One day Samuel said something completely unexpected. 'Searchez la femme.'
Double surprise.
Samuel knew French cliche.
Samuel had a sex drive.
It was disturbing, I couldn't see how this situation was going to end, but I knew it would be more weird that I had signed up for.
A mesquite marinated man picking up a woman. What woman, where? What would her story have been. My legendary empathy forsook me and I almost wretched. What femme would he find? One requiring payment, but who would be willing to accommodate a broke dude?
After watching me recoil in horror, Samuel announced the plan. We would hike across the tracks into some god forsake industrial neighbourhood to a neon coloured sex shop: to see a peep show.
I didn't want to go.
Sam wanted me to, which was weird. It wasn't weird gay, but plenty weird.
I think part of it was not wanting to be judged. On the exterior it seemed like a pretty sleazeball thing to do, to go to a disgusting booth in the back of a sex shop to pay quarters, no shit, quarters to watch women strip and dance about. That's about how I felt about it. That was a sleazeball thing to do.
I told him I'd walk with him there. He gave an ambiguous gesture that I took for submission.
Crossing the railway tracks it occurred to me that it might not be safe to just hang out in front of sex shop in the middle of Tuscon's industrial complex. I already had people try and pick me up, and it wasn't while I was hanging out under a streetlight in a charmless neighbourhood.
On arrival I decided to go into the sex shop. Whatever, it didn't mean anything. I went inside.
Wall to wall penises everywhere. All sizes.Given the situation it was exactly what I didn't want to see. I moved about, even weirder shit.
I'm not against sex toys, knock yourself out. But there are times when it is really awkward to be reminded of your sexuality.
A mustachioed cashier glared at me.
Samuel put some change in my hand and pointed to a velvet curtain.
I took a deep breath, steeled myself and walked back.
It was dark, but I could see a row of red doors along a narrow hall. Definitely some fire code violations. All the doors appeared to be shut, but the place seemed empty. I walked further along and pulled on one. It was open and thank Christ, unoccupied.
It was very dark. I could barely see anything, but the thoughtful managers at Deep Throat Exotics had been thoughtful enough to ensure that the place to put the quarters was lit.
Well what the fuck.
I put in a quarter.
The slits opened and I gazed through.
The first thing I noticed was the eyes behind the slits.
There may have been as many as 20 cubicles such as mine surrounding the edges. It was totally creepy. Creepy Sci-Fi. Welcome to the hall of the half humans. It was as though we come to watch some satanic ritual.
I saw a naked woman leave the room. She vanished behind a curtain, and then an attractive young woman walked on to stage scantily clad. Likely a university student. She was beautiful. And she started pulling off of her clothes. It was an immediate turn on. Praise God: the man in the cloud who set the wheels of evolution turning, had done a very good job wiring my sex drive, because despite the disgusting cheapness of the whole sleazy affair, I suddenly wanted more than anything in the world to see this woman take off her clothes.
It was sexy for about 5 seconds. Her clothes hit the ground and things got weird. Hardcore.
Clearly the clientele that this was established for needed to see much much more than I would ever want to see.
I was an inexperienced child, around me were porn addicts.
My quarters were gone.
I left, now willing to mill about the penises and the glaring cashier.
They seemed less offensive now.
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