Adventuring: Pix & the Video Booths

There was a year of flirting, of sharing fantasies, late-night 'would you ever want to...' and early-morning 'wouldn't it be fun if...' And there were a few near-misses, calendars that just wouldn't line up. And then suddenly there were a few days in the same city, a precious couple of hours of overlapping free time.

We met in a place familiar to both of us, a sex shop with hidden depths. Literally. Three floors of play space and video booths accessible out the back door, down the stairs and in a little door under the stairs. Like a sexy TARDIS ... it's kinkier on the inside.

At 4:30 on a Tuesday afternoon, the place was not packed. He was already there when I arrived, and he waited for me on the other side of the turnstile, my ticket in his hand. We're both a little shy, and, without the comforting anonymity of a messaging app between us, face-to-face conversation was only small talk as we explored the space. Holding hands, we might have been walking through the park on a Sunday afternoon, but for the too-loud bass line echoing around the empty dance floor and the hot guys in the corner giving each other hand jobs.

We finished our tour back on the lower level, a labyrinth of black-painted doors set into black-painted cubicles, built against black-painted walls. The only bit of not-black came from bare bulbs above each door, glowing green or red, and blue bulbs in the corners that added neither light nor ambiance.

'Is this one ok?' he asked, gesturing toward a green-lighted door. I nodded—one is as good as the other, right?—and he guided me through the door. Inside, we sat drive-in-movie style on a bench against the back wall, facing the screen and next to a letterbox-sized slot cut into the wall dividing our booth from another. He fished in his pocket for a dollar to feed into the machine, and I scrolled through the channels on the control panel to my left. It's no easy thing, trying to set a mood with porn for someone you just met. What if we're porn-incompatible? What if he storms out of the room in disgust at my selection? But after a couple of rounds of little glances, little smiles, little comments on the disappointing sameness of mainstream porn, we were worn in. And we were on to another room.

We wandered through the maze a bit and picked another door at random. Back on the bench, dollar in the machine, girl-on-girl action on the screen, arm around my shoulders. We glanced through the letterbox to see if we had a neighbor this time, and we were rewarded by a cock springing free from a pair of jeans.

Anticipation and voyeurism charged the room, and his hand slid down my shoulder, into the v-neck of my t-shirt, finding my bra. I leaned slightly into him, giving his fingers easier access to my sensitive skin and my fingers easier access to his zipper. I squeezed the front of his jeans, feeling him firm under my hand. He pulled my shirt and bra out of his way and my nipples became little diamonds in his fingers. Both breathing hard, we grabbed at buckles, buttons, zippers, fabric, skin. Hard, hot, wet, smooth, sticky, slippery, a sensory blur in the flickering light of the screen.

I pushed him back, toward the center of the room, and dropped to my knees, driven by the need to have him in my mouth. He let me admire him, let me explore him, let me devour him, and I fed from his moans, drew strength from his gasps. When I pulled back to look up at him, he gave me a half-smile and flicked his eyes over to the letterbox in the wall, where our neighbor seemed to be enjoying what he could see of our play.

'Him too?' It was a question and a hope, and I returned his smile and reached my hand into the letterbox, finding our neighbor's rigid cock and bringing it to our side of the wall. I reveled in the sensations of my lover's hardness against my tongue, a stranger's hardness in my hand, the background noises of people milling about outside the door, my lover's whispers (good girl ... dirty girl ... oh god, goooood girl...). I leaned back on my heels, watching my hands pleasuring these two very different cocks, saw myself slightly out of focus under them, snow-white breasts, soft tummy, muscular thighs, and I was suddenly the sexiest, most powerful woman who ever lived.

My lover lifted me, and we landed back against the wall, his hands on me, in me, focused on my pleasure, bringing me to a whimpering orgasm while our neighbor waited, rigid, where I had left him.

'I need ...,' I whined, and he let me take it, on my knees again, faster this time. Stranger in my hand again, faster this time. His breathing grew harder, and he grew thicker.

'Ohhh ... you're going to make me ... I'm going to ...'

And he did. They both did. On my lips, in my mouth, in my hand, on my thigh.

Our neighbor faded away into the background. My lover handed me a towel. We cleaned up in the restroom together, smiling at each other in the mirror. We both had places to be, so he walked me to my car, comfortable together now, and sent me on my way.

We're back to long-distance flirting, but if we find ourselves in the same city again with a couple of hours to spare, we know where we'll be meeting.