I recently turned, eh, let’s make it a solid 18, and now was as good a time as any to have my kitten scratched.
I considered Craigslist for a moment, but I am a spontaneous type of girl, so I slipped into my Crocs and walked across the street to the Adult Theater. I extended the sleeve of my Hello Kitty hoodie over my hand, and cautiously tried the door. Locked. It wasn’t until I had tried the remaining 7 doors on the blinded-out facade of the structure, that I finally noticed the faded handwritten memo-card, that directed challenged-novices like me to the rear of the building.
After sloshing through two murky puddles of urine and used condoms, I reached the pleasantly lit ‘rear entrance’ without further problems. Figuring that at this point, I would have to burn the hoodie anyway, I once again extended the sleeve, and briskly pushed the glass door open.
A pleasant warm breeze of sweat, semen and Lysol wafted into my face as I entered. I purposefully strode to the handsome clerk in the stained wife-beater, and presented a crisp $10 bill to gain admittance through the ‘Curtain of Forbidden Pleasure’ behind him.
The man courteously stopped scratching his genitals, and informed me that tonight was ‘Ladies Night’, and I could enter the promised land free-of-charge! And, fearing I had not yet grasped the full scope of this bonanza, he went on to tell me that every Friday Night was Ladies Night!
The kind man made me feel special, as if I were the first girl in a very long time, to take advantage of this elaborate promotion, to lure chaste young ladies such as myself beyond the velvet curtain. I half-expected confetti to rain down from the ceiling as I parted the soiled, dark fabric.
Alas, no confetti, but my Crocs bonded with the half-dried semen-coated linoleum as if held down by Gorilla glue. With supreme effort, I freed one foot, then the other. In less than twenty minutes, I branched-off into a dark alley, extending from Cum Corridor, where fresher spunk deposits aided my progress. After a close call with the mop bucket, I headed for a hushed group of gentlemen at the apparent ‘hub’ of the operation.
A few fleshy turtles retreated bashfully as I approached my potential coin-purse-ticklers. A hard crowd to win over, I wooed them instantly by flashing my boobs. As one of the suitors was coaching his turtle to come out and play, I settled on the raincoat-clad perv in the middle, for he bore a striking similarity to my breadwinning parental unit. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, I always say. I flashed my snatch, and headed into an arcade stall.
There was no bed to lay down on, and not even a bench to lean over, but, the resourceful girl that I am, I quickly spotted the stained hole in the particle board, and pressed my twat firmly against it. Unwittingly, I had selected a specimen of supreme aptitude for my Deflowering, and he headed for the other stall with uncanny determination.