Instead of Topper

by Kellis

Fall, 2016



“Excuse me, ma’am.  Where is your display of this week’s Topper?” I asked the newsstand clerk.

She leaned on the counter and craned her neck toward the adjacent aisle.  “Looks like it’s sold out, doesn’t it?”  Her gaze settled on me.  “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes, it does.  Isn’t Thursday the day the next issue is delivered?”

She grinned.  “Unless it’s Thanksgiving.  As a matter of fact, our ten copies were sitting on the doorstep when we opened this morning.”

I was disappointed and curious.  “It sold out in what, three hours?  Why should I not be surprised?”

She shook her head.  “You must be the only reader who didn’t hear about the special article this week.”


Before answering, she studied me a moment, appraising a fortyish man, clean-shaven in a business suit.  She said, “The deep throat article.”

I returned the scrutiny, noting a woman about my age, hair in a bun, with a plain, lightly made up face, wearing a short sleeve blouse.  Arms and torso that I could see above the counter were shapely.

I said disparagingly, “Topper often discusses deep throats.”

She nodded.  “One of the reasons it’s so popular.  But today’s article was special.”


She hesitated, shrugged and said in a matter of fact tone, “Because of the illustrations, which included a closeup side view in color that had been photoshopped.”

“You mean somebody doing a deep throat?”

“Very deep.  An x-ray view had been set in from the woman’s lips to the bottom of her throat.”

“Inset into the … flesh?”


“You mean you could see …”

The clerk’s eyes sparkled.  “The head entering her esophagus.  ‘Very deep,’ I said.”

“Good god!”

Sparkles became twinkles.  “Do you think so?”

“I mean, how could they publish something like that?”

“Well, the publisher warned us in case we wanted to pull it, which is probably how the word got out, but Topper is not the first general audience magazine to show an entire penis.  And I assure you, these models were not underage.”

With a sigh I said, “I’ve been buying Topper here for a couple years.  Can’t believe I missed the best one yet!”

“Why didn’t you subscribe?”

I had to grin.  “Well, it’s not something I want to grace my coffee table.”

She nodded in understanding.  “Think I’ll order some more copies, although I’d bet the distributor is sold out too.”  She hesitated briefly and regarded me inquiringly.  “We have some other magazines that are even more the type.  Would you like to see them?”

“Like Hustler and Playboy?  I’d call them less the type than Topper.”

“So would I.  No, I’m speaking of a few magazines we keep under the counter.  If you want to see them, come through that gate over there.”

I looked around.  The little shop, whose exterior sign named it a newsstand, was deserted except for me and the clerk.  Rain was falling outside, which meant few people on the street.  So I passed through the gate, slipped up beside her and saw for the first time that she was wearing jeans and boots.

“Pull up that stool,” she said, pointing.  “If you turn sideways you can lean your elbow on the countertop.”

When I was positioned to her satisfaction, she pulled a couple magazines from under the counter and put them in my hand.  They certainly had explicit titles: Fucking and Open Pussies.  I began to leaf through them: triple-X without question!

“What do you think of that one?” she said when I had stopped on a side view of a young blonde with nearly an entire dick down her throat.  “The one you missed was like that, except you could see the rest of the dick, along with her teeth and tongue.”

“Damn!” I snarled.  “That one I’d love to see.  Was it just the one shot?”

“That shouldn’t surprise you.  How much would you have to pay a woman, or a man either, to let x-rays give them cancer?”

“What if it wasn’t true x-rays?  As you said, it was photoshopped.  I’ll bet in effect some artist peeled back her cheek.”

She nodded slowly.  “It’s possible.  The dick was in color.  But the caption claimed he supplied the color later, which is even more possible.”

“I’d still love to see it.  Did you say you’ve ordered some more copies?”

“I’ll do that.  But tell me something, will you?  A steady stream of men buys this stuff.  What is so fascinating about just seeing it?”

I had to grin.  “You really want to know?”


“They don’t even line up in Times Square anymore to give blow jobs.”

“You mean ‘to sell.’”

“Whichever.”  I thumped the magazine.  “They only line up here.”

She giggled, which I thought was odd.  My tone had been bitter, not humorous.

“They don’t line up here either,” she said, eyes twinkling, “unless you mean a line of one.”

“A what?”

The blonde whose picture I held was a looker who seemed to be enjoying herself.  Her bottom lip protruded under the dick and her eyes twinkled up at its owner.  While we discussed it, the thought of the x-rayed dick down her throat had half-hardened mine.  The clerk’s hand slipped under the magazine and squeezed it.

“Oh, yes!” she said, smiling widely at me.

“I can just see that dick,” I explained, unaccountably embarrassed more by my discovered erection than her hand.

She said, “How’d you like to feel it as well?”

“The dick?”

“The throat.”  Her hand found my zipper and opened my pants.  A moment’s delving produced my equipment, now three-quarters of the way up.  She took the magazines, shoved them back under the counter and jacked me a few times.

“This is a nice one,” she said and looked up at me.  “If somebody comes toward the register, will you say, ‘Customer, Amber?’”

Without waiting for an answer, she slipped off her stool, squatted between my legs and slurped me up, now fully stiffened.  Her tongue was wet, warm and agile, and felt delicious immediately, such that no consideration of marital states crossed my mind.

Hastily I looked around.  Except for us the shop was empty.  I had bought magazines from this woman before, usually Topper, while barely noting her.  Now I found myself looking down at her neat bun of hair as half my dick disappeared and reappeared into her bobbing head.  I felt two kinds of thrill: the obvious one plus the total surprise of it all.

“Your name is Amber?” I said.

“Uh-huh,” she responded nasally.

“I’m Charles.  Very pleased to meet you!”

She giggled, also nasally.

The front door had a bell attached that jingled when it was in motion.  Just as my thrills approached the peak, its tinkle announce the entry of a customer, a businessman with rain-wet shoulders who went directly to the men’s magazine rack.  I let Amber continue because she was well below the high counter.

He looked up at me.  “Didn’t Topper come today?”

“Sold out,” I said.

“Damn!” he said with feeling.

Suspecting what was next, I said, “Customer, Amber.”

She rose up while laying a magazine over my exposed dick, licked her lips and slapped a quarter onto the counter.  “Found it!” she said.  “My eyes ain’t what they used to be.”

The man came to the counter and looked at me.  “I was going to ask, was it really a special issue?”

“Sure was,” I said knowingly.  “X-ray of a cocksucking.”

He showed disappointment.  “I’ve seen fellatio x-rays.”

“Not like this one, a color picture of the woman’s head with a superimposed x-ray of the dick in her mouth.”


Amber said, “We’re ordering some more.  Check back tomorrow.”

He sighed resignedly.  “Thanks.  I’ll do that.”  He turned and left, jingling the bell again.

Thrusting the magazine from my lap back under the counter, she giggled.  “Bet I could’ve sold him this.”

“My dick?” I asked, pretending to misunderstand.

She grinned.  “Do you know something about him I don’t?”

“Maybe we ought to wait a while before somebody else comes.”

She sniffed.  “Maybe you’ll be the next one.”

Squatting again, she took up the slack in my dick.  I looked closely at the front of the store but saw no shadow from passing pedestrians.  She redoubled her efforts.  One hand reached into my shorts and fondled my balls.  Her mouth and tongue concentrated on the head while her other hand was a blur on the shaft.

I felt the fluid rise and warned, “I’m about to be next.”

“Uh-huh!” she grunted enthusiastically.

She eased off as I began to squirt, merely holding the head in her mouth, fingers stroking gently.  When the emission ceased, she exposed the head, licked up the last eye full, popped it back in, resumed soft sucking and looked soulfully up at me.  Now the thrills had a different character but were still pleasurable.

I sighed.  “Amber, you know — of course you do! — that was a Class A blowjob.”

Her head backed away at last.  “As long as you know it.”

“I’ve never had a better one.”

“Prove it.”

I stood up.  “Take your jeans down and sit on the stool.”

She giggled appreciatively.  “Thank you, darling, but I can’t.  I’m a screamer.  What I meant was, kiss me.”

She sprang into my arms.  We kissed wetly, a lot of which was my residue that she had not fully swallowed.

When we parted, she grinned at me slyly.  “Now buy some mints.”

“Can I at least feel of these?” I asked, cupping a full breast through blouse and brassiere.

“You’d better get out from behind the counter,” she advised.  “My husband will soon be joining me for lunch.”

I zipped up my fly and bounced out in front.  The mints were in a tray close by.  I opened a package, took one myself and passed the tube to her.  She popped two into the mouth that had left my dick tingling then returned the tube.

“Your husband?” I said doubtfully.

“Didn’t you notice?”  She held up her left hand on which rings glittered.  “Stick around and you’ll see.”

I took out my wallet and handed her currency plus a credit card.

“This is enough,” she said, keeping the cash and returning the card.

“For a Class A blowjob?”

She shook her head.  “We don’t have a stock item that expensive.”


“So how’ll I explain it to my husband?  Or you to your wife?”

“My wife enjoys hearing of my escapades.  Not so your husband, eh?”

“He’d kill me!”

She rang up the sale and gave me some change.

“Amber, I’m not complaining but I am curious.  That was a truly expert blowjob.  Why’d you do it?  What good did it do you?”

She grinned.  “Maybe I needed some excitement.  Maybe I like to keep my tongue in.”

“Good reasons.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Maybe I’m a schizo.”


“Maybe this morning my wild side is in charge.”  Her eyes were sly.

“Your ‘wild side?’” I repeated.

“Amber can come with just a strange dick in her mouth.”

“A woman needs more than that!” I declared, based on experience.

“Not Amber.  She had a little one when you walked through the gate.”

“Let me tell you: your husband is one lucky fellow!”

She shook her head.  “Not according to him.  I said ‘strange dick.’  Amber hates familiar ones.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She giggled.  “Yours ain’t familiar yet.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”  My wallet was still in my hand.  I passed her my business card.  “When Amber shows up again, give me a call or a text.”

The card disappeared in her pocket.  “Maybe I will.”

The doorbell jingled again.  A big man with a red beard, wearing rough clothes, hurried toward the counter, saying, “I know I’m early, Belle, but I got a break.”

“Bullshit!” she cried.  “You keep trying to catch me, don’t you?”  Her eyes turned to me.  “Sir, will there be anything else besides those mints?”

“No, thank you,” I said and got the hell out of there.