The booth

The door man looked at my ID and nodded, and that is the last face I wanted for the hour. I am twenty-four. I stood in the narrow dim hallway in a black t-shirt and jeans, choppy dark hair, beside a closed booth door, and I felt the good lock of the choice in my stomach. This is not the record store. Nobody I ring up gets to know this hallway. I had come to suck cock, fuck my cunt with my fingers, and leave without a name. My rule is boring and I love it. Through the wall, before my mouth does anything, he says an age. If the number is not over twenty-one, or if he will not give one, I close the slot. I said that out loud to the wood so the first man would hear the terms.

I sat. The slot opened on a cock, and a voice said twenty-six. I made him say it again. Twenty-six. I told him to stay still. I sucked his cock slow, soft mouth, fist around the base so the pace stayed mine, and I shoved my other hand into my jeans and rubbed my cunt. He groaned like the wall had offended him. I pulled off and told him he could cum, and I took it on my tongue, held it, and spat it into a tissue. I was saving the swallow. I said next. The second voice said forty-one, then said it again when I asked, polite about it. His cock was thicker. I sucked him deeper and fucked two fingers into my cunt until my thighs jumped. I came with my mouth full, a quiet shake, the kind I can have in a chair without announcing it. Then I stayed down. When he came I swallowed. That was the ending I had picked for him.

The third voice said thirty-three. I repeated the rule anyway. He said thirty-three again, steady. I sucked his cock greedily, cunt still sensitive, fingers wet, and I did not let him push past my fist. I wanted him on my tongue, not lost. I pulled off at the last second and told him to cum there. He did, hot across my tongue, and I held my mouth open a moment so I would know the choice, then swallowed that one too because I had changed my mind and the change was mine. Three cocks. Three numbers. No faces.

I closed the slot and sat until my hands were ordinary. I never saw them. I washed at the sink, fixed nothing about my hair, and walked past the door man with a soft thank-you that did not explain itself. The crates at home were still full of records. I locked the room and slept on my side, jaw warm, cunt satisfied, exact about every ending I had called.