Photographer: Shawn L. Smith
Emerald City Photography
All Rights Reserved
Model: Unknown–
(Looks Like Shawn L. Smith To Me)
Possibly A Self-Portrat
Shawn and I met in a “buddy booth”. We promised to keep that part of our four year relationship a secret. He’s dead now, so it really does not matter what I confess here before all the world’s priests.
What’s the difference between a buddy booth and a chat room or singles.com, not to mention speed dating?
I could smell the weed on his clothing from almost ten feet away as he stood in the straight section of the store where ladies like “Melting Marina” tempted him with lips pierced with silver studs and tits as big as my head.
It was a Sunday afternoon and I stopped by Bad Lands, the XXX video store to pick up my daily supply of self-warming lubricating liquid. The place was empty with the exception of two lesbians who were carefully inspecting a row of dildos along the wall at the front of the store, next to the glass counter filled with cock rings and poppers.
I thought for sure Shawn was straight so I didn’t bother trying to flirt with him, but I listened to what the dykes were saying–
“I need something a little bigger.”
“No you don’t. You got me!”
“My point exactly.”
An Indian clerk stood outside the row of buddy booths with a money sack secured around his pot belly. He smelled like curry and the stench overpowered the lure of Shawn’s ever-so sweet smelling street clothing.
The tall Black man with dreadlocks removed a stack of VHS tapes and created a peek hole in the shelves of pornography and stole a glance of me.
I quickly pulled a ten from my wallet, held my breath, and asked for singles.
He followed and entered the adjacent buddy booth and I heard the machine gobble up his single and I trembled, not knowing for sure if he was a pitcher or a catcher.
This story is part of my book—
