It was October 1966 and I was working in a Baltimore record store. Back then, we had listening booths and I would carefully monitor the store to make sure the records were being listened to not were not being lifted from the premises.

You see, we didn't have fancy surveillance and theft prevention. Our only shoplifting prevention was a keen eye and threats to send young thieves to reform school.

It was a slow afternoon as I fumbled through that day's issue of the "News-American." The Orioles were preparing for their first World Series and I was on pins and needles. Would they defeat the Dodgers?

Well, it was half past one when I heard the jangle of the bells that signaled someone's entry. I straightened my necktie and dusted off my lunchtime sandwich crumbs from my jacket.

She came in wearing a dark sweater and a pale blue miniskirt. She wore heavy to dark eyeliner and pale pink lipstick.

"Welcome to the Record Factory," I said to the young lady, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

She paused by the counter and asked me if she could sample "God Only Knows" by the Beach Boys. I obliged and pulled the recently released single from the cabinet and walked with her to the nearest listening booth.

As we approached the door, her purse (hanging from a chain-like strap) slipped from her shoulder. When it fell to the floor, a half-empty pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes tumbled out.

Apparently embarrassed by this, she awkwardly tucked the pack of smokes back into her pocketbook. She blushed as if she was somewhat too young to be partaking in tobacco.

"Let me guess, Patterson High School...", I wondered aloud to her. "And you're playing hooky. Where are your friends?"

"I was sick and I needed to get some fresh air," she replied quite defensively. "A buck's a buck, right?"

I was still skeptical but nodded and placed the 45 on the turntable. I closed the door behind me and proceeded to stock some records.

I was tempted to call the truancy officer about this girl but I knew that school was going to end anyway and my shift was about to end...

I ambled by the booths to check on her. I was her swaying her head to the sounds of the new single as it made its revolutions on the record player. Her nicely coiffed red hair shimmered in the dim light of the booth.

I rapped on the door. She jumped up from her seat and was rattled. She cracked open the door and poked out her head.

"You called the police, didn't you?!" she began to plead, "I'm telling you that I am sick and I have an excuse! I can't be in trouble! I just wanted to..."

"Have a free day," I interrupted, "I understand that you wanted to have a little fun instead of sitting behind a desk all day."

I pulled the booth's door from her hands and stepped into the booth. She backed away like she was cornered with no escape.

Her anxiety was very detectable. She braced herself against the wall and knitted her brow in dread of the officer's arrival. She didn't know that I didn't call anyone or plan to call anyone.

Her heart was probably running a thousand beats a minute by now. And this was turning me on.

"Looks like you need a hiding place," I wagered, "And so do I."

"What do you mean?"

I rested my hand on her shoulder and hooked my thumb under her sleeve to snag the strap of her brassiere. I silently caressed her and pulled the door behind me with my other arm.

My breathing got heavier as I pulled away and took to fondling her clothed breasts. Her cashmere sweater was soft and I closed my eyes and inhaled her sweet perfume at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

"What..." she objected.

I cupped my hand over her mouth and whispered that she had nothing to worry about if she stayed quiet.

I opened my eyes and stared into her face.

Her alarm shifted into a calm that seemed to know what was going to happen next but was too shocked to resist.

I moved my hand gingerly up her skirt and diddled with her white panties. They were dry but began to summon a moisture that filled me with joy.

I pressed forward, moved my hand to her rear, and dry humped her for a moment. I forced my willing tongue into her unwilling mouth. Her objections were rising again and I held her tighter to the wall.

With one hand, I removed her panties from her ass and yanked them down to mid-thigh. She slowly exhaled from her nose and shuddered like she was betraying a well- kept secret.

She knew what the hardness was from behind my pants as it poked against her skirt. I pulled it up a bit and then quickly unzipped. I rubbed my penis up against her sweet opening and she jolted like a current had run through her.

I slowly pushed into her tightness and then detected a hymen. I savored this moment of virginity's breach and then thrust myself into her. She gasped and bit down onto her lip. I think she was still afraid to scream.

I kissed her lips as I was ravishing her in this chamber of solicitude. I bucked back and forth in our cramped space for a while until I orgasmed inside of her.

She was confused and had a look of "where am I?" when I pulled out of her and began to pull myself together again. I looked at my watch and stooped to pick up her sweater from the floor.

Beside the sweater was her purse. Inside was a pack of cigarettes and the Beach Boys single that she planned to steal from my store.

I smiled lecherously at her and said, "We seem to have our secrets, don't we?"

It was then that, forlorn, she kissed me and said, "Is my secret safe with you?"

I pondered her situation and my situation and then said, "I don't know what you're talking about. Nothing happened. You weren't here and your music is paid for."

I handed her her purse and panties. She put herself together again and we walked out of the listening booth.



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