I was at work this morning, sweeping out the video jerk-off booths in the back, you know, like I’ve done a trillion times before. Sweeping up the used condoms of gay cruisers and cocksuckers. Sweeping up the hollowed-out, cum-stained cucumbers of the lonely; the bras and panties of burly, hairy tranvestite truckers. And, yes, just like every other Sunday morning, there was booth #3. In booth #3 every Sunday morning, there is always the same scene. Some guy has been trying to fuck with me the past few months. The booth is always full of gaudy, brightly colored thrift-store clothes, lying on the floor, looking like some Mexican family had been having a fiesta in there for a week. Always a pair of cheap pumps. Bra, panties. lipstick. There is always the same picture of some old man’s ass wrapped tightly in cellophane. A dollar bill is always sticking to the wall (my tip, I guess) with cum, and yes, the same creepy love note: “I want to suck your cock, janitor boy”. Whatever.
I’m mean, I’m not really scared, just annoyed more than anything else that I have to clean the same mess up every week. So I’m sweeping this shit up, put the picture of the old man’s ass in cellophane in my pocket because I’m collecting them, suddenly look over in the corner towards booth #5, and what do I see? Hee! I see the arm of this black guy sticking out from underneath the booth door. It’s just fucking lying there on the dirty floor, looking all limp, lifeless and ominous It looked like the filthy masturbator it was attached to could very well be dead. I could only hope! Hee!
Giddily, I walk up to the arm and start poking it with my broom handle. No movement. I knock on the door and say, “Hey, you okay in there?” No response. Now, on numerous occasions I’ve had guys come in drunk and pass out in the booths. But this was the first time I’d ever seen a fucking arm just eerily poking out and lying limp upon the floor like that! It looked so cool! And it was colored! Hee! It looked to belong to a skinny black person, and I couldn’t help it. I got aroused. The thought that there may very well be the body of a dead, black guy inside the booth; his body all contorted upon the floor; his dead black head pressed against a cum-covered jerk-off booth wall got me pretty hard. I could feel the lump in my pants. It wasn’t that the guy was black that turned me on. I’m honestly not a racist and couldn’t care less. The colored skin just contributed to the morbid image of darkness in my mind, of a dark, lonely masturbator, dead behind the door, unable to stroke his big black rubbery cock anymore. I was so aroused I could scream.
I started panting, poking the arm over and over with the broom handle, giggling. Then I sloooooowly took my cock out of my pants, dropped the broom, and got on my knees before this pristine vision of morbid beauty. My pants were pulled down past the crossroads of my butt crack, killing Christ like I talked about in my Spooky Butt Crack Crossroads entry. Now that I had killed Him, it was time to release his Holy Cum Ghosts so I started to stroke it Aaaaaah . . it felt so good, stroking my gorgeous cock in the midst of this tragedy, before this dark hand and arm of the dead. I rubbed the tip of my dick slowly along the length of the arm, then started jerking my cock madly, in a frenzy, unable to control myself, making these horrid noises of licentious lust; sweating; my ass cheeks quivered and my balls tingled as I embraced the horror of the colored dead in my head and squirted what must have at least a million HOLY CUM GHOSTS from my cock and all over the guy’s hand and wrist.
I then zipped up my pants and grinned to myself, mischievous idea in mind, as I walked out to the store front and said to the clerk up front, “Hey, dude, you need to come in here and check this out.”
So him and I are standing there looking at this black guy’s cum-covered hand (Josh hasn’t noticed the cum yet), trying to decide what to do.
“You think he’s dead?” Josh asks me.
“I don’t know, why don’t you take his pulse and find out?” I say, just waiting to giggle when Josh touches my cum. I watch, smiling inside, as Josh bends down, puts his fingers to the colored guy’s wrist, and then suddenly draws his hand back in disgust.
“FUCK!!!” he yells. “This guy’s hand is covered in fucking cum!” He then rushes to the bathroom to wash it off. I start laughing hysterically, knowing Josh is a bit of a racist homophobe. He wouldn’t ever want to touch any guy’s cum, let alone a black guy’s; let alone a co-worker’s; let alone the cum of a TaCO WeReWOLF. HAHAHA! He comes back and I don’t reveal my secret to him, just say, “I guess he doesn’t use a napkin when he masturbates.” Hee!
“Fuck it, I’ll do it,” I then say, as I unfortunately discover that they guy DOES have a pulse. Darn! Hee! Then after banging on the door and yelling at the guy to wake up, the door finally begins to open and this tall, skinny black dude stumbles out, drunk off his ass, eyes all red and blood shot, his arm and hand covered in my jizz. I watch the guy walk out of the store and notice that he starts wiping my cum on his fucking pants! What a nasty bastard!
