by Mike Kimera
(09/25/02)

So it's Friday night and I'm in Pornocopia, the big adult store out by the freeway, just across from the Lazy O Motel. I'm standing in the movie section holding a DVD in each hand, trying to decide between "Keep on Cumming: Non-Stop Cumshots (playing time 180 minutes)," and "Head of the Class: See the Girls at Cumslut High Compete to Give the Best Head in the Class..." when Carla Jones walks in.

What is she doing here? I ask myself.

Nothing clears out an adult bookstore like a confident woman. The male browsers move away from Carla like a shoal of fish avoiding a shark.

Not that I have no problem with women liking or buying porn; it's just that Carla is an attractive woman. She shouldn't be in a pornstore on a Friday night. She should be out getting laid.

What does that say about where you spend your Friday evenings? the voice in my head says. If this place had a loyalty card you'd be a rich man. Anyway, admit it. What really bothers you is that you've spent the past few weeks jacking off, thinking about this very woman. Shit, why can't my inner voice ever say encouraging things?

It's true though: Carla Jones is my current fantasy of choice. She works out at my gym. She's a big-breasted Amazon of a woman, in her early thirties, with jet-black hair she usually wears in a ponytail. God, I love to see that ponytail bounce while she's on the treadmill.

When she joined the gym three months ago, Carla was carrying some weight, but now she's turned it into muscle. She looks like she should be in Xena, Warrior Princess. In my fantasies she's always on top and I'm staring up at her, awed by the fact that her ponytail swings in the opposite direction of her breasts.

We actually spoke once, about six weeks after she joined. I go to the gym a lot. I'm still working on building up my right arm after they put pins in it when I came off my stupid motorcycle. I got to the gym late that night and by the time I'd finished on the treadmill I had the place to myself. That was fine except I wanted to do some free-weights work. I'm a traditionalist: those Nautilus machines don't seem like really lifting weights to me. But I don't like to lift alone, so I was about to call it a night when some one behind me said, "Want me to spot for ya?"

It was Carla, just arrived and looking good.

"Thanks," I said.

"Carla Jones," she said holding out her hand.

"Mick Murphy," I said, amazed at how strong her grip was.

I did bench presses while she stood over me, ready to take the weights if I needed her to. It was looking up at her from below that started the fantasies. I didn't even notice that I'd managed to lift two hundred pounds for the first time since the crash. All I could think of was how I wished Carla would just squat and let me eat her out. I know I had a hard-on by the time I finished the reps.

"Impressive," Carla said. In a moment of comic vanity I thought she was talking about my erection. "How long since you hurt your arm?" Oh well, a man can dream.

We talked about the accident, and then about motorcycles. She seemed comfortable talking to me, but I kept getting flustered. It turned out her ex-husband rode a Harley.

"If he'd ridden that damn bike a little less and me a little more, he might not be my ex," she said.

I must have blushed -- something I do way too easily -- because she apologized for the comment. Next thing I know she's saying that she'd better start her workout. I headed for the showers, where I jacked off thinking about her standing above me.

We've said "hi" since then, but we haven't really talked. I haven't feel comfortable talking to a woman like her with all those guys around.

So now she's gonna find me in a porno store. I can't let her see me! What's she gonna say next time in the gym, "Hey Mick, those porno videos get you off okay?"

I move back into a box canyon of videos, hoping she won't see me. There's a curved mirror at the end of the aisle, to discourage shoplifting I guess. I can see Carla. She's wearing a big old T-shirt, cut-offs, and a baseball cap. Something about her ponytail coming out of the back of the cap makes me want to touch her.

She's browsing the sex toy section. My God, she's gonna buy something. Duh! She's in a store isn't she? I think to myself. I mean I know women buy these things, but I've never linked that knowledge to a woman I've actually met.

What's she's gonna buy?

She's a careful shopper. She picks up a number of dildos, and eventually selects a huge realistic-looking thing. You know, the kind where there's a suction cup under the balls? Okay, so I've checked them out. I was just curious. It's not like I bought one or anything.

Carla's dildo prompts a fantasy video in my head; I don't realize she's heading my way until she's almost at my little canyon of porn. She wants some eye-candy to go with her toyfriend.

I turn my back and pretend to be studying the vids. As I hear Carla behind me I notice that I'm in the gay section, browsing titles like Fireman's Pole and Twinkies by Twilight. Please God, let me die now, I think.

"Mick Murphy? Is that you?"

Shout my name a little louder, I think, some folks must've missed it the first time.

I turn round, grin like an idiot, and say, "Hi Carla."

"So what you shopping for?" she asks, like we're in the vegetable aisle at Safeway.

Then I see her read the titles behind my head.

"I wasn't looking at those," I say. "I mean, I was, but I didn't mean to. I mean, I'm not gay or anything." I sound desperate.

"Curious, huh?"

I miss the fact that she's grinning and hold out my two videos as evidence of my heterosexuality.

"I wanted one of these," I hear myself say and wonder how some idiot managed to seize control of my mouth.

Carla reads the titles dutifully and then says, "So, are you always this sperm oriented?"

It had never occurred to me that the videos I'd selected were focused as much on men's sperm and men's cocks as they were on the women doing the sucking. Jesus, she's gonna think I'm a gay who lacks the courage to come out.

I must look panicked, because Carla says in quiet, reassuring voice, "It's okay, Mick. I know you're not gay. I remember your impressive response when I spotted for you that time."

My jaw drops.

She says, "In fact, I was thinking about that while I was doing my cock shopping."

She holds her silicon monster up proudly. According to the box it's called King Dong.

"Did I get it right? Or did my memory exaggerate?"

All the synapses in my brain have fused, maybe from the sudden diversion of blood to my penis.

Carla looks down, grins and says, "It's a close thing. Maybe I need a closer comparison."

She laughs at the expression on my face, then she pushes me up against the gay videos and kisses me.

What can I say? She's bigger than me -- how could I resist? Besides, I couldn't summon the motor skills necessary to drop the two videos I was holding, never mind fight Carla off. And who'd want to fight? This is a battle I'm losing on many fronts at once. My mouth surrenders to her tongue, my chest is suppressed by the massed forces of her breasts and my butt cheeks part without resistance as her hands besiege them even though she is also pressing King Dong against me.

When I'm allowed up for air, my brain starts to work again. "You planned this, didn't you?"

She nods her head, which is still very close to mine, grins, and kisses me again. This time I drop the damned videos and let my hands explore the firm butt Carla has worked so hard to create.

Carla steps back and does a credible impersonation of a repentant schoolgirl -- if I weren't able to see King Dong sticking out from behind her back. "I'm naughty," she says. "I saw you on the freeway and decided to follow you. I've been waiting for you to ask me out for weeks. When you came in here, I decided that your Friday night must be as empty as mine, so I hit on you. You don't mind, do you, Mick?"

She's looking at me from under her brows, brushing the end of her ponytail against her lips. I love it when girls do that. Of course none of them have ever done it to me before. I'm the shy one they never notice.

I've been silent a little too long. Carla's starting to look uncomfortable. Any minute now she's gonna get embarrassed or pissed off and this will all be over. Shit.

For God's sake man, the voice in my head says, say something. And for once in my tongue-tied life the words arrive on time.

I look at Carla sternly and say, "Of course I mind," and then, before she can hit me, I add, "why didn't you do this last week? That's seven days worth of sex we've missed out on already."

Carla's grin makes my heart do backflips.

"If we're that far behind schedule," she says "we'd better pull a double shift at the motel across the street."

"Great," I say, trying to pretend that this kind of thing happens to me all the time. "Let's go."

I make for the door but Carla catches me by the wrist.

"Uh-uh," she says, "we have to finish shopping first." And she leads me back to the toy section.

The impact of a confident woman walking into this place was dramatic, but it was nothing compared to the sight of six-foot woman leading a five-foot-eight-inch man to the adult toys. Especially when she insists on pointing the way with King Dong.

Men are staring like we've just beamed down from the planet Zod. They look betrayed. They come here for refuge in fantasy, not so that they can be confronted with the fact that a real woman intends to fuck a guy like me this very night.

Oh, shit. How much more embarrassing can this get? She's picking up a bright green butt-plug which ends in a kind of black ponytail that looks almost as impressive as Carla's. She's into anal sex. I've never done anal sex. What if I fuck it up? Oops, bad choice of words.

She's gives me an evil grin, leans around me, and holds the butt-plug up against my ass.

"Suits you," she says, like it's a tie or something.

Hold on. Suits me? Me! Oh, shit.

"So do these," she says, and suddenly I'm holding a set of padded leather handcuffs. This woman has been reading my fantasies.

Just for a second I catch her looking at me to check that I'm okay with all this. She apparently decides I am, 'cause she's grins again and says, "Now where do they keep the lube? You can never have too much lube."

Looking at the butt-plug, I can only agree.

She picks up a tube of Astroglide with a glow-in-the-dark label (those guys think of everything) and we head for the cash register.

I expect the guy at the desk to leer and shout to someone in back, "Hey Joe, are the butt-plugs still on special offer?" but he just bags the stuff and asks for the money. I'm gonna get out of here in one piece after all.

The guy hands me the bag and says, "Have a nice day," and Carla and I both laugh.

Then she does something that makes my toes curl. She takes my face in both her hands and, right there in front of everybody, she kisses me.

For a long time.

There is complete silence in the store.

Then she hugs me and whispers, "We are going to have so much fun."

I believe her.

We head out the door, hand in hand, and I know that I'd follow this woman anywhere. I like that feeling. I've been waiting for it a long, long time.

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