SWEET MOUTH
By Rob Errera
I
John knew he shouldn't go back, but he went anyway.
Horace's 24-Hour Adult Video Sales was a dimly lit store that smelled
of spoiled seafood and sweat. The walls were lined with the cardboard
covers of video cassettes. Here, a black beauty and a blonde beach bunny
were bound together with twine while a man in a black mask threatened
them with a whip. There, the half closed, sultry eyes of a brunette peeked
out from a tangle of arms and legs, backs, buttocks and breasts.
John scanned the titles without really looking at them, like he always
did. Just hazy glimpses of flesh and flesh as he slowly made his way to
the back of the store. He stopped at the change machine. Reaching in his
pocket he quickly found the three one-dollar bills he had folded together
earlier. It was best to leave your wallet elsewhere when visiting Horace's
24-Hour Adult Video Sales. Only bring the cash you knew you would need.
With twelve quarters in his hand, John made his way through the ramshackle
plywood doorway to the rear of the store, back to the quarter peeps.
There were ten video booths in the back, five on each side. Booths one
through five lined the left wall, six through ten on the right. The small
square rooms were no bigger than the janitor's closet back at John's office.
There was a bench seat, a wastebasket and video screen in each. John took
a seat in number eight.
John slipped two quarters into the slot next to the screen, and pushed
a red button to flip through the channels. The first two were blank, but
the next four contained graphic sexual scenes. Some were grainy and dull,
clipped from old feature length films shot in the 1970's. Others had a
crisp video sheen to them, like they might have been filmed with a camcorder
only yesterday in a room across the street. John preferred these films.
Channels seven and eight were blank but the rest were working. The last
two were male homosexual films, young hairless men locked in a circular
69 on channel 13 and a bearded man having anal intercourse with a young
black man on channel 14. The black man was on his back and masturbating.
John flipped through the channels again before finally settling on a glossy
video production that featured a buxom blonde getting taken from behind
by a black man with an enormous penis. Another penis was thrust in front
of the blonde's face and she began to suck it, though the camera never
panned up to the other man's face. The black man's thrusts increased until
he grunted loudly and withdrew from the blonde, spewing thick white gobs
of semen over the girl's shapely buttocks, leaving a little pool in the
small of her back.
Forty-five seconds later the quarters ran out, and John was left sitting
in the darkness of booth eight. It was time to go. The Sweet Mouth was
waiting.
The booth on the end, in the darkest corner of Horace's 24-Hour Adult
Video Sales, had a hole cut in the wall dividing the cubicles. If you
stood in front of it, the hole was even with your crotch. If you sat next
to it, it was near your mouth. John thought of this as "pleasure
level."
Booth five, on the very end, was always occupied. A dim blue bulb glowed
above the doorways of booths in use. The light was always on over booth
five. Sometimes there was a small line of sheepish looking men milling
around, waiting to enter the adjacent booth. But it was a rainy Saturday
afternoon and business was slow. There was only John, and the patron of
booth five. Like always.
The Sweet Mouth brought John back again and again, sometimes in the morning,
sometimes at night, sometimes on rainy Saturday afternoons. Number five
was always occupied and the Sweet Mouth always waited at the pleasure
hole.
John entered booth four and closed the door behind him. He didn't sit,
but dropped his remaining quarters into the video slot. He flipped through
the channels until he found a chunky black woman holding open her buttocks
and vagina for two thin white men, buck naked except for sailors' caps.
The tongue came first. It snaked through the hole silently, you wouldn't
have noticed if you weren't looking. It was hardly more than a flicker
of shadow. But John was looking. Waiting.
He unzipped his fly and pulled out his penis. It was already hard, even
though John had refrained from touching himself in the previous booth.
He wanted to last as long as possible, but his flesh was tingling and
rigid with anticipation.
The Sweet Mouth did not disappoint. It drew John in, the cheeks and tongue
swirling and pulsing around his organ. They fell into an easy rhythm,
John pushing into a deep, long suck, then backing into a slow, sensuous
slide. The Sweet Mouth savored its task, playing John's flesh like an
angel would a harp, the way a baker kneads sustenance from simple dough.
John couldn't hold out much longer. The explosion was divine. He swooned
against the wall, senses both numbed and heightened in the inky cloak
of bliss. The Sweet Mouth took it all, gulping down seed like it was the
nectar of life. John finished climaxing just as two young girls (a brunette
and a skinhead) anointed each other with honey on the video screen.
John pulled away from the wall. The Sweet Mouth released him reluctantly,
gently. It knew John would be back for more.
John cleaned himself with some tissues and zipped up. He left the booth
quickly, before his quarters had even run out. Inside booth four the brunette
and the skinhead were attached by a double-headed rubber phallus.
II
John knew he shouldn't go back, but he went anyway. Two weeks later, around
noon the following Monday. John took the rest of the afternoon off work
and parked around the block from Horace's.
He lingered around the video racks a little longer than usual, watching
a few patrons shuffle around in the dimly lit back hallway. An old man
was leaving booth four, looking disoriented. John thought he might have
Alzhemier's disease. Need some more of those funky brain proteins, pal.
A man in a business suit, but no tie, took a few jittery steps closer
to the doorway of booth four. John knew the discreet dance well. The man's
skin looked shiny. He looked at his shoes, glanced around furtively. John
could practically see waves of anticipation oozing from the man. He needed
the Sweet Mouth.
John watched the man enter booth four. He exited less than a minute later.
Must have been pretty eager, John figured.
John didn't rush back to the video booths, even though all the other patrons
had left. He thumbed through a stack of skin magazines, staring for a
long time at the blue light above booth five. He must have stared for
a little too long. The withered old Korean woman who sat behind the counter
at Horace's had swiveled her head around to look at him. She never looked
away from the small Sony black and white located beside her. She would
sometimes glance at the hands of Horace's customers, but John had never
seen her look up at anyone. Her gaze spooked him and he turned and walked
into the dank gauntlet of video booths.
He went directly to number four. He closed the door and unzipped right
away. He wasn't even hard yet, but once the door was shut he saw no reason
to delay. He slipped a few quarters into the coin slot but didn't bother
flipping through the channels. The first station featured two young Hispanic
men masturbating each other, but John hardly noticed. The Sweet Mouth
was already waiting at the hole.
It drew John in soft and immediately began to work its magic art of lips
and tongue and teeth on him. The touch of the Sweet Mouth was more than
familiar, it was ageless. John had received his share of oral sex over
the years, mostly from women and an occasional anonymous man. Nothing
compared to what the Sweet Mouth offered. It was more than sexual gratification.
It was comprehension. Understanding.
John felt like he might be hallucinating. He thrust and pumped against
the wall dividing the booths. The Sweet Mouth worked around him, sucking
deeper and deeper, tightening, clenching, then backing off, swabbing him
with soft tongue and cheeks. John couldn't hold out any longer, and he
let the Sweet Mouth drink his seed.
Finishing, John backed away and leaned against the opposite wall of the
booth. He managed to drop a couple more quarters into the coin slot but
didn't have the strength yet to zip himself up. The
Sweet Mouth had drained him to the point of delirium. John felt dizzy.
As he slowly tucked himself away, John looked into the hole in the wall.
He didn't see the thick, soft lips and fuzzy mustache he expected (it
seemed homosexuals always sported a fuzzy mustache). He only caught a
glimpse, and John couldn't be sure of what he'd seen.
But the lips of the Sweet Mouth were wide, too wide, more like a wound
than an orifice. The skin around the lips and chin looked mottled and
scarred, like the flesh of a burn victim. The tongue that slipped between
the drawn lips to snag a lingering drop of semen was slightly forked.
Then the Sweet Mouth was gone, replaced by the flickering colors and wet
squeals of X-rated video.
Jesus, what had he gotten himself into? John fled booth four and Horace's
24-Hour Adult Video Sales, vowing he would not return.
III
John knew he shouldn't go back, but he went anyway.
This time he spent four dollars in quarters while he waited in booth eight.
He listened patiently to the patterns of footsteps until he was sure all
the other patrons had gone. The Sweet Mouth was busy today.
When the corridor of Horace's was empty, John crept down the hallway,
all the way to the end. He didn't know why he was tiptoeing, why the need
for stealth. But he walked silently down the hall until he stood before
the door of booth five.
John glanced back toward the front of the store. The ancient Korean woman
stared into the television set. The coast was clear. Just John and the
Sweet Mouth.
He tugged at the small tarnished handle on the door of booth five. It
was locked.
What had he expected? The sign in the window of Horace's advertised "private"
video peeps. You don't pull open the door of an occupied booth, unless
you were looking for a fistfight. John turned to go, but before he took
a second step he heard the latch on the tiny deadbolt click back. An invitation
to enter.
The door opened only a few inches, but John stepped back in front of it
and pulled it open the rest of the way. Reluctant light spilled into booth
five.
The Sweet Mouth might once have been human, or it might have been spawned
from some combination of lust and need and sin. The Sweet Mouth seemed
to grow directly from the beaten old floorboards of Horace's, or perhaps
the gnarled flesh had merged with the wood after an eternity of kneeling.
The skin, bleached white from lack of sunlight and faintly iridescent,
seemed to draw nutrients from the foundation of Horace's, seemed to draw
life from the passion and the porn and the perpetual orgasms on the video
screens.
The mouth was a gaping slash that nearly cut the head of the creature
in half. John could see some malformed teeth inside the Sweet Mouth, but
they looked soft, as if a thin membrane of skin had grown over them. The
few remaining teeth were bucked out or recessed completely to ease the
Sweet Mouth's oral manipulations. A frail looking appendage grew from
the creature's torso. It lay useless now on the floorboards, and John
figured it had taken all of the creature's strength to unbolt the door.
A single blue eye gazed unfocused out of the lumpy top half of the creature's
head. It swiveled to look at John and the hot, black hole of a mouth was
trying to form sounds. But the Sweet Mouth's gullet was wet and thick
with semen and only bubbly rumblings emitted from the opening. It had
been a busy day for the Sweet Mouth.
John didn't wait to make eye contact with the creature. He slammed the
door of booth five and fled the store, bursting outside, where it was
raining.
IV
John knew he shouldn't go back, but he went anyway. This time he brought
a small carton of milk and some fresh baked cookies in a brown paper bag.
He waited in booth eight until everyone had gone and then he crept to
the door of booth five. The soft rap of a knuckle against the door was
all it took to get it unlatched. The Sweet Mouth seemed to know he would
come again.
John pitied the creature's frail form and he had called in sick at work
just so he could bake the cookies. He'd also told his boss he would be
taking his two week's vacation starting Monday. He would probably lose
his job, but he no longer really cared.
He took the milk and cookies out of the bag and placed them on the floor
inside the cubicle. The Sweet Mouth had already turned toward him. Wide
mouth closed, bleary eye gazing.
John cleared his throat. The Sweet Mouth was silent; an invitation to
question. John asked:
"What have you learned?"
The Sweet Mouth replied, its voice, no more than a whisper, resonant in
the small booth. Its timbre was deep and smooth.
"Cocks," the Sweet Mouth growled. John had to listen closely
to make sure the creature wasn't just clearing its throat.
"Cocks taste like power. And pain," it said. "Seed tastes
like life."
John nodded. He heard a bell and for a moment, a brief moment, he thought
it might be angels, sweeping down to deliver him from the hell of Horace's
24-Hour Adult Video Sales and the angst of his own existence. But it was
only another customer entering the store, a tiny bell on the doorknob
tinkling. The patron was browsing the racks, preparing to journey back
to the video peeps.
John closed the door of booth five and walked toward the front of the
store. The Sweet Mouth had work to do.
V
John knew he shouldn't go back, but he went anyway. A week later, a week
of contemplating his future, updating his resume, then tearing it up.
He brought a Yoo-Hoo and a Twix bar. It was a sunny Thursday afternoon
and Horace's was empty, save for the silent Korean watchwoman.
He walked straight to booth five and knocked softly. There was a slight
hesitation before the latch slid back. The Sweet Mouth turned lazily to
look at John, bleary eye disinterested.
John unwrapped the Twix and took out one of the cookies. He held it up
for the Sweet Mouth to see, then placed it on the floor. John took a bite
of the other cookie and uncapped the Yoo-Hoo. He took a drink and set
the bottle down next to the Sweet Mouth's Twix. The empty milk carton
from his last visit was in the corner near the door. John collected the
trash, put it in the brown paper bag and tucked the bundle in his jacket.
John took another bite of his cookie. The Sweet Mouth had turned away
from him. Its attention was drawn to the video screen. A young, supple
blonde, thin to the point of emaciation, was sitting naked on a redwood
bench inside a steam room. The girl was crying. After a moment, a redhead
in a towel entered the scene. She sat next to the blonde, but waited a
moment before speaking.
"Mary, what is it?"
The blonde was sobbing, her thin body racked with great hitching wails.
John was struck by the genuineness of it. He could only imagine the motivation
behind this hollow-eyed actress' pained performance.
"Ohhh, I love him. I LOVE HIM!"
The redhead let her towel drop and reached out to embrace the blonde.
They kissed like cherubs.
John finished his cookie. The Sweet Mouth was still turned away from him,
its manner almost cold. John felt like an interloper and closed the door
of booth five quietly before leaving the store.
VI
John knew he shouldn't go back, but he went anyway, a week from the following
Friday. A week spent longing, a week spent knowing. He brought a canteen
of water, some wrapped cheese slices and four beef jerky sticks. He brought
nothing for the Sweet Mouth.
He got there just before lunch and entered booth eight. It was a busy
lunch hour for the Sweet Mouth. More than a dozen men drifted in and out
of booth four, leaving a little piece of themselves, perhaps the most
precious part of themselves, with the Sweet Mouth. John spent the afternoon
observing the patterns, learning the rituals of need, sacrifice and release.
In was late afternoon when John emerged from booth eight. He walked through
the front of the store, right up to the soaped up glass doorway of Horace's
24-Hour Adult Video Sales. He watched the sunset splinter into a thousand
fragmented images, crimson light refracting off glass turned milky by
years of neglect. John took a last look at the sun, then turned back to
the video booths.
As he passed, John looked at the Korean woman. Her lap was covered with
a blanket, but John could see she had no legs. Or perhaps the raw stumps
had somehow fused with her tiny wood and vinyl stool. Perhaps she sprang,
full-formed, from the foundation of Horace's 24-Hour Adult Video Sales
itself. John did not know.
John walked the dim gauntlet of video booths, the moans and cries of the
orgasmic and the blissful washing over him like a baptism.
He paused briefly before the door to the Sweet Mouth, then turned and
entered booth ten, the last booth on the right. The dank, fetid cubicle
enveloped John like the embrace of a lover.
He checked the blue light before closing the door. Booth ten was now occupied.
He dropped a fistful of quarters into the video terminal and got down
on his knees before the pleasure hole. So much like praying, so much like
worship, he thought as he gazed expectantly through the hole into booth
nine. He felt the floor shudder beneath him, slick and gritty. At first
John thought it might be the heartbeat of the store itself, the floorboards
throbbing and alive beneath him. Then he realized it was just a customer,
pacing the front of the store, anticipating the long trek back to the
video booths.
John licked his lips, his mouth watering at the thought of his first offering.
Understanding is meant to be shared.
And competition is good for business.
END
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