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by Aaron Lawrence

As he unzips his pants and pulls out his dick, I can't help but to feel depressed. There is nothing arousing about this situation.

Precisely why I am on my knees in the back of this dingy adult bookstore is confusing to me. I don't feel horny and I'm not in the mood for sex. My day has been boring but I'm not cruising out of boredom. Perhaps I am here out of depression. I certainly have a lot to be depressed about. Pleasuring a man often pulls me out of a bad mood. I purposely avoid considering whether or not I may be a sex addict.

"Having a big dick is the clincher. When I first started having sex with men, I was surprised to learn that I was bigger than most everyone. I startled most of my sexual partners with my erection."	.

This is my fourth trip to an adult bookstore since I completed my master's degree two weeks ago. So far this year I have had no job offers and almost fifty rejections. This infuriates me, since I graduated with an almost perfect grade point average from one of the top college and university administration programs in the country. I attended Michigan State precisely so I would find a job when I graduated.

In addition to my career troubles, my boyfriend of three years is a thousand miles away. Jeff is living with his parents in Iowa while I search for a job as a college residence hall director. A job, I am growing to fear, that will never come.

The man standing in front of me knows nothing of this. Having his semi-hard dick sucked is his only concern. I am nothing more than a piece of meat to him, an attractive young man giving him the cheap thrill he desires. I have no particular desire to give him that thrill but wrap my mouth around his rapidly expanding dick anyway.

Having sex in an adult bookstore is an involved experience for me. I much prefer to have my own dick sucked, particularly through a gloryhole. Something about pushing my crotch up against the wall of the booth while a mouth slides down my hard cock drives me wild.

My experiences in adult bookstores without gloryholes are entirely different. Strange men follow me throughout the bookstore in the hopes of joining me in an available booth. Once we are alone they begin whispering commands like "suck it," "lick this," or "kneel down." More often than not, the encounters focus around their needs rather than my own.

I ponder all this and more as he pulls the back of my head deeper into his crotch. He begins softly moaning, seemingly unaware the people in the next booth can hear him. I reach up and start massaging his balls to increase his pleasure. He spreads his legs pushing his balls down into my hand.

I continue sucking so I can watch the inevitable result. Forcing men to cum never ceases to interest me. I love doing things to increase their pleasure, my own sexual skills growing with every man I touch. My growing skills in turn can be used to produce increasingly spectacular orgasms. Making men cum is a drug that can never make me too high.

I lost count many years ago how many men I have had sex with. I know it's more than one hundred, but have I reached twice that number yet? I've spent dozens of evenings in bathhouses, bookstores, and sex clubs. Most of my experiences have been exhilarating and wonderful. Many of these encounters have even become some of my favorite memories, such as gentle lovemaking with a newfound friend or the time I had my ass passed back and forth by three attractive strangers. I prefer not to dwell on the more depressing encounters.

Some people find it disturbing I have been with so many men. Yet to me it is not only natural, it is a good idea. How can a person develop his sexual skills if he is not engaging in sex with a variety of partners?

I am jolted back to my surroundings as I feel the stranger's balls tightening against his body. I know from experience his body is preparing to shoot its load all over me. Understanding how to receive verbal and nonverbal messages from a sexual partner is skill that constantly improves with experience. The tightening of the balls is an easy one. There are hundreds more to be learned.

I pull my mouth off his cock and begin rapidly stroking him. The stranger turns his body to the side as his cum spurts inches from my face. I am grateful for his thoughtfulness. Having his load all over my face might excite me, but would prove very difficult to clean off in the present surroundings. I would prefer not to exit the booth with my hair plastered against my head.

The man reaches down and pulls up his pants. He is embarrassed, but not enough to prevent him from a brief moment of affection. He leans down and gives me a quick kiss on my forehead. "Thank you," he whispers. He unlatches the door and disappears into the hallway.

I am surprised. I hadn't expected his sudden burst of affection. People often thank me but rarely show affection. I stand up and lock the door. I need a moment to clear my head.

I realize I am rock hard as I sit down on the bench. I hadn't noticed that I became erect as I blew the stranger. I feel less depressed now and even feel excited to some extent. Fucking around in adult bookstores usually cheers me up, even if for a little while.

The memory of his kiss still has me wondering. What emotion was I bringing out in him? Was it a paternal instinct of some sort? Did he see the encounter as being more meaningful than an anonymous fling with a young stranger?

I unlock the door and exit from the booth. Standing outside in the hallway are three men, all hoping to have a dose of what the now departed stranger enjoyed. It really is too bad there aren't any gloryholes in here. They would line up at the chance to suck me off.

It must be my youth. I can't believe they are attracted to me for my body. At 161 pounds, I am at the top of the "average weight - large build" column for my height on the weight charts. Unfortunately, I don't have a large build. I packed on the pounds in grad school, and now need to lose thirty, preferably forty pounds. I'm chubby and I know it, but I'm not motivated enough to change. It's easier to suck cock than to diet.

I know I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I do have beautiful blue eyes, and my honesty, intelligence, and warmth always warm men up to me. All I have to do is start talking and people gravitate to me. I have the looks of a seventeen year-old, the mind of a thirty year-old, and the waistline of a fifty year-old. Still, those who love chicken love me.

Having a big dick is the clincher. When I first started having sex with men, I was surprised to learn that I was bigger than most everyone. I startled most of my sexual partners with my erection. For years I hated having a bigger dick because no one could suck or be fucked by the entire length. Only when I began frequenting bathhouses did I find anyone who could. My anonymous sexual experiences taught me to orgasm from a blowjob, to cum while fucking someone, and even how to be jacked off.

Back in the hallway, the cruisers continue to stare at me. I quietly walk around the corner into another hallway of booths. Steps echo through the bare corridors as my entourage follows my every move.

A bookstore is like a hunting ground for most cruisers. Everyone sets their eyes on their prey and then maneuver around the halls in an effort to catch them. My own strategy is a bit different. I wait to see who is my most aggressive pursuer. As long as he is remotely my type, I usually fuck around with him. I have learned over time that the people who pursue me the hardest are the ones who want me the most.

Catching up with me, the cruisers take up positions at varying places in the hallway. They all stare, trying desperately to look normal in an abnormal situation. A display case featuring this week's movies suddenly becomes worthy of intense scrutiny. The looks of concentration on their faces almost make me laugh.

I lean back against the corner of the last booth. Facing my audience, I slide my hand into my pants. I close my eyes and slowly will myself an erection. Moments later I remove my hand, revealing a large bulge in my pants. The display case loses its interest as all eyes turn on me.

It's time for action. I enter the booth behind me. I slowly close the door, leaving it open a crack in the universal symbol of invitation. Reaching down, I undo the top of my jeans and pull out my stiff cock. I want whoever follows me into this room to instantly feel welcome.

I have spent enough time on the other side of the door in this situation to know what is going through the minds of the cruisers. They all feel a sexual interest and want to enter my booth. Yet they are afraid that despite my signals, they may have misunderstood my intentions. More importantly, they are embarrassed to enter the booth in front of the other men. They already know everyone else is interested, but they somehow hope the other two will leave so they may enter discreetly. I know from experience that someone will eventually gather the courage to enter.

Moments later footsteps approach the booth. A hand hesitantly opens the door, revealing a nervous middle-aged gentleman. He is dressed in nice yet casual clothes. Spreading my legs slightly, I smile and give my dick an extra stroke. He smiles in return and enters the booth. He locks the door behind him then turns toward me.

"Hello," he whispers as he reaches for my cock. He touches it slowly at first, but after a moment of consideration he wraps his hand around it and begins stroking.

"You have a nice dick," he admires. "Do you do this a lot?"

"On occasion," I admit. "I usually do this when I'm bored or horny."

He nods his head in understanding. "I'm the same way," he explains trailing off into silence. He appears more interested in my cock than talking. I close my eyes and let myself experience the sensation of his touch.

I hear his clothes rustling as he kneels down. A sensation of heat surrounds my cock as I feel his mouth envelop my stiffness. He licks me from tip to base, then lowers his mouth over it again.

I lean back against the wall of the booth as he uses my body for his enjoyment. It is nice to be serviced because I am usually the one doing the servicing. He is quite skilled at oral sex, managing to even take the entire length into his mouth. I am most definitely not used to that feeling. I am usually too big for men to deep throat.

He moves his hand from the base of my shaft down onto my balls. I stifle a moan because I am embarrassed someone outside the booth might hear me. I like it when the men I am blowing can't help moaning aloud, but I don't want anyone to know I am enjoying myself. Deep down inside I feel ashamed a total stranger in the back of a sleazy adult bookstore is blowing me.

A wave of irritation washes over me instantly sweeping away my guilt. Why shouldn't I be here? I'm a consenting adult and I want to enjoy myself. There is absolutely nothing wrong with what I am doing.

I am here because I want a stranger to have sex with me. I want to be valued for my looks, youth, and willingness to have sex. I may not be a prize when I'm out dancing or when I'm meeting guys my own age, but in the back of an adult bookstore I'm considered to be very hot. I can compete with anyone else and emerge on top.

The precise value of being the king stud of an adult bookstore is simple. No one harasses me about my high school acne. No one points out I am overweight for my height. No one snickers at my choice of clothing. On my knees in a darkened booth, I'm the most popular guy around. This is precisely why I value cruising. Nowhere else in my life do I feel so popular and appreciated.

I am filled with feelings of sexuality and power. Dropping to my knees, I gesture for the stranger to stand up. I reach toward his buckle, and within seconds his belt is undone. Pulling his pants down, I begin servicing his engorged cock with tremendous energy. Ravishing him with my tongue and mouth, I send wave after wave of pleasure through his body.

I continue to suck his dick with an almost aggressive style. I'm no longer sucking cock with the same detachment I felt in the other booth. I'm sucking because I am very good at it and because it makes people want to be around me.

Regardless of the reason I am on my knees, the stranger braces himself to keep from falling over. Despite my domineering style of oral sex, he is enjoying himself immensely. His moans are soft at first, but they quickly increase in volume and intensity. Footsteps in the hallway cease as the cruisers stop to listen to the audio show. The man I am sucking either fails to notice or is beyond caring. He doesn't even move as I continue sucking him for all he is worth.

Moaning even louder now, he reaches out and puts his hands in my hair. He starts pulling my head into his crotch. The thrill of being desired fills me again and I double the speed of my oral labors.

Before I realize his orgasm has even begun, I feel a blast of his sweet, sticky cum shooting into my mouth. I push my face deep into his crotch as his cum pours straight down my throat. His hands cease pulling me toward him and begin trying to push me away. The sensations must be too much for him. Unfortunately for him, I do not intend to stop now. He can scream if he needs to, but I am not going to stop.

Wad after wad of cum shoots into my throat. I swallow every drop without letting up, pausing only to slide my mouth toward the tip to increase his already overwhelming sensations. His knees buckle beneath him but my mouth and hands keep him pinned to the door.

Moments later his orgasm ends. I suck the final drops from his body then release him. For a moment I think he is going to fall, but he opens his eyes and stares at me. "Good God," he whispers. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"I like sex," I reply by way of answer.

"I can see that. I'm surprised you're not being paid to do that. You could make a lot of money with your skill and your boyish look."

Money? The thought had never occurred to me before. I did hustle once since my experience with Gary. A guy in Michigan paid $150 to fuck me. I always thought they were chance encounters, the inevitable propositions young men receive. Not indications that I could make a career out of this. Perhaps there is something to what the stranger is saying.

Lost in my thoughts, I scarcely notice the stranger is becoming self-conscious and embarrassed. Pulling up his pants, he instructs me to wait in the booth for a few moments after he leaves. I barely hear him as I nod my head dumbly. He unlocks the door and leaves. I lock it behind him and drop two tokens into the slot. I need a minute to sit and think.

Ignoring the movie on the screen, I pull up my own pants and sit down on the chair. Could I really charge money for sex? I hardly have the body for it, although I am very boyish looking. I do have the sexual skill for it, I realize, as well as the ability to perform with all types of guys. I have done some ugly looking men in these booths. I could certainly do so again if business required.

Sitting in the flickering light of two naked bodies on the screen, I wonder if I really could work as an escort. I suppose I could investigate if there is a market for it on the Internet. I am approached for sex by a lot of guys on America Online, but turn most of them down. Although I dislike dealing with those men for more than sex, I would be willing to get to know them for money.

My time in the video booth runs out and the screen clicks off. I stand up and unlock the door to the booth. The cruisers in the hallway outside are gone. Perhaps they realized there would be no more sex from me today.

As I leave the bookstore, I understand I have already made my decision. My mind is filled with questions at the thought. How will I find my clients? Can I keep my family from finding out? How much will I charge? Do I really have what it takes to be an escort? Will I wind up rich and retired, or will I destroy my health and wind up in jail?

The whirlwind of questions in my head continues as the door to the bookstore closes behind me forever.

Editor: The above story is from Suburban Hustler by Aaron Lawrence.