The Dildo by Mick Mykola Dementiuk

The Dildo was my first publication in a small homemade press Avalon Rising, Maudlin Street Press Cincinatti, Ohio July 1994. I'm very grateful to Hilary Tebbs, publisher/editor. Thanks, Hilary, for taking a chance on me.

The Dildo

She stood before the porno-shop window display and studied his reflection as he circled behind her. He had been following her down 7th Avenue since 53rd Street, and each time she paused to look at record album covers, dresses and shoes, or radios and trinket jewelry, he would hesitate before a nearby store window and pretend to appraise similar goods while stealthily eyeing her a few yards away.

She had easily spotted him trailing behind her, and though his shy and wary approach was taking longer than usual — by now they should have agreed on the act, the price, the place — she was beginning to enjoy the ritual of chase and pursuit, the tease and lead-on, the tingle of being hunted and stalked.

Once she darted across a busy street and stopped before a lingerie store with mannequins clad in frilly baby-dolls — a few looking embarrassed in crotch-less panties and nipple-less bras — but when she abruptly turned, smiling and hoping to catch him gaping at her, she frowned and cursed. He was standing across the street, restlessly
shifting and craning his head, trapped by the dense traffic moving before him.

He was old, but that didn’t matter. She never went out with the young guys anymore — the older they were, she reasoned, the less they got laid, and the more willing and ready to dish out the cash. The young guys in school thought she owed it to them after a treat of soda and
fries, as if scum in the mouth was just recompense for the few dollars spent; like hell it was!

So she started coming to Times Square on weekends and walking around and getting picked up, or cutting school and finding a movie house where the fat ticket-seller didn’t care how old she was and let her in. There shecould stroke or eat some cock and always get money so she could come back the next day or the day after that.

They drew closer to Times Square and the crowds and traffic thickened. It would be easy to lose him — since she was now being eyed by others — but she had baited him this far and was curious as to how and when their window-shopping dance would be consummated, as he was now pausing nearer and nearer with each window she stopped at; a few more store windows and he should
be standing beside her.

She looked down at the dildos and vibrators, furry plastic strap-on pussies and blow-up dolls, pulling back her shoulders and puffing out her breasts. She saw his reflection in the window moving closer to her. She gasped at a large bloated rubber dildo, the crown head massive and thick, the tight veins pulsing and eager. Suddenly his image was beside her.

I think I’d die if someone tried to shove that in me, she mumbled as if to herself, but loud enough for him to hear, and quickly turned to face him.

He started and blinked his eyes, then meekly smiled and glanced at her breasts. Women are made for that, he said, his nostrils quivering from her sweet perfume scent.

Oh, yeah? she snorted, and looked him up and down.

She turned back to the dildo and said softly, It’s like having a baby.

She was certain that she saw his image jolt in the window and quickly turned to him. I wonder what it feels like going in? She smiled to herself.

His eyes widened and he did indeed jolt. She grinned, darted her tongue on her lips, and glanced at his crotch. Turning back to the window and moving down the display, she paused to glance at the magazine covers pasted up on the finger-and-nose-smudged glass.

On each magazine cover a woman lay fucked in every imaginable position: in the mouth, in the cunt, up the ass, between the tits, sometimes with two or three cocks and one in each hand, sometimes by another woman with a dildo strapped on or one in her fist, sometimes on a bed or a grassy lawn, or on a thick shag rug or an alley sidewalk, but always in the throes of willing abandon and
passion, or brutal resistance and rape. Hundreds of photos of fucked women, yet on each magazine photo the vital point of penetration — a cock in the mouth or cunt or ass proving the sex was real and not simulated — was covered by a strip of dull black tape.

Why do they do that? she turned and asked the man, pointing her finger to a taped-over dick up an ass.

He cleared his throat, looked away from her breasts, and glanced at the photos. Censorship, he mumbled, awkwardly scratching the back of his head, and looked down on her breasts again.

She smiled and pulled back her shoulders even more. Then how do you know she’s really getting fucked? She ran her finger along the taped-over dick and looked at him. You take the tape off at home?

He blushed, shook his head, and nervously looked around him. A few steps away he saw a man studying an open-mouthed blow-up doll’s head while glancing sideways at the girl and her finger on the glass.

That’s only for the window, he quickly explained, and moved to block the other man’s view of the girl. You can see the whole thing inside, he added.

Without the tape? she giggled, and glanced at the shut shop door. I’ve never been in one of these stores, she said, moving around him and pausing once more before the huge dildo and dolls, the other man just inches away and now boldly staring at her face, her breasts, her
thighs and ass.

Want to go in? He rushed after her, his face grimaced, his eyes worried and nervous, and again he stepped in between the girl and other man.

The girl looked down at the dildo, up at the other man, then shrugged and puffed out her breasts. Okay, she said, and put her arm in his elbow and pulled him toward the porno-shop door.

He pushed it open and saw her glance back at the other man. He was certain her tight-pantsed ass had somehow curved and filled out even more. She was prettier than any plastic doll with an open red mouth, and he didn’t mind her showing it off as long as she showed it to others but gave it to him. He pulled her arm closer and they entered the store.

A few men stood scattered before long counters slowly leafing through magazines, setting them down, picking up others, and searching them page by page. Some of the men glanced up and eyed the girl as she entered the store, then peeped at their magazines and nodded their heads, as if comparing and pondering the possibilities.

She glanced at the racks and counters of magazine covers of naked flesh — with penetration fully revealed and uncensored — and instantly felt self-conscious of her own body and face. For all the whorish bravado and candor she displayed on the street, she felt very
vulnerable and meek. Her shoulders stooped, her breasts flattened, and she tugged at the front of her blouse, trying to loosen and fluff out the tight-clinging cloth.

She pulled closer to his arm, feeling threatened by the onslaught of sex in the store — the brash aura of arousal, the scent of horniness, the desperate display of lust and abandon, of eyes desirous of copulation and sucking, of masturbation and shit, of piss and scum and cocks and cunts. Her fingers tightened even more around his elbow, and she tugged him away from the staring men and counters of photographed flesh toward a display case in a corner of the store.

A fat man sat behind the dildo and plastic-pussy laden counter, eyeing the girl suspiciously as she approached with the man. Suspended from the ceiling above the fat man hovered dusty blow-up dolls — some dressed in cheap frumpy negligees, others in bras and panties and nylons, but all open-mouthed and spread-eagled with a
price tag attached to an ankle — as if taking aim to swoop down on the girl and protest her intrusion into their realm of fake sex and constant masturbation, and force her to either join them on the ceiling or get back out onto the street.

How old is she? the fat man suddenly asked, rising from his stool, his eyes darting from the girl to the man.

The fat man wore small round glasses on his nose and kept squinting at her as she awkwardly tried to cover her face. She kept her head down and stared at a large dildo in the display counter similar to the one they’d seen outside. As though the sight of the fake cock boosted her confidence, she instantly brightened and straightened her shoulders and stuck out her chest and pulled down her blouse at the waist.

Old enough, she hissed at the fat man.

Yeah, old enough to put me in jail, he glared. Get her outta here, he gestured to the man, and reached for something behind his counter.

She kept her hand in the man’s elbow but pointed to a dildo and said, Get me that one, then let go of his arm and said, I’ll meet you outside, okay? She smiled at the fat man, turned and walked past the magazine counters and the leering men, her ass cheeks fluttering with each pounding step.

She paused at the open front door, glancing up at the desolate blow-up dolls. Hurry up! she called out. I can’t wait for you to crack me open! She giggled as she left the store. A few of the magazine-men threw down their magazines and darted to the door after her.

He saw her through the open door as she stood by the black-taped  magazines in the window; he looked at the shimmer of her soft round ass and saw her accepting the offer of a cigarette from a man standing nearby. It was the same man who had been at the window when they entered the store. The door slowly swung shut.

C’mon, he turned to the fat man. Hurry up!

The fat man snorted and slowly sat back down. Kinda young, he said, and leaned over the counter. Could get you into trouble, eh?

C’mon, the man gestured to the dildo and turned to the front door; another man was leaving the store.

She’s taking all my customers, the fat man said, then shrugged and slid open the glass counter case. He reached for the large thick dildo and placed it atop the counter. Twenty bucks.

The man grimaced and gazed at the shiny plastic organ — lifelike with blue veins and creases and wrinkled tight balls, but grotesque in exaggerated length and size.

The fat man picked up the dildo and pointed the cock head  at the man. If you fill it with cream, he said, leering and squeezing the tight rubber balls, it shoots out like the real thing.

The man saw the penis-hole gape open as if ready to ejaculate. He blinked his eyes and reached for his wallet, placing a twenty on the counter. Yeah, yeah, great, he said, and waited impatiently for the fat man to ring up the sale and bag the dildo. He glanced at the shut door, glared at the slow-moving fat man, snatched up his dildo-parcel, and raced to the front of the store.

You’re welcome, the fat man mumbled behind him.

He sped past the magazine counters, flung open the door, and gaped at the empty store-front alcove. The scent of perfume and cigarette smoke lingered in the doorway. He glanced at the black-taped magazine covers on the window and rushed to the front of the alcove.

The crowd was thick outside, moving in both directions; some hurrying, some looking at him as he glared up and down the street. He clutched the dildo-bag and looked back at the store.

Twenty bucks, he sighed. Maybe I can get my money back? Exchange it for some magazines? Fuck! The bitch led me on! And it would have ripped her open! Fuck! It would’ve killed her! He sighed again, clutched the dildo, and reentered the alcove, where he looked at an open mouthed blow-up doll’s head.

Maybe I can get a doll? A real doll? Rip her fucking plastic cunt out! Fuck her face out!

He saw a sissy fairy glancing from some magazines with magazine covers of nothing-suited boys flexing barely visible arm and chest muscles toward him, and he cursed and brusquely pushed past the queer, flung open the porno-shop door, and sheepishly reentered the store.

He suddenly realized how heavy the dildo felt. He blushed, and approached the counter.

****