Chapter 33: Swingin'
Zsolt sauntered past the counter, past the rows of pink and purple dicks. Box after box after box of them, from some the size of his finger to the size of—well, bigger than you’d expect. Were there really this many empty pussies in the world? Didn’t they know the real thing was everywhere, just for the asking?
Oh, well. He only had his own wife to worry about, for now. He kept going towards the back and stopped at the overstuffed rack of magazines.
They had the usual ones, Playboys and Hustlers and Penthouses. And some specialty ones, for big titties and schoolgirls and such. One for the blacks, too. He bent slightly to look down at the lower level.
It got dirtier down there, with the mags that showed full-on fucking, hard cocks, cum all over the place. These were sealed, and too expensive; Zsolt had bought one once—twenty dollars!—but while it delivered on what it promised, two young blonde girls sharing one happy guy’s cock, in the end it wasn’t worth it. Pictures of fucking only did so much. That had been before Gerry and Doreen, though.
There were rows and rows of these, too, some with German or French titles. Some nudist mags, again with German titles, the only one in English plastered with a big England Jack in one corner. This kind of thing made no sense to Zsolt; back home, you went to any beach in any little town, all the women there are naked anyway. Why put it in a magazine? Same reason they did everything else in Canada and America: because breasts were dirty, asses were dirty, everything was dirty. Even this shop, the windows were covered up like a schoolgirl’s knees.
There, up on the right side, second row from the top. Printed on cheap newsprint, not quite the size of the glossy magazines. That was it. Await. He plucked it off the shelf and let it fall open in his hand.
Classified ads, two pages of them, in tiny, smudged printing. He squinted to make a couple of them out.
M/F lkg for 3rd casual can host box 92
Yng stud wants actn Im here ladies! box 98
Lets meet coffee chat dinner more? F box 101
Cpl sees cpl 4 fun & games!!!! box 102
So this was it. Unfortunately they weren’t organized at all, like in the newspaper—items for sale here, pets here, cars here. He flipped a little further; only one more page of ads, then a full-page ad for a nightclub in Toronto. That was interesting too.
Well, good enough. The cover said only $3.50. Worth a try. He rolled it up and gazed at the rack again. A little further down—was nothing organized, ever?—there was another newsprint magazine, slightly nicer, paper white instead of grey and the word SWINGIN’ printed in red across the top. He pulled it down.
Same as the other one, really, only not as many ads. There were articles, too, kind of: “How to Suck Cock Like a Champ”, “Volleyball Coach at College”. Ridiculous. Who wanted to read about that stuff? Watching it, doing it, both were fine, but reading a story about a volleyball coach fucking the players—he flipped to the article, gazing at the middle of it, working out the words from the smudged type.
I put my hand on his tightly muscled shoulder. “Kyle,” I said. “You look tense.”
The star forward flexed his muscles, and they moved like snakes under my hand. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,” he admitted.
“Well, you should knock off for the day. Hit the showers,” I ordered.
He looked in my eyes from under a mass of sandy-blonde, curly locks. “You look pretty tense too, coach,” he said in a husky voice. “Maybe you need a shower too.”
“Just get in there, Kyle,” I ordered. He turned and left, and I watched the satin shorts clinging tightly to the taut muscles of his ass cheeks as he stalked off to the locker room. He was right that I needed a shower. I needed it bad.
Zsolt hurriedly shut the magazine and put it back in its place. The cover didn’t have a cock on it or anything, just the word SWINGIN’—oh, and a guy’s bicep. Well, they could’ve been a little more obvious, maybe.
He looked around a bit, just to make sure, but no one was paying any attention. It was an honest mistake, but even in a place like this, he didn’t want to be seen looking at fag books.
Best to take another look at the regular magazines, for the sake of anyone who had noticed. Not like he couldn’t stand to see some nice, big, round tits. Elena was great, of course, but a change was nice too.
Something drew his eye, one of the magazines down at the bottom. The title, big bubble letters spelling out DUTCH TREAT, was almost the only thing he could see, other than the very top of a head of wild red hair.
He leaned down and pulled it out. The girl—woman, really, she wasn’t that young—stared right back at him, happily, greedily. In each hand, held up to either side of her face, was a big, veiny cock. The picture was cut off just below the nipples, but even so, you could tell she had a nice pair hanging there. Imagine being one of those cocks, having a nice go at a girl like that.
No, not a girl like that—not some slut who fucks strangers in front of a camera for money. A real woman, like someone who lived in your own town, but who liked—
He turned the magazine over and scanned the images on the back. The stupid thing was wrapped in plastic, so no chance of getting a good look. It was thick, though, not one of those eight-page rip-offs. And the little photos on the back didn’t show a lot of details, but that girl sure did seem to do plenty with those two cocks. And there was one larger photo of the girl on her own, lying back, legs spread wide open, fingers buried—just like that one video...
The clerk was looking in his direction; had he been taking too long? Zsolt scanned the shelves a few more times, until the heat in his face died down, then he went to the counter to pay for the two magazines, not even looking to see what the second one cost.