90% of the elderly people who walk through the doors of my shop have no idea what they're doing there or what kind of store they've wandered into. sometimes it's funny, when they look around and comment on things they've never seen before/haven't the slightest clue what to do with some of the items. most of the time it's pretty uneventful: an old lady sees a giant dildo or an inflatable butt plug and turns right around. and then there are women like the one who came in last week. you know the type....southern, old-school, uncensored, as politically incorrect as they come. that was this lady. she looked like a cross between aunt jemima, those racist cookie jars, and whoopi goldberg in "the color purple." and she was dressed, head to toe, in purple. headwrap, button-down tunic, floor-length skirt, and orthopedic sneakers made of floral canvas with a clear platform. despite the fact that she was missing a front tooth, she smiled a lot.
she walked in from the heat fanning herself. i'm the only one in the store and with her southern (i'm guessing alabama/louisiana) drawl she asked me "do y'all sell breastforms here? not the kind you just stick in ya braw but the ones like sissies wear." yeah, she said sissies. she then motioned to her breasts and held her hands out in front of them so as to show me how large she'd like them. i tell her politely, "no, we don't have those here. i know of a place where cross-dressers and transsexuals go to get most of their things but it's not very close to here." she asks me, "so you don't get a lot of sissies in here? because i know i've been seein men walkin round here holdin hands and kissin and oh boy you wouldn't a seen none of that where i grew up." i didn't say anything much more than "oh" before she asked me to write down the address of the place i had mentioned. i obliged and handed her the piece of paper.
shoes has become a checkpoint of sorts. it feels like every time something worth writing about happens, something goes on near the display. aunt whoopi was on her way out when she stopped to look at what we had. she picks up a pair of 7-inch clear heels and says "i think they're pretty. you ever dance?" i told her about my stint as a stripper and she asked me bluntly, "you do any of that extra stuff to make yourself some money?" i honestly answer her, "no, but a lot of girls do. i guess if you don't have a problem with it, do what you want. i just never really wanted to make money that badly i guess. it was mostly something i did that was fun. and i just quit when it wasn't fun anymore." she smiled at me and said, "well that's a good thing, child. you know every man just wants to screw and if he wants it bad enough, he'll go out lookin for it. you know those dancers out west, they're makin a while lotta money. yeah, them and they got those chicken houses out there, too! it's normal to make money off of havin all kinds of sex out there."
we had a brief conversation about screwing and what strip clubs were better known for their extra services before she left.
___________________________
tweekers, crackheads, coked-out strippers...they love the porn shop. usually, i don't see them since they mainly come out at night. but on day shift, i sometimes get lucky. this guy wasn't any of the aforementioned, but was definitely displaying some of the mannerisms: clenched jaw/gum chomping, pacing around the store, constantly putting his hands in his pockets and pulling nothing out, i swear he didn't blink more than ten times in the hour he spent in the store. i tried to keep up with him/come up with different ways of "checking up" on him without pissing him off or seeming rude, but each time i attempted to make eye contact, he nervously looked away and would start touching things (i assumed out of nervousness). another customer i had in the store left and that's when this guy decided to open up to me.
he asked me what it was like working there just like every other person to ever come into the store and i gave him some generic answers. he let me know he was waiting for his "friend" to call him back or come up to the store and decide if the liberator we had in stock was the right one. while he waited, he told me all kinds of things about his life. turns out he had just gotten home about ten days before. he was a marine. when i asked how long he was home for he said, "hopefully not long. i'm trying to get back in. i hate civilian life. it's not for me."
"get back in? what do you mean?"
"i spent the last two years in a military prison."
"what'd you do? sorry, i shouldn't ask that. i've got a bad habit of asking too many questions."
"no, no it's alright. i did what i had to do. they tried to say that i went beyond what i should have. those motherfuckers weren't there. i did what had to be done."
"so you're out of prison...out of the service? dishonorable discharge and all of that?"
"yes ma'am. as soon as i got back here i started working on my case to get back in. it's the only thing i love doinfightin's what i got in me."
"well good luck with all that. what was prison like?"
*at this point, he lifted up his shirt to show me where he had been stabbed over his heart. hard to miss was his iron cross tattoo covering the scar. he also had one of these in the center of his chest:
not all of his tattoos were so white power, he also had a black and gray Chucky tattoo on his right arm. (while irrelevant, i felt that was worth mentioning)
This might not be the type of conversation most people would enjoy, but i've got such a fascination with prison gangs, the Brotherhood in particular. I've only talked to a few other people who've been involved with them but their stories are pretty similar for the most part.
"well, when i first got into the prison here (stateside) i had to figure out how it was gonna be for me. i'm sure you've figured out my affiliation by my tattoos."
"well, yeah it's pretty obvious. how'd you get into all that, though?"
"well there's a story behind it. not too many guys could pronounce my last name except for the 'berg' when i first got there. then one day, i was carrying a bag with me when this guy tried to grab it. i kicked him in the chest and knocked him back. after i fucked him up, a bunch of guys invited me in with them. they all called mossberg. said i could kick like a shotgun."
he didn't get into details as far as the Brotherhood goes and i didn't ask any more questions. instead, he taught me a trick some guys use in prison to get off. since i personally have no use for this information, maybe someone who reads this will try it out.
HOW TO MAKE A POCKET PUSSY: PRISON EDITION
step 1. take two latex gloves and fill them with liquid of your choice. the thicker the liquid, the better (one guy apparently used bread pudding when it was available)
step 2. tie off the ends of the gloves so the liquid doesn't come out
step 3. tie the fingers of the gloves together, creating a pocket between the two "palms"
step 4. find a lubricant: spit, olive oil, butter, soap, etc. and apply it to the penis
step 5. fuck the space between the two gloves (remember! more pressure=tighter feeling)
i asked if he'd ever done it and rather than give me a straight answer, he just said, "in prison, you get bored and you come up with lots of different ways of staying entertained." then he told me about one time he went to get an apple from the walk-in and caught a guy using some gloves to get off. i laughed and asked him if he watched. he didn't think that was funny.
he saw some mints on the counter and started talking about oral sex and the whole mint/cinnamon/cough drop thing....gave me some advice and suggested i try them with my boyfriend. he bought some cheap little thing--said he felt like he should since he had taken up so much of my time. when he paid with a card, i asked for id and all he had was his inmate badge. he said he has fun with it at church (he's gone with his grandma since returning). when he was asked why he was sent to prison in the first place his response was, "i was a choir boy and i ended up killing a priest." then he laughed. for a good minute. without blinking. i wonder if his grandma thought it was that funny.
__________________
No comments:
Post a Comment