XXX Father’s Day

by

06/20/2005

W 33rd St & 6th Ave, New York, NY 10001

Neighborhood: Midtown

It was the Friday before Father’s Day and I still had shopping to do.

I wanted to get a little something for my boyfriend, Steve.  I didn’t normally get him a gift for this occasion, but now that his son was 21, fully grown by most standards and away at college, he no longer bought his dad a gift for Father’s Day. 

And while a card was nice, I knew that Steve liked presents.  But another shirt, a tie he’d probably never wear, or cologne just weren’t imaginative enough. I wanted to come up with something out of the ordinary.

Walking down 33rd street towards 7th Avenue to the Korean market that carried, among the usual fare, the low carb protein bar in the special flavor that I liked, I passed a storefront that had been a fixture in this neighborhood for at least the past seventeen years.  In spite of it’s faded red awning announcing in large white letters “Peep Show” and the neon sign in the window that screamed “Live Girls,” somehow, it seemed to meld into the scenery. 

There was nothing discreet about the place, as one would think might be more appropriate for this type of business in the middle of the Garment Center, sharing the same block as Footlocker (formerly Woolworth’s) Old Navy, and Fed Ex, not to mention the Children’s Wear Building where I worked.  Whenever I passed by, I always noticed that the door was propped open; a den of temptation to those hurrying past.  I wondered who would actually go inside? Maybe some sleazy salesmen trying to kill some time between appointments.

But this time as I walked by the XXX store,  I remembered a few months back when Steve and I were watching some tv show on cable and they had on a female midget porn star.  Steve said, “I’ve never seen a midget fuck.” 

I filed this in my memory bank with other tidbits of information, like the fact that he liked vanilla ice cream and ate his steaks medium rare. “Never seen a midget fuck.” Now the pieces fell together in a synchronicity kind of moment and I thought, “Perfect!  I’ll buy Steve a midget porn video for Father’s Day—something he definitely won’t expect.”

Sometimes Steve and I watched porn videos together.  And while this wasn’t something I would suggest, I didn’t mind it.  I viewed the tapes from a sociological perspective.  I was curious to see what these men and women did exactly. 

It baffled me, though, how men believed that the women on the screen were as enthralled with the various sex acts as they made out to be. While I’d concede that maybe there are some that are, their acting skills simply aren’t as convincing as men imagine.  All the moaning and groaning while mugging for the camera? It was laughable.  To me it was obvious they were faking it.  Besides, I always got a kick out of their creative titles:  “The Spy Who Licked Me,” “Around the World With Eighty Babes,” or “Ferris Bueller Gets Off.”

Ducking into the “Peep Show” store, I felt an adrenaline rush. I had now committed myself to this illicit activity, and I had chosen to do this on the block where I worked.  I wished I had a pair of those black plastic glasses with the fake nose attached so that I could maintain my anonymity.

But there wasn’t much time.  After my initial sense of panic subsided, I calmed down enough to glance around the large open space and get my bearings.   I was disappointed to find that it was not crowded with shelves of merchandise that could provide the necessary privacy one would hope for.  Most of the what the store had to offer was in glass cases against the walls.  I felt as though the room went dark except for a bright white spotlight that was aimed directly on me as I walked around trying to find the “freaky section.”

There were dildos, some as big as my arm, a large variety of lubes, cock rings and other sex toys displayed rather tastefully in one case.  By this I mean that the glass case was fairly clean and not covered with greasy smudge marks from customers’ slimy hands. 

A dark skinned man who appeared to be Indian stood behind a raised counter working the register.  From up above he could survey the expanse of the store in search of blatant wrongdoing.  There were no other women in the store and the few men, varying in age from thirty to sixty, mulled around looking at the boxes of videos that lined some of the walls.

It wasn’t until I got to the latex and feather section, which displayed everything from gloves and underwear to full latex bodysuits with the ass cheeks cut out, that I realized I was going to need some help.

  That was when I noticed that there were none of the usual muzak versions of “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again” or “Born Free” playing over the speakers that supposedly put shoppers in normal stores in the mood to buy.  No, instead there were loud female moaning sounds piped in, I couldn’t tell from where exactly.  I suppose given the surroundings, this was more appropriate. 

Another Indian man was standing guard near the entrance to the peep show in one corner of the store.  A black curtain only partially concealed the black cubicles inside, and I wondered about the sound traveling and the lack of privacy but then the moaning was drowning out any extemporaneous noise.  He looked at me as though I was a tourist lost in the wrong section of town and said, “Can I help you?”

I walked over to him so as not to have to shout my request over the groaning.  “Do you have porn with midgets?” 

I looked around finding it hard to believe those words had come from my mouth. 

This was starting to feel like an out of body experience.  Maybe this was my version of an acid flashback from my college days.  This was even more embarrassing than buying Kotex pads from the cute guy who worked the register in our local drug store back when I was a teenager.

He escorted me to the video section and helped me look.  Obviously they did not have a huge demand from customers looking for midget sex and he wasn’t sure where they might be filed.   There were boxes showing women with full blown pregnant bellies having sex, boxes featuring people screwing oversized vegetables and lots of horses and barnyard animals.  But no midgets.  The man said, “One moment,” and then shouted to the guy behind the register, most of which I suspect was in Hindi, for which I was grateful.  I could make out the word “midget” but I hoped others were too preoccupied in their own lustful delusions to pay much attention.

The guy shouted back the location and sure enough, there they were.  One box featured “Bridget the Midget” pictured with a full size dick aimed at the center of her wide open legs that were bowed like a pair of chubby parentheses.  Others showed shots of a buffed male midget involved in various lewd acts with full sized women, and an African American midget called “Sista.”

The choice was all mine.  I went with Bridget. She seemed to possess a certain je n’ai c’est quoi and looked the least skanky.  I handed over my selection to the man who was sort of hovering near me to see which one I’d pick, and I shrugged and laughed out of nervousness.  He laughed back at me, bonding with me as though to say, “Crazy stuff, huh?” or maybe he was just happy I picked his personal favorite. 

I brought the box to the register. The guy found the tape for me and packed it in a brown paper bag, which was almost more of a giveaway than a regular shopping bag with “33rd Street XXX Peep Store” stamped on it.  But maybe that was just my paranoia kicking in.

“It’s for Father’s Day,” I said as I paid my $9.95 plus tax.  My only explanation as to why I might have said this was that I was getting giddy that I had actually pulled this off (you’ll pardon the pun) and was nearing my exit.

  “For your father?” he asked.

“NO!  Not my father,” I said.  What did he think? I came from a family of perverts?  Oh sure, I get my Dad midget porn for Father’s Day and he gets me a leather whip and dog collar for Christmas.  I was appalled. 

“It’s for my boyfriend,” I said indignantly.

“Oh,” he said.  I didn’t think he believed me and this bothered me.  I could see that I was heaped in the degenerate pile with the other sleazy people.   He handed me my package and I made my way towards the door.

I took two steps, realized my predicament and started to panic.  What if someone from my office or a salesman who knew me saw me leaving this place?  There simply could be no explanation. I felt trapped—not able to leave but not bearing to stay.  It was then that I noticed the selection of books that were on display near the door. 

John Grisham, Robert Ludlum, and Tom Clancy  were just a few of those best selling authors whose novels filled the shelves.  I had to do a double take, thinking these were just a cover for something more perverted.  But they were real.  I guess if you had some time to kill before your next orgasm, you might want to catch up on some reading. I mentally congratulated the owners on this shrewd marketing strategy and prepared to take my leave.

On the count of three, I stepped into the open air, put my head down and walked as quickly away from the store front as I could without running. No one called my name.  I was safe. 

Slowing down as I blended in with the street traffic, I rewarded myself with a protein bar for a job well done as I headed back to the office. 

With my Father’s Day gift for the man I loved tucked securely under my arm,  I felt a wave of excitement at the thought of presenting him with this special gift. 

True, it was small– but it sure beat a tie.

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