Crazyhorse Ch. 01

Mark followed his friends out of the pub in inner-city Melbourne. The cold air was a welcome change after four pints in the over-heated front bar. He swept a hand through his tousled brown hair and stretched, yawning.

Kimberley turned and took his hands in hers. "Good to see you Mark."

"You too Kim." He smiled awkwardly as she hugged him.

"Yeah, good catching up!" Alex said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We going to jump in a cab?"

Kimberley nodded. "Mark? Need a lift?"

Mark checked his watch. "Nah, I'm good. Think I'll walk it. Sober up a little." He smiled again. "Thanks though. See you next time!" He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and headed down the street.

A few minutes later he pulled his phone from his pocket and fired off a text. "You get a cab ok?" His phone buzzed almost immediately in response. "Yep. Cya." Mark smiled tightly and turned off the main road, heading away from his house and back into the city. Tonight was the the night. He was too embarrassed to tell any of his friends, but after turning eighteen three weeks ago it was time to expand his horizons.

He ducked across a busy road and into the central city, sticking to laneways and alleys where he could. At first he headed for Chinatown, looking for the glowing neon sign of the adult cinema he knew was down one of the small cobbled side streets, but the area was heaving with people. He wouldn't have the guts to head into the place when it was this busy. Everyone would know where he was going. Everyone would see. What if someone he knew was around?

So he kept walking down to Elizabeth Street and turned toward the train station, headed for the Crazyhorse.

For years he had been fascinated by the place. The glowing signage. The tantalising pictures of semi-naked women. The gaping black maw of the stairwell heading down under the street. The promise of forbidden delights. He felt its pull like a gravitational force.

Approaching the entrance the street was deserted. He felt his heart start to race, then suddenly saw two young women come out of a nearby bottle shop and head towards him, giggling to each other. Mark kept walking. He knew he wasn't conspicuous—five foot eleven, average build, dressed in black jeans, white t-shirt and a leather jacket, an attractive but forgettable face—but the thought of them judging him was too much.

He kept walking, slowing or speeding up to try and keep his distance from anyone else as he circled the block. The street was deserted again, the neon lights glowing, throwing colours onto the grey stone beneath his feet. Stomach churning with excitement, chest fluttering, pulse racing, he turned off the street and onto the dark stairs, heading quickly down and inside.

An unshaven, tired-looking man in a leather waistcoat sat in a small red booth, peering at him from under heavy eyelids. "Yep?"

"Um, one please. For the cinema." Mark heard his voice crack and cleared his throat. "Thanks."

"ID." Mark slipped his driver's license under the perspex shield. The man looked at it, looked up at Mark, leering a little, then back down at the card. "Eighteen bucks for mister 18."

Handing over a twenty and collecting his change, Mark looked around. "Is it...?" He gestured to a black curtain. The man nodded and turned away. Reaching out a clammy hand, Mark pushed back the curtain and stepped through.

He had imagined this moment, lying in bed with his eyes closed, track pants around his ankles, his hand stroking his hard, straight seven inch cock. Pictured a cinema with rows of raked seats, a huge screen filled with images of hard-core sex, scores of handsome young men watching with rapt eyes, maybe some couples looking to experiment. He had read stories about what happened in these places. Stroking harder, his other hand stroking his balls, cock head slick with pre-cum, he would imagine the situation: a single slim young woman, big brown eyes alive with lust, entering in a long trench coat. Catching his eye. Sitting next to him, she parted her coat to show him the sheer black lingerie beneath before leaning down to wrap her lips around his cock. Mark thrusting into her warm, wet mouth, pumping, other men looking on jealously, until the cum would shoot out of him. Just like it did when he was alone in his bed, spurting onto his belly and running down his fist as he collapsed with a sigh of longing.

Through the curtain at the Crazyhorse he couldn't help feeling a little let-down. The room was small and dark, smelling of BO and other stale odours he couldn't place, with about ten rows of double seats on one side of a narrow, flat aisle, and no more than a dozen rows of six or seven seats on the other. Gaudy, cheap-looking murals of large breasted women in flourescent paint glowed faintly on one wall. At the front, a small stage and a little cinema screen showing a middle-aged brunette woman getting fucked doggy style.

There were no couples here, and certainly no women. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he couldn't even see anyone close to his age. Just a scattered bunch of rough looking middle-aged and older men hunched over, eyes on the flickering screen. One or two turned to glance at him and he quickly slipped into an empty row near the back and moved across next to the wall, slumping into a lumpy black vinyl seat.

As he settled in the film ended and another started. A young brunette with a pony tail and a super short skirt turned up at an older man's house looking for her dog. He invited her in and told her he would help her search for her dog if she would help him first. Despite her reluctance he soon had her squatting, her back against the wall, holding her pony tail and slamming into her mouth. This was more Mark's taste, more like the videos he watched on his laptop at home. He felt his cock hardening, turned on by the girl getting dominated by a rough, older man.

After a while he noticed more about the men around him—the way they shuffled and adjusted themselves in their seats. Slowly he realised they had their hands in their laps, touching themselves right here in the cinema. He grew even harder at the thought and slowly, tentatively, he moved a hand from his thigh to the straining crotch of his jeans, pressing against his cock which jumped at his touch.

Turning a little in his seat, he caught a glimpse of a man in the row behind him with his cock out, hand pumping. Mark's eyes widened, but the man caught his gaze and quickly pulled his jacket across his lap, shielding the view. Eyes back on the movie, Mark continued to stroke, feeling the inside of his underwear getting wet.

A large man suddenly appeared at the end of his row and moved toward him. Putting his hand back on his thigh, Mark adjusted himself in his seat, his face flushing with embarrassment as the man reached the seat right beside him and settled his bulk into it. Snatching a glance out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw a large nose, jowly cheeks, a soft chin and a sagging body. The guy looked sixty at least. Should he move?

Too late. The film faded to black and the lights on the stage brightened as a tiny, petite little woman in tight black PVC walked down the aisle for a live strip show.

High-octane rock music blared from the speakers, so loud it was almost uncomfortable, and the woman began to dance, teasing and gyrating. Unzipping her outfit, she slowly drew it down her body and over her legs, kicking it away to the back of the stage. She was barely taller than five foot, but her body was tight and toned.

"She's sexy," the man beside Mark murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. "Bet you would like a night with her."

Mark grunted a non-committal response, not sure what else to say. The music was so loud he was sure no one else could hear. Soon she was pulling her bra off, revealing petite breasts with hard pink nipples. The man lent to the side, bringing his lips closer to Mark's ear.

"Would you like to suck on those?" he whispered coarsely. "Would you like that?"

Then Mark felt a hand on his thigh. He froze.

The hand crept into his crotch, grasping and squeezing his still-hard cock. "Yeah, you like that," the man said. "You like that." He squeezed and rubbed some more.

What was happening? Mark's mind raced. He was pretty sure he was straight. At least, he always assumed he was. He realised he'd never actually thought about it much. But he had come here tonight to watch porn. So had all the other men. Or so he assumed. Then he remembered the leering guy on the door, the darkened faces checking him out when he entered the room, the smell of BO and what he realised now was sex.

Maybe it was time to leave. But when the strip show ended and the movie started again he was still in his seat, the man's hand massaging his crotch, his heart pounding, mouth dry, the feeling of building lust in his belly and balls. It felt good. And it's not like any of his friends would know. Maybe he didn't have to leave. This was the Crazyhorse, the place he had dreamed about. The place of forbidden delights.

Biting his lip, he adjusted himself in his seat again, pushing up into the man's hand. The man responded, squeezing a little harder, rubbing the length of his cock. Mark started to squirm a little. He could feel the precum now, smearing the whole inside of his jocks, feel its wetness against his body.

The stranger felt around for his fly, unzipping it slowly. Mark tensed again. He wanted it. Wanted to feel the man's fingers on his skin. Closed his eyes.

Then he panicked. He couldn't. Pushing the man's hand away, he zipped up his fly.

"Scuse me," he mumbled, moving clumsily down the row, into the aisle, and down toward the door beside the screen with a sign to the toilets.

He pushed the door and found himself in a corridor with an emergency exit at the far end, a metal ashtray on the ground, and the toilet door in one wall. Heading into the toilets he stepped up to the urinal, adrenaline still rushing through his body. Unzipping his fly he pulled out his wet, semi-hard cock and tried to piss.

The door swung open and a figure stepped up to the urinal beside him. It was the stranger from his row.

The man looked down hungrily at Mark's cock, breathing hard. Reaching out a hand, he tentatively touched the shaft.

"Hey buddy," the man said softly, looking into Mark's eyes. "Want me to suck it for you?"

Mark stared back, his brain frozen, tongue paralysed.

"Come on," the man said. "Come here." Taking Mark's hand, he led him slowly into a cubicle, like a handler dealing with an unpredictable animal, worried he would startle and run.

The man reached around Mark's body and slid the door lock closed before sitting down on the toilet seat. "I'm George," he said, gently unbuckling Mark's belt, undoing his jeans, and pushing them down to reveal dark blue briefs with a large wet patch on the front, Mark's semi-hard cock still hanging out one side, wet and glistening in the fluorescent light.

George took the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down his legs, Mark's cock bouncing to attention, starting to fill and grow. Taking his length in his hand, George stroked gently. "Nice," he said, his hand sliding over the slick cockhead and down the shaft.

Mark moaned, feeling his cock growing fully erect, tingling as sensation flooded his body. He was still a virgin. Though he had kissed a bunch of girls, the only hand that had stroked him like that was his own, and this felt way better. He started to rock his hips back and forward, thrusting himself through George's hand, feeling the pressure building in his balls.

Leaning down, George slid Mark's cock into his warm mouth, moving his hands around to Mark's butt and guiding his motion, pulling his hips in time with Mark's thrusts until with every stroke his cockhead hit the back of his throat. Mark's breathing quickened, his body flooding with endorphins.

Suddenly they heard the sound of someone coming through the bathroom door. They froze, Mark buried deep in George's mouth, George holding his butt still, trying not to make a sound. Mark heard someone unzipping, then pissing long and hard into the urinal. His cock swelled almost painfully, jumping and throbbing in George's mouth at the thought of a stranger just outside the door while here, inside, he stood buried almost to the hilt in another stranger's mouth.

After what seemed an eternity, the man finished up, zipped his fly, and left the room without washing his hands. As soon as the door closed Mark started to thrust again, shoving his cock harder into George's mouth, George pulling his cock deeper inside, grunting and moaning.

"Oh shit," Mark whispered, and gave a last push, feeling himself spasm, his cum spurting out into the old man's mouth, looking down and seeing George's lips and throat convulse as he swallowed his load.

After a moment George pulled back and looked up at him, smiling slightly. "Thank you," he said.

Coming back down from his high, Mark suddenly realised where he was, standing in a toilet cubicle in a porn cinema with an old man he had never met, his pants around his ankles. Reaching down he quickly pulled up his clothes. "I gotta go," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"Wait, please..."

But Mark was out the door, heading into the corridor, back into the cinema, through the curtain, and up the stairs into the street where he stood for a moment on shaking legs breathing the cool night air.

He barely remembered the walk home. When he arrived the house was dark, his parents in bed. At least he wouldn't have to face them.

Back in his room with the door closed, he stripped off and stood in front of the mirror. His eighteen-year-old body was slim but not muscled, a little pale perhaps, with a small patch of hair in the centre of his chest and a trail of hair running from his belly button and spreading out around his cock and balls. His legs were hairy too, and his butt covered in a light fuzz.

He ran his hands across his skin, feeling his body respond, his nipples growing hard, his cock thickening. Is this what he wanted men to do?

One hand sliding lower, he started to stroke his cock. It grew beneath his touch as he thought of the cinema, the feeling of a stranger stroking his cock through his pants, the stripper, the films. Was he gay? He had definitely enjoyed himself, but something had been missing. Maybe he wasn't gay after all. Maybe the films and the stripper and the whole experience just charge his evening with so much sexual energy he had needed a release.

Stroking faster now, he pictured himself in the toilet cubicle, George pulling his cock into his mouth. Throwing himself onto his bed, Mark pumped his cock harder, his mind racing. The stripper's small breasts. The garish fluorescent murals. The black walls. The young girl looking for her dog getting face-fucked by an older man.

Back to the cubicle. Fist a blur. Imagining himself in place of the teen girl. Straining off his bed now. Pumping harder. Imagining himself on his knees. Imagining a cock in his mouth. And as he pictured that he came, back arching, jets of cum spurting up his belly and chest, one jet so powerful it landed on his neck and started to run down toward his bed. He wiped at it with his hand, and without thinking put his fingers to his mouth, licking his salty cum from their tips.

Mark had never cum so hard in his life.

Maybe that's what was missing. It wasn't that he only wanted to be with girls. He wanted to be the one on his knees, wanted to be like the teenagers he saw in porn, wanted an older man who would take him. Those films turned him on so much, not because he wanted to fuck girls that way, but because he wanted to experience that for himself.

And he knew the place to do it. The Crazyhorse.