Starting Out (#01)

Starting Out (#1)

This story contains the beginnings of a BDSM relationship. This might be vanilla, but the next chapters will be more and more hardcore. This will be part of an ongoing series, please let me know if you like it, the style of writing and if you’d like to follow the adventures further!

I pulled into the parking lot. It wasn’t well maintained, and I think I was the only one there. How does this place stay open? There were never many cars, the windows of the short concrete building were lit, but opaque. It wasn’t the busiest part of town, but it definitely wasn’t out-of-the-way either.

I built up a lot of courage to park here, to finally maybe explore the part of my hometown that piqued my interest ever since I figured out what it was. “The Secret Room” glowed in the evening light — the beckoning sign of the only adult store I’d ever seen in the flesh.

I ran through my head the list of reasons why I shouldn’t go in. What if I run into someone I know? What if it’s full of old creepy men? But then I thought, what if it’s full of all the things I’d only ever seen in the heat of online searching? I came this far, it was time to go in. 

I stepped out of my car, and it was the kind of summer heat that immediately makes you sweat. I dashed across the parking lot to avoid being seen, and found myself at the door. No Minors Allowed was written in big red font on the door. I questioned myself for a minute, before remembering that at 24, those days were long behind me. I pushed open the door, and the interior was surprisingly bright. Fluorescent lights beamed overhead. I think I expected something dark and dingy, not bright and organized.

“Welcome in,” came from the tall lanky man behind the glass counter. He almost didn’t look up from his phone, but after taking a second to recognize the startled person in the doorway, he perked up. “Oh. You’re new. Welcome.”

He stared at me for a second as I stared at him. It felt like an eternity, and I felt like a deer in headlights. “Hi,” I let out and waved. Who waves indoors? The awkwardness settled between us.

“I am going to need to see your ID, just to make sure you’re in the right place and my boss doesn’t get sued,” he said in the most nonchalant tone. I moved to the counter, and fumbled for my ID before handing it over.

“You meet the legal requirements,” he said, again monotone, and I was unsure if it was a joke or if he was actually policing me. 

“Welcome to The Secret Room. We have everything you’ll need or want, or maybe didn’t need or didn’t want. Do you need help finding anything in particular or are you here on a dare?”

It took me a minute to remember why I was there. Then I remembered. “I’m here to look around. I’ve always been wanted to stop by and see what this place is about.” That sounded like a generic answer, right?

I could tell the employee was going to lurch into his usual spiel, practiced and recounted many times over. “We divide our store into three parts; in, on and other. The “In” section is on the left of the store. If it goes in you, you’ll find it there. “On” is on the right wall. If you wear it or put it on, you’ll find it there. The back of the store is “Other,” your usual magazines, videos, DVDs. You don’t seem to be the type with a VCR, so maybe that’s not for you.”

I took a minute to look around. I could see racks of leather harnesses hanging on plastic hangers. Boxes of underwear with the sharpest abs I’ve ever seen. Dildos in shades of pink and blue and tan and brown. Some larger than what I think would be possible to wield in nature.

“Thanks for the introduction. I think I’ll just wander around if that’s alright?” I whispered, knowing I wasn’t in a library. “Yeah, sure, take your time. We close at 11.” I thought to myself, if I’m still here at 11, something has gone terribly wrong.

I started out in the “On” section. Might as well start slow, right? The smell of leather and plastic was strong. I strolled past some harnesses, imagining the feel of the cold metal rivets on my chest. I peeked at the price tag, which was definitely more than a 24 year old graduate student could afford.

An aisle over was full of underwear. Jocks, thongs, pieces of fabric that left little to the imagination. I thought about all the times I’d stare at the packages of men’s underwear in department stores as a kid, and now these packages had similar men, but some with their hard penises sticking through holes, completely unobscured. I could feel myself staring and I could feel myself growing. I looked around quickly, the clerk was back on his phone, and adjusted to tuck my dick into my waistband — a classic move. I jumped when I realized that as I did so I wasn’t staring at a box, but an actual person. 

I could feel myself going pale. The man was across the store in the “In” section, with some unknown object in his hand. I quickly looked away, finding another aisle so I could put my back to him and regather my dignity in private. But as I did, I kept running through my head what he looked like and how he stared. He was tall, definitely taller than am, but hard to tell at such a distance. He was built, with his shoulders barely contained by his black t-shirt. His t-shirt matched his hair, a close-shave cut amplified by a bit of a beard. He was well kept, like someone you’d see in an advertisement for high-end cologne.

Well, at least he isn’t someone I know, was my first thought. The second: well, you really played that off cool. I was startled, sure, but also barely through the store. I turned a corner, pressing on but also trying to keep my back to the other side. 

The next aisle was full of rings. Rubber, metal, big, small. This seemed like a good place to start my journey. I evaluated a few, debating if rubber or metal would be more comfortable, and what size I needed. I thought about my dick again, still hard, and tried to imagine what would look best wrapped around the base and my balls. I compared a few, finally setting on a combination pack of three rubber rings in various sizes. “For beginners” exclaimed the package. If there was a target audience, I guess it was me. 

I kept roaming, aimlessly, sometimes questioning what exactly I was seeing. How does that work? I thought, looking at two pieces of clear acrylic screwed together and named “Ball Crusher.” Unfortunately, this package didn’t have imagery.

Finally, I rounded a corner and found a row of dildos. In my planning for this excursion, I decided it would be good to start with some cock rings and something to try out my hole. I’d been fucked before, but it wasn’t the best time of my life. I wanted to understand why guys love getting fucked so much, and maybe the best way to find that pleasure was to do it myself. This end of the aisle, though, was definitely intended for well-seasoned practitioners. 

“Now, if you can take one of those, I would be awfully surprised,” I heard from down the aisle. It was a friendly tone, with a little bit of a southern drawl, definitely not the Northeastern fridigity I was accustomed to. 

I turned, and there was the man I made eye contact with earlier. From this distance I could tell he was about 6’2″ and definitely spent his time in weight training more than cardio. His black t-shirt was simple and tight, matching his equally simple and equally tight beige shorts. The areas of him exposed to the bright light of the store were covered in thick black hair. I could tell from down the aisle he smelled like fresh laundry and a hint of sweat.

“I’d be surprised too,” I let out. Was humor the right tone? Was he approaching me or trying to intimidate me? “I mean, um, definitely not what I was looking for.”

He smiled, and laughed, setting down a basket of things I didn’t notice before. He started to walk toward me, and I froze. “Sorry if that was too forward,” he said, shaking his head. “I only meant to make a joke. I know how intimidating your first time can be.”

How did he know it was my first time here? Or did he think I was a virgin? What was his intention with this information? His suggestions left me off kilter, and I wasn’t sure how to react. 

As he approached me, he bowed his head. “Sorry, let me start over. I realize that a random stranger commenting on the capabilities of your hole might not be the best way to introduce oneself. I’m John.” He stuck his hand out, and I had to shift my box of cock rings from one hand to another to shake his hand. His hands made mine look tiny, and they were surprisingly soft. “I’m Theo,” I let out, unsure of what to say or do next.

“Theo, it’s great to meet you,” he said, quickly looking me up and down. I noticed, and then remembered I probably did the same to him, so I was a little less offended. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just glanced around, but all my eyes could find were giant dildos and that his shorts fly was down. 

I stuttered out, “Your zipper is open,” in the world’s flattest tone. Now why the fuck would I point that out? He’s going to think that you were staring at his crotch.

“Oh fuck, sorry.” He turned away from me and quickly zipped. There is no way in hell I could make this any more awkward. Luckily, John continued the conversation.

“I have those,” he said nudging his head toward my package of rings. “Actually, a lot of those. Can never have too many. They’re great for everything from your daily jacking off to trying to stretch your balls.”

I used this opportunity to peek at John’s basket, hoping he wouldn’t notice. If you come in and grab a basket, you definitely have an agenda. There was a large squirt bottle of milky white substance, which I think was lube. There was something called “Sterilube,” which made me wonder why you might need more than one type. There was a package of red clothespins, two small brown glass bottles and a package of rubber gloves. Wouldn’t those be cheaper at CVS? I thought, which was a weird way to distract myself from wondering more about the contents of his basket.