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From: Boondocks <classic14rider@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Porn Bookstore and Movie House
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Date: Fri, 11 May 2007 09:10:01 -0400
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The Inner-City Porn Bookstore and Movie House

I think that when I go to adult bookstore/movie houses, I do so
primarily out of curiosity. I go to the movie houses out of curiosity
and for adventure; obviously no one would really looking for
relationships those places. The world of the adult bookstore/movie
house is one in which sex toys, DVDs and magazines are all on display
in the front room, and in the dark back room there are multiple movie
preview booths, maybe 25 or more such booths. Some of the booths are
set aside for previewing DVDs that the store sells in the brightly
lighted front room, other booths are dedicated to a fixed number of
videos on different channels - about 30 or so shows are always playing
simultaneously on different channels. These porn video shows are
changed each week.

The back area is, as I said, dark - and often smells of urine. The
floors are sometimes sticky with cum. There are frequently discarded
cum-filled condoms lying on the floor, and wadded balls of tissue
glued together with dried cum. Hustlers lurk in these environs to try
to make some cash by sucking cock or being sucked. Sometimes they go
in for more invasive sexual action. There are, of course, the very
queenie homosexual types, and there are straight boys and men who go
there to unleash their load. Sometimes they are shocked and angered by
the extent of homosexual activity in these places.

Usually I have a kind of "Spring fling" that lasts from March through
the end of June where I spend a great deal of time haunting these
venues - curious to see what I think I am "missing."

Last night there were a whole bunch of rough looking thugs hanging
around outside of bookstore. There was something exciting about the
potential for chance and dangerous encounters and the potential for
chaos.

I remember one occasion when a black boy followed me into a porn booth
and demanded that I would fuck his ass hard and "rape" him. He pulled
off his clothes thrust his bare ass in my direction, but I was
thinking HIV. I was thinking STDs - on the other hand I was also
thinking about his fine, nigga ass aimed at my cock. But I just rubbed
my stiff cock up and down his ass crack and didn't go any further with
it.

When I go to those places, however, I keep telling myself I need to
have my head examined. Maybe I like the idea of being sought after. I
can be guaranteed that I will be sought after whenever I go into one
of those places. But there is a certain tension in the air - the mix
of macho straight nigger boys, young straight-looking street hustlers,
outright fags, and a mix of white men of all ages, usually looking for
sex, creating a sense of unpredictability and danger.

There was one night when an irate woman came into the store and
demanded that the clerk fish out her husband, whom she was convinced
was in the back room "with a bunch of faggots." She said her daughter
saw him go in the shop and called her on her cell phone. The clerk
said he couldn't leave the cash register to go into the back room and
that women weren't allowed in the back, so she kept yelling her
husband's name over and over again - calling him a "faggot" and
telling him not to even think of ever coming home again.

Even a few nights ago a young hustler was caught by his "boyfriend" as
he was turning a trick. The scene got really ugly with all the pathos
and drama that queens can muster. Meanwhile, the "John" was left
standing around awkwardly with his dick hanging out repeating over and
over again, "Hey - you gonna finish the blow job, or what?"

If it was just for the videos I would go to the suburban movie houses;
they are a lot cleaner and a lot less crowded and less dangerous. In
fact, if it were just about the DVDs, I would probably subscribe to
them online - it would be a lot cheaper as well as safer. So, it must
not be about the DVDs - it must be about the atmosphere and the
people. It is a big contrast to the university library, coffee shops
and bookstores. But once I get inside the movie house I spend more
time telling crack heads and drunks to "get the fuck outta here" than
I do dropping hints to attractive black boys that I'm interested in
some action.

Most of the time I hear myself repeating, "I'm just down here to check
the place out - I'm not here to do anything." It's either that or
going off to a "quiet" corner booth to meditate.

A light-skinned black guy I see pretty regularly, who is half Indian
and half African American, hadn't been around for a few days until
last night. This time he gave me his phone number - wrote it down in a
notebook I always carry around with me. At first he wanted to write it
on the back of a slip of paper I had lying around in the car, but I
insisted that he write it in my notebook. I told him, "This way I can
pull it out, look at your handwriting and masturbate to it." He
blushed and laughed.

I don't think I will ever call him, though. I don't want to become
that deeply involved in all of this. Last night he seemed agitated. He
was upset, he said, about an argument he had with his boyfriend. He
sat down on the bench and covered his face with his hands. I asked him
if he wanted to talk about it, but he suddenly shook himself out of it
- as if he had suddenly made up his mind that business is business,
and the show must go on - and started rubbing his hands all over my
body, while moving in to press up against me.

I held him, kinda pushing him away, but also holding onto him, and
told him "Oh no you don't - you aren't going to tempt me tonight. I'm
not down here for that." Next thing I knew, however, I was cuddling up
to him and groping his bare ass while he was kissing me on the cheek
and neck. So much for resisting temptation - at least for that night.

There is another guy in there - a real crack head - who kept insisting
that we "do something." He is a cute mulatto boy, but I think he is so
strung out on drugs I don't want to do anything with him. I gave him
my standard line, "Look, I'm not going to do anything with anybody."
He gave me an angry look and said, "Then what the fuck are you doing
down here?"

Later he apologized, but he's like that - very quick mood shifts.
That's one of the reasons I try to stay away from him.

Tonight there was a cute, boyish looking dark-skinned fellow. He had a
medium Afro that was neatly combed and, no doubt, usually in braids.
This is the first time I ever saw him down there. What initially drew
me towards him was his boyishness; but I quickly became absorbed by
his sexual aggressiveness.

I looked at him as I entered the porn movie store and heard him ask
his buddy, "What the fuck is he looking at?" And his buddy said, "He
probably wants you." The next thing I knew he was following me down
the dark corridors.

He cornered me in a booth and used his body to trap me. He said, "What
chu lookin for?"

I said, "I dunno. I'm new here. I'm just gonna check the place out."

He said, "Lemme give you a blow job. How much money you got?"

I laughed, "Look, I'm just checking the place out right now, how about
letting me get back to you a little later."

He blocked the doorway with his body. Everything about his body
language said, "You aren't going to get out of this booth until you
agree to this."

He was taller and larger than I was. His boyish dark face hovered in
front of me. His sweet breath covered my face and nearly made me swoon
with passion.

I told him that I just wanted to look around a bit.

He said, "There aint nothing else here to see but me." He moved closer
and pressed his body up against mine, backing me into the wall.

I put my hands on his waist to try to move him, but ended up embracing
him and kissing his neck and shoulders. Even the sweat from his arm
pits, although funky, smelled sweet. He looked down at me, breathed
heavily and kissed me on the lips.

He kept looking in my eyes, with his dark and youthful face, and
breathed on me. His breath was musty and boyishly masculine. It was
intoxicating.

He pushed his hips up against mine and started grinding into me. But
just as he could see I was getting more and more impassioned he pulled
away, looked into my eyes and said, "So, how much you got?"

I said, "Well, I'm not sure I really want to do anything right now; I
just..."

He moved in again and breathed in my face, grinding his hardening cock
against mine. "You like that don't you? You like that black dick,
huh?"

I swallowed hard, "Yeah, I like that..."

Then he let go and stood back, "So how much you got?"

This went on for a good fifteen minutes; his bodily flirtation
followed by his demands to know who much I might be willing to pay
him.

We settled on a price. I have to say I allowed this little sexual
encounter to go further, and at a higher risk level, than I am usually
comfortable with. It reminded me of how quickly these things can get
out of hand, and why I need to stay away from places like that.

As we were negotiating the second round of sex, later that night, I
told him I didn't have much more money. He said, "Oh I know you gots
some money. I saw your wallet when you paid the cashier to get here."
I thought to myself, "hmm, the street is always watching the wallet."

I told him I couldn't do much more than we already did because I had
to get used to the place. He pushed his body up against mine and
thrust between my legs until my dick was good and hard. Then he looked
at me with a cynical smile, "You used to the place now?"

 I told him I needed more light and more room before I could really
feel comfortable.

He reached up, grabbed me by my shirt, pulled me to my knees and said,
"Suck this cock - NOW."

I obediently slumped to my knees and allowed him to shove his hard jet
black dick in my mouth. I started sucking. He grabbed my head and
thrust harder in my mouth "So, that's all I had to do all along, huh?
Just get authoritarian with you?" I confirmed this "discovery" by
sucking him even harder.

He humped my face and made me lick his balls.

After two hot and steamy sessions with that boy, in different movie
booths and at different times in the evening, I retreated to one of my
favorite and more secluded booths in order to meditate. It didn't take
long, however, before I was interrupted.  The half-Indian black guy -
my regular gay-for-pay hookup - poked his head into my booth.

He looked like he wasn't sure if I wanted him to come in. I nodded
that it was okay. He stood in front of me and lifted his shirt,
showing his light-brown abs and his chest. I rubbed my face against
his torso and said, "I'm not going to do anything tonight - I'm sorry
- I was just with someone earlier."

He cradled my head in his arms and rubbed up against me with his
smooth brown body. "Who was you with?"

I could feel my cock getting hard again, although it was sticky down
there in my boxer shorts because all of the sweat and cum from the
previous two sessions. "Just some dude. He may still be out there."

"Oh, for real?"

He kept rubbing his torso up against my face. He pushed my face down
to his pubes as he lowered his sagging pants. The whiff of his pungent
bush brought my cock fully to life again. My will to resistance was
broken. I told him I should wash up first, to be fair to him. We got
the keys to the employees' restroom from the cashier, who is cool with
both of us. We went into the cramped washroom, which is only designed
for one person at a time, and he washed cum off my pubes, cock and
balls with a wet paper towel.

When he finished, he gave me a little bit of a blow job. Then we went
to a larger video booth, where we could spread out.

For the most part, at my insistence, we just cuddled. He didn't rush
it - he wasn't impatient. We gave each other massages. I ran my hands
all over his smooth creamy brown skin. I held his corn rowed head
against my chest while I stroked his face and kissed him. He gently
massaged my cock through my pants.

We alternatively cuddled and massaged each other for about an hour.
Then we rode around town in my car for awhile, swapping stories about
our experiences with other guys in that porn shop. I dropped him off
at the spot where he usually wants me to drop him off. I'm pretty sure
it's a location where he goes to buy drugs.

In both cases - both the dark-skinned boy and my light-skinned
"regular" - what I enjoyed the most was to get up close and intimate
with their black masculinity. I had the sense that the experience
afforded the opportunity to become familiar with dark masculine
bodies, their strength and their sexual potency. But, at the end of
the day, I also had a sense of the limitations of the body - black or
otherwise - to provide fulfillment or knowledge of the person.

I could not envision myself as ever having contempt for the body - but
I find that this thing that one often finds oneself fascinated with is
transitory and eventually becomes lifeless. It is not something to
become too attached to.

My strong attractions to the black boys I have mentioned is especially
that they became archetypes in my own mind of youthful masculinity,
strength and power. But archetypes endure forever, whereas these
individuals who temporarily embody these archetypes will certainly
undergo radical changes, even within the next ten years, if they are
still alive at all.

At the end of the day, these attractive black boys are not really what
they represent for me - and how can they be? What am I demanding of
them is something that is impossible for anyone fulfill.


I don't plan to go back down to that movie house for a long time.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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