn't absolutely binding, the guy who ducked to look first lost points -- and that meant he might be the one giving head. Rocky knew the game; he started it by putting on a pretty hardcore gay sex video, so we both knew the subject of the negotiation. We got into this deal where he would duck down a little and then I would duck down a little -- but neither of us gave the whole game away. Happy girl didn't get it; I saw her asking what the fuck was going on, and Rocky apparently told her enough that she understood. Finally, we both slowly squatted down until we could approach each other evenly and proceeded to admire each other's cocks. Happy Girl got it and laughed; I'm sure it looked ridiculous to her.

The clock was ticking by then; Happy Girl forced the issue, getting Rocky's attention. The two of them discussed things, agreed, and then made a united front in gesturing at themselves and me and pointing out the door. I agreed, and everyone started putting themselves together, since the wild hairs outside would start pounding the doors and twisting doorknobs even worse than they were once the video machines stopped and the little red lights over the doors went out.

I forgot that, didn't I? Peep booth doors have locks -- and if you don't use yours, some people take it as an invitation. Suck whores tend to ensure that no doorknob is left unturned, frequently -- and of course, if you look tasty in any way, things escalate. Better places police this kind of thing and run off the big offenders, but I've already told you what a dive this was...

Given the distance Happy Girl had to go to get dressed, I was surprised when they exited the booth within a second or two of when I did and glanced around for me. I stepped up, but some young kid who had apparently arrived while we were in the booths did, too, and I saw them both stop to reassess the fresh meat. Rocky turned to wave me off, but Happy Girl grabbed his wrist and shook her head and I knew I'd leaped another hurdle. Happy Girl leaned over to me, "Where can we go?"

"Just to get to know one another?" I clarified.

"Yes." I could tell that she was pleased with my answer. She was hot -- I could smell it -- but she was fearful, too.

"Let's use that," I recommended, pointing out Booth Nineteen. Happy Girl frowned, so I explained myself, "If we don't hit it off, you can come back out and try again."

Rocky was sold, "Okay." Actually, I'd presented it to Happy Girl, but the pitch was really to Rocky; if she decided that things weren't good, that would end the trip, as far as she was concerned -- but Rocky wouldn't see it that way. I'd suggested a restaurant or something on a couple of lucky -- or almost lucky -- occasions when I'd met couples on the sales floor of a store and we'd appeared to hit it off, but the results had been mixed. It seemed like once a woman was worked up to do something sordid and dove into the flesh pits, removing her from the atmosphere got her out of the mood. I'd bought some rather expensive meals and ended up one for three. This was sales; I didn't know jack shit about sales, but I knew what a commitment was, and I knew if we walked out the door upstairs with Happy Girl committed to feeling my pole in her pussy, I was golden -- but if she was still making up her mind, bright lights and the clatter of dishes wouldn't help me.

My stroke of genius worked; Rocky bought off for the pair of them and we entered Booth Nineteen. I shoved a five into the changer, then paid it no mind while we got around to names.

Rocky's name was Frank; Happy Girl's was June; I wondered if it had been April until she reached thirty, or something. Chicks like this might have ended up with Flower, or something, back in the day. Frank was bouncing around, wanting to do something, but I took my cue from June, and kept my hands to myself while I popped the big question, "What do you like to do?"

"Well, Frank likes sucking," June replied. Frank gave her a look.

"And what do you like to do?" I asked.

"I like fucking," June replied, giving me a wicked grin. She was all proud of herself.

"Well," I hazarded, "that still leaves about eight permutations and combinations. I can probably put up with any or all of them, depending on how comfortable we get with one another, but I DO have preferences..."

Frank was restive. "Are we gonna..."

I turned to him and replied, "Probably not here, unless that's how you two want it. Frank, do you want this to work out? More important, do you think you're gonna want to repeat it? I figure we can make an accommodation in any case that will take care of things for us. June is another story -- I need to make sure she gets what she came for, or you're going to have problems down the road. I'm assuming that June didn't come out with, 'Hey, let's go play in the peep booths... ', so I figure she has reservations, you know?"

Frank frowned. "I thought..."

"Hey, I'm the visiting team, Man," I replied. "If you're both cool with doing whatever we're gonna do in here, I am, too -- but I need to know the rules, so I don't break any. And I figure that June has some reservations about all of this that you don't know anything about, so I'm trying to clear them up, if I can. I'm not ignoring you -- I just figure you're gonna be the easy one to make happy."

Frank was still frowning, but June was eyeing me with her head cocked. "You've done this before," she guessed.

"Not from down here," I replied. "I was pretty amazed, frankly... I've hit it off with couples a few times upstairs, though."

My reply left her both eased and concerned. "So what does my having come down here say about me?" she asked.

"Well, you're inordinately brave, you enjoy sex enough to allow for a little exhibitionism, and you trust your man to take care of you," I replied. Throwing Frank a bone seemed to be a good idea...

"But was I an idiot?" she asked.

I frowned. "No. Most women are just too chicken. This is a risky environment -- or, rather, most women would assume it to be. Actually, you'd be pretty safe coming down here alone, I think -- the guys who would be interested in you would all be trying to get on your good side. One peep from you and they would probably all help each other tear off the doors and beat the crap out of the offender." I smiled. "You have a serious reputation for being a hot babe right now with anybody down here who hasn't given up on women totally. Most of us would wax pretty chivalrous just to be able to hang out in your orbit."

June cocked her head. "But you said women don't come down here."

"No, I said I hadn't met any," I replied. "I've read about guys who send their women to places like this to give blowjobs -- but I've never seen one in real life. I've heard of couples who come to places like this to be seen fucking in a buddy booth for the thrill it gives them -- but, again, I've never experienced it personally. I HAVE seen a couple of things that were somewhat similar, though, and I think the world of any woman in touch with her sexuality enough to share herself like that."