Cell Phones in Dirty Bookstores

This could so easily be a rant about guys who leave their phones on as they cruise arcades or sit in the inky darkness of the small theaters as they stroke and watch porn.  But who needs that?  I have been in three or four different establishments in the last month and have been around a huge number of guys who don't turn them off or switch them to vibrate.  But recently, I began noticing more men actually answering them while the porn blared.

I was in the front row of the theater closest to my house.  We were all watching two guys do things to one girl when the phone went off in the back row.  You would have thought that he'd be mortified just by all of us hearing the Jimmy Buffet ring tone, but no.  He answered.  (The woman on screen was quieter than usual as she had a massive black cock in her mouth so we could all hear him.)  He can't contain the fact that he's breathing a little hard--stroking I assume--and we hear:  "No.  No," he pants.  "The top left drawer of my desk."  Pant, pant.  "Under the planner."  A pause.  "I can't talk now, I'm..."  He pauses.  "...working out," he finishes lamely.

I certainly hope his secretary found it.  And how dare she call him at the gym?

Another day in the same theater, a young man was slouching against the wall, stroking his generous uncut cock.  His jeans were wide open, and his hoodie pulled up revealing a nice set of abs.  I was on the verge of asking if he needed help with getting his foreskin to retract when his phone went off.  It was an old fashioned sounding ring--and was twice as loud in the emptiness of the theatre after the lunch rush.  He fumbled it out of his pocket and got it up to his ear--all while holding on to the waist band of his jeans.  He shuffled into the back corner.  "No, sir.  I'm making the delivery now.  He wasn't at the office."  I turned in my seat.  He had the phone jammed between shoulder and ear and was desperately trying to fasten his jeans over his dwindling erection.

I know that at least one delivery wasn't made that day...

Another day, another arcade.  I need to get off quick.  My cock is through the glory hole.  Not my favorite, but necessity and all that....)  A hot mouth is right there.  It's feeling good.  Both booths are playing very vocal porn.  Suddenly I hear the Brandenburg Concerto #2.  There's no mouth on my cock any more.  Above the grunts and groans of fucking, I can hear "Yes, dear.  No.  Yes, dear.   Yes, dear.  I'm almost done here."

Well, he was done with me.

I heard this one just last night.  I was in Toledo.  (More about the reason I was in that exciting hot spot in another post.)  I was wandering through the arcade.  I stopped at the rack, looking at what movie was playing on what channel. A short, oily looking man pushed by me--the only other man there.  The back of his hand "accidentally" brushed the back of my thigh as he goes by.  He turned the corner as his phone goes off.    "Hello?"  He listened for a bit.  "Yes, soon, dear."  He assured her.  "We're just getting ready to embalm."

I fled...