Short Confession 01: Peep Shows

This is the first of a collection of short confession-like accounts of some of the more kinky experiences I've had over the years. I'm just a regular, married, British guy in my 50s now, with a family I love. But I've had a few really interesting kinks, mini adventures and sexual encounters over my life so far that I wanted to share a few. I love sharing, and who knows, some may either give people ideas for themselves, or reassure others their own "depraved" thoughts and perversions aren't actually that freakish, and most of us have a darker side. I hope you enjoy this one, and others as they come along.

Chapter 1: My Peep Show Craving:

This first confession (and they're in no particular order) is to do with my obsession for peep shows.   Now, sadly, I don't know of any in the UK any more, but 15-20 years ago there were still one or two left in Soho, London. Before the area was cleaned up to become a hub of trendy bars and restaurants, it was London's slightly darker, sleazier area, full of sex shops, x rated cinemas, video booths, massage parlours and the like. It was also the home to the only peep shows I'd ever seen in the UK. And within my first couple of visits I'd become a little addicted to them. Which bearing in mind I lived 200+ miles away in Yorkshire wasn't the most convenient.

I was so addicted to them in fact, through work, I'd start engineering visits to our head office in London just to be able to sneak in a visit and satisfy my craving.  Every couple of months or so, I'd tell my boss I thought attending "x" meeting at the head office in person would be useful etc and he'd generally agree.  He'd be impressed I was willing to put myself out for the company like that.  But the reality was this professional, married, family guy had a near addiction to sleazy, little peep shows.  

Whenever I'd visit London I'd spend all the afternoon's meetings sneakily checking my watch and mentally assessing how I could make sure there was time for a secret visit.  Praying none would overrun or an issue would materialise that would test my dedication to work. Eventually at the end of the day's meetings, the rush would start building up in me. I'd try not to be too obvious through the polite "goodbye"s and "safe trip home"s that I was desperate to get out of there. To scratch my dirty little secret itch.

I'd leave the office and walk briskly to the tube, knowing full well it would often be a mad dash across London to Soho, at the risk of missing my train.  Even now if I'm in London, the smell of the tube reminds me of my peep show dashes and always makes me a little ashamed of the memories.   But also brings a smile to my face.

So, in case you don't know, what was a Soho peep show?  Well there were a row of little cubicles, and each would have a slot for money.  They were 50p for 30 secs or something when I started, £2 by the end but I'd have paid anything.   You put your money in the slot, and a little window opened about the size of a post box at head height for you to peep through.   On the other side there was a naked girl.  There were a real mix of girls doing this I noticed over the years. Towards the end you got the impression they were mostly Eastern European girls earning money for god knows who or what, but before that you used to get a real mix.  My favourite were definitely the more mature women - 30s or 40s as they were more relatable.   I used to wonder what their back story was.  Maybe a housewife stripping without her husband's knowledge to pay the bills.   Or a single mum working for a few hours to earn a few pounds while grandparents baby sat completely oblivious.  Maybe I was romanticising it a bit, but I loved that idea.

I'd get off the tube at Leicester Square, the closest station and start my well trodden route up through China Town. Getting giddier and more excited as I walked. Eventually I'd see the dingy "Peep Show" sign a few hundred yards away and slow down a little, savouring the experience. Would people see me walk in and judge me? "There goes another sad wanker not getting any sex".

When I arrived I'd go to the guy on the door (sat on a little stool reading the paper generally) and get some change.  Say get a £10 or £20 note changed for coins, and then find a cubicle. There weren't locks on the doors so you always risked opening onto a fellow peep show user. Maybe another married dad with a secret. Or once you were in there, the risk of someone trying to enter yours. But somehow that all added to the thrill.

I'd enter an empty cubicle, and by now my heart would be absolutely pounding in my chest at the thrill of being there, in this sleaze pit.  (Sleazy can be very kinky can't it?).  My palms would be sweaty and I'd enter and push the door closed behind me.  And as soon as you closed the door it was pitch black.  The only light would come from the peep hole once it opened.  

I'd be there in my suit, laptop bag over my shoulder, fumbling with a coin desperate to find the slot in the wall.  Hoping that as I'm looking for it I don't put my hand in a previous visitors cum. (Although these days the pervert in me would probably be tempted to lick it off if I did. But that's another story).  In my routine, I'd always put the first coin in before thinking about touching myself, to help add to the suspension.  And the tease.  When I found the slot, it would clunk into the money box and then after a second or two a whirring mechanism opens the window.   And I get my first look at her.  Am I lucky today?  Is she pretty?  Is she my kind of girl?  Does she smile and give eye contact?  (My favourites!).  I don't really have a favourite body type, for me it's just the simple excitement of a woman willing to expose herself to me. For me to masturbate over. I'm sure any body type would excite me equally. Big boobs or small boobs, curvy or slim, long hair or short hair ; it really, genuinely didn't matter at that moment in time.

They'd generally dance and gyrate whilst naked, moving sexily around the little room they were in. I guess their goal would be keep you interested by being sexy, but try and keep me in there as long as possible by not being too sexy. They'd bend over things so you could see their ass and maybe a peep of pussy from behind.  And then they'd dance full frontal so you can see their boobs and pussy. Maybe running a hand over their pussy to simulate touching themselves.  They were never x rated unfortunately.   I'd have loved it if they had been, and the girls had bent over and spread their cheeks apart? Or spread their pussies open so I could see right up inside their intimate, little holes.  Really put on a dirty show.  But this was still amazing for me.  

I'd make a point of being very obvious as I unbuttoned my belt, and unfastened my trousers.  I had this weird obsession with not just getting my dick out and wanking, I had to do it properly.  I'd pull my trousers and shorts right down to my ankles so I was practically naked from the waist down.   That made it so much more sexy and felt naughtier, particularly with the situation of no door locks.  And I'd make it obvious to the girl on the other side that I was doing that.  I loved it if I got a reaction like a knowing smile, grin or cheeky wink. Even though they probably saw this dozens of times a day.  Them knowing I was almost undressing to start wanking over them was really important to my enjoyment.  I think it plays into my sub side.

And then I'd wank.  The naughtiness of stroking my now hard cock 20 feet from people walking by in the street.   Or with a girl looking at me, probably thinking "loser", "pathetic wanker" or something like that. And also the fact that people in meetings with me all day, or my friends and family think I'm this respectable guy.   Whereas really here I was, this pervert addicted to wanking his dick over naked girls in this sleazy peep show.  If I was very lucky, only on a couple of occasions, the girl would come right to the window and look down at my cock and balls.  God that was such a rush.  I'd lean back against the door on those rare occasions and really show them my dick.  Pulling my foreskin right back, opening up my slit, maybe even tasting my pre cum.  So naughty but so much fun.  Hoping to get a smile, or a blown kiss as a result. I'd also crave eye contact. If the girl would look me in the eye I'd stare right back at her. As if she were staring into my soul and judging me. I couldn't help it.

This would carry on for as long as my coins lasted. Sometimes I'd get close to cumming too soon so I'd have to let go of my cock and just watch. But then as I was nearing the end of my coins I'd change from enjoying and savouring the experience to needing to cum.  And that primal urge would make me really start thrashing my cock harder.   All the time trying to make it obvious to the girl on the other side that I was wanking really furiously.   Eventually I'd feel my balls begin to tighten and stare straight into the girls eyes as I unloaded spurt after spurt of my cum.   Again the eye contact makes it so much naughtier and more personal. I'd normally have saved cumming for at least a week so sometimes there's be 3 or 4 thick jets of cum. And I'd always grunt or groan and make it obvious I was cumming. Again maybe a bit of my sub side kicking in.

I'd cum all over the wall and floor of the booth.  There was always a risk some would land on my trousers and I'd have to wear a cum stain as a badge of shame as I walked back to the station.   But I was well past caring by that stage.  

Ahhhhhhh. Bliss.

For a few seconds at least. Then the dark reality would drown me. After I'd cum the guilt would kick in and I'd start to feel sleazy for being there. Without the adrenaline of anticipation I'd had on the walk up, the sleaze was now just that. I was just another sad pervert using a sex show for his kicks.  I'd pull up my boxers and suit trousers, and try and make sure I looked as respectable as I could in the pitch black, before turning and leaving the booth.  The guy giving out change would see me leave, and take his mop into my cubicle. The shame.

As I stepped into the street, a weird part of me always wanted passers by to see me and know what I'd been doing.  Especially women. I guess the sub side of me always wanted people to know I'm just a dirty wanker at heart.  

I hope that was OK as a confession and my first mini story in this series.  I appreciate it's a bit different to most sexy stories you read on here. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments or by message. Your feedback will help shape future chapters.  And there'll be a wide variety of things so please come back and read them too.