Thursday, January 19, 2006

I was just walking back to my office and was reminded of how the street I was on used to look. Up until a few years ago, this area was filled with porn shops, live nudes, and prostitutes. Now, only a store and one club remain, and the block has been cleaned up. In my years at school, however, it was paradise for a young kid from a small town. It offered plenty of places to get into trouble or to pick up a magazine or to stare at women in various states of undress.

There was one place, the Roman, that had massage parlors upstairs. Downstairs was a huge porn shop, acrid with the scent of pine cleaner that permeates every den of filth I have ever been in, with few exceptions.

If you walked down the hallway, and entered a gate, you could pay $5 for 5 tokens. These tokens allowed you into the room to see a curtain raise, revealing a girl in some state of undress. A thick, clear wall was between the two of you and you were allowed a telephone to speak on. On the wall was lube and paper towels. You really shouldn’t look down on the floor or on the walls.

As the metal curtain mechanically and slowly rose, you never knew what you were getting. Sometimes, you’d be unenthused. Other times, you may be titillated.

This time, however…

I obviously had too much to drink. I believe it was some type of vodka that I’d be ill advised to have ever tried and would shun today. But in those heady pre-legal days, any drink was good drink. One can’t be a snob when one grows up running through the woods clutching a warm six-pack of Old Milwaukee. That said, we were at some party that I can barely remember, on the roof of a restaurant, probably illegally, and drinks flowed, and at some point I just wanted to leave.

I walked the streets with a purpose in mind. I wanted to see someone naked and I knew that if I tried to do it in person, I would just be rude and uncouth. In my own eyes, anyways. I’ve always been a pervert, but I’m unwilling at times to think that anyone else would like to be a part of my reindeer games.

To the Roman, which was a long walk under what was then harrowing streets. Sober, I wouldn’t have even attempted this 2:15 AM run. But bolstered by the literal spirits of Russian potatoes, it seemed like a great idea.

The first few gates that opened in the booth offered nothing special. I was moderately worked up, and let’s face it, in your late teens, any nudity is great. It wasn’t until the last room, with a fresh batch of 5 tokens, that I was smitten.

She had curly red hair and pale, white skin. She was already nude by the time the curtain was up, as she probably had had plenty of customers. As I scanned her cube I noticed a phone, some cigarettes, discarded clothes in a pile, and one of those huge dildos that always seem to get made, but never bought.

Her eyes trailed me, and looking back now, look, I’m no looker. I just wanted to get many look words in that sentence, sorry, I’ve been reading way too much Tom Robbins. That said…

The point is, I was probably the only 19 year old she saw that night. So I’d like to convince myself that her words were genuine. I know now that they may not have been. But let’s, for the sake of fantasy, be nice. Maybe she enjoyed what she saw and wanted to see more. And for the first time in one of those booths, she did. I dropped my shorts and found myself instantly erect. And I realized that this was the first time that I had been nude in front of a member of the opposite sex. Maybe that’s why I was so excited.

The receiver was against my ear. And her words purred in my ears. “Let me see you stroke that cock for me.”

That was all I needed. A heady cocktail of liquor, young lust, and forbidden things all clouded my mind. I saw the head of her dildo disappear inside of her and my breath quickened. Token after token disappeared, and I could barely speak, other than to say, “This is my last one.”

“Then let me give you a show,” she laughed.

Her ass hit the glass hard and she spread herself open, her asshole glistening, winking at me. She looked over her shoulder as I exploded all over the glass. As the curtain closed, our eyes stayed locked. My pants came back to public decency.

I bolted out of the booth, down the steps, and into the streets, my mind racing, and the air growing cold with the start of autumn. It was the first time in my life, of many, that I felt my consciousness float above my body and at the same time, forward in time, in remind myself that this was something important to be remembered sometime later.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Are blogs the new masturbation? Or worse?

Should I have to know what’s in your head when you get off and do you care to know what’s in mine? In our world’s overwhelming desire to eradicate privacy, is this just another way to destroy what is alone and uniquely yours in your head? Or, better, is this the only way that some of us have to communicate?

This is what keeps me from writing all of the time.

I don’t know who is interested in hearing about my fantasies of lying on my stomach, cock in hand, tugging at myself while I have my tongue inside a girl, coming all over myself more from the taste of her than my own touch?

Is that interesting?

Or looking down on a gleaming, porcelain white ass, streaked pink with the stinging marks of my calloused hands. Sound enveloping the room, liquid and flesh smacking together in a stereo accompaniment.

I guess maybe it could be. Maybe I should just overcome my distaste for the internet and unload all of the evil in my head.