Vanilla Turns Chocolate

One of the benefits of being a woman is the ability to go out without any money. When I’m broke, I pretty much figure that as long as I can scrounge enough change for the first beer, some guy(s) will keep me in booze for the rest of my night out. I can easily make an evening out of the following paltry handbag contents:







I know, I know, bad feminist, but women still earn 75 cents to the male dollar, so they kind of owe us.

However, my womanly wiles are not infallible. While sometimes the gods of free booze shower down upon me, and I am practically swarmed by cute boys to imbibe with, every once in awhile the beefcake river dries up, the bar is a barren wasteland, and the only alcohol passing my lips is that which I purchase with my own hard-earned cash. It was just one of these lonely nights a few weeks ago when I found myself going home not because I was done drinking, but because I had run out of money.

Luckily, I was sober enough to save enough moolah for a cab, in which I was sitting when I received a call from a tall, handsome, and charismatic man with whom I sometimes share a bed. Since he has been known to shower me with free drinks and dinners, I sensed salvation.

“Where are you?” I answered. He named the bar, I rerouted the cabbie, and within 20 I was back in the sweet spot, perched on a bar stool with a Miller Lite. As I caught up with my companion, I couldn’t help but notice some strange activity in his mouth-al region; he seemed to be licking his teeth with his tongue compulsively.

“You’re on cocaine!” I noted wonderingly.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“I want a bump!” I enthused, rapidly adjusting to this strange turn of events. This particular friend is by no means a fuddy-duddy, but he’s not the type of friend I expect to offer me cocaine (and I do have some). This was a highly unusual turn of events. He explained that he’d gotten bored and all of his friends but the guy with the coke had gone home, so what the hell, right?

I took a key bump in the bathroom, big enough to numb my gums and send that metallic taste dripping down my throat, which oddly enough, are the only parts of doing cocaine I still like. There was a time when things started to get pretty serious between me and cocaine, but since I broke things off a year or two ago, we’ve only had a couple of one-night stands.

Of course, in what seemed like a flash filled with dozens of really intense conversations I would be embarrassed about tomorrow, the bar was closing. We called a car to take us back to his place for what was sure to be some dirty sex. Halfway there, he mused, “Want to go to one of those porn stores?” referring to some shady-looking neon-lighted porno shanties we were passing.



For the second time in the evening I was shocked. Not by the porn, by my date’s out-of-character behavior. I guess that’s cocaine for you, though. Makes you want to filthy, wild sex at the same time it makes your dick go soft.

“Sure, if they’re open,” I answered, which I guess was stupid because when we walked in there were several guys perusing despite the fact that it was about 5 a.m. Drunk and high, it was hard to keep myself from exclaiming, “OH MY GOD, who ARE these guys?” But, seriously, who are those guys in the porno store at 5 a.m.? At least it was a weekend. I’d hate to see the Tuesday night crowd.

We wandered around looking at some glasses fetish videos (his thing) and when I first noticed the video booths in the back, I was pretty sure we were gonna be naked in there eventually. We closed the door, and he inserted some change and flipped through the channels while I sucked his dick. There was a little stool for him to sit on, but a few minutes of crouching with my knees on the metal floor was about all I could handle.

We purchased a facials video from the kindly clerk and walked back outside where it had begun to snow. We stood in contrast to its purity.

“That was hot,” he said.

“Yeah, I was surprised you were into that,” I responded.

“I’m a sex pervert,” he responded.

“No you’re not. I am.”

“I am, too,” he insisted. “I would have opened the door and let people watch.”

I paused. “That would have been really hot.”

We both glanced back toward the door. “Let’s go,” he said.

Giggling, we headed back inside and beelined for the video booths, avoiding eye contact with the clerk. On the way I made a brief, flickering eye contact with an orthodox Jewish guy looking at DVDs. We settled back into the booth and I had commenced sucking him off when we heard the door of the booth next to us open. We exchanged looks, his cock still in my mouth.

I kept going. There was a smallish rectangular opening along the bottom of the metal divider between the two booths. The guy had his head down near the opening, watching us. My gentleman friend seemed to be okay with this turn of events, so I increased the speed of my cocksucking, eliciting moans from both guys. A few minutes later our neighbor’s eyes disappeared from the opening, only to be replaced by his dick shortly afterward. I looked at my partner, a little alarmed.

“Touch it,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I was still unaccustomed to his coked-up alter ego.

“Yeah,” he said, even batting the guy’s dick toward me a little.

I stroked the other guy’s shaft for a minute, wrapping my fingers around him as best I could with the divider between us. He didn’t seem to mind my clumsy grasp, but after a few seconds I turned my attention back to the in-progress blowjob. Yet my newly perverted paramour still wasn’t satisfied.

“Suck his dick,” he urged.

“REALLY!?” I couldn’t believe these words were coming out of his mouth. Many a time I would have done something of the sort without thinking twice about it; as a matter of fact this whole scenario was a particular fantasy of mine. I just couldn’t get over the feeling that this particular guy was making a coke-addled mistake for which he’d look down on me the next day. But he seemed sure.

I took the stranger’s cock into my mouth and gave it three or four long slurps from shaft to head. I pulled back and glanced at my date, and when I turned back around the guy had shot a wad of thick cum on the side and floor of the booth.

“That was quick,” I mouthed. Wiping my hand on his sock, I turned my attention back to the O.G. B.J. My newly spent friend lingered around in the booth for awhile, perhaps waiting for me to finish, but the whole thing had gone on a little too long and I was glad when he left. Another guy stepped in and watched for a little while, but once you’ve sucked one guy off in a peep show booth, you don't really need to do it again.

We gathered up my purse and our newly purchased porno and headed home for the private show.