ABS Night Out

Back in the late seventies, I wasn't married yet. I lived alone in small town that was rather Puritanical and full of people who were far too concerned with what others thought about them. I had a girlfriend who desperately wanted me to marry her. My two best buddies were recently married, but secretly bisexual, as was I. A third friend was wandering a strange road of ambiguous sexuality, and would only date women with long hair, no matter how unattractive they might be otherwise. He was also experimenting with BDSM, the first person I ever knew to do so.

One night our respective girlfriends and wives were going to attend a bachelorette party, a rather new thing in those days, There were reports of them having, somehow, procured male strippers for the occasion which we men sort of doubted. Left to our own devices for the evening, we decided to meet up.

We met at my humble abode, drank some beer, and smoked a joint. It was Ronnie, one of my married friends, who suggested we make a trip down to an adult bookstore just over the state line. I'd been there because I was the most rabid pornophile of the bunch. Ronnie had been, and had been back to the mini-movies in the back of the place, and had his dick sucked by a truck driver. Freddie, my other married friend, had not, nor had Rusty, the strange one, but both were very curious. We piled into Freddie's van, and off we went.

This was back when an ABS was exactly that. They had tons of porno magazines of every taste lining the walls, and tables loaded with paperbacks. They sold a few dildos under a glass case by the cash register, some lingerie behind the counter. Not the plethora of "novelties" you see today. This was even before video, so, the mini-movie area hummed with the sound of Bell & Howell projectors, fed by tokens costing a quarter each.

We filed into this den of depravity, stoned and giggling. The magazines were wrapped in plastic, but, the front and back covers showed you what to expect. They were expensive, at twenty-five bucks a pop, and beyond us. The swinger mags were much cheaper, but poorly done. Rusty stared at the BDSM section, and any magazine featuring a woman with long hair. Ronnie gaped at dick pics, Freddie at chicks with dicks, and myself at ALL of it. I felt dirty, dripping with sleaze, and I loved it.

The mini-movie area was dark and labyrinthine , plywood walls, flimsy doors
with hook latches, that almost nobody bothered to lock. It smelled of stale cigarette smoke and cum. Men hovered about, furtive glances, though most avoided the jolt of actual eye contact. Loops were advertised, some with known porn stars, others with obvious junkies doing whatever. As you ventured farther back into the maze, the films got raunchier and more homosexual. Really straight-looking truckers, farmers, retail clerks whispered, "You wanna see a movie with me ? " Rusty had been behind me, smirking and giggling, when he suddenly bolted from the area. Freddie, Ronnie and I crowded into a booth and jerked each other off as we watched a film showing an over-the-hill stripper shoving a live eel into her hairy snatch. Freddie had a huge flesh cannon that he aimed at the already cum-stained screen, and spackled it with spooge. He laughed loudly, and we winced.

Rusty was chatting with the clerk when we walked out, but, he motioned us to leave. He had seen the father of a girl he once dated back in the movie area. It freaked him out. We wondered which guy, but, he wanted out of there. We shuffled out.

The memory is a funny thing. What seemed so dirty and risk-taking back then really pales in comparison to other experiences I had over the years. I'd go back to the ABS many more times, blow and get blown, buy porn, and hide it wherever I lived. When I finally did get married it was to a woman who had no problem with porn, or, bisexuality. It paid to wait.

1 month ago

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