I bought an adult video: I knew it was a gross habit, and I knew it was wrong given the time and circumstances. But regardless of the fact, I ended up in that grimy parking lot every Saturday afternoon, hoping to Christ that nobody recognized my Jeep Wrangler and never allow me to live this down. Every Saturday I would see the wide grin stretched across the face of the dude behind the counter, his hands placed firmly as he bent across the thing and said, “Back again for more?” in that joking manner that would make me stifle a small but nervous laugh.
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I jumped every time a person rounded the corner in whatever aisle I was presently in, thinking it would be someone who knew my mother or siblings, or even someone I went to high school with. Humiliating. So why did I keep coming?
This specific time, my hands landed on a DVD entitled, “Young and Daddyless.” These names just got more and more fucked up and raunchy as you went down the line. If they made me snicker, I probably got some type of odd enjoyment out of them. I’d graduated from people dressed up as naughty schoolteachers getting it on in classrooms on desks to girls with family issues sucking huge, black cock on screen like they’d been doing it for years (and probably have, if you knew the honest truth.) Regardless, my time spent at the porn store always paid off. I either laughed hysterically at what was placed in front of me each night, or furiously released my frustrations, thinking, “Yeah, that’s good enough.”