The Pilgrim theater was in what they used to call the 'Combat Zone' of Boston, the other end of Washington Street from City Hall Plaza, just at the start of Chinatown. I loved that place. Sadly, it's a parking lot now. Once a proud vaudville house, it became a movie theater in the late 50s. In the late 90s, it was a porno theater, a massive one. One where a guy could sit peacefully with his pants down and his cock out.
I was just about to blow a load, so I slowed my stroke a little. It was Friday evening and I was on the latter half of my Friday ritual. Rather than go all the way out to the burbs and then back in for post work-week fun and frolic, I had a beer at the bar near my office, then walked down to where the movies were XXX. I usually killed an hour or so before meeting friends at the regular place across the river for the Friday festival of drunken drunkeness and hooking up. A good wank after work made me more relaxed, sociable and less likely to caveman the first woman I saw at the bar. "Me think you hot!"
Sitting in the theater with my pants down to my knees, my shirt pulled up and my tie flung over my shoulder, I was the picture of a young banker "spanking the monkey" after a hard day of capitalism.
Men walked past the otherwise empty row I was in. Some of them feeling the air in front of them, blind from walking into the dim theater from the still sunny street. Others, eyes adjusted to the dark, occasionally looked my way long enough for me to cover up a little, which is the universal 'get lost' signal.
Sometimes I loved being watched while I jerked off, I enjoyed it when I sat down and got my dick out near some newbie who probably spent hours screwing up the courage to go into a porn theater. He'd watched me with a mix of terror and curiosity out of the corner of his eye, Or he'd just run off leaving me alone with my cock, wich was good, too.
But sometimes guys want to do more than look and I didn't want to attract that kind of company. Watching is one thing, but if a guy came and sat next to me, I'd loose my hardon and have to start over in another seat. And once you get comfortable...It's a pain in the ass to get your pants up, survey another spot and stake it out.
I was sitting in what was commonly thought of as the "straight section" of the theater. Despite this, men cruised up and down the aisles looking for cocks to use.
Cruisers took their chances in the "straight section." Maybe they catch a guy in immediate need of a warm mouth, any warm mouth; maybe you get punched in the face. You say potato, I say get the fuck off of me!
Some guys got hysterical if a gay approached them for sex, yelling, standing up with idignation, shoving, name calling. Regulars, like me, uderstood, but more often than not we would laugh at the poor guy; tell him to shut the fuck up and stop being a baby.
I was getting off on watching a nurse get spit roasted between two soldiers and the feel of my fat, curved cock slapping against my stomach. There was ball squeezing, too.
I was having a fine old time by myself, working my balls through the fingers of my left hand and back, when an older guy walked past me, paused and continued on. He looked like all the career guys at my bank, married, white-haired, weekend golfer-types who would someday love Tiger but vote Bush.
He sat down two rows ahead of me. I scanned him as best I could in the light of the military threesome on the screen and, once I was sure he wasn't one of my many bosses, I got back to my cock.
I always wondered what I would say if a co-worker happened to walk in and see me pleasuring myself. "Oh, hey, Bill! How are you. I'd shake your hand but, y'know, masturbating. How are the kids? Great! See you Monday."
I like a slow build up to an orgasm; I find it soothing, relaxing. I had been there for about a half-hour, working up, backing off, and I was getting close to the big finish.
I got out my little tube of Vasaline, y'know, the kind they used to make for chapped lips. Perfect for wankers on-the-go like me. I added some to my slick cock, pulled my white shirt up a little higher spread my legs and lengthend my stroke. Any minute now.
I saw him out of the corner of my eye, moving down the aisle, a mountain of a man, a gigantic black guy in what looked like a mechanic's shirt, the kind with a name patch.
I'm a big guy myself, linebacker-size, but this guy was like something out of a movie, a football/gladiator movie. He must have been 6'6" and three hundred pounds of muscle. He moved carefully into the row of seats in front of me, blotting out the screen completely for a moment, and sat down with a spring torturing plop.
Okay, so I'm sitting in a porn theater with my pants down, my cock up and a giant mechanic sitting less than a two feet away from me.
I considered moving. He didn't seem gay; he might not have know I was there behind him at all. Guys are often blind until their eyes adjust to the dim, and I had seen many a misunderstanding when men bump into each other in the dark. In any case, I didn't want to have to think about him, but I was set up and and nearing the finish line.
I resolved to stay the course, get it done and ignore any distractions. I tried to focus on the movie, but I was distracted by the mass of shoulders and the bull-like neck just in front of me and to my right.
I was refocusing on the deep throating nurse (ah, the classics), when the mechanic leaned forward. He seemed to be trying to hear what the non-banker guy was saying to him. He was talking softly to the giant.
I thought to myself, boy are you barking up the wrong tree, mister, expecting at minimum the loud, insulted departure of one or both of these guys. Great. Get the fuck out and let a man abuse himself in peace.
Instead, I saw the non-banker's lips moving, a brief flash of a smile, the giant's head nodded once and he leaned back. And before I could get annoyed with his shiney, shaved head blocking the lower right hand corner of the screen again, his tree branch-like left arm came up over the seat, slipped between my legs and I felt the mechanic's hand close around my cock and balls like a snug cockring. It was warm, almost hot, rough and very, very strong.
I froze. Y'know, the way guys freeze when you grab their balls. We're funny that way. I was in total shock.
Instinctively, I put my hand on the forearm connected to the hand. It was like iron. I felt panic for a moment but the sheer strength and size of the hand on my package forced me to gather my wits and think. It's not the kind of situation you want to flail around screaming in.
He squeezed, which almost made me yell out. It felt like he could pull me out of my seat by my dick, just toss me a few rows forward, like a suitcase by its handle. Or maybe he'd just eunich me with a flick of the wrist.
I tried to push his hand off me. He didn't turn around, didn't let me go, but I think he realized he was holding me too tightly and his grip loosened. My desperate attempt to push him off of my probably seemed more like guidence to him. He started feeling around, between my balls and up the length of my dick as if he was exploring new territory.
One I realized that my cock and balls weren't going to be compacted, I relaxed slightly and looked around. I didn't know what to do.
I can imagine everyone reading this saying, "Oh, I would have pulled up my pants and left after giving him a stern talking to." Right. Because you think so clearly when you're half naked in a semi-public space with a hand the size of your head pulling your balls. I admire you.
He let go off my of my cock and concentrated on my balls, stretching them out the way I had been minutes before only harder. He ran his fingers through my pubes. His fingers were so hot. I was still in shock, not sure what was happening, but, almost against my will, I spread my legs a little more.
The non-banker was looking at us the whole time. He said something to the mechanic who immediately grabbed my dick again and squeezed the length of it.
I saw the silluette of his head nod.
"Yeah," he said in a deep breathy voice, "it's big."
He stroked me, rough fingers slipping up and across the tip, an electric sensation threw my head back and curled my toes.
Something else the non-banker whispered to the mechanic made him say, "Yeah, it's hard."
I couldn't tell if the mechanic or the non-banker were jerking off. All I knew is they were both focused on me.
I almost came. I had been close before The Hand; shock had knocked me down a few notches, but his heavy handed stroking blindsided me. I felt it coming and I didn't know what to do.
I was worried that if I came in his hand he would be disgusted and wipe the mess on my pants. I didn't relish the idea of trying to hide a big greasy cumstain on my suit at the bar or all the way home. Or maybe he would feak out the moment he felt the wet in his hand. My body tensed up in panic as I tried to fight down the orgasm.
I restricted his arm as much as I could, actually straining to stop his slow stroking of my dick. I tried to pry his fingers off my cock with mine but slipped ineffectively around the cage his fingers formed. I sucked in air between my teeth and I put my head down in concentration that must have looked like prayer.
He seemed to understand, sensed my dilema. He held still for a moment while I fought the wave. I felt precum running down my balls. I shook, trembling from almost cuming from, fighting back from cuming and relaxed my grip on the arm that was tormenting me.
The world between cumming and not coming is a kind of limbo. Fighting off an orgasm is possible, but it leaves you in a surreal world. A world where you haven't quite cum and you can't quite rest. The black and white world of "I need to cum " and "I came" is instead gray.
My world was deep shade of gray when his hand slipped down, sliding through precum, rubbing across my taint and onto my asshole. I jumped in my seat a little and he got under me a little more. I could not believe what was happening.
I looked around the dark theater. No one seemed to be watching, except for the non-banker, who was talking to the mechanic the whole time. He was asking about my asshole.
The mechaninc pressed against my pucker but he couldn't push his fat finger into me. The angle was bad, and I was clenched like a caved-in coal mine.
I moved to pull my pants up and he returned to my cock which was still rock hard despite the fingering. The way he squeezed my cock lengthwise in his massive hand sent shivers through me. I'd never felt such complete tightness.
I relaxed, I looked around again. Dozens of vague outlines watching the movie or watching the cruisers. The mechanic pulled me forward in my seat by my sac, stretching my balls.
I tried to resist, but slid forward a little. I couldn't see his face or hear what he was saying, but I knew non-banker was odering the mechanic to finger me, willing it.
He pushed his finger against my hole, the angle was better now. I was pushing against his arm but again he overcame my feeble resistance. I felt the pressure of his finger pushing into me and my hole opening for him. I was amazed and very turned on suddenly. Everything dropped away and all I could feel was his red hot finger in my ass.
I gasped and pushed off of the giant finger in my hole. It felt like my heart was beating in my asshole, beating fast.
The mechanic said something to the non-banker and I barely made out the non-banker's reply, "tight" and "try again" respectively. His voice was soothing, warm, fatherly.
I suddenly wanted to do what he said. Wanted to please him. I took out my little tube of Vasaline and squeezed an unseen amount onto what I hoped was the mechanic's fingers where it probably mixed with trace amounts of Liquid Wrench and STP.
I sat back in the seat, slid forward and breathed deep. The mechanic looked over his shoulder and slipped his hand under me. His fingers rubbed my taint making my dripping cock harder and then he slid into me gradually. All the way. A thick finger deep inside me as far as he could reach.
It was slow, firm, painful; it was electric, like he was sliding into every part of my body at once. My fingers griped his arm so tight it must have left marks. I felt my ass stretching, filling up with his big, warm finger and I gave in. I didn't want him to stop. I didn't care who saw.
If the lights had come up and a marching band came down the aisle followed by a news crew and my nanna, I would have held onto his arm and told him to ignore them.
We looked at each other for a moment. I was shaking as he pulled his finger all the way out of my ass and slowly pushed in again. He finger-fucked me slowly like this, looking at me. I was sure he could see me better than I could him. The light of the sex on the screen likely illuminate what must have been a look of amazement mixed with raw lust on my face.
He posted in and out of me slowly making me shiver every time. I hadn't touched my cock after he was in me. It was leaking like crazy. I was a mess; scrunched down in my chair, feet off the floor, legs wide, greasy finger in my ass, precum runing down my belly into my pubes. He looked at the non-banker.
They said something to each other and then I felt a second finger. I tried to be quiet as he spread my virgin hole even wider. I moaned and hissed through my teeth, but it felt amazing, like he was almost there, almost had it...so close.
He had two fingers halfway in me when I started to cum without touching my dick.
Later I would find out all about the prostate, but at the moment, with this strangers hand up my ass, I bucked and shook in my theater chair like I was on a mechanical bull, cum firing up in the air and onto my stomach, on my undershirt.
I gasped and dug my fingers into his arm again, smearing him with cum. He slipped one of his fingers out and drove the other one up into me lifting me almost out of my seat. I felt almost weightless. I grabbed my cock and and jerked it.
I jerked my sloppy cock off hard and fast to match the intesity of his deep thrust and the shuddering orgasm seemed to echo and last forever, until I slumped in the chair twitching like I had just been tazered repeatedly. I felt exhausted, but good, like I had just played football all afternoon. Except for the finger in my ass, of course.
I tapped the mechanic's arm weakly leaving a scrawl of cum, precum and Vasaline grafitti, and exhaled loudly. He withdrew his finger, got up, towering, and looked down at me, a wet, sprawled mess, and walked up the aisle without a word.
I thought maybe he was disgusted that I made his arm sticky.
Well, don't go around jerking people off then, asshole, I thought and laughed to myself as I sat up.
Ugh! What the fuck happened? I Just wanted to get a nut before heading out and now I was in an adult theater, pants down, covered in cum with a sore ass. The little wad of bar napkins I'd stuffed in my pocket wasn't going to handle this brawny-sized mess.
I was considering taking off my undershirt and using it to towel off when the mechanic walked back down the aisle and handed me a bunch of paper towels, both wet and dry.
"Thanks", I said, taking the paper from the hand that had been a part of me five minutes earlier. "No problem," he said in a deep voice. He nodded at the non-banker, who was still watching, and walked out.
I cleaned up, wiped off the seat, adjusted my clothes and hoped my tie would cover any cum transfer from my damp undershirt. Dressed, tucked and ready to go, I got up, ass twinging. The non-banker, still watching me, waved goodbye. Without thinking, I waved back.
I went to the bathroom and washed up. I could hear someone getting a very wet, very loud blowjob in the stall behind me. When I stepped out of the theater, the sun was setting.
I looked around to see if I saw the mechanic. I didn't know if I wanted to see him or not see him. I didn't see him. I shrugged and decided to go home instead of the bar and walked to the subway. There were pleanty of seats but I stood up all the way home and beat off two more times when I got there.
I bought the dildo the following Friday.