Pagan Moss' Peep Show Stories

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

Some Know

Some Know

He exits the theater and walks past my booth on the way to the bathroom everyday. He never gets a show; he prefers to watch the girls do the nasty on the big screen. He has white hair and pink skin like paper. His frame is large and he walks with dignity like a World War II vet. The clerk says he's been coming in for years, showing up in the morning and leaving at night. He's the most faithful soul in this place.

He is open minded for his age--never complains about the tranny porn they play on Wednesday nights. He just quietly sits amongst the mix, enjoying the sundry shows.

One day he comes into my booth and asks me how much for a show.

When I tell him, he puts in a twenty.

I joke that I see him everyday.

He says he's been trying to cut down.

He asks if I work out of here.

I tell him I've been tempted, but . . .

He says he'll pay me two hundred dollars for an hour.

I ask him what he wants me to do.

He tells me he's got diabetes real bad--can't risk an infection.

I tell him I'm sorry to hear that.

He tells me he was thinking just a private dance--maybe a hand job.

I ask him what the special occasion is.

He says he's going away--to a place where these places don't exist.

I think how nice that would be.

He slips me his number and a five dollar bill through the tip slot.

I take off my top and shake my tits.

He smiles and claps his hands.

I take off my panties and show him my bare pussy.

He pretends to faint.

I dance around the booth, flashing him pink here and there--but not too much. He lived through the war; I don't want to kill him now.

For his sake, the curtain falls.

He tells me goodbye and to call him.

I smile and tell him I will.

I lie . . . again.

The next day, I wait for him to walk by. I have my lines ready to go, but he never shows.

I don't worry at first. But then one day turns into many.

He never misses a day, let alone two weeks. His absence is surely out of death or disconcertion.

Sadly, it is to be the former. Nothing spreads faster than the news of death and suddenly everyone was talking about it.

I heard it from the janitor. He said someone found his body a couple of days ago. He didn't know how long he'd been dead-- just that he died alone in his sleep. Such a shame we must all die alone.



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