Jim is never more aroused than when I relate in graphic detail my sex with another man.
I, in turn, get off listening to him describe how he fucks other women.
The books and magazines covered every imaginable variation of sex.
In front of the check-out counter were displays of sexual aids; dildos of every size and description, synthetic pussies, rubbers and French ticklers, creams and ointments. Just a sweeping glance of the erotica made me feel I had stumbled into a huge orgy.
There was lots of moaning and groaning and slurping.
The woman eating her pussy started to run her fingers in to her wet hole and then up in to her anus.
There was a small marquee giving the title and one still photograph from each movie.
I made a selection and moved into the dark corridor flanked by doors on either side.I had no doubt the visit would be a real turn-on even without getting laid.I drove past several of the shops and found a small operation with- out a constant flow of traffic.Jim is a confirmed voyeur and a frequent visitor to the adult bookstores and sex shops in our city.I used to love to hear him talk about his nocturnal visits to these sex stores, about the small, dark movie booths, the grainy flash of porno on miniature screens, the men lurking in the dim corridors, and the “glory holes”. I would quiz Jim endlessly about those holes cut in the side walls of the movie booths.The more Jim talked about the sex shops, the more I fantasized about them, about the anonymity and instant gratification of the glory hole sex – a faceless encounter, a pure lustful sexual experience devoid of emotions and the burdens of social niceties.