The Seed




It was the last straw.

He had come out of the theater and walked past her booth one too many times with his face fixed in utter repulsion as if she were some kind of grotesque side show. He was not going to get away with it any longer. She pounded the plexi-glass window with her fists and gnashed her teeth. He stopped dead in his tracks and started back peddling. He stood in front of her booth--eyes a blazin'--with his hands held up in the air.

Her eyes narrowed as she jabbed her finger at him. She pointed to the door of the booth. “Go in there,” she mouthed.

“Why?” he mouthed back.

“I wanna ask you somethin',” she mouthed.

He shrugged and walked into the booth.

“Pick up the phone!” she yelled through the glass.

He picked up the phone. “What’s your problem?” he asked.

“What’s my problem? My problem is that I’m sick of you walking past my booth every night with that look on your face,” she said. “It's like you stepped into a puddle of warm cat vomit with your bare foot.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said, smiling.

“Well you must have a problem with your face then cause it seems to have a mind of its own,” she said. “You know it’s not easy sitting here half-naked in this box, trying to make a living.”

He looked down at the ground. “I'm sorry," he said, "How much for a show?”

“They start at twenty for full nudity,” she said firmly. “You better not be fucking with me.”

He put a twenty into the machine and the shade went up.

“Wow, what’s the special occasion? You never get shows; I figured you were gay,” she said.

“I am, actually," he said, "But I'm curious about something. Can I see your tits?”

“Sure, why not,” she said, “You paid your twenty.” She took off her top and jiggled her bare breasts at him.”

"I love women's tits," he said. He pinched his right nipple. “Do you shave?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, "I just shaved this morning."

He pulled off his shirt and hung it on the door knob. “Show me,” he said.

She pulled her panties down to her ankles and stepped out of them.

“Mmmm . . . looks soft,” he said.

She ran her fingertips lightly over her bare vulva. “It is,” she said.

He undid his pants. “I shave, too,” he said, showing her the goods.

“Very nice,” she said. “So you like the theater, huh?”

“Yeah, I usually get lucky,” he said. “There’s lots of old perverts in there who like to suck off young guys.” He leaned back against the wall and started stroking his limp cock.

She saw that he had a heart tattoo on his chest. “What’s your tattoo say?” she asked.

“Mom,” he said.

“How sweet,” she said, “You must really love your Mom.”

He smiled and said, “I don’t know, I never met her.”

“Really?”

“Well, I guess I knew her when I was a kid. She left when I was five. She was a teenage prostitute, my Dad was a John, and I’m what you got for $20.00.”

“Oh . . .”

“When she'd go to work, she’d let the guy who lived in the apartment next door come over and watch me. He liked little boys,” he said.

“That’s horrible,” she said.

“One night, she didn’t come home and the guy who was watching me . . .”

“Yeah?”

“He got scared when my mom didn’t show up so he just left me there . . . alone. Eventually, someone found me and called the cops and I ended up in a foster home . . . a whole bunch of 'em. I never managed to stay in one home for very long,” he said with a laugh. "Seems some foster Dads like little boys, too. And if it wasn't the Dads, it was the other little boys in the homes that were sneaking into my bedroom at night.”

"I hope things are better for you now," she said.

His face turned somber. “You know that neighbor who did that to me when I was a kid . . .”

"Yes?"

"He planted something in me,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well . . . a lot of guys say they’re born gay. But I can't help but wonder if I'm gay because I was raped as a kid," he said. "I must not be right in the head to be attracted to men after all they've done to me. But then again, women haven't been that great either."

"I wish I knew the answer," she said. "You'd think working here, I'd be an expert or something."

He paused for a moment, looking at his cock still limp in his hand. “If I was truly born gay, then I wouldn't be sexually aroused looking at you naked, right?” he asked.

She bit down on her lip. "I'd love to help you find out," she purred.

His words lit her flesh. She grabbed a breast with one hand and reached down between her legs with the other, offering him much more than he had paid for--her narcissism kicking in. She fixed her eyes upon his cock, praying for it to stir.

It seemed he was determined to test this theory, too, laboriously working his cock as he watched her writhe with pleasure. But it was no use, his cock did not budge.

Sensing he was about to give up, she asked, "Should I turn around, baby? What position do you like?"

The window started to close.

He put his limp cock back into his pants and straightened his clothes. "That's OK," he said. "Thanks for the show. I think I'm gonna go back into the theater now," he said, checking his watch. "I'm suppose to meet someone in about five minutes."

"Well, I wish I could have helped you more," she said in defeat.

He turned around as he left the booth and said, "I think you might have, actually."

Who Links Here

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