BBC Breakdown

 

BBC Breakdown

A South Florida Universe Story

Copyright 2025 by Stormbringer



It was a blistering night in 1978, the Florida air thick as soup, as Jimmy and Linda Parker roared down I-95 in their ‘68 Chevy Impala convertible, top down, hot wind snarling through their hair. They were twenty, high school sweethearts married six hours ago, speeding toward a Key West honeymoon, flush with happiness on the special day and looking forward to spending the night together as a married couple for the first time. A Just Married sign flapped on the rear bumper, streamers whipping in the dusk, the edges fraying from the relentless breeze. Jimmy’s 8-track blasted Sweet Home Alabama, its twangy guitar fighting the engine’s faint wheeze, a sound he’d ignored for weeks, chalking it up to “character.” The A/C had been dead for years, sweat beading on their skin, dripping down Linda’s neck and pooling between her breasts. She lounged with her bare feet propped on the dash, cute red-painted toes wiggling, flip-flops crisscrossed on the floor mat. Her sleeveless summer miniskirt dress rode up, baring toned legs from mid-thigh down, her big tits bouncing free under the thin, damp fabric, semi-hard nipples poking through like defiant little beacons.

Jimmy gripped the wheel, broad mustache twitching, his shirt open to reveal a hairy chest matted with sweat and a gold chain glinting dully, orange bell-bottoms matching the fading sunlight. “Another three hours, babe,” he yelled over the music, his voice hoarse from shouting, but the Impala had other plans. The engine coughed—a wet, hacking sound—then sputtered, smoke rising from beneath the hood, the car lurching as it lost power. Jimmy cursed under his breath, wrestling the wheel and managing to take the Overtown exit to get off the new interstate, gravel crunching under the tires as the Impala finally died on the side of the road in front of a rundown store, the neon sign of BBC’s Adult Books – Peep Shows – Open 24 Hrs. buzzing ahead like a taunting mirage. “FUCK!” he screamed, fist pounding down on the steering wheel. He yanked the top up with a grunt, the canvas creaking, sweat pouring down his face. “Won’t stop thieves, but it’s something,” he muttered, kicking the driver’s door open as the headlights flickered and died, stranding them in a ghetto of broken streets, a distant siren wailing through the humid dark, the air heavy with rot and desperation.

Jimmy popped the hood and stared futilely at the engine. He didn’t know anything about car engines, but made the gesture anyway. He slammed the hood back down.

Linda dropped her feet, scowling, slipping her feet into the flip flops as she got out of the car. “This place doesn’t look safe, Jimmy. You should’ve had the car checked out.” Sweat trickled into her eyes, stinging, her dress clinging to her thighs like a second skin, the heat pressing her into the seat.

Jimmy snapped, sharper than he meant, “I’m a bit short on cash, babe,” the honeymoon and wedding ring having wiped out his savings. “Let’s go inside the store and see if we can use their phone.”

“I’m not going in that sleazy place,” she said, her eyes drawn to the flashing neon sign like a moth to a flame.

“It’s that or wait here, Lin. Overtown’s a ghetto—safer inside.” Groups of blacks could be seen in the distance, clustering around the steps leading up to apartments and hanging out in front of a liquor store half a block away. He locked the car. “Let’s go.”

Bells jangled over the door as they stepped into BBC’s, a shrill clatter slicing through air thick with cigarette smoke, musty paper, and the stench of body odor. A rattling A/C unit struggled against the Miami humidity, cooling the large building by only a few degrees. Rows of nudie mags and pulp smut sagged on shelves, covers curling at the edges, faded from too many hands. The counter displayed dildos: pale and small at one end, darkening through shades of tan to a jet-black giant over a foot long that loomed like a grotesque trophy. Linda stared, revolted, her nose wrinkling, shocked anyone would buy such a ridiculously sized sex toy. The clerk—a young black man with a towering Afro, a comb jammed in it—puffed a cigarette, a full ashtray by his side, his bored eyes barely lifting from a tattered comic. A small rotating fan on the counter helped to keep him cool. Above him, a dying fluorescent light buzzed and flickered, casting jagged shadows across the room. The store was empty of customers.

In a large stockroom behind the store, Benjamin Blackwell Calhoun sprawled in a battered chair, a porno mag splayed open beside a half-empty whiskey bottle, its amber contents catching the dim glow of a bare bulb. A Harley jacket hung over a crate of unsorted mags, the leather creased and worn, the words Black Panther MC above a leaping black panther on the back. He’d opened BBC’s two years ago in 1976—bad timing, as the interstate’s construction caused Overtown’s decline. He was still struggling, but his porn store and the nearby liquor store had managed to survive. A boxy CCTV unit hummed on a rickety table, its grainy black-and-white feed showing the entrance and register, mostly there to keep the clerk from skimming. At thirty-two, he was a Black man with a fighter’s build—broad shoulders, thick arms, bigger than Overtown’s own Sweet Jimmy Robinson—and a 14” black cock that was a legend among the local women. He glanced at the monitor as the bells rang, fixating on Linda; white women were rare, and none had looked like her. Her Farah Fawcett-style hair caught him first, feathered and damp with sweat, but she more resembled the blonde who replaced Farah on Charlie’s Angels—gorgeous, blue-eyed, killer body, bigger tits straining that dress, jiggling unrestrained with every step. “Well, fuck me,” he hissed. He tossed the mag aside, hooked, leaning closer to the grainy screen.

Jimmy leaned in toward the uninterested clerk, asking, “Got a phone?”

While the clerk pointed to the back with a lazy jerk of his thumb, Linda wandered, looking-not-looking at the porn mags. An endcap screamed interracial covers—white women sprawled under Black men, a sign in black marker: Staff Recommended, a crude black penis doodled beside Staff. She frowned, a memory flickering—her mother commenting to her dad, “People should stick to their own kind,” while watching Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner on TV, her voice tight with righteousness. “I don’t hate negros, but the races shouldn’t mix. It’s not natural,” Linda thought. Her eyes snagged on a corkboard—six Polaroids of giant black cocks, none under ten inches, dwarfing Jimmy’s five-inch prick, which was the only penis she’d ever seen. She wasn’t even aware they came in different sizes. Phone numbers scrawled beneath each in smudged ink. Her stomach twisted, guilt and a dark, unbidden thrill clashing, her breath catching as she turned away. Another black-markered sign tacked to the corkboard read, BULL PEN.

Jimmy hung up the payphone, the receiver clattering, his curse sharp. “Two hours. Maybe more.”

“What do we do, Jimmy?” Linda shivered, flip-flops slapping the sticky floor, her skin crawling under the flickering light. “Stay here? In this filthy place? It’s disgusting.”

The clerk overheard, snorting, amused.

Jimmy smirked, a nervous edge to it, nodding to a sign: Booths – 25¢. “Could pass the time.”

She bristled, crossing her arms, pushing her tits up unwittingly. “Porn’s filthy.” But the streets were worse, so she followed, reluctance stiffening her spine, to the peep show—a grimy dive of voyeurism and mechanical sleaze. A narrow hallway stretched ahead, wooden booths reeking of stale smoke, sour sweat, and the sharp bite of cheap disinfectant, the projector’s clatter a low, relentless drone. Sticky floors sucked at her flip-flops, tugging at her soles; graffiti scarred the paneling—crude cocks and numbers scratched deep. A NO LOITERING sign dangled crookedly, ignored amid the clink of quarters and a faint, desperate moan leaking from a nearby booth, the sound curling into her gut at the thought they weren’t alone in here.

They squeezed into one, the door creaking shut with a groan, sealing them in a coffin of heat and tacky floors, the projector’s hum syncing with Linda’s racing pulse, her breath shallow in the stifling air. Jimmy dropped a quarter from sweaty fingers, and the window whirred up—a flickering 8mm film of two women embraced in lesbian lust, their moans tinny and exaggerated, the screen streaked with scratches.

Linda gagged, her throat tightening. “That’s revolting. Change it, Jimmy.” He jabbed a button, moving a little slowly for her liking, the machine clicking, switching to a white plumber banging a housewife with a seven-inch dick, the loop stuttering mid-thrust, the woman’s fake squeals grating.

“How’s this one?”

Linda sneered, “Still disgusting, but better,” her eyes staring at the big dick working in and out of the woman’s pussy. Her nipples hardened against her will, a damp heat stirring between her thighs, her body betraying her disgust.

Jimmy added his remaining quarters, keeping the machine running. His experience with porn was relegated to sneaking peeks at his dad’s Playboys. The experience was turning him on.

Benjamin, behind the booths, flipped the feed to one of his own films made with a Super 8: him as a pool boy, 14 inches sticking out and proud, an older white slut kneeling, sucking him deep, her lips stretched wide. “Oh yeah, suck it like you’re trying to suck the black off of it,” he growled onscreen, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the thin wall.

Linda’s jaw dropped, her breath hitching. “Oh God.” She couldn’t look away—his size, his power, the way the woman’s eyes watered as she took him. Her face flushed, nipples stiffening painfully, scraping her dress, pussy leaking into her panties, a slick warmth she couldn’t ignore. “Jimmy, change it!” she snapped, her voice cracking.

He pressed the button, fingers fumbling. “It’s stuck!”

“Let’s get out of here.”

A sharp knock rattled the wall, the sound jolting her. A panel slid back in the next booth. Benjamin’s cock—14 inches of streamlined, girthy, veined cock—slid through the hole, thick and unyielding, filling the space with its presence. He stared down through upper eye holes, liking the expression of awe written across the white girl’s face.

Linda gasped, “It’s as big as the one in the film!” her voice a mix of shock and something hotter, her blue eyes wide.

Jimmy blinked, his hand trembling slightly, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “Can’t be real. It’s that black dildo.” He leaned in, close enough to smell the musk of it. “Looks real. Touch it.”

“Why me?” she asked, but her hand shook, reaching out, hovering inches away, her pulse hammering in her ears. Her fingers closed around the swollen head of the thing. It felt warm and fleshy.

“Touch it, white girl.”

Linda jumped at the voice. She yanked her hand back but returned it immediately; her fingers slid down the head, wrapping around the thickest part beneath the glans. Her fingers didn’t touch her thumb.

“That’s a real man’s cock, white girl.”

“It’s so big,” she gasped, letting her fingers run down the shaft. “And black,” she added, unable to remember if she’d ever even shaken hands with a black person, and here she was, touching an anonymous black man’s penis.

“That’s what you came here for, white girl?” Benjamin’s voice boomed through the eye hole above, rough and edged with a dark hunger. “Jerk me off. Move it, I ain’t got all night.”

“Jimmy?”

“Go for it, Lin, c’mon,” hissed Jimmy, unable to take his eyes off his wife’s white hand holding that black cock.

“Good white boy, Jimmy.”

Guilt stabbed her—Momma’d faint, this is wrong, races shouldn’t mix—but she gripped the shaft, thick as a bull’s, stroking hard, her small hand dwarfed by its girth. She couldn’t circle it, so she added her second, palms burning as she pumped, veins throbbing under her fingers like living cords. Sweat stung her eyes, her miniskirt sticking to her thighs in the stifling booth, the air growing thick with the black man’s scent. She tugged and twisted, wrists aching, minutes dragging as his groans—low, guttural—spurred her on, a low chuckle rumbling through the wall when she faltered, her hands slipping from exhaustion. She paused, panting, the sheer mass of it overwhelming, but his growl snapped her back, “Keep goin’, girl,” and she did, his cock dry, precum leaking from the tip helping to lube it up, but not enough. Her wrists burned, sweat beading on her brow as she pumped harder, his cock throbbing hotter with every stroke. Ben’s growl grew impatient, “You ain’t done yet, white girl,” and her stomach flipped—disgust, desire, dread—all crashing as she stared at the glistening head.

“Spit on it,” he barked, his voice commanding. “Lube it up.” She hesitated, her mother’s voice echoing—Stick to your own—then spat, a thick glob splattering the head, her hands slipping easier now, slicking the length until it shone in the dim light. She spat again, working her saliva glans to produce more. Her fingers glided over every ridge, every pulsing vein, stroking a shaft nearly three times larger than Jimmy’s, the thought—wrong, so wrong, but so big—making her pussy clench, a wet ache spreading deep inside her.

“Still dry,” he growled, a dark chuckle rolling out. “Use your mouth, white girl. Suck that black cock. Groove on that black meat, girl.”

It hypnotized her—drawing her in, a dark, pulsing magnet she couldn’t resist. She leaned forward, her mother’s voice screaming in her head—‘Stick to your own!’—but her lips parted anyway, trembling, drawn by the heat radiating off it, her breath catching as she fought the urge to pull back. Her lips closed around the head, stretching until they stung, the salt and heat flooding her senses. Her tongue flicked tentatively, tracing the rim, then she pushed deeper, gagging as it hit the back of her throat, her jaw screaming in protest. She pulled back, spit dripping down her chin, then dove again, forcing half the length down, her throat burning, constricting around him. She bobbed, sucking hard, gagging repeatedly, her blue eyes tearing as minutes ticked by, her lips aching, stretched to their limit, fighting to please him. Spit drooled in thick strands, pooling on the floor, her pussy spasming, soaking her thighs, the slickness running down her legs as she lost herself in the act, behaving just like the slut on screen.

Jimmy fumbled with his bell-bottoms’ zipper, yanking them down to pull out his five-inch prick, already hard and leaking, his breath ragged. He jerked it with one hand, short, frantic strokes, while leaning over, the other slipping under Linda’s dress and into her panties, fingers plunging into her drenched pussy, curling deep. “Fuck, Lin, you’re soaked,” he rasped, voice tight with awe and a flicker of hurt, stroking himself faster, his thumb brushing her clit, sending jolts through her. His eyes darted between her sucking—her lips stretched obscenely, spit glistening—and the screen—the black man hosing the woman’s face and tits with a thick, endless load of thick white cum, the actress choking on the volume of semen filling her mouth—then back to Linda, lost in the cock, her moans muffled around its girth.

“Ready to have that tight white pussy stretched?”

She pulled off, gasping, her throat raw, spit stringing from her lips to the head. “Oh my god!” she gasped, staring down at the black monstrosity, now slick with her saliva. She wiped her chin, spit-slick and shaking, the taste of him lingering—salt, musk, sin. Ben’s cock flexed again, a taunt, and Jimmy’s ragged breathing filled the booth, his fingers twitching on his prick as if urging her on. “Jimmy?”

“You’re hot for it, Lin?” said Jimmy, his voice hoarse. “Take it.”

Her eyes flickered down to her husband’s hand on his small penis and back over to the black one. The black man was flexing it so that the head was bobbing up and down. “Jimmy, it’s not a safe time for me.” She glanced at the huge black cock, swearing it had swelled even larger at her words. “We haven’t had sex since the wedding,” her voice faltering along with her reluctance. Guilt gnawed, sharp and cold, her marital vows, her mother’s warnings, but her body screamed, a fire she couldn’t quench.

Jimmy rasped, jaw clenching, his hand still working his prick, “I wanna see you take it,” his voice cracking, torn between lust and something darker—humiliation, maybe—his strokes slowing as he watched her.

“Obey your husband, white girl.” Benjamin’s cock bobbed through the hole, impatient, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Hurry up, white girl,” he snapped, his voice a blade, cutting through her hesitation. “Back that white pussy up to the hole.”

Linda froze, torn, her chest heaving. “I shouldn’t, but… I… I want it,” she whispered, barely audible, This is wrong, but why does it feel so right?

“Damn straight, you want this, white girl.”

“Jimmy, you have a rubber?”

“Yes,” he hissed, reaching down into the pocket of his bell-bottoms.

Her eyes flicked to Jimmy, then the cock, its sheer size pulling her like gravity. Lust won, drowning her guilt in a tidal wave of need. She stood; she could see his dark eyes through the hole, staring back at her blue ones as she grasped the hem of her dress with trembling hands, pulling it up over her head in one fluid motion, the fabric clinging to her sweat-damp skin before falling to the floor. Jimmy helped, grabbing her panties—already half down her ass from where he’d been fingering her—and pulled them down her thighs. Her nude body stood revealed in the dim booth light—large, well-rounded breasts, at least an E cup, swaying heavily, fat pointy nipples jutting out, rose-colored areolas flushed and taut; a tapered waist curving down to the generous flair of her hips; and an untrimmed bushy brown mop of pubic hair, wild and thick, framing her glistening pussy.

“Far out, baby, you’re built for big cock,” Ben said.

She backed up, flip-flops slapping the sticky floor, her breath hitching, hands bracing against the opposite wall, fingers digging into the scratched wood, her body trembling with anticipation and dread. Jimmy pulled a condom from his wallet, the condom meant for his wedding night, his prick bobbing as he fumbled, opening the packet. His hand froze on the condom, his prick twitching but his stomach turning—What am I doing?—before lust won out, his fingers trembling as he stretched the rubber over Ben’s shaft—stretched thin, the rubber near breaking, stopping just under the head, pitiful protection on something this size. His hand shook as he gripped the shaft, bending it toward Linda’s pussy, guiding it with a mix of reverence and defeat, then sat back against the booth wall, jerking off again, slow and deliberate now, eyes locked on his wife and the screen, the woman now lying on her back by the pool while the black man fucked her like an animal.

She felt it, applying pressure—spreading her open, stretching her like never before, pushing in as deep as Jimmy’s could go, but the extra girth made it electric, a shockwave rippling through her core. Benjamin thrust, slow at first, the rubber straining as the head breached her, splitting her tight pussy, the sensation raw and overwhelming. She moaned, loud and raw, a primal sound bouncing off the walls, her hands clawing the wood, nails scraping as her pussy clenched around him, trying to adjust to the impossible fullness. He pumped deeper, each thrust rocking her forward, her E-cup breasts bouncing wildly, sweat dripping down her spine, pooling at the small of her back where her hips flared. She came once, hard, her body shaking, vision blurring, a scream tearing free from her throat, her pussy gushing, slicking her thighs, the bushy brown pubes matting with her juices. Then again, waves crashing as he fucked her senseless, the superior black cock driving her wild, her mind fracturing—Jimmy’s little penis never satisfied me—never will. I’ll need this again, God help me, I’ll need it. A third orgasm ripped through, legs buckling, her knees trembling as she braced harder almost too weak to stand, pussy pulsing, the booth spinning around her, the heat and musk and projector’s clatter swallowing her whole.

Jimmy watched, stroking faster, his small prick twitching in his hand, eyes darting between Linda’s shuddering body—her massive tits swaying, nipples hard as bullets—and the screen, the actress convincingly enjoying her black cock as much as Lin was. His breath hitched, a low whimper escaping as he kept pace with her moans.

Benjamin paused, the cock exiting for a moment, and Linda whimpered, a desperate sound, missing it already, her pussy aching for its return, her untrimmed bush glistening with her arousal.

“Put it back,” she pleaded. “I want more.”

He ripped the condom off, the rubber snapping, and pushed back through the hole, bare into her pussy, the heat of his bare skin hitting her like a brand, then the rawness, better than before, unfiltered and primal. He thrust deep, the full 14 inches slamming her cervix, a brutal, relentless rhythm that shook the wall, the wood creaking under the force. She screamed, orgasming again, her pussy clenching tight as he fucked her, hands braced, body shuddering, cum after cum tearing through her—fourth, fifth, sixth—until she lost count, her voice breaking into ragged sobs of pleasure, her legs nearly giving out, toes curling in her flip-flops, her heavy breasts slapping against her chest with each thrust. He tossed the rubber through the eye hole; it landed hot and wet on her back, sliding down her tapered waist. “What was that?” she asked, alarmed, her voice cracking, her head spinning.

Jimmy picked it up, staring at the stretched-out, cum-smeared rubber, hand trembling, his own prick still in his fist. “It’s nothing, keep going,” he muttered, stroking faster, his voice small and strained.

Benjamin growled, a deep, triumphant sound, unloading—a torrent of thick, hot seed flooding her womb, pulsing in heavy, endless spurts, her vagina contracted, milking his cock for every drop of his seed, filling her until it spilled down her thighs in sticky rivulets, matting her bushy pubic hair, her fertile body taking it all, the warmth spreading deep inside her. Onscreen, Benjamin’s load coated the actress, voluminous and thick, a geyser of white covering her tits and belly, a river of semen pouring from her pussy forming a puddle on the cement. Jimmy came at the same moment, a small squirt of runny seed dribbling down his fingers—a pathetic teaspoon compared to the flood onscreen—and a bitter taste rose in his throat—pride gone, replaced by a hollow ache he couldn’t name—his breath hitching, a weak groan escaping as he watched Linda shudder, spasming, another orgasm ripping through her, her pussy clenching around the massive cock still buried inside, squeezing the shaft in a death grip, not wanting to let it go.

She collapsed against the wall, panting, her hands slipping, leaving sweaty streaks on the wood, big titties heaving, nipples throbbing, her bush dripping with Ben’s seed and her own juices. Benjamin’s massive, spent cock dropped from her well-fucked pussy, still dribbling semen, a thick white trail leaking from her, pooling on the floor as it slowly disappeared back through the hole, leaving a glistening smear on the wood. Jimmy stared, his prick softening in his hand, cum sticky on his fingers, his chest heaving, eyes tracing the trail of semen oozing down her inner thighs, past the flair of her hips. Linda stepped forward, unsteady, her thighs trembling, the warm black seed inside her a strange comfort and a creeping terror. She turned to him, eyes wide with panic, her voice a shaky whisper. “Jimmy, he came inside me.” Horror gripped her—I could be carrying his baby—afraid, despite how good it felt, the heat of it flooding her womb, a primal satisfaction she couldn’t shake, her body still humming from the onslaught.

Jimmy tucked his prick away, wiping his hand on his bell-bottoms, his grip tightening on her arm, too hard, his jaw clenched, a flicker of panic in his own eyes. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, voice low and urgent, pulling her toward the door. “The condom must’ve broken,” he added, slipping the torn rubber back through the hole when she turned to grab her dress, his fingers quick and sneaky, hiding the truth. “Come on, Lin,” he urged, his voice sharper now, dragging her along as she clutched her dress to her chest, not yet pulling it on. In the hall, a stand held a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle of disinfectant. Jimmy pulled off a wad of paper towels and handed it to his stunned wife. They turned. The teen with the afro was standing in the hall staring at Linda’s nude body, jaw hanging open.

“Tow’s here,” he stuttered out, stepping aside as the man and his nude wife brushed past him.

Linda staggered out, legs weak, Ben’s seed sticky between her thighs, the paper towels useless against the mess. Jimmy wouldn’t meet her eyes, the clerk’s stare burning her skin. She stumbled into the store; two black men and a white man in a suit browsing through the smut looked up at her, stunned.

The tow truck horn blared outside, its flashing lights cutting through the grimy windows, painting the sex shop in red and blue streaks.

Linda paused at the register and pulled her dress over her head, her breath ragged, eyeing the row of dildos and settling on the largest, the jet-black dildo, its size a cruel echo of what she’d just taken. “Jimmy, wait,” she said, stopping her husband from leaving the store. “Buy it,” she added, voice husky, a flicker of panic in her chest, shame and need warring inside her.

He nodded, understanding, pulling his checkbook out of his back pocket, jaw tight, his fingers still sticky as he scribbled. The clerk stepped behind the counter and rang it up, still staring at Linda. He slipped the long black dildo into a brown paper bag and handed it to her. She clutched it protectively to her chest. The black clerk reached down, picked a lit cigarette out of the ashtray, and put it in his mouth. The couple fled, the bells jangling again as they burst outside, the tow truck’s lights blinding them.

They stepped outside as the tow truck hooked their convertible, Just Married sign swaying, mocking them. Semen flowed down her thighs; she’d left her panties back in the booth. Linda glanced back at BBC’s Adult Books, longing and fear in her blue eyes, her hand brushing her belly, wondering. Jimmy kicked the Just Married sign off the bumper in frustration, the cardboard crumpling under his boot as the tow driver stared at Linda.

Benjamin emerged from the stockroom, 6’2” of coiled muscle, watching the truck haul the car away, the canvas top flapping. He grabbed the kid’s arm and dropped Linda’s wadded up panties in his hand. The clerk stared down at Ben’s trophy and then up at Ben in awe. “You da man, boss,” he said, raising the panties up to his nose for a sniff.

Ben winked at him, sauntering to the register and opening it, lifting Jimmy’s check. “Gimme a smoke,” he told the kid. He looked down at the check: James Parker, 1423 Oak Lane, Tampa. Four hours away. He pocketed it, took a lit cigarette from the kid, and muttered, “Four hours ain’t shit,” blowing smoke as he pictured her naked again—spread open, leaking his seed—his grin sharp and predatory, a plan forming behind those dark eyes. In a month, he’d ride to Tampa—bring his soul brother Abu along to film the action with his suer 8—catch her ripe and begging for more, a new star for his reels.

The End



Note: Ben Calhoun also appears in the story, “Wanna Try Something Better,” set at a later date and featuring another woman’s visit to his porn shop. An old Ben also appears briefly at the end of “Naughty Pictures 2020”. His adult bookstore would eventually become the BBC Lover’s Boutique, mentioned in “The Flag Girls Get Fucked,” and “Flex Appeal,” and it is the tie-in for all the South Florida Universe stories.