Blow Job in Back Row of The Theater

I am anxious to tell someone about my first experience with another man and, as I don't find anyone immediately available, I thought I'd write it down and forward it along, so that someone would see it. I first fantasized about doing something with another man when I was 17. A friend who was gay was sleeping over at my house. He slept in my room; I slept on the couch in the living room. Although I did not feel attracted to him, I began fantasizing that he might sneak out into the living room and touch me while I slept. I lay on my back and pulled my blanket aside, exposing my briefs. I would feign sleep and see what he would do, I thought. With half-closed eyes I waited and hoped he would emerge.

He never did. And I never mentioned the fantasy to anyone, but I have always thought about it.

I'm not very attracted to men as sex objects, but the thought of doing something "forbidden" in some sense arouses me. More than that, though, it was the sleeping aspect of the fantasy, I suppose, that has so intrigued me over the last seven years since that night--the vulnerable position I was in, the fearful one he would have been in if he had dared to do anything. And over that time, I struggled both to forget the night, and to make it come true. Yesterday, the latter won out.

I had noticed with little difficulty but fair curiosity the goings-on in the last couple of rows of the local adult theater. The atmosphere was rather restrained, with mostly older men sitting and staring at young men as they passed by. Occasionally, a young man would sit in one of the last rows, and the older men would look lustfully at him and enviously at the older man he had seated himself closest too. Even more occasionally, two men, after exchanging various looks and subtle signals, would manage to move next to each other. From there, I couldn't see what was happening behind the seats.

After watching this closely a few times, I made my plan. I went to the theater yesterday, arriving early. The theater was not crowded, and the back rows were empty. I made my way to the center of the back row, which I had observed was the most serious "action" area. As far as I had been able to tell, no one ever sat there without being "available." I sat down, slouched back in the seat, and half closed my eyes.

Within ten minutes, I noticed out of the corner of my eye the shadow of someone approaching down the row of seats to my right. I closed my eyes and remained still. I could feel the row of seats jostle as he sat in what I estimated to be two or three seats away from me. I could feel his wondering stare and I began to sweat. This, then, would be my fantasy. I would feign sleep no matter what he or anyone else who came along did--it might be nothing, it might something I had never considered. I had no idea who he was or what he looked like. No matter what, though, I would not move.

Moments passed in the darkness. Unconvincing moans and uninspired music emanated from behind the screen I could not see. I felt him shift in his seat. Then, suddenly, my attention was redirected to the left, where I felt the vibration of someone else approaching. He came closer, hesitated, came closer still. Then he sat, not next to me, but there was certainly only one seat between us.

Again the time passed. The music died down and, in my sensory-deprived state, the movie dialogue penetrated my attention despite my best efforts. "Oh, yes. He is so hot!" "Yes, you are right, Tiffany. He is so hot!" Suddenly, a shock ran up my leg. The man on my left had nudged my foot with his. I remained still, though every nerve in my body was on fire. After a minute, another nudge. I was still.

Finally, the row of seats began jostling. I could feel that the man on my left was getting out of his seat, and then quickly, but gently, I could feel his weight coming down in the seat next to me. I felt his breath on my neck and knew he was staring intently at me. No part of him touched me, but I felt an immeasurable weight pressing in on me from all sides. The darkness was oppressive. My heart beat was so fast and loud I thought the whole theater would hear it. The sound of the movie now seemed to come from miles away.

The spell of the weight and the distant music was broken suddenly. His hand brushed gently, casually, against the side of my leg. The sensation streaked up my body and it was all I could do not to jump out of the seat. I was thinking a mile a minute. This is my pact, I thought, trying to steady myself. My fantasy. I will not move, no matter what. I will not move. I am his--whoever he is--to do with as he pleases, to do with as he dares.

Again, his hand brushed the side of my leg, this time longer and more purposefully. I wondered what he must be thinking. How daring was he willing to be? Does he think I am pretending to sleep? But he couldn't be sure. He too must be afraid.

After that, there was a long wait in the darkness, punctuated by extended periods of his breath on my neck. He was deciding. What should he do next? What should he risk?

Then it happened. His hand landed gently on my thigh. At first it was cupped, so that only the side of his hand and his thumb touched me. Slowly, though, he straightened his hand, so that his palm lay flat on my thigh. In the intense darkness my sensations were heightened. I could feel every finger as it touched my leg in turn.

For a while, his hand stayed motionless, though I could detect a slight trembling. But after a few moments, he moved his fingers, spreading them slightly to feel more of my leg. Then, his hand began to move. My head was reeling. Each nerve his hand touched in succession was more sensitive than the previous one, and sent shrieks of sensation up my body as he reached my inner thigh. That electric feeling of apprehensiveness exploded in my stomach as I thought about where his hand might eventually go. Still, I had not moved.

Suddenly, his hand left my leg. Did he lose his nerve, I wondered. Did the manager walk into the theater? I became paranoid. My eyes had been shut so long I had no idea what had gone on around me the last twenty minutes. My attention had been so absorbed by the man next to me, I realized I did not know how many other people might be sitting nearby watching. I needed to open my eyes, but now I was paralyzed. My feeling of vulnerability was intensified immeasurably by my fear. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to be straining to make me run. But I wanted more. I wanted him take advantage of my vulnerability. I wanted to be used.

Again I felt his breath on my neck. Again he was thinking. Then, without warning, his fingers touched my crotch. Once, twice, he brushed them gently on my jeans. My mind exploded in fear and apprehension and delight. So afraid had I been the last few minutes, that my penis was not erect at his first touch. But with his gentle stroking, the purely physical erotic nature of the experience began to mount. As I grew erect under my jeans, he began to stroke less softly.

Finally, he stopped and shifted in his seat. Slowly, I felt my zipper being opened. Then, my jeans button being undone. Still, I had not moved. I had no idea exactly what he was thinking. Gently but quickly, he fumbled with my underwear and grasped with his fingertips my erect penis. The split-second thrill of the first touch surged through me.

After a little more fumbling, he had my penis out in the open. The air of the theater was a chilly contrast to the sweaty confinement of my jeans. For all I knew, there were a dozen men nearby now looking at me sitting there with my penis sticking out. The thought was so frightful and exhilarating I hardly know how to describe the strange resulting combination feeling. Whatever doubts he had before, he must have known now that I was pretending to sleep. What must he think of me, I worried. But I didn't care. I would keep my pact. I would not move. He could do anything to me and I promised myself I would not move.

At this point, things began happening so fast I could hardly keep track. As he stroked my penis, I sensed him leaning closer to me. I felt his mouth kiss my neck softly as I lay there with my head back on the seat. He moved down my neck with his tongue and then kissed my nipple through my shirt. He sat up and I felt his finger brush my lips. I sensed him moving toward me, and he kissed my lips, several times, just barely touching them. He waited, and kissed me again, this time sweeping his tongue through my slightly opened lips and touching my teeth. Then, he sat back.

My attention was suddenly shifted. On my right, another man had just sat down next to me. I had lost all sense of my surroundings and had forgotten completely that there might be other men around. Immediately, I felt two hands on my penis. Another hand began reaching up my shirt to feel my chest. The man on my left began kissing and licking my lips again. The new guy on the right bent down and took my penis into his mouth. It felt like hands were all over me, in my hair, on my chest, on my balls. The man on the right pushed his tongue past my teeth into my mouth. I was blind with sensations.

Before long, though, I came into the man on the right's mouth, and the sensations started to die away. A sense of relaxation hit me, but also a sense of embarrassment. Hands still petted and stroked me, but tentatively now. I had not planned how I would get out of this situation, and now I was in a bind. Without thinking of any clear plan, I moved slightly. Somewhat comically, all the hands jumped off me--as if anyone could still believe I really had been asleep. I guess it was just a reaction born of the tension that had mounted. Quickly, I opened my eyes, and in one motion, stood and began to squeeze past the man on the right. Buttoning my pants and pulling up my zipper clumsily as I made my way along the row, I'm sure I was quite a spectacle. Glancing back only once, I saw only that there were about a half a dozen men sitting within a few seats of where I had been. One sat in the seat directly in front of me, with his arm draped over the back, and I expect his was one of the hands I felt too.

Now, even a full day later, I can't quite get used to thinking about it. I'm drenched in sweat and erect again having written it down and relived it. I guess I can't go back to that theater again. I wouldn't be able to recognize who had seen me, and I don't think I would like that feeling. But, now I'm yearning for another experience. I suppose I'll have to find another theater, or maybe think of something more creative. Anyway, just had to relay it to someone. Thanks.

written by anonymous

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