Dirty Me/The adult video store

< Dirty Me

There are a few of those "adult video stores" still around. Well, you know there is at least one. You can feel your heart pounding as you think about going there, since the only one you know of is located in the bad part of town. The same area that people go to find cheap, street corner hookers. The same place where many of the houses are small, and run down.

You nerve yourself to try, and decide to dress low key. Going out in more attractive clothes seems like a way to get raped. You want to try a fantasy, not have someone force themself on you.

You put on some baggy jeans, a black, extremely baggy t-shirt, and a loose, puffy jacket. At least people will not be able to make out your figure unless they get close.

You contemplate putting on makeup, but decide it is better without.

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You drive to the store and sit there, watching the front of it, for a long time. You notice that there is no parking in front, but instead there is a wall with an opening for cars to park. Finally finding your courage, you drive in. There are three other cars, all hidden by the wall. Guess no one wants to leave their car where it can be viewed.

They probably have some security here, you think to yourself, thinking about the kinds of people who probably visit. After all, they also sell lingerie, so it must be okay for women too.

You see a balding, overweight guy leave, a slight stagger to his walk. He is dressed in a cheap, button up shirt. Probably an office worker.

You feel some relief, knowing it is probably just normal guys who want to find some sort of satisfaction in their day to day drudgery. Laborers, office workers. People caught in the daily grind who needs to unwind.

Telling youself this helps calm your nerve. No psychotic rapists. No gang banging thugs. Just people who, for some reason, choose to go to a place like this, instead of just staying home and watching porn.

You wait for the guy to finish leaving before slipping out of the car.

When you enter, you see lingerie dotting the walls here and there, covering mannequins. There are many normal toys: dildos, handcuffs, vibrators. There is even some creepy looking sex doll. The cashier is the only person in sight though. I wonder where the owner of the other car is? You notice the cashier, a guy in his early 20s, brown hair, a little overweight. His eyes pass over you, then do a double take and look at you again.

"Umm, can I umm, help you? Miss?" He states as he stumbles over his slow words. You are not sure if it is because you are in here, or if he is not just the smartest person. You wave your hand at him, back and forth, palm out, to let him know you are fine. If he is nervous, does that mean I am wrong and women don't come in here?

"Umm, sorry," he states, in his slow, bumbling way. "I need to, umm, see you, umm, ID. Umm, I'm sorry, umm, miss, but umm, we need to check, umm, everyone."

Oh god, you think to yourself. This guy must have been dropped on his head way too many times.

Realization washes over you as his words finally jell together. He needs to what? I don't want people to know who I am here! You realize you have two choices: Give him your ID, or leave now and get away from here. Your feet are already ready to carry you straight out the door and away from this place.

• Show him your ID
• Maybe you can find something else. You know where a strip club is suppose to be, with rumors of a fence.