Lily's Secret No. 13: The Video Store
Sometimes, when there aren’t any good movies showing, or when I’ve missed one I really want to see, I’ll rent one to watch. We have a small, independent video store in the neighborhood that I frequent. San Francisco is a large city, but each neighborhood is like a small town and we all try to support our local merchants, even if their prices are a little higher than what the chains charge. This one has the latest movies, but also a lot of foreign films and documentaries, plus a small section for music videos. There’s also a separate section for adult films, which I didn’t know about until I walked in there once by accident and quickly walked out. I’ve never seen a porn film; I figure they’re just for men. Actually, I was kind of surprised our neighborhood would even have one. The Marina is a little more staid than perhaps the Haight or the Castro.
The store is owned and run by a father and son, the Messrs. Crandall. I had often seen the father sidle into the adult movie section and so I used to think it was some kind of lounge where he could rest while his son took over. The father was a short man, no taller than I, and I thought, because of the son’s stature, that perhaps he had shrunk with age. He had fluffy white hair that added two inches to his height, and his eyes were magnified behind his black-framed glasses, lending a seriousness to his mien that perhaps was not warranted.
The only encounter I’d ever had with the father was one day when I was bent over in an aisle to read the titles in the bottom shelf. He came down the aisle and, instead of turning his back towards me to squeeze past, I felt something hard press up against my ass and linger there for a moment. My first inclination was to press back against him, because of course I enjoyed the feel of a stranger’s cock against me. He moved on, though, and it never happened again.
The son is in his 40s, which I know because he went to school with my dad, and he helps out his father in the store whenever he can close his camera shop/photography studio for a while, which is up the street. He doesn’t fit. He always looks like he’s smoldering and about to burst into flames. I like the way he looks. I’d like to be there the day he spontaneously combusts.
The son’s dark, hooded eyes always browse over me when I’m in the store and I find it so disconcerting that I often walk out with the wrong movie. My eyes do some browsing of their own and I notice he has a perpetual swelling in the crotch of his khakis. Perhaps it’s faked; I’ve heard of that being done, but I think it was by ballet dancers. It keeps my curiosity up, though, wondering whether it is. He never says much to me, just what he says to every customer, and I rarely say anything at all. I keep getting drawn back to that store, though, even though I pass a Blockbusters every day.
That was all to change one afternoon. The son was alone in the store when I walked in, his father nowhere in sight. I had just finished lunch with my mother at Rose’s Cafe on Union Street and was in a skirt and sweater rather than my usual running clothes or jeans. He nodded to me as I walked by the counter. I was in one of the aisles, looking over the selection of foreign films, when he turned into my aisle and stood beside me. I thought I heard him say, “Show me your breasts,” in a low voice.
“What?” I asked, sure that I had heard wrong.
“I want to see your tits,” he said. “You know you want to show me.”
And in that moment, I did want to show him. I wanted it more than anything. I pulled my top up above my breasts and tugged my bra down to rest beneath them so that they jutted out. His eyes seemed to memorize them for several long moments. He slowly reached out and turned me so that I was facing in a different direction. He moved behind me and covered my naked breasts with his hands, squeezing them until his fingers were imprinted on the skin and then pulling at my nipples until they stood out even farther. I watched, holding my breath, as he leaned back against the rack and unzipped his fly in a slow unveiling of what I longed to see. The bulge wasn’t faked. He pulled out his cock, which was long and hard, and pointed with his finger to the floor in front of him. “Suck me,” he said.
I had him in my mouth so fast I felt possessed. I have never sucked a cock harder or more thoroughly, nor pulled it in more deeply, nor savored its taste so hungrily. I swear I was like a frenzied hyena attacking a carcass. I felt so lucky to be given this present.
Before he could come in my mouth, he had me on the floor, his cock inside of me, my skirt up over my stomach, and my ripped panties on the floor somewhere. He fucked me a long time before he came, and even then I wasn’t satiated. He pointed me to the toilet so that I could clean up. It was a private little room with no sign on the door and there were traces of urine on the floor and pictures of naked tits on the walls. I pretended they were my tits he looked at while he pissed. I didn’t know where my panties were but I liked the way it felt going without them. When I finished, he led me into the back room, the adult room, and shut the door.
And there he showed me a porn movie such as I had never imagined. The quality of the picture wasn’t so good, but the editing was brilliant. I had noticed the security cameras all over the store; what I hadn’t discerned was their purpose. He had put a soundtrack in--music I wasn’t familiar with--but it suited the moving pictures. One by one a different woman would appear in his store, go down an aisle, and the next thing you saw was her uncovering her breasts, always quite willingly. Breasts of all sizes and shapes and ages. And, oh yes, it also clearly showed their faces. Most were women I recognized from around the neighborhood. There was the woman from the dry cleaning store, the young, perky one from the pet store and two middle-aged women from the checkout counters of the nearby Safeway on Marina Boulevard. I even saw one of the librarians from the branch library, the one who acted so horrified when I asked why they didn’t have the Anarchist’s Cookbook. I got a good look at my 6th grade teacher’s breasts, ones the boys had always vastly admired back then, and they looked pretty admirable to me. There were dozens of different women. At one point I saw him turn to watch me as the next customer came into view on the plasma TV. It was the knit dress in plum that I recognized first, before the camera caught her face. It wasn’t seeing Mom’s breasts that was shocking as I had certainly seen them before. It was watching her voraciously suck on his cock and swallow his cum, going so far as to lick her lips afterwards. And then to see her bare her hairy cunt to him. The way I had bared mine, and longed to again.
I think it was then I first noticed his father had come into the room and was seated on a metal folding chair. He had his cock out of his pants and was stroking it and it wasn’t the pictures of my mom he was looking at, it was me. He saw me staring at his cock and he opened his mouth and wiggled his tongue at me, looking like every dirty old man who ever stepped out from behind bushes or parked cars and exposed himself to me when I was a child.
I got up and stood in front of him and he thrust his hand up my skirt and stuck his fingers inside of me, as though to prime me, only I didn’t need priming. I sank down to my knees and lowered my mouth over his cock and sighed in pleasure as my mouth became packed with dick. His taste was a heady combination of sweat and piss. I was aware of the security cameras trained on me as I sucked his chunky cock and I came just from the thought of being watched again and again by father and son.
The father left the room when I had finished and I asked the son if I could watch the one of my mother again.
“They’re for sale if you’re interested,” he said.
“Oh. I guess I thought they were just for you.”
“Not at all. The one of you will be ready by tomorrow if you want to buy a copy. With the added footage of you and Dad, it should be impressive.”
“Do you sell many?” I thought of my father buying a copy and watching both my mother and me sucking and fucking this man, his contemporary. Watching in disbelief as I sucked the old man. I thought of my neighbors, my old teachers, perhaps the man next door, all watching me on film. The thought was exhilarating.
He lifted one corner of his mouth in a wry smile. “Dad has managed to sell them to most of the men in the neighborhood. I sell them at a discount to the women.”
“I’ll want to buy several,” I said, having in mind a few men to whom I’d like to send them anonymously. “I’d also like to have you take one of me getting fucked in the ass, if that’s possible.”
“Stop by any time; I think that could be arranged.”
“By your father.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Dad will be delighted.”
I left the store without renting a movie, but with a satisfied smile on my face. Perhaps George Lucas would happen into the store and buy one. Perhaps I would be discovered. It was San Francisco; anything could happen.
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