SEXIS WRONG

only thing I could get out was: “Nice.”
He took his other hand and started messing with his bottom.
I wondered what the hell he was doing. I didn’t want to
look, but unfortunately I focused unintentionally on his finger,
which had now disappeared into his sphincter. He quickly removed
it, but something else happened. I tried to deny it...
made excuses for what it could have been. I mean, it was
dark and my mind was probably playing tricks on me. But...
I could have sworn I saw something dark push through the
sphincter momentarily, then retreat back inside.
The customer quickly turned around and picked up the phone
again. I acted like I hadn’t seen anything, thinking he was
probably embarrassed—had an accident. However, the customer
didn’t seem fazed at all. He started masturbating again,
telling me how he liked it up the ass, too.
I saw him bring his free hand to his mouth. He held what
looked like a Tootsie Roll. He started licking it. I quickly realized
this was no Tootsie Roll but was what I feared it to be...
a piece of poop. He licked it until the tip bent to one side so
it now resembled a Hershey’s Kiss. My eyes started to blur a
little, and I tried to look past the customer’s face.
I felt like I had witnessed some horrific event...like someone
getting hit by a car. I thought this must be some internal protection
mechanism kicking in, as I had seen too much. I consider
myself open-minded, but I just didn’t see how this could
be healthy. I looked at the time and saw that it was just about
up. The customer noticed this, too, and I saw him reach for
more money. Fuck, I thought. I couldn’t believe he was getting
more time. My attention quickly shifted to the cash he
was handling. Normally, at the end of our
shift we get the money that comes out of
the machine. My mind started racing, thinking about the bills
he was pumping into the machine with his poopy hands, and
what story I’d have to come up with to get the clerk to trade
out my money. The clerk would surely laugh and tell me I was
fucked if I told him the truth.
I wasn’t able to interact much with the customer for the rest
of the show. My brain felt like it had been wrapped in warm
wool. I just shook my head when he asked me a question
and smiled a lot. I don’t think he noticed. I think he was just
happy to share this side of himself with someone else. The
second part of the show went by fast, and before I knew it,
his time was up again. He cleaned himself up, thanked me
for the show, and left the booth. I watched him leave without
using the restroom.
I gathered my thoughts, put on my clothes, and opened the
shade to the hallway. Standing there was an attractive young
man. He looked like a student. He seemed excited to get a
show and immediately headed for the door to my booth. I
panicked, thinking what might be left over from the last guy. I
held out my hand and yelled through the glass that the booth
needed to be cleaned, and thankfully he understood, waiting
patiently by the door.
I ran out of the dressing room and told the janitor what just
happened. He didn’t flinch. He was an old-timer around this
place and claimed he’d seen it all. He grabbed the cleaning
supplies and went to work. As soon as he was done, the
boy went in. Seeing his young, innocent face made me feel
better.
Keeping up With the Joneses
We were both asleep—I on the couch and Mistress Sativa
on the floor—when the beep beep of the front door went off.
Mistress Sativa pulled her blankets over her head and curled
up in the fetal position. “You’re up next, right?” she asked—
her words barely audible under all the fluff. “I thought it was
your turn,” I said. “The last show was your regular, wasn’t it?
The guy who manages the Mexican dive down the street?”
“Oh, Ass Man,” Mistress Sativa said. “You’re right, he was
the last custie.” She poked her nude, wig-capped head out
from under the blankets and blinked her false lashes madly
at the light.
I sat up and squinted at the small black-and-white monitor
across the room, trying to make out the dark forms standing
in the lobby. It looked like a couple, but not the typical couple
that walked into this “lingerie showroom” joint.
“They look like Ward and June Cleaver.”
“There’s something strange about them,” I said. “I can’t quite
put my finger on it but—”
Mistress Sativa cut me off mid-sentence. “Yeah, they look
like Ward and June Cleaver. They’re probably from out of
town and got lost trying to get back to their hotel after an
exhausting day of shopping and sight-seeing. They probably
think this place is actually a tanning salon,” she said with a
laugh.
“It would be our luck,” I said.
“You take them,” Mistress Sativa whined.
“I don’t want to deal with them. It’s your turn; you go.”
“P-L-E-A-S-E! I don’t feel well. I think I’m going to start my
period any minute,” she said, scrunching up her face. “Besides,”
she continued, picking up what looked like Strawberry
Shortcake’s scalp, “I rolled over my wig when I was asleep,
and it’s gonna take me at least five minutes to brush this thing
ASTONISHING TALES OF A PEEP SHOW GIRL 211