A random weekday, im pulling an afternoon shift at P St. although seeing as the windows have been painted over and had video racks built in front, it could be the middle of the night for all I knew. Although with the glaring light in the room, it always felt like some kind of limbo, an eternal doctor???s waiting room, a forgotten office at the end of the universe.
You see, P St had fluorescent lighting. It???s a Frickin' sex shop people; no one wants the glaring light of a fluorescent tube in their eyes when they enter a sex shop, Jesus, just look at disco heaven and you see how the lighting should be.
I was, for a long time convinced that the lighting was a conscious decision by the owners to get the guys into the darkroom quicker, but upon reflection it is more likely that they were just too cheap to change the damn things.
Nonetheless, in their infinite wisdom the owners had deemed the lighting choice of schools and hospitals worldwide to be suitable for a Frickin' sex shop, and I was the poor bastard that had to put up with it today.
The guys that worked at P St (make no mistake, they were all guys, no women were ever allowed to work in this stronghold of man love) had grown sick of complaining and resorted to wearing sunglasses at work.
This lead to the inevitable contest to see who could wear the most ridiculous pair of shades. Under the counter was a box of discarded costume eyewear that Elton John would have been to embarrassed to wear.
(Un)Fortunately I had worked a few shifts at P St by now and had brought my own black wraparounds.
I was in a bad mood that day because I couldn???t smoke weed at P St. This was due to the fact that the store was situated on the second level of a busy main road in the central business district. I was used to graveyard shifts at R St where smoking spliffs at work was basically mandatory. To make matters worse, it was lunchtime so P St was getting very busy.
A regular stream of office workers were making their way up the stairs and into the store, handing over their $10, receiving their goodie bag containing one condom and one lube sachet then ascending a second flight of stairs leading to the darkroom.
As was usual by now, I tried to perform my menial task with an absolute minimum of contact with the clientele. Most of them were complete losers who couldn???t look me in the eye if id wanted them to, so no one was losing out due to my unique style of customer service.
Most of them were losers, but not all. P street had some pretty cool regulars as well, mostly older guys who would stop by for a chat and a laugh before heading upstairs.
Gus was the best of the bunch. A middle aged office worker who you would pass on the street without a second glance, Gus harbored a secret that would have destroyed a lesser man.
Gus was cursed.
This poor fucker had to cum at least five times a day. According to Gus, it had always been like that, his earliest memories all involve masturbation, as do most of the rest of his memories, and it was this little habit that resulted in him being an outcast at school, he simply spent too much time jacking off.
He used to laugh that during his teens he was not that different from most guys, but this guy was now in his late forties and still going strong. He had tried everything, medication, therapy, alcohol, hookers and had settled on darkrooms.
Gus was one of the realest guys I have ever met, he wasn???t ashamed of his problem, he had worked through that stage years ago, he was simply resigned to the fact that he, a straight man would probably spend the best part of the rest of his life getting blown by men in darkrooms.
Seeing as he was there everyday, we would let him in for free and he would occasionally bring coffee and cigarettes for us.
Gus comes in, drops of a coffee, shoots the shit and heads upstairs quickly followed by ???video guy??? a regular who would always ask for certain movies to be played upstairs. (whatever he was into that week being the theme)
Slightly annoying, but id usually play them for him as at least he was polite.
So there I was, sitting behind my counter, to the left, the stairs leading up from the street, above me, the stairs leading up to the darkroom, in front of me, a wall of videos, behind the counter, a box of stupid sunglasses, five VCRs and five mini screens showing the movies being played upstairs.
The reason we had the mini screens was not so we could sit downstairs and jack off to the movies being played upstairs (although I know for a fact a couple of the staff did). No, it was so we would know when to rewind the tape when it ran out.
Auto rewind? Don???t be stupid, these VCRs were so old I was surprised we didn???t have to hand crank them. So mini screens showing nonstop gay porn it was.
I loaded video guy???s request (mountain climbing teens with no shirts and big cocks), fast forwarded the credits and the build-up, and pushed play when the guys started jacking off. The darkroom guys were not paying two bucks a minute, so I usually cut to the chase for them. (See, my customer service wasn???t all bad).
So there I am, a straight guy sitting behind my counter, shades on, buzz steadily wearing off, watching 5 mini TV screens all showing gay sex in various styles shapes and forms.
Sometimes you need to stop taking yourself so seriously, take a step back, look at yourself from an outside perspective and have a giggle. That day was one of those times.
And little did I know right then, sitting alone in a sex shop laughing out loud, that the real comedy had not even begun.
