The Booth Babe

How far is that washroom?!

Jon stared at the line-up of men waiting to kiss him, the question rattling around in his mind. It had to be at least thirty deep, and that didn't count the forty or fifty men he'd already taken care of. The kissing booth, it turned out, was an extremely popular attraction. He could see why. So many people go through life without a sense of connection, lonely, discouraged. The booth, at least with Jon there, was a quick way to reassure visitors that they weren't alone, that they were part of something bigger, a community that cared about their wellbeing.

When he was a young boy, Jon's parents had always modeled community involvement, taking responsibility for the health of your neighbours. If a small gesture is all it takes to make the world a better place, then give that gesture! If everyone pitched in, we'd be living in perfection in no time.

Still, his parents never mentioned how chapped his lips would get trying to make his community better. He paused again to touch-up his lipstick, hoping it would make a difference, but he knew that the need was great, so he'd have to give a little bit more of himself.

When the drag-queen attendant had asked Jon to step in for him during his bathroom break, Jon had imagined that it would only take a minute or two. Over an hour later, Jon was starting to think that he would be stuck at the booth all day! At first the time had flown by. Men would show up, drop their money on the table, then lean in and close their eyes. Jon started slowly, small pecks on the lips, leaving a hint of his own lip colour on the lips of his customers. It had been fun, engaging, something different. It wasn't often that he got to be in a social situation where he could make a lot of friends, so this was great practice.

Then, as time went on, and as the line-up grew, Jon started to feel a bit bored. He could happily continue as he was, but Jon was starting to think that he might be half-assing his work. Was that the kind of man he was? Someone who would show up and just 'phone in' his work? Or was he the type who would step up and show the world what he was made of?

That change of attitude made all the difference.

Suddenly the line, while it had been long, exploded. At one point it stretched down the block and around the corner. Jon was immensely popular, and his public service was being recognized.

A dollar would drop.

Jon pulled a short man with a goatee in for a gentle kiss. Then, feeling like he should go the extra mile, he added a second, this one longer, no extra charge.

It had worked. The man blushed, thanking Jon profusely, then scurried away. Jon had made that poor man's day!

The next customer had been a bit more intense. An older man, salt-and-pepper hair, seemed to be in need of a good friend, grabbing and pawing at Jon. And so Jon allowed the customer to take the lead on the encounter. It was a strategy that paid off. Moments into the encounter, Jon as the man's eyes slide shut. He'd held Jon's head with one hand, causing Jon to lean forward over the booth, pulling him into a heated lip lock, moans of pleasure escaping from the customer's throat.

It was the first time of the day that one of Jon's customers had left a tip!

And not the last time, either. Sure, the sign said One Dollar, One Kiss, but after Jon's change in attitude, not one of them had left such a paltry payment for a pucker. There were fives, tens, twenties, and even a fifty stuck in the cash box, all from eager and grateful men who had enjoyed having their spirits lifted by a new friend.

They hadn't just been generous with their money, either. Jon's customers, be they young, old, tall, short, each and every one of them had been a perfect example that toxic masculinity hadn't ruined manhood. They were kind, friendly, and patient. And understanding, too! Sure, Jon thought he was a good kisser, but he was an amateur. There had been no orientation from the transvestite, no special training. Jon was winging it. The customers didn't care. Whenever Jon lacked in style and ability, his customers again and again picked up the slack.

As the line got longer and longer, Jon's productivity became a matter of efficiency. Sitting on the far side of the table, leaning over with each kiss, was slow and hard on his back. And so, ever the innovative thinking, Jon asked his next customer to wait for a moment, walked around, and sat on the front of the booth's table. His smooth legs crossed in front of him, Jon welcomed customer after customer. Each kiss was unique. Some were heavy on tongues, some wanted to wrap their arms around him. A surprising number of men seemed to be more concerned for Jon's exhaustion, picking Jon up from his perch and allowing him to wrap his bare legs around their hips as they kissed, giving Jon a nice break from the hard surface. It was this kind of thoughtfulness that reminded Jon of how warm an friendly Girl World really was.

About forty-five minutes into his time, Jon's met his most considerate customer of all. Two twenties were dropped on the table, causing Jon to raise one eyebrow. Then the man spoke.

"Bend over the table, skank."

Of course! The man must have seen how much work was putting in, having waited as long as he had in line. Jon's lips were beginning to rub raw, so he was wanting to give Jon a freebie. All the man had wanted was to stand right behind Jon, his denim-clad groin pressed against Jon's round bikini-clad ass, and gyrate. The customer hadn't even complained when Jon, starting to feel a bit raw from the man's jeans rubbing up against him, reached behind him, unbuckled the man's belt, unzipped the man's pants, and **** him to drop his jeans and underwear. It was much more pleasant for Jon to have a gentle skin-on-skin feeling than the cold, impersonal touch hidden behind the garment. Jon had never felt this massage technique before, but it was glorious. Every kind he felt in his neck and back worked itself out as the man rubbed him from behind. He'd even used a special oil during the massage, although it was a bit odd that he'd only applied it at the very end.

"Thanks, honey," the customer said, wiping the sweat from his bald head with a handkerchief, then bending to pull up his pants. Jon just smiled at the man, reached over the booth's table and retrieved the tube of lipstick. Since he had a break, he might as well touch himself up.

Straightening up, he knew he could quit, he knew he could just leave the booth. It wasn't his job, after all, to kiss strange men. That honour belonged to the drag queen who had disappeared earlier. But, since Jon had been raised to be a man of his word, he looked up at the long line and did the right thing.

"Next," he called, sitting back down, wrapping his fingers around his customer's neck, allowing his tongue to slip into the man's mouth as he pulled him into a friendly kiss.