Gay Movies
DIARY 874
2/28/70
AFTERNOON MOVIE AT APOLLO
Stand in the back of the orchestra, and there are too many men standing around looking not quite leisurely. Pushing the door down to the men's room is invariably accompanied by a quick survey of anyone watching. Loiterers casually scan other loiterers as they slowly move toward the stairs to the balcony. Since there's nothing doing here, I decide to see what's going on in the john. Down to find the urinals free-standing without any partitions, the whole space frightfully open, and only in the toilet stalls are there people: a black cranes his head up to see who's coming down, and I can only make an assumption that he's alone in the cubicle. Urinate and get back upstairs, stand around some more, and then see two cute guys go downstairs, followed by three or four dirty old men. Maybe something CAN happen down there, I figure, and follow them down to see a puzzled guy looking back over his shoulder as he mounts the stairs. In the basement there are two or three at urinals, standing with feet too far apart, and there's not a noise of water anywhere. The two dolls are together, whether they were at the beginning I can't say, talking, with one leaning up against a toilet stall. The same black head pivots from the central booth, and I decide it's a bad scene and get back upstairs.
So let's see what's in the balcony. Up the broad stairs to a echoing lobby with mirrors and a few casual people, and I walk across it and go up the opposite stairs. An ugly black lounges against one wall and I pass by without looking. The last rows are brightly lit, and there are about as many people in the balcony as in the orchestra, and heads turn as I come out of the stairwell. I sit in the front row, center section, and listen more to the ambient noise than to the screen: there doesn't seem to be much action. Pass a man and woman sitting in the front row as I walk in front of them, and they return my glance with curiosity. Down the opposite stairs, and again there are strangers in the stairwell, and I get down to the lobby to see a cute short fellow with brown bells walking across the lobby.
Our eyes met levelly and hold, and then I nervously look away. When I look back, he's gone up the stairs to the balcony, and I pause, decide he's worth having, and follow. He's stopped just below the top step, seemingly engrossed in the 10% of the screen he can see, and I slowly pass him, brushing gently against him. I don't feel like doing it in the stairwell, so I pass the man and woman in the front row, who again look at me, and walk up the aisle to the top, which is surprisingly empty, and move in two seats. And here we are!
In a moment there's a cute brown head poking around the corner, and since he knows where I am, he's followed me with his eyes, and then his body follows his sight: he comes up the aisle, not looking at me, pauses a few rows before the top, then walks up the rest of the way and sits in the seat on the aisle. He looks directly over at me, and I feel very nervous: he's cleanly dressed and his face is young and smooth, hair cut into a cap which fits his round skull, and his thighs bulge in his tight trousers.
I sit awkwardly slumped in my seat, ankle to knee, and I switch knees so that my crotch is open toward him. What happens now?
He looks over again and lowers his hand to the seat between us. I feel my heart thump: maybe it'll be more than a quickie, he seems more than friendly. So my hand joins his on the seat, and we clasp hands easily, and his palms are sweating, making a soft contrast to the rougher tops of his hands. We clasp hands again, then he tugs so that I look at him, and he motions me to move into the next seat. Breathing deeply, I do so.
My coat is over my lap, and he quickly reaches in and tries to open my fly. I slump further into the chair and feel sick about the mound of flesh in my midsection, and suck it in so he can get more leverage on the fly opening. But it baffles him, he can't find the right directions for the catches and has to satisfy himself with unzipping me and reaching in. My shorts thwart him, but he burrows in and grabs my cock, which is soft as can possibly be. I squirm around and manage to get half hard by thinking about the ridiculous situation, and look over at him again and again, hoping for some sign of "Have you got a place?"
"Say something to him," my mind commands me, but I remain speechless. There's always the chance that one word from me will turn him off completely. After he plays with limp me for awhile, and I'm getting nowhere, I shrug him off, and he looks over again, perplexity on his handsome face.
Then my right arm goes into play, and he's hard under the folds of his jacket, which he wears still. I unzip him and he has no shorts on, and his cock is elliptical and solid between my fingers. He's spit on his fingers before reaching for me, and so, since "that was done" I collected saliva in my own mouth, transferred it to my hand, and applied the hand to his cock. He was uncut, I could tell by the freedom of movement, the ease of slip over the head, and the smoothness of the whole apparatus. I got the impression I was handling a beautiful cock.
At this point a black man came up the aisle, and before he was halfway to us, my friend had stiffened and I'd removed my hand. "Is there an umbrella up here?" he asked.
"Yes," I discovered, reaching around and handing it to him. Without noticeable pause, he went down the aisle, and my neighbor relaxed forward in his seat again, and I applied more spittle to my fingers before getting back into his crotch.
He began moving his hips back and forth in the chair, and he pressed harder and harder against my hand, and the edge of his coat flared up and I could actually see the pale wand rising between his legs, smooth and veinless, hard and narrowing to a tip which was beginning to secrete its own lubricant. I grew more excited as he began to breathe harder, and he moved faster and faster in his seat, then reached down to grasp my wrist with his left hand.
My lips parted in anticipation, and his breath caught for a moment. He thrust forward and upward once more, and I felt the penis convulse and cough a gout of white fluid into the palm of my hand. His grip on my wrist tightened in the orgasm, and my fingers clenched his cock more strongly, then released it slightly to allow another spurt of seed to flow into my hand. Again and again he tensed and relaxed, until my palm overflowed with its white stickiness, and he began to pull away.
Careful not to touch his pants or jacket with my wet palm, I drew away, looking at the shrinking cock he placed back into his trousers, and for lack of anywhere else to put my hand, slipped it between the seat and rubbed my open palm against the studs and chewing gum and seams of seat covering beneath my chair. "How many other freighted hands have been wiped here?" floated through my mind, and I rubbed the slime again and again, trying to dry it on the slippery plastic, but I began merely to spread it around.
Again I wanted to talk to him, to say something, to compliment him, but he widened his lips slightly and gripped my knee and was gone. I sat, stupefied, in the chair, glancing to the left to the fellow, cute, who's sat down some minutes before and saw the whole thing. But as much as I looked at him, he refused to glance my way, and I got up and left, hoping to see my "conquest" somewhere in the theater, and again try to talk.
But he was nowhere to be seen, not even waiting outside the theater. My hand had dried in the winter's aridity, and when I put my gloves on outside, my hand felt lotioned and smooth, gloved in dried come.
Later, coming out of the subway, I removed my glove and put my palm to my nose, and was rewarded by an aphrodisiacal smell of sweetness and lemon mingled with the syrupy smell of semen, and I cupped my nose in my hand, transfixed at the excitement in my palm, and wondered what he had used on his privates to lend such a delicious after-smell to such a short, but exciting, interlude at the afternoon movie at the Apollo Theater.
DIARY 1060
4/23/70
SEX AT NEW YORKER ORCHESTRA
Into the show to just see the credits for "Poor Little Rich Girl" and get bored enough sitting there watching it to go upstairs to see who's in the john. Lots of heads turn as I walk past, but no one joins me. Out and stand in the back, then decide to sit in the balcony, but it's crowded, there are lots of girls about, and it's smoky. I'm into watching again when some tight-trousered fellow with a lean handsome face walks up the stairs and looks at me as I look at him. He's into the john with someone else, and when the other guy exits, I contemplate joining him, but someone else walks in. Finally he comes out and walks toward the stairs, eyeing me longly, and I get up to follow him. He walks down and sits in the last row, side section, just off the aisle by one seat. I don't know what's coming, but I go down the extreme side aisle and sit, looking over at him, and when he fondles his dong into a long member shadowed down his leg, I sit next to him, feeling nervous and sweaty. His face is older, but his cock bigger than I thought, and he avoids my putting my hand down his trousers, and takes it out, VERY long and full, and looks at me expectantly. What can I do but go down on it? The show is quiet, and I stop once, paralyzed, as I suck inward, causing a distinct kissing sound, but I continue. Someone passes and he and I sit up, and I try to finish him off with my hand, but he pushes me back down, whispering "Suck it," and when I start with my hand, he adds, "Beat that cock, beat it, suck it, I'm going to come," and he suits the action to the words, the cock entirely down my throat, and I can feel the tear of semen along my throat, great saved-up jets of it, and I stay down on him until he starts to shrink, zips himself up, and leaves, saying "I'm going upstairs." I don't follow him, others cruise past, Negro sits where I sat three times, and though I feel myself and look at him, he doesn't come over. Other guys sit in center of last row, and two tangle briefly at the end of my row, but as far as I can tell (not having gone back upstairs), I had one of the legitimate pieces of action in the history of the New Yorker Orchestra.
DIARY 1085
4/28/70
NEW YORKER THREE TIMES
Started in the orchestra, after casing it and finding the back rows filled with single ladies, except for the extreme corner, where two fellows were sitting in adjacent seats, but they didn't seem attractive, so I left them to themselves. But toward the end of "The Road to Glory" I was so unimpressed with the staginess of the settings and the falseness of Lionel Barrymore's acting that I decided to see what was going on upstairs. Into the john, but no one was there, and then to look over the situation. The balcony was fairly crowded, two fellows sitting in the back row of the center section, not worth looking at, but in the last row of the left section was a tall purple-knit vested fellow who looked tall and sexy and a shorter balding fellow who looked very virile. They looked at me thoroughly, but I moved into the left side of the left section in the row in front of them. Another fellow with glasses and a bald spot on top looked attractive, but for his shortness had to be showing more to turn me on. Waited in the middle row for a bit, until it became clear that nothing was going on in the top row, and then the knit vest came down and sat beside me, smoking profusely.
The knees came together, and I was very uncomfortable with the virile-looking guy in the back row looking over our shoulders, but the fellow didn't seem to mind, inviting me with his eyes, and I reached over to feel a rather small cock rather erect. He let it out of his trousers for me, and I rubbed it back and forth, getting it all slimed up with his secretions, but he kept looking at me as if he wanted me to do something more. With all this open area, I couldn't quite see going down on him, so I looked at him in a rather puzzled way, and then he zipped up and went into the men's room. I didn't want to follow him, feeling partly self-conscious about myself, partly realizing that seeing him in the bright light would not improve his image. The guy with glasses was loitering in the lobby, the knit vest had gone into one of the stalls, and I went to the urinal, ostensibly worried about the guy in the lobby. He left, and I began debating whether he wanted me to come into the stall with him and do him in the smelly cramped quarters, but a cute kid in blue jeans came in to use the other stall, so I simply zipped up and left, hoping they found each other. Sat in the last row this time, left section, and in no time someone came up from below for the men's room who looked at me, used the men's room, drank some water, and swung up the aisle to sit next to me. He was a smaller version of the compact, virile-looking pre-play, and he was squat and hard, allowing me to reach down inside his blue jeans to move him back and forth. He didn't move much before there was a slight explosion of wetness against my hand, and he began going down. From the non-slickness of the moisture, I thought he might have fooled me, to get me away, by urinating a bit to make me think he had come, but he quickly went soft and with some persistence withdrew my hand from his jeans and left. I smelled the hand, and smelt neither the acid smell of urine nor the egg smell of semen, so I was puzzled, but he seemed satisfied, so he left. I swung out of the seat again to "get a drink," and there was much activity behind the seats, looking, moving back and forth. The other side of the balcony was occupied by two men, so nothing much was doing there, and I went back, stood at the extreme corner, but no one followed me back, though I thought it might be a good place for a standup feel, and looked at the fellows going up to the projection booth, thinking that would be a perfect place for a REAL orgy, if there was only some way to getting the projectionist into one's confidence.
But there seemed to be no other action except where I was, so I sat in the second seat off left in the center section, and someone whom I had looked at in the hallway, a big hippie-looking fellow with a mustache and maybe a beard, came up to sit next to me on the corner, looking very cool.
Since I had already learned there was nothing to be lost by boldness, my hand went over to his leg, and started moving up it, but encountered his spread-fingered hand. I paused, then attempted to go beyond the hand, but the hand stopped me, put it back on my own side with an affectionate pat. Puzzled, I went back to watching "The Power and the Glory." Then there were knee pressures, and I satisfied myself with rubbing the side of his leg, and then again tried to go up his leg, but was repulsed. This time he felt for my crotch, and though I moved into it, I was quite soft, and he mushed my genitals around for a bit and then went back to his cigarette. The next time he lit one up he pushed the pack toward me, saying "Cigarette?" and I said "No thinks," and that was that.
Again I tried feeling him up, again he felt me up and found nothing, and then we began playing with each other's hands and fingers, his firm and cool in my warm ones, and we clasped and touched and sat together watching the film. Then he stood up to go, I watched him as he sat down on the bench at the back, started writing in a pad, and I flattered myself that he was writing me a mash note which he would slip under the small curtain behind the seats under my chair. But he stopped writing and sat looking at me, so I decided to take another "drink" and we looked at each other, but he wasn't making a move, so I went up and sat down next to him, saying "Busy place." He smiled and acknowledged me, then crossed his legs, revealing very chic peace-symbol socks, and I asked what he was writing. "Notes on the movie," he said, "don't you like old movies?" "I do, but not these," I grinned, and then he asked me if I lived around here. "Down on 57th," I said, "You?" "Down in the Village," he said glumly, then asked for my phone number. I wrote Bob, 309 W. 57th, and the number, and he looked and asked "Boz?" "No, BOB," and he smiled and took his felt-tip pen and wrote "Elliott" on the pad. "I'll give you a call," he said, and left with a little wave, and then a short Spanish type came past again and again, and though I sat in the same seat, nothing more happened, and I left where I came in, not enjoying the films.
DIARY 1088
4/28/70
WAVERLY HAND JOBS
Into the Waverly to see "Shades of Forgotten Ancestors" or "Wild Horses of Fire," depending on which title you take, and see by the audience in the orchestra that nothing's doing there. See two guys standing outside the men's room, but they're watching the movie, not looking at me, so I decide there's not as much action here as at New Yorker. Sit in the orchestra and am much put off by gabbing pairs of women, so at a certain point I go upstairs, and the last row looks active, but I sit about halfway up on the left aisle. Wait for a bit, watching the show, and no one bites, and then I decide to move up to the last row, sitting just off the left aisle two seats in. Almost immediately a guy comes wandering from the center section and sits next to me: rather older, wearing tight blue jeans, sunglasses in the theater, and I rather quickly reach over to him since he's feeling himself, and find he's hard under his trousers. His jeans are unbuttoned, so I can easily reach down and grab his hard cock, and I massage it back and forth for a very short period of time, and he comes! There's a bit of moisture in my hand, and he quickly zips up and grabs his coat and moves down the aisle and presumably out of the theater! Do these guys really come here ONLY to get a hand job and leave? But maybe he came for the first show, found no one to oblige him, and just waited around until someone did.
For whatever reason, the coast was clear for someone else, and I began to feel that my fantasy world of free wheeling cocks was coming true! Look around for who's next, and there's a mustached fellow who reminds me of Elliott from yesterday, and I think it would be funny if it WAS. He looks over and looks over, and finally I decide HE'S not going to move, so I move right next to him, and the knees touch and he looks at me, but he continues to fondle himself, not even making a move toward me. So I reach out and boldly squeeze his leg, and the leg moves closed to me, so I slide my arm down to his crotch, and he's not even hard yet, so I feel the small dangle down between his legs and massage it gently against the blue jean fabric, and he slides into it, and when I reach up, he kindly has a hole through which I can feel his surprisingly uncircumcised cock. There's a deal with underwear, and at the same time he's reaching toward me, going under my shirt and under my underwear and grabbing me, too, and I'm semi-hard, which excites him completely, and I find I can easily unzip his trousers and reach down to grab his lengthening cock. He moves his jacket so that the people to the right can't see, and then he stops fondling me, turns sideways so he can give himself completely to his motions, and I feel the head poking out through the soft skin of his foreskin as I slide it back and forth, and he breathes harder and harder, bearing down on his pelvis (his stomach is soft and pillowy, his cock long and smooth-skinned, with much freedom of foreskin). Then with one thrust he comes, and I can see one glob of semen shoot from his cock, fly through the air and land on my trousers about seven inches away, and then his cock dissolves into wetness as his hand reaches down to stop my motion. My hand was wet, but quickly dried in the cool dry air of the theater from the first one, and I was a tiny bit self-conscious about the stickiness of the hand I grabbed him with, but after the first few tugs, when he entered into the final movements, it didn't matter except that the hard cock felt good in my hand, and my memories of the movie blurred into nothingness.
After he came his hand rested on mine, and I ribbed the cock back and forth, enjoying the feel of the extremely smooth and slick head, the extra exciting flesh of the foreskin, and the slipperiness of the come. We sat, rather awkwardly, next to each other as he zipped himself back up, and then I decided it was time for me to go to the john, just coming toward the climax of the Flash Gordon serial. He stayed behind, there was no one in the john, and only one old man, seemingly straight, but still interested, came in to use one urinal while I washed my hot slick hands in the cold water and soap, drying it on a paper towel. Out of the john to see if there was any action in the foyer, but only saw the mustached fellow I'd just done walking out the door, looking back at me. He, too, had come ONLY for that, or had been on the point of leaving.
I went back up to my seat, and a terrible creature came and sat on the second seat in from the aisle, and I decided that was enough. I sat for a bit, but there was no more movement in the aisles, so I decided if there was going to be anything, I would cause it, and walked along the second aisle from the top to sit in the seat to the right of the right aisle in the top row. Immediately got a signal from the suited fellow to my right at the corner of the theater, but he was old and unattractive.
As I passed them, I looked at the two sitting with one seat between them in the middle section of the top row, the first, four seats in, a young blond with his jacket over his basket, legs spread, and the second seat in was a youngish Italian type in a dark suit, his hands cupping his crotch. All in all, there were too many people around, but as luck would have it, the fellow second in decided to move, and went over to sit near where I HAD sat, and I waited a reasonable length of time, during which the blond smoked continuously and seemed concentrated on the screen, but again I decided to act and sat in the second seat.
There was no response from him, just lighting another cigarette, and I slouched down, putting my knee somewhat on his side of the back of the intervening seat. He didn't react, though he changed the position of his legs. Time passed and I watched the end of the "Ballad of Love," and at the end HE got up and left the theater. Immediately after, a little old lady came up and sat across the aisle from me, and I decided that that killed this side of the theater, remembered the Italian who moved over near me, decided I could legally return to sit near my jacket and shopping bag, and moved back across the second aisle, being cruised by the old fellow at the end of the center section again, crossed the Italian, and sat two seats in, carefully moving my jacket to an outside seat so that it wouldn't interfere later, and watched part of the beginning. Noticed the wedding ring immediately, and it may have been coincidence, but the next moment I glanced back, his left had had formed a fist, the angle of the knuckles hiding his ring finger from my glance, and I wondered if he'd had enough time, if he'd removed it. Got engrossed in the film, but the Italian's hands were too much for me to ignore, and finally, after only a tiny bit of trepidation, I moved into the seat next to him, resting our knees together. His hands froze, and there was no change of pressure from the knee, but I decided "What the hell?" and moved my hand onto his knee.
He responded with a look at me and a return pressure of his leg, and I quickly moved up the corduroy material of the trousers to feel that he, too, was limp. He reached across to me at the same time, but quickly lost interest, and I rubbed the harsh material against his cockhead until it lengthened down the side of his leg. Moved upward and he tried to help me until he found that I could unzip him myself, and reached inside somewhat leisurely to feel his soft pouch of balls, the firm pulsing stalk at the base of the cock, and I played with his pubic hair and felt the soft skin of the thighs before he lengthened completely, and I swung his cock around to bring it out into open air. He slouched in the seat a bit nervously and looked around, bringing up the wing of his jacket to cover the sight from the fellow to the right, and I was again pleased to find an uncircumcised dong between my fingers, lengthening pleasingly until it filled my entire fist. My fingers seemed to be cool and refreshing after being washed, and the cock in my hand quickly warmed up the whole system until he started breathing harder. Then he reached into his back pocket and came out with a dark-colored handkerchief which he pressed alongside his trousers, and I reached over with my left hand and moved it so that I could bring it under his cock. Then his left arm reached around my shoulders, squeezed my arm, then up to rub my neck and play with my left ear. I was slumped completely down before him, and he looked constantly at my crotch, where I obligingly pumped up my cock so that he could see the bulge in the front of my blue jeans move. His breathing became excitedly harder and faster, and a slight rhythmic motion began to come from our pair of seats, being swung back and forth by my pumping arm, rather embarrassingly white-clothed, but I really lost interest in whether anyone saw us or not. He breathed intensely, threw back his head, and gripped my neck, at the same time reaching over with his right hand to stop my motion, and I slowed, felt the cock throb, and then the handkerchief was wet from his discharge.
He sighed deeply, tweaked my shoulder affectionately, and stroked my right hand with his as I rubbed the semen into his cock, feeling again the nice slide between the copious orgasm, the motile foreskin, and the taut slippery cockhead beneath. He settled into place with another deep breath, and his left arm dropped from my shoulders, but I was loathe to leave his trouser-fly. So I remained, rubbing his cock, reaching over to help with the ablutions with the handkerchief, and then reached again for his balls and enjoyed immensely feeling distances up both his left and right thighs. Then the idea of a "second coming" dawned on me, and since he seemed content, I continued playing with him, enjoying the feel of the limp cock in my hand, rubbing his legs, moving up to his groin and feeling his pubis, and then cradling his balls with gentle fingers. Then I increased the pressures and moved him back inside along his leg, and he began to get hard again. It took quite awhile, but he came up and seemed interested in another orgasm. Meanwhile, I got to the point "this is where I came in," and I began losing interest in the second orgasm, but felt a bit of responsibility to him now that he was up again. Then someone came up the aisle just beside us, and he panicked and quickly zipped himself up, so my hand was left between our legs, ended. After a moment, I tweaked his leg affectionately, moved across him and out of the theater. WHEW!
DIARY 1165
6/17/70
LYRIC THEATER FRUSTRATION
"Let It Be" isn't very good, so I leave orchestra and walk up the long flight to the balcony, but the aisle goes all the way across the back, everyone hangs over the railing studying the people sprawled out before them down the whole balcony, rather brightly lit, and there's a lot of cruising, but I can't seem to see what happens when someone finds someone they like. Louis Martello is there, too, looking dreadful, and finally a guy in a neat suit and rather nice face looks me over, and I figure he's the best of the bunch, and stand against the parapet, and he comes over and gently, slowly, slides his hand over against my crotch, gets me unzipped, and tries to take me out. I'm not sure where this would lead, there are rather unpleasant types closing in about us, and I just sidle away and zip up, deciding it's not my scene. Walk back downstairs to see what's doing in the orchestra, and it, too, is lit, though there are cute numbers in the back rows on both levels. The suit comes past, looking at me meaningfully, and sits on the side in the orchestra, looking back at me to follow, but I just don't see the point. Down to the john, and the stalls are all open and it's pretty awful, so I go back upstairs, then back to the balcony, but decide that since nothing can be done, even with the cute guy who sits in the back and thrusts out his loaded crotch, I might as well go downstairs and see who sits next to me. Something seems to be happening between a cutie and a fatty in front of me, but cutie falls asleep, and fatty seems to resort to putting up with his light snoring. A hugely muscled neck supports a lovely profile at the end of the row in front of me, so I move down just to look at him, but though I lean forward on the seat next to him, he doesn't seem to take an interest, being more interested in Hercules and Samson. A living blond doll pushes past me to sit in the middle of the row to eat his popcorn, and there are a couple other cute people around, but there just doesn't seem to be any action. I go back to the balcony and see the same faces, cruise a cute kid who's seen the whole show, but there's no reaction, and I don't see any point about waiting around, so the Lyric's lousy!
DIARY 1167
6/18/70
ZIEGFELD BALCONY
Look up as I enter to see no one up there, but then figure if I don't start it, no one will, and within a half an hour there are six of seven people surrounding me. Two come in together and sit in the top right side section, then one leaves to get candy and sits in my row (third from the top) and starts eyeing me. Others sit to my left in the same row, but nothing seems to be done, and some guy sits to my left behind, and another older guy to my right behind. I figure the cutest is sitting just down the aisle from me, though I wonder who his friend was, but he's gone, so I cross the aisle (cutie pulls the seat down next to him for me to sit, but I don't want the dirty old man leering over our shoulders) and sit where he first sat. Nothing happens with him, and an ugly guy sits two seats over, on the aisle, and then there's a door which is being opened at odd times, so I figure I'll move about again, move across the fourth row down, staring down the cutie, and sit in the left of the center section at the top. He looks back at me and moves across me to sit next to me, so I quickly brush his knee, then move to his crotch. He gives me a look of simulated surprise which is so funny I burst out laughing, and he loses the game and clutches my hand. His jeans are so tight I can't get him out, so he wriggles half out of them, and grows hard, then tries fondling me, but we both get engrossed in the film, and both go down. This happens a couple times, and other old men move in and out in front of us and into the side section to our left, but there doesn't seem to be other action, though we both go to the john and think to have cuties follow us, but no one does, and he thinks about asking a doll who's smoking if he can bum a cigarette. We clasp hands and knees and have a ball through the movie, and he's got to go to class afterwards, so both of us get nothing done, and neither makes a move to exchange addresses, so that's all there is, but he didn't know about the Apollo, nor about the Waverly, but spoke of the Thalia and the Elgin, and at least there was something warm and nice to hold onto in the coldly air-conditioned reaches of the blackest balcony and plushest theater in town.
DIARY 1429
9/25/70
PROGRAM ONE AT THE KEATON FESTIVAL
Started by peering around the side of the curtain cutting off the view of the audience in the orchestra from the balcony, and finding the theater so dark I couldn't see any of the seats. Looked to see people on each aisle on the left side, but the right looked clear, so I went there, to sit in the second row from the back, since the back row was "guarded" by a fatty. During the first intermission, I couldn't take my eyes off the guy sitting halfway down, on the aisle, with naked legs in short shorts propped up at all angles on the seat in front of him.
But the orchestra was uninteresting, and there WAS a balcony, so I went down to the lounge to pick some things (folders) up, and got back up just as the lights went down, stumbling up the wide dark stairs. There was a wide space in the back, dimly lit by two spotlights from the low ceiling, and two or three scattered bodies in the back row convinced me I was in the right place. Sat on the right side, one seat in, and there were a few unpleasant faces, so finally I moved into the center section, and quite quickly someone available sat down next to me, after looking at me from where he sat to my left.
I quickly reached over to him, and he to me, and we began fondling each other. I wasn't getting hard at all, feeling strapped in my blue bells and huge belt, and he was rather scrunched in, and when I reached over to unfasten my belt, he unzipped himself and he flopped out, semi-erect and fairly large, and when I took the shaft, AGAIN uncircumcised. He reached in and played with me for awhile, but between the nervousness about the deeds and the humor on the screen, I wasn't about to get hard. He'd come up fairly hard, and then he reached to his mouth for saliva and I did the same, and for a bit he relaxed down in his seat and let go of me, enjoying my touch on his cock.
A few times someone came up the aisle to go up the metal ladder into the projectionist's booth, and others came from the right, cruising, to see what was going on. I continued with him, but with increasing dislike, since there was a decidedly unclean smell coming from his cock, and it felt clammy, as if others before me had tried playing with it. At last, using someone's approach as an excuse, he zipped up and left completely.
Two guys got together in the center of the section to the right, and their heads appeared to be facing, almost kissing, and I could see the flurries of mutual hand motions, and I listened for the pantings which I couldn't hear. There was a fattish guy on the next aisle who looked as if he might be interested, but he scarcely moved, and when he went downstairs for something, I could see wide shoulders and narrow hips which made me think I might have missed something.
Someone else cruised along the back, and I looked at him even though he seemed to be somewhat old, but his body was nicely trim. He watched the two going at it, looked at the other singles, then deliberately sat down next to me, and again I rather quickly reached over to him, and this time I played with him through his trousers for a bit before reaching for his zipper. This one was smaller and cut, and unlike the first one, who had enjoyed playing with himself, and enjoyed me enough to secrete a melting flow of lubricating fluid, rather unresponsive and dry. I tried tweaking him into pleasure, but he kept looking to see who he had next to him, and the more he looked at me the more I didn't like HIS looks, so finally he got up and moved away.
A tall thin guy in sexy jeans passed in the back, and though I almost fell out of my chair backwards trying to attract him, he was content to go back to the far corner and sit by himself. Then someone from the aisle moved down next to him, and when I got up to leave, rather put off by the poor quality of the people, someone had sat next to him on the aisle, so there was a chummy threesome, arms all over the place, rigidly doing nothing as I was passing by. And once or twice the PR attendant, flashlight dangling from his wrist, came to the back and stood under the spotlights, but whether he was cruising or checking I didn't know or care.
DIARY 1433
9/25/70
PROGRAM TWO AT THE KEATON FESTIVAL
Went directly upstairs this time, though there were only two outriggers on the cruise ship this time. One in a white satin shirt moved to sit across the aisle from me, and I figured he looked awful, so I ignored him for the rest of the film. Another at the far left looked like he might belong to the theater, so I ignored him, also.
An older fellow who I took to be the second of the two I had yesterday cruised past, and I stopped looking at him after I decided who he was, even with his clutch bag slung across his shoulders. The fat bearded guy from yesterday appeared to return late in the movie, also, but I still wasn't attracted to him.
Where the crowd upstairs was sparse yesterday, today it was more crowded, and sometimes straight couples even sat in the row just AHEAD of the last row. Finally someone who looked tall and cute walked past, and though I looked at him, he ignored me and went to the far seat. Someone unpleasant sat next to me, and I ignored him, so he didn't touch me. The cutie went downstairs, but I didn't feel like following, since he didn't look back, and I left my seat, passed in back of the two guys sitting openly with their arms on each others shoulders, who looked vaguely at me, and sat in front.
Cutie came back up, sitting in the center, and I went and sat on the other side of the center, and felt myself, felt myself, trying to make myself displayable hard. He came and sat next to me, staring as I played, and it went on forever, except I didn't get hard. Finally I reached over to him as he reached over to me: he was hard down one leg, and rather meaty, but he played with me for a bit, didn't succeed in getting me hard, and then moved away, next to the guy whose partner had left him, and toward the end someone sat next to me again, I ignored him, though he kept looking his old face at me, and when I left, the two cutest ones in the theater were seated next to each other, preparing to go at it. Went downstairs to take a leak, picked up another brochure, and called it a day at the Elgin.
DIARY 1471
10/21/70
BIG COCK AT ELGIN
The fellow roaming the back aisle has a nice face, but the extremely baggy trousers hold no promise except as the encasement of an enormous prick. Look back at him and I guess there's no competition, since he sits down next to me immediately, putting his jacket over his lap. My hand goes out in just a few minutes and he's all loose in the waist (clothes-wise), and I reach in to find a very fat tube of flesh, again uncircumcised, which gets even fatter and more movable as I play with it.
He reaches over to me, and I'm not really dressed, having on belt and denims and undershorts, but he tries playing with me, and I can't get hard at all. We're both laughing at the film, but that doesn't deter his hardness one adamant bit. The skin around his cock feels thick itself, in proportion to the breadth and length of his cock, and when it's fully hard it rests quite up against his stomach, and I get an enormous charge out of tweaking the length, then playing with my fingertips against the sensitive back of his cock, which engorges and rises up under my fingers and feels like the two rounded globes of a diminutive ass under my fingers. He doesn't ooze, nor do his balls rise up against the base of his stiff cock, and he continues to play with me, then stops, and soon zips himself up and moves away.
I'm disappointed, but I figure he wants ME to be hard, too, and I've disappointed him. Watch the movie for a few more minutes, and then he's BACK again, and I reach back to find that he's open, but soft, and I figure he'll let me try, but scorns my efforts. But, no, up he rises, harder than ever, and he wriggles in his seat and I can feel the huge veins standing out in his aching flesh, and it's most sexy.
"Come on downstairs," he commands, looking at me fiercely, and though I really don't care to, that cock is really too much, and I'd like to have it, so I shrug and say, "OK."
We're down the steps just at the end of "The Haunted House," and we go down to the john, I stepping into one of the stalls. He looks at me, and his face reminds of Ned Rorem's: pretty eyes, quite open and expressionless, and large, round, smooth, older-type face with tiny fine wrinkles around the eyes. His body is stocky and undistinguished under the large leather jacket and floppy trousers, but the cock standing out from his fly is enormous.
Standing at an angle above the horizontal, red of head, which is peeking out from enormous fleshy folds of foreskin, and all this at the end of an enormous appendage with blue veins entwining it, squeezing it, engorging it to full size.
I can't take my eyes off it until I have it in my mouth, and then I find to my chagrin that if I take it in an ordinary way, the insides of my upper molars scrape each side of his head, and I have to grab the base of the cock and bend it upward, hunching higher on my knees, so that the head rises almost directly onto the roof of my mouth, so that that red head can contact my soft palate directly. He gets even harder, straining in his trousers, and I have to draw back, gasping, to see my saliva covering the shiny skin, and I try to use my hand for a bit, but then there's someone at the door, and he whirls away from me, I slam the door shut, and he stands at a urinal with this huge tool, as if urinating.
The short fellow sitting to my right has come in, and he stalls and stalls, and then I hear my friend leaving, and I exit, looking at him in disgust as he stands there, waiting, and my friend is in the hall, and when I go out the door, he frantically motions me toward him. I stand outside, torn, then decide everyone knows what's going on, and I do want him, so I reach back for the knob and I'm inside, standing next to him, whispering "There's too many people around," and he motions for me to wait. There's a noise from inside and, reluctantly, seeing that nothing will happen while he's there, he leaves.
We're back inside, and this time I go into the other stall, and again that huge cock is in my mouth and down my throat, and he commands, "Don't use your hand" and I have to go it alone with my mouth. He's getting even harder and longer, and though I can fairly effectively go down his length, it's his incredible thickness which is causing me trouble, and my jaw and chin are aching with the effort of keeping my mouth so open. He handles my head and shoulders, and I'm inside his trousers clasping and unclasping his testicles, which have begun to close upward in ecstasy, and he begins thrusting back and forth, and I can't even begin to count, since my knees and my jaw hinges are in such agony, I'm wondering sincerely if I can hold out.
Again the door swings open and he swings away, and I stand dumbly, feeling the strain in my mouth, smelling the vaguely unclean odor from the folds of his skin, yet enamored of this thick barrel of flesh in my mouth. This time it's the tall guy, who washes his hands very slowly, and then leaves. Again the position, and I can't resist using my hands, or else he's not going to come off at all. I'm caring less and less about whether I bite him or not, and I can feel his soft taut flesh grazing the sharp corners of my teeth, and I change positions, choking myself, so as to minimize the harm to this classic cock. It strains upward, I have to almost stoop to accommodate the higher and higher angles it attains, and he's breathing harder now, and I'm choking and salivating and bleeding from the gums, trying desperately to excite him, to draw in firmly, to continue with a sensual motion without hurting him (though maybe the hurt thrills him, too), and finally he takes in a deep breath, I can feel the cord under his cock throb, and his hands are around, sheltering his orgasm, so that I can feel the liquid throb into my mouth, but his fingers are already pushing my lips away, and my hands reach out, but he draws away, saying "Let go!" and he's closed the door to the next john, doing something with toilet tissue, and I stand, dazed and aching, until he opens the door, smiles, and says "That was just great." "You should learn to enjoy that last part," I whisper, grabbing his ass. "I was sore," he said, shortly, and that was all there was to say, except that we vaguely farewelled with "see you again," and smiles.
DIARY 1480
10/22/70
TRICK AT ELGIN
Mentally order the tall, nicely-shaped fellow in blue jeans to buy a ticket for the movie, and he does, but goes downstairs while I take a seat on the right upstairs. He comes up finally, later, and climbs over the row to sit three seats to my left, and I keep looking at him, but there seems to be no recognition of my presence or attraction by it.
I butchly poke my knees into the air and cup my crotch and rattle around inside my trousers under my lap-jacket, but though he looks over once in awhile, more to see if I'm STILL there, I'd say, and though he once or twice puts up his outside knee and rests his hand on his box, he still doesn't even appear to be actively looking around.
Finally I can't take any more of it, and move next to him. He turns away only the slightest bit, but he doesn't look at me at all. Then finally he puts his hand beside his right knee, then droops it down so that his hand is lightly resting on my upper left thigh. That's all I need, and my left hand moves over to caress his thigh, and he grips and moves down, and I press lovingly on a hard bundle of tissue to be discerned under his fly, and finally he unzips and allows me free grasp of his hardening cock. I move my hand down and try to disengage his balls from his tight shorts, but I can't do it, and when I handle him, there seems to be an impossible construction against his cock, so I have very little play, but he seems to be content with it, leaving me alone when it's obvious I won't come up.
Play with him, and he slouches down in the seat and his right knee begins moving back and forth in rhythm, and he pulses, pulses in my hand, and I figure it's fun playing with him, and then he reaches in, stops me for a moment for an adjustment, and when I reach back, it seems he's pulled his undershirt down over his cock, and when I rub it back and forth, there's a thick wetness underneath which doesn't, however, come through the intervening fabric, and I'm amazed that he's come so quickly.
He tries to discourage me from handling him after, but I enjoy sliding his cockhead back and forth in the slime, hoping maybe to get him hard again, but gradually he grows soft, and finally I move my hand enough so that he can zip himself up. I wish I'd investigated whether he'd pulled something down or something up, because it DID seem waterproof, and though I expected to see him leave any moment to dry himself off, he just sat there, moistly, through the entire film.
I left my hand on the outside of his trousers, arm down the length of his side, but there was no responding pressure of any kind. True, there was no move away, but there was no sign on his part that he even felt me still there. I massaged the sexy area where his leg enters his torso, but he suffered it, no more, and finally I just let the hand rest there, feeling rather "with him" when we both laughed at a funny part in the film, but I couldn't even bring myself to start to think of something to say to him. I sort of sat there, patient, like a dog hoping to get "a master" accustomed to himself, so that when he went home, he'd take me with him.
An older fellow sat down two seats away, and eventually a badly-stretched foot came in contact with mine, but I made absolutely no move, nor did I really look at him, so the foot remained until a change of movie, then he shifted position and left my foot free from its pinioning hold.
The Rorem-like character wandered around the back aisle, too, wearing the same floppy pants, but with perhaps a bit sexier pullover sweater on, showing that he seems to have a nice torso. He looked at me two or three times, but I couldn't tell whether he was cruising or not, and I made no move to follow where he sat, and though I would have gone back down to the john to do him if he followed me out as I left, he didn't, so I didn't.
Other guys kept looking, looking, looking at me, missing most of the film, but their suits and their sullen faces turned me off for them, and the thought went across my mind that they could have hired plainclothes men to free the balcony of the "curse of the gropers," but nothing seemed to happen, and it was only my paranoia. Pity the series is now over!
DIARY 1522
11/4/70
PARK-MILLER FILM FESTIVAL
See two guys making out in color on the screen, and sure enough, they're pulling on each other's erections, and then when the camera goes to some other guys, there's activity and one fellow even jerks himself off! I'm standing in the doorway, but the sight of these erect cocks, spurting that fabulous white stuff all over their bellies, is so exciting that I find myself getting hard, and this isn't the best place for it, because the lit hall is full of old guys who want to brush up against me, and by a particularly heavy fellow in a jacket zipped down to reveal a very low-cut undershirt with an exaggerated muscle-builder's chest bulging out beneath, but I suspect that a beer-drinker's belly bulges out beneath THAT. John still doesn't show up, so I sit down in the orchestra to watch someone else coming, and this is a great show, and I hear jerking motions behind me, too.
Into the back of the theater, and finally the usher asks me what I'm doing (this is after someone who's reasonably attractive comes out, looks around, then goes down to the lounge. I follow him down, but some old creep follows ME directly, so I stand outside, getting a drink, and the cute one goes back up to stand in the doorway, but doesn't follow me down the aisle, so I'm back to the lobby), and I say I'm waiting for someone. He says John is outside, and he is, quite angry with me for being inside, and he pays, saying that the usher would have been willing to let us through the gate at the side for $3, if we'd done it right. Pity.
I say we should see upstairs, and John agrees, and the balcony is full of guys standing in the lit back, looking furtively at us as we come up the steps, and lots of guys in the back rows and front rows, and it seems there's action, but no one seems very cute. I want to sit in the front of the balcony, and John says he's going downstairs, and I look back to see that he sees where I'm sitting, in case he wants to sit next to me.
By this time it's the end of the show, and a particularly great looking blond had so juiced himself up with oil that he came with enormous force, and I was glad I could see it again. But then the first one came on, and it was just a very pretty guy in front of a mirror who couldn't even get it up for the longest time, and then he tried Jurgen's Lotion, and at the very end managed to get it up just a bit, and that was all there was, and I began to fear we'd gone back to the old-style teaser movies. The second one was "Brother Lover and Friend" and was even worse than the first, with its out-of-focus shots of sunsets and sandpipers and surf and seaweed. Third was "Deep Six" and the native in unpadded loincloth was cute, and the guy in the Air Force suit DID get up when he was stroked under the suit, and the native DID have a big one to be sucked on, but AGAIN nothing "came" of it, until he was buried and there was that LONG last shot of the native walking painfully over the beach shingle.
Fourth was "Go Go Sailor," and he was cute and hard while the uniform was on, but off he was long and soft, and not even a dream sailor could get it up, and there wasn't much to THAT. Next was "Desert Weekend," and it started out VERY slowly about a weekend in the desert, but then at night there was rather sensuous stuff under red lights, and then in the morning under direct sunlight there were nice scenes of each one jerking off the other, and there were nice pauses and nice thick cocks, and it was pleasant watching them come off right close to each other. There may have been another, but the final was "Games Boys Play," and had a cast of dozens, and aside from the stupid flagellation scene, and the lengthy scene with the bodybuilder at the pool, there were sucking and fucking and a graphic rimming scene, and about six orgasms through the film, with the funny husky guy opening his mouth in joy, and the other guy spouting while I was gaping at his moundy pectorals, and the two with the oil were again the highlight, slowed by a long fucking scene that didn't look like much fun, but again the long slow jerk sending the spurt of semen, and two or three after it, and he smeared it into his partner's chest---THAT was the nice part of it. Down at the end, and John was waiting for me in the aisle, and we left.
DIARY 1787
3/12/71
GETTING DONE IN ELGIN
I'd seen this guy in red corduroys and a red sweater sitting around before, and figured he was about the nicest, next to the jersey-swatched perfume-smelling blond who ended up sitting in the side section, in the place, but he sat next to everyone under the sun before sitting nest to me. Quickly the knees came together, and my hand went to his leg just before his hand came over to begin unzipping me, and for a bit I was up, aided by the great sights on the screen from "Lot in Sodom," and he seemed small when he was in, but I unzipped him and took him out and he was quite enormous, with an uncircumcised cock of tapering smoothness to a large round and blood-engorged head of pleasant slipperiness. He wet his hand to play with me, and I wet mine to play with him, and there was a nice session of slipperiness, except that people began passing by and my belt was clinking, and I went down quite quickly. "Lot in Sodom" finished and "Blood" came back on, so I whispered hoarsely, "Let's go downstairs," because I wanted to get that huge cock in my mouth. He didn't seem to have to zip up, and left on the left, and I zipped and went down the right. Down past the open door of the manager's office and into the john, and he was in a stall, and I followed him and he was out, but quite soft, so I went down on him and he wasn't too quick to get hard, but he was using his hand on me, so I got hard again, and he went down on me, sitting on the john, and someone came in next door and very businesslike began making shitting noises into the next john. The small Spaniard I was with glanced over to see if everything was OK, and kept sucking me with such vigor that I stayed semi-soft through it, but when I felt I was losing it, I started with my hand, and he began biting and kissing my thighs and hips, and I played with him for a bit, but he was still soft, and then I felt like coming, so I flailed away, surprised at my composure, and groaned into coming with his mouth taking it all, and I gasped and thrust, and he left off sucking too quickly, and I finished my aching thrusts in the air, quite hard, and then it seemed to be 7, and he didn't want to come, so we smiled together and I dressed and left, panting.
DIARY 1858
4/22/71
TRIPLETS AT THE ELGIN
Left work a bit after 4:45, and got into the theater a bit after 5:10, and climbed to the familiar top row of the balcony. The far light was still out, and I scanned the three or four scattered people in the center section to see that there was nothing worth noting, and did see what I took to be two people in the far side section, where it was darkest, and sat down in the second seat from the side aisle, carefully putting my coat over the seat in front of me. No sooner had I settled into my seat when a very large, bearded, gray-haired fellow, looking something like an enormous cross between Elliott Gould and Jason Robards, surveyed the back row and crossed over me to sit a vacant seat away from me. OK. The movie went on for a couple of minutes, and before I could get interested in it, I became aware of the fellow near me seemingly playing with himself, and the strokes that he made with his hand were so long, his frame was so large-boned and sturdy, his face was so large-nosed and open, his feet, dangling over the backs of the newly-upholstered seats in front to him, were so huge-booted, that I looked over once, then again, and the hand still continued its play, and I moved one seat, before the enormous thigh and calf could even cover half the distance in its slow travel to my own, two seats away. There was almost instant contact of knees (since there was hardly any room in which NOT to have contact), and hands quickly bridged the distance to alternate thighs, and soon I was probing his crotch, rather saddened to find that his cock wasn't out yet, but happy to feel the solid rib enclosed by still-soft flesh that boded something of unusual size. He was playing in my zipper area at the same time, baffled because of the bunch presented by genitals short-cupped, and I happily strung him out along his leg to full length, not really much over mine, but I quickly unzipped his rough trousers to reach inside and bend the boomerang between his legs out into the open. He struggled with my zipper, and I reached down and unbuckled my belt, cursing the clink of metal against metal, and undid the pants so that he could push the shorts further down around my hips and get a free hand around my testicles. By this time he was quite hard, underwearless, and in a few moments his hand went to his mouth and came back to my cock moistened, and, delighted, I did the same with his, and the fleshy bulb at the end of his blade-like cock hardened with pleasure, and he squirmed around in his seat to lower himself into a more sensuous position. Since he was enjoying the play, I came up quite forcefully, and we both sat, not watching the film though our eyes were on the screen, listening to the soft moist sounds of two hard objects sliding through two eager hands. We stopped when the noises got too loud, moistened our fists again, and reached back to the stiff cocks, and I wasn't honestly aware that I was using my left hand: I could do him overhand or underhand, and my fingers could feel his cock, and it was only later that I realized that the rest of the evening was spent, delightfully, receiving people with my right hand, and they could only respond with their left. After a bit of continuous lubrication and friction, he winced his eyes shut and stopped the motion of my hand with his left hand, and worked at mine harder. I wasn't even beginning the road toward orgasm, but his pleasure at my hand certainly heightened the briskness of my erection. I moved more slowly on his cock, feeling the hardness from tip to base, rolling the head, like a blood-engorged cotton ball, around in the slippery palm of my hand, shaking the stalk back and forth, while he again winced, shook his head, sucked in his breath, and stopped my hand, holding his breath in a grimace of white teeth. After a few of these, I guess he became aware that I wasn't about to come, and he scooted down on his tail even further, his boots sliding off the seats of the row in front of him, his enormous head tipping upward into the darkness, his hand again stopping mine, but my grip alternated pressures just slightly, and he hissed as he began to ejaculate, jerking slightly in his seat, bringing over his right hand to hold onto the tip of his penis, so that I almost began to think he was holding the shooting liquid back in his urethra, a sort of manual coitus interruptus. My hand, which had started practically vertical, now dipped toward the screen, squeezing hard on the pulsing cock, and I could feel throb after throb as his head moved ever so slightly back and forth, eyes closed, mouth set into a grim smile, spread-eagled in his seat. "God" he whispered, "I think I'm soaked," he said, and then I supposed that he hadn't stopped the flow, but only directed it away from his shirt and belly. He sat upright in his seat, and I, unthinkingly, reached down to caress his leg, getting sperm and saliva all over his pants, and then he gathered his loose trousers together in getting out of his seat, saying, "I'm going downstairs to clean up," and he was gone, coming back only much, much later.
It was quite soon after, my hand still drying from semen, most of which I wiped on the side of the seat, that a short, mustached, glassed fellow sat down in the aisle seat next to me, and I almost smiled as I suspected that my RIGHT hand would soon be full of semen, too. Our knees struggled together almost immediately, and we reached over to feel each other's crotches, and I found him to be on the small side, but with a sexy thrust to his pelvis when I reached around his cock. He was having difficulty with my trousers, so again I reached down, undid the clanking belt, unhooked the waist, and permitted him to freely unzip me and fish me from my shorts. We played with each other for a few minutes, both of us pleasantly up, when he seemed to stare at me for a long time, his gaze dropping to my lips, and when I leaned closer, his right hand curled around his body and around my head and pulled it forward to his, so that we kissed, lightly at first, brushing lip-hairs, and then quickly deeply, thrusting tongues into mouths which received with hollowing cheeks and forming teeth and tongue, so that I, anyway, felt the need to be careful of chance breaks in the lips, because there would be a telltale sucking kissing sound which the whole back of the balcony would be able to hear. Our bodies struggled toward each other over the intervening chair arm, and I felt my head driven to odd angles as I tried to keep an eye on anyone coming up the near aisle, and though I was hoping he was doing the same for the far aisle, I don't think he was paying any attention, as he was throwing himself into the necking with the freedom of someone in his own bedroom. We parted finally, more from lack of breath and the pleasure of having immediate satisfaction than from fear of discovery, and we kept plying our cocks, and I reached up for a fingertip-mess of saliva, and my own cock was secreting enough so that he had natural lubrication. He was curving lower and lower in the seat, and leaning his head back on the chair back, closed eyes directed to the ceiling, his lips parted with a half-smile of contentment as I slipped and slid my hand along his stiff cock. There were occasional looks from the single fellow in the side section, and more than a few gazes from a middle aged fellow in the middle of our section, who had witnessed my arousal of the tall fellow with a degree of envy, and now he seemed frankly amazed at the abandon of my current partner. I caught glimpses of the movie out of the corner of my eye, and saw a few of the things that made the audience laugh aloud, but had little sense of continuity. He had maneuvered his feet under the seats of the row ahead, so that he could more or less straighten his legs, and he kept thrusting up and down with his hips, so that there were firm impulses behind my handing him off, and every so often he would start to breathe more heavily, his legs would get stiffer, his mouth would start open and shut, his head would roll back and forth on the seat, moving his eyes behind his closed lids, and I would quicken the pace, moving my hand from over to under to facilitate motion, feeling the skin slide under my fingers, feeling the veins in his cock harden, sensing the saliva drying on hand and cock, making the friction harder, more like soft cloth against soft cloth, and then he'd release the tension on his legs, his cock would phase out of its extreme hardness, and I'd reach up for some more saliva in the interim. Again he opened his eyes languidly, dreamily, and his glasses would glint in their gold frames as he would slowly, deliberately, raise his face toward mine for another bout of necking, and he would rub his hands over my chest and legs, seeming to drink in my own presence, and I would rub his arms and kiss his neck and back when he was doubled over me. Few people passed, thankfully, and aside from the continuing glances from the friends of the back row, we were undisturbed. Then he would fall back, seeming to settle himself a notch lower, seemingly trying to simulate a bed, and I would jerk away on his cock, and when he began to rise toward a climax again, I sat up straight and forward in my seat to give my arm free swing, or would sit back so that my forearm and elbow would simultaneously massage his chest up to his chin, and he would wonderingly feel the length of my arm, holding it closer to him while allowing it free play. At one point it seemed he was close to coming, and the situation in the audience hadn't changed: no one looked around to see what was causing the kissing sounds from the lips, or the clicking, smacking sounds of wet fingers against cock, and hopefully the recorded piano music and laughter was drowning it from the ears of the fellow and girl who were sitting only four rows in front of us---and I went down on him, seeing to my horror that the kissing had drawn blood to my mouth and that there were traces of darkness in the saliva I was leaving on his cock, and wondered what his reaction would be when he went to look at his underwear that evening and discovered small traces of blood. But he wasn't about to come even yet, and I drew back up, leaving a grand supply of saliva on his cock, and began to work it slowly and luxuriously back and forth as he wriggled in his seat, tensed his legs, threw his pelvis back and forth, and winced with the effort toward orgasm. His face was wonderful in its abandon in the shifting light from the screen, and the sounds of his breathing got more and more intense, and I wondered how he could survive such genital punishment and still not come. Finally his balls were beginning to draw up against his cock, small, distinct globes in thin hairless skin, and I began flashing his cock in the light to get some visual stimulation to help me continue the up and down, up and down motion of my tiring right hand. Again I was sitting forward, twisted around toward him, and glances from the sides were recognized without terror now, and his thrusts became trembling and impatient, and I could feel his legs going into spasms of tension, shivering so that if they were teeth they would chatter loudly. He began holding his breath, shifting his face as he shifted the air in his lungs, and began working his hands around the base of his cock, not on his body, but on the materials and zipper of his jeans, now riding completely on his straining thighs. Then, finally, as I was beginning to fear that the movie would end, the house lights would come on, and we would be compelled to stop before his climax, he began to breathe even more deeply, and his face opened up even more in a sexual vulnerability which was a joy to watch, and his motions began to attain a beseeching, pitiful automaticity, like the helpless pelvic thrusts of a faithful dog clinging to his master's leg, and a small sound came from his throat as his face began to twist with the intensity of his feeling, and I flung my face into his crotch as his cock pulsed in my hand, and I wrapped my mouth and lips around his cock to feel a spurt of come just miss my cheek, to be lost in the air, and I enclasped his throbbing cock just as the flood of semen burst from his balls, warm, flowing fluid with a strong acidic taste, like tomato juice about to go bad, and he flowed and flowed into me and I could hear the sounds his body was making as he moved spastically in his seat. There were a few finishing pulses distinguished from the general flurry of his first coming, and they still sent threads of come onto my tongue, and I swallowed again and again, marveling at the quantity of fluid those little testicles contained, and then his hands were around my head, pulling me back, and he quickly went down, and I replaced my mouth with my hand, gently holding his small slippery eel of cock as it dwindled, and rocked back to my seat with enormous contentment, wiping the corners of my mouth and my mustache to rid them of stray bits of saliva and semen. He continued to tremble in his seat, transfixed with the orgasm, clasping my hand which still held his cock, when all too soon the music came to its conclusion and the short came to its end, and he had to quickly erase the sight of flesh and undershorts from the eyes of the audience as the house lights came up. I moved my coat down into my lap, being still undone from his playing with me, and I could feel my own secretions wet in my lap and on my belly. "God," he said, "I thought I'd NEVER come." "But you did," I said with a smile, "and that's the important thing." We sat in silence as people came and went, and I bent to whisper to him, "You came so much, you mustn't have come in WEEKS." He laughed a dry laugh, and again condemned himself for taking so long. I assured him that I enjoyed it. We looked at each other's faces freely in the dim houselights, and I saw a pleasant, open, young Jewish face with soft brown eyes behind the glasses, and red full lips under the blond mustache; his hair was disarrayed and not quite as long as mine, and his body looked attractive in his rather tight-fitting shirt and jacket. The lights went off again and we kissed some more, and cuddled, and then he looked at his watch and said he had to leave, though he knew I wouldn't like that. I asked if there was a chance to see him again, and the pause was so long that I said, "Or are you the type that only likes to do it in theaters?" "That makes me sound so sick," he said, and there was another long pause before he said, "I don't know how to say this, but I'm rather new at all this." "Oh, I don't believe that," I said quickly, and he rather hurtly said that it was true. "No one who kisses as well as you do could be new at it," I said, and he averred that if he was to be called a liar, that was a very nice way to do it, but this was only his third time out. Previously, I'd asked him if he did much kissing in the theater, and he wryly held up a solitary finger, and I said that I'd been here lots of times, and hadn't seen so much necking, ever before. He said he'd been here a couple of times, but he didn't know if he'd like it outside. I thought he still might be pulling my leg, and asked him if he were disturbed about the thought he might be gay. "No," he said, "but I don't know much about it, and society doesn't like it very much." "It doesn't matter what society wants, it's what YOU want," I said altruistically, and there was another silence. "What do you think of girls?" "I made it with one, once." "How did you like it?" "It was OK. How COULD I like it?" "Well, you could have thought it was absolutely great, or an awful failure." "No, it was a success, but I felt guilty about it afterwards---she made me feel guilty about it." "Great." "So it was just OK." "Well, you don't have to worry about the past: even if we DID get together again, it wouldn't be the same as here, it would be different. I wouldn't know what would happen, and you don't know what would happen, so we both would be dealing with something we don't know, and what we don't know might make us afraid of it." There was another silence, and he said he always got himself into peculiar situations: at the present time he was in love with this guy who didn't love him back. "Is he gay?" I said, fearing the old bogey of unrequited love. "Yeah," he said, and couldn't think of anything else to add. Then he told me about his jobs: one from 11 to 6, the other from 7 to 11, so he didn't have much time for socializing, and that he had a day off today, that's why he came to the movies. He'd dropped a pen from his pocket earlier, so I said since he was the busy one, he'd have to be the one to call me, so I wrote my name and phone number down on a sheet of paper for him, and he said his name was David, and he said he didn't know if he'd call or not, and I let it go at that, since I began to observe that he might be rather hairy and overweight in a Jewish way, flabby and soft, if he ever got all his clothes off, and it might be best to keep it to a great encounter in the darkness and clothing of a back row. He left and I still got the wondering glances from my confreres as I settled back down to see if I could connect with the movie again. But in a very few moments a very blond fellow with beautiful hair, who had been wandering around the back in a flashy set of colored trousers, came swooping down and sat in the same, still warm, aisle seat. I was tired from all my previous activity, so I sat rather coolly, and we shared adjacent seats with only the most casual touch for a couple of minutes, but then the knees came together sweetly and the hands strayed across them to meet, and for many more minutes we simply allowed our hands to slide back and forth across each other, and his hands were very dry, and flaking on the sides as if he'd washed too many dishes, but where his palms were moist with eagerness they were soft and pliant, and we enjoyed holding hands for a long time. Then we reached across to crotches gradually by way of knee and thigh, and he seemed content to stay outside my trousers while I fingered his zipper, flipped it up, and slowly separated the two halves down to the bottom, and then reached in to grasp a long thin penis which was still flexible in its early stages of erection, and pulled it out to the air. That had a stiffening effect on it, and I wandered up the thin shaft to the head, and found a large head overbalancing it, with a marked cleft up the back, and as I squeezed the thin skin of the rangy cock, I could feel the flare of the edges of the head, and went back up to feel it like a lollypop head in its roundness. He seemed to like the backs of my legs and the area of my ass, so I reached down past his cock and plunged into the middle of the pillowiest balls I've ever felt: it was as if his entire scrotum was fully stuffed with cotton, so that I could barely distinguish the hardness of his testicles within the mush, and had to sink my fingertips into over an inch of the material before I could firmly sense the hardness of the cock-base beneath. Then I circled back up the cock and felt around to the front of the base, and there was a thin nest of the softest, silkiest hair, obviously the fairest blond, so that his glowing crown was quite natural in its lightness and lankness. Again I reached up for saliva, taking care to keep it away from the fine cashmere feeling of his shirt and the firm good quality of his trousers and underwear, and rubbed him around in it as his head engorged with blood and became a mace-like rod sticking up into the flicker from the screen. He stared straight ahead, not changing the direction or the expression on his face. He had me out and rather nicely hard, but then a series of persons passed, and repassed, and for three or four minutes it seemed that everyone who had moved in the past two hours was moving now, and during that cessation of activity, I went down and, miserably, stayed down, no matter what the fair-skinned blond would do to excite me. So for many minutes I continued to play with his hardened cock, without getting any change or inclination from him that any grasp of mine was better or worse, and I dove again into his testicles to find nothing to grab onto, and enjoyed tweaking his cock at the very base, where it grew stiff from the shelter of the hairs so fine they would seem never to need a comb. He, too, grew momentarily soft from the passersby, but quickly came to hardness again, and though he twiddled and poked and squeezed and jerked at me, I never got anything going again, and finally I blocked entrance to my crotch with my hand, and he had to content himself with my leg and knee. I played with him so long without effect that I rather wondered how long it was going to go on, since he seemed not inclined to go for orgasm, and then when someone else passed by, he gently removed my hand and zipped himself up, and, with one last pat on the hand, he was up and gone, to come back shortly, haunt the back passage again, and finally take a seat off by himself at the far end of the balcony, out of combat. I managed to observe a whole short, recalling glimpses that I'd seen before connecting pieces together, and just before another intermission a tall thin fellow with a prothognatous mustache sat next to me, and again I felt like not doing anything, and he struck up a conversation wherein he revealed that he had written a couple of books about Paramount and its stars, and that the publisher was coming out with them very slowly so as not to glut the market, and I told him a few things about my book, and we compared notes on a few films and another one started. The knees came together very tentatively, and it was only after a bit that I allowed myself to press against his enormous leg, and that went on for a bit until I decided to give him what he seemed to want and reached for his leg, and he quickly went to my bunched crotch, damp and tired from the activities of the three already passed, and he squeezed and I reached for him and squeezed, and he seemed to like it, so I again unzipped him, but he didn't seem to like that too much, so I played with his leg again until he unloosened himself, and when I reached, he was quite open and I went into the dampness under his shorts to get his small limp cock, and twaddled it for a few minutes, but it seemed that we were getting nowhere, and soon he reached down, and when I thought he was going to do something to make it easier for me, it turned out he zipped up, and in a few minutes, after playing with my hand for a bit, he got out of his seat and took another one, alone, further in the light. I watched another bit of the film, and was in fact just about to leave when a fellow who seemed worth the whole day sauntered up and stood a few chairs away from mine: blue denim jacket open to show a white tee-shirt fitting over a nice chest and unfortunate paunch, but the crotch was large in tight jeans, and he felt himself and looked toward me through sunglasses which made him look a bit like Rick Winter, and he ambled back and forth looking sexy, and it didn't dawn on me to walk in the back with him, but I saw the fellow with the colorful trousers stalking him, and figured it might be good for them to get together. Then I saw the two on the side who had been together through the whole show, and I stood up and tried to attract the attention of the tee-shirted one, and when I thought I did all I could, I sat down at the far end of the second row, which gave me a great view over all the house, but it was getting past nine, and I was impatient, and the fellow sat down next to the fellow in colored pants, and it seemed they were hitting it off nicely, because I saw the tee-shirt fellow's arm reach around to the blond's chest, but then they seemed to separate, and the tee-shirt again looked at me, and I went to the john, but he didn't join me (and the two faces peering out from the two stalls, under the gaze of the employee who was sitting at the orange-drink counter), and I went upstairs to see him going down, and I waited for about five minutes, but he didn't reappear, and I left, thinking that the colored trousers would think I'd got TEE-SHIRT too.
DIARY 1869
4/24/71
LARRY AT THE ELGIN
When I got in at five, the dark part of the back row was entirely too crowded: fellows at both ends of the center aisle, and singles down the dark side down to a fairly sexy looking fellow on the far aisle, three seats over from a tall willowy oriental with a pocked face, but I didn't feel like sitting in the seat between them. In front of the cute one on the aisle, however, was a pair of blue jeans with a white stripe sewn down each side, covering enormous legs, surmounted with what looked like a nice body and a full head of hair over a butch hustler face. That was the best there was, but I couldn't see what to do, so I sat in the far section, where no one had been sitting, but he didn't look over at all, and after awhile an older ugly fellow sat down between me and the aisle, and since I didn't want anything to do with him, I was effectively blocked from anyone else. Watched the fellow in the back row leaning over the white-striped fellow, and soon the white stripe got up and sat next to the cutie, and I resigned myself to the idea that this was going to be another bad day. There was some brief activity, and it even looked as if the butch number was leaning his head against the other fellow, but that seemed unlikely, since the white stripe was out of the seat and wandering across the back again very shortly. The oriental left for a bit, and I debated moving to his seat, to get more into the action, but he was back again shortly, looking like a girl in his long tan trench coat and long hair. I sat watching the film, but it wasn't that good, and I determined to do something, so I crawled over the awful fellow and over the cute one in the corner, and sat down in the middle seat. The oriental was even worse from that distance, and the cute one looked over at me and he had a rather unpleasant face, and I was happy when he got up to leave, and I moved over one seat to my favorite seat: the one in the right section, one over from the far aisle, back row, of course. The movie went on and on, and the only other person besides white stripe who looked good was someone rather like an older edition of the fair blond of yesterday, but with glasses, who was sitting next to someone, but seemingly without activity. But he wouldn't even look over at me. Other unpleasant people came and went, including a fellow in a regular business suit who sat next to me and tried VERY slowly moving his knee over, but I moved away from him quite distinctly and he got up and moved somewhere else when it was apparent WE weren't going to do anything. During one of the intermissions the white-striped fellow was wandering along the back passage, and he leaned up against the post, his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, and his large curve of crotch from his faded trousers was most attractive, and I really fell for him when he stared out absently and caressed his left pectoral with his right hand, slowly, steadily, with great perseverance, and I felt myself get hard just looking at him, scootching down in the seat to show as big a box as possible and rubbing myself to make myself as attractive to him as I could. I decided I couldn't KEEP looking at him, since it was obvious I was interested in him to start with, and over-anxiousness would only turn him off. Others passed whom I was content to judge as not my equals, so I figured white-stripe had to either settle for no one, or for me. So I sat looking forward as the intermission stretched on, hand resting on my fork, holding onto an area considerably larger than my genitals: it DOES pay to advertise. Then the lights went off and he looked at me as I glanced at him, and then I turned front again, anxious, breathing hard, feeling a tension in my stomach, slightly trembling, and he moved very slowly in back of me, looking at me or the screen I couldn't tell, and I glanced to the right to check him standing at the corner of the section, and then with a quick movement he was sitting next to me. I was impressed with his bulk in the seat, and these two enormous legs stuck solidly out, the bleached whiteness of his jeans catching the light from the screen in taut fullness from his fleshy legs beneath. My legs, darker in their unwashed jeans, looked tiny and insignificant next to his, but I moved one over anyway, and as soon as I had the answering, accepting pressure back, I reached across with my left hand and contacted his left tit: since he had done it to himself, he must have liked it, and I was willing to oblige. His chest had looked large in the dimness of the back passage, but it felt even more wonderful, particularly since he obliged me by flexing his pectorals as I played with them, tweaking and pinching his tiny nipple under his clammy close-fitting polo shirt. His hand was roaming up and down my leg, squeezing and fondling in a pleasant manner, and I roamed down the shelf of his chest into the cavity of his midsection and down to the tops of his jeans, and he sucked in his stomach so enormously there was an entrance for my fingers, where I found a bundle of clothing and the sleazy material of some French-type undershorts, where there was a tiny cock bunched in helpless limpness. He moved around and made it known he didn't want me inside his trousers, so I went back to his stomach and chest, feeling the swells and falls of his body, then to his solid massive legs, and I flexed and stiffened my legs to give them some body, because I had the idea his hands too easily lifted and folded my floppy skin. He seemed to like playing around, and when I tired of his chest, I again reached down into his trousers, but he again pushed me away and stood up to leave. I was disappointed that I didn't furnish the magic touch, but as he continued to stand around the back of the aisle, I decided he might like to fool around standing up, so I went back into the corner, where he didn't look at me for an instant, and loosened my belt two notches, unhooked the hook, and carefully drew my shorts down to the bottom, as far as I could around the fork of the trousers, so that if he wanted to play, he would have room, and I would more likely get hard. But he didn't pay any attention to me, and though others looked around from the back row and tried to get his eye, he stood solidly alone. Since he wasn't coming to me, I decided to go to him: all he could do would be to push me away, and I wouldn't lose anything I hadn't lost when he left the seat next to me. So I went closer, and closer, and he gave no indication of seeing me, and finally I swallowed fear and upchucked courage and stepped next to him, slightly to his rear, and again reached out for his chest. To my utter delight, at the first touch of my hand on his chest, he swung around to me, reached out for me, and we stepped into each other's arms, holding tightly to each other, and I marveled at the well molded hugeness I held in my arms, feeling the pressure of his chest against mine, sensing the absence of his stomach, feeling the warmth of his legs against my thighs, melting into the strength of his arms around my back. His head was somewhat lowered, and we clasped and struggled and grappled with each other, and his head swung around from one side to the other, and I took the chance to drop my lips to his neck, and then ran up to what I thought would be reluctant lips, but the thick mouth opened and clamped onto mine in a kiss of certain pressure and emotion, and I trembled with the excitement of the encounter. We kissed fully and deeply, firmly molding each other's chests and backs in our pressing hands, grinding our crotches into each other's, hearing the clank of the belts as they hit and scraped past each other, and he manhandled me back against the wall, where I leaned against the black padded canvas and sent my hands joyfully down his back, kneading his buttocks, feeling the sinewy full fronts of his thighs, and grabbing his small but enlarging genitals in my hands. His hands dropped from my back and fumbled in his midsection, and when my hands slid up from his groin I felt soft bare skin, sucked in at the stomach, and I could feel the lovely pattern of hair up his middle, and I grabbed and handled his small waist, following the tense lines of his abdomen up and down his stomach, and he pulled his polo shirt up even further, over the promontories of his chest, and my hands curved upward under the massive rib cage, sheathed in rippled skin, and tried to pull his pectorals out by the strength of my clasping fingers. He threw his head back on his thick neck and gasped his pleasure, still grinding his pelvis into mine, and I grasped him even harder and grabbed his now-visible tits in my teeth, kissing and chewing on them, and nuzzling around the whole prominent pectoral, from one side to another, in a delirium of physicality. Sounds from his throat were totally sensuous in my ears as I nuzzled his chest and belly, and then scraped up his chest to kiss his corded neck, chewed up along the firm line of his chin, and then as I raised my mouth and he lowered his face, our lips came together again in a tearing kiss, tongues were lacerated by teeth, and I began using stiff talons of fingernails to rip up and down his undulating torso, and he writhed under my fingers with the attraction-avoidance of the pleasure-pain. With his back to the audience, it was my responsibility to watch for onlookers, and I was happy no one came up the stairs, because I was almost out of condition to objectively watch for our own safety. Once someone came down from the projection room and he said, "Wait," and moved slightly away, and I continued to lean, breathing heavily, against the wall until the projectionist went down the aisle, and then he came at me again, open-mouthed, hands zipping down the neck of my pullover to reach inside and grab my tensed pectoral, while my hands again kneaded his crotch, which he thrust forward as if in ecstasy although his cock was still quite limp. Back to kissing, back to holding, and our groins strained together, and when I dove my hands into his private area again, he brushed me aside and unzipped himself, lowering his trousers and shorts around his testicles, and I slid down the wall to take his cock in my mouth, pleasuring its smallness, grabbing the testicles free of the silk-like shorts, marveling at the solidity of the enormous thighs, reaching around to palpate the luscious ass, reaching upward to knock my knuckles against his rib cage, and wander upward to squeeze and milk his nipples, and ravage his balls with my other hand, trying to get the whole genital apparatus into my mouth. He gasped above me, making little animal sounds in his throat, dry from sucking in dry air, and thrust forward with sharp jolts, and he began getting slightly hard, but I figured it would again be a long task, and so I left a glob of saliva in my hand, trailing it off in a glistening streamer as I pulled away and upright again, and I could feel the strand on my chin mash against his chin and slide around there as we kissed again, and I used the gentlest, slowest, and most voluptuous touch I could master on his hardening cock, and he threw himself around on his tree-like legs, thrusting himself into my hand, and he began to whisper out phrases whose purport was "I'm coming close, I'm coming," and though I couldn't believe it, since he was still rather soft, I gave a few last hand-pulls to the enlarging organ as I slid down the wall again and took him in my mouth, drawing his balls to my chin, and his hands fumbled about my head, pushing himself into me, and there was a strangled, nasal sound above my head as his legs jerked once, and he shot his load into my mouth, hard at last, though easily encompassed, and his balls were full and heavy in my hand as small squirts of come were sucked down my throat, and I licked and sucked furiously as he quickly got to the stage of over-stimulation and tried to pull away from me, but I held him literally by the balls, sucking him dry, and he began to shake and tremble, and the sounds above my head got louder and more beseeching, and finally his hands disengaged mine from his body and he pulled away, protecting his agonized parts from my sucking mouth, and I stood up, grinning, and he smiled back at me. I reached out again for him, kissing him, but I could feel his hot dampness under my hands, and his trembling continued, until he freed himself and said "I've got to sit down before I collapse." And we squeezed hands and he went into the lighted section to sit down on the aisle in the far side section. I had looked after him, debating following, but he seemed so shaken that I decided to let him alone. So I retook my seat, still trembling myself from the exertion and the emotion, amazed at the wonder of the body. People glanced to and from me, and I felt very self-conscious sitting there, trembling, legs aching, breathing deeply and stomach churning with the desires I still felt for that sexy body. The film was soon over, and I decided I had to move, and went downstairs to see if I could lure him into the john, but he didn't come down and there were no cruisers in the stalls, so I went out and up the stairs partway before it registered in my palpitating brain that they were selling popcorn, and I could offer some to white-stripe, in return for the enormous surge of feeling he had given me. I stood on the steps, vacillating, for a few seconds: what a stupid thing to do, I can't lose by trying it, it's so childish, giving things isn't childish---and I should try it. So I went back down and bought a tiny cup for a quarter, remarked about the Third Annual Festival coming up during the fall, and went up the stairs, wondering how they got that fresh taste to the popcorn that had obviously been standing around for hours. He was still sitting in his corner seat, well lit in the house lights, and he smiled at me as I came up the steps, so it was easy to thrust the cup out to him, and he made some remark and took some, then added, "Why don't you sit next to me, I won't bite you," and I was enormously pleased as he maneuvered his muscles out of the way so that I could sit next to him, but I countered with "I'd rather sit over on the dark side, will you come over with me if I promise not to distract you from the movie?" He said something about permitting me to distract him, even, and we got up and moved down to the other end, to find someone sitting there, and I climbed over the seat, and he did too, after first unsuccessfully attempting it without pulling the seat up first. We sat, and our hands went toward each other's, and we clasped, feeling the firmness of flesh and veins and bones between our fingers, and we squeezed and felt and played with each other even during the intermission, when he said popcorn stuck in his throat, and he got out cigarettes, which I said stuck in MY throat, and he said he wished he could stop smoking, and later went for a drink when he started coughing, and when he took a bit more than five seconds to come back, I fantasized him getting caught by someone else in the john, or leaving without me, or my chance of following him up on the meeting. But then he came back, faithfully, and slid down next to me with appropriate knee and hand movements. We talked about the films, and how his friend had said that this particular film: "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp," was HIS film, and how his friend was supposed to meet him there at 8, and I told him about my film engagement at 9:40 at the Bijou, and he marveled at my film-going. We sat through the entire second film touching, caressing, rubbing each other's chests and legs and crotches, and feeling quite lovely toward each other. During the last intermission, he went down to call his friend, and when there was no answer, he decided that he WAS coming, and that he would wait for him, and not come up to 57th with me to wait for John. We stood talking in the lobby, and he said he had no pencil, but since he wasn't in the phone book, he hoped he could remember my last name. I said Zolnerzak and he winced, and since I didn't want to take the chance, I asked the ticket taker, who referred me to the box office girl, who gave me a ballpoint, which I used on the back of a WC Fields program to write my name and address and phone number, and then, lovely, he volunteered to give me HIS number in the Heights. We stood, smiling at each other, and I was happy that I seemed to have passed the "lights on" test in the basement, and he didn't have the pocked face I somehow thought he would have, though his smoothly combed and sprayed hair was somehow disturbing over his wide-set large eyes and manly features. He was even sexier and more beautiful in the light: and his aura was summarized by someone in a bar asking him "Are you from the Jefferson Airplane?" and he, "Not usually thinking so fast," said "Sh, don't TELL anyone." And I laughed heartily. "Do you like group scenes?" I asked, thinking of lovely evenings with him and his equally beautiful friend and me and John, and he frowned, said something about "Strike One," and said friends surprised him with them, and he didn't like them at all: he just liked one-to-one things, and when he thought I liked ONLY orgies, I assured him I thought one-to-one was best, too. So I left, then on impulse called him at 12:30 Saturday, while typing this, and he said he was going to be busy preparing for his friend's party all day today, but that he'd call me at 11 am Sunday, so we'll see what happens THEN. YUMMY!
DIARY 1916
5/7/71
SOLITARY AT ELGIN
Into the back row and it seems that everyone's paired off, but I crawl over a seat and sit between two unpleasant people, and then wander around the back when one leaves and there's no one to take his place. Begin to think it's going to be a complete dud when a short tanned fellow with what looks like nicely faded blue jeans sits down next to me, and I start playing with him, and he keeps looking over at me with his lined, tanned face over his blond mustache, and his face is old enough so that I don't particularly feel like necking with it, but his cock is nice and hard, and he seems to enjoy my playing with it, and finally he scootches down in his seat and looks at me in such a way that I finally get the message: he wants me to go down on him. I look around and the back row is certainly dark, and there's not much activity, though there had been earlier when I was frustrated almost out of my mind when two young fellows who looked quite sexy started some activity standing in the darkness at the back of the aisle, and I couldn't think of a single way to intrude myself into the action. But this fellow unzipped himself, seemed to lose interest in playing with me, and so I glanced briefly around and lowered my head into his lap. He breathed more heavily above my head, exciting me even more, and laid his broad hands on my back, gently riding me up and down. I felt his hard cock in my mouth, went up and down a few times, grateful that he wasn't anything near the size of Bob Broadway, and in a quicker way than I ever would have expected, he breathed more lustily, changed his thrusting motions, and I could feel spurt, spurt, spurt of come in my mouth, and I could muster the room to feel around on his cock as he was coming, but he very quickly pulled me up, saying "It's dead" when I tried to bring it back to life, and then he rather apologized and said he had to leave. I said I was leaving myself, so we left together and he walked me down to the subway, and I saw that he was even older than he looked, and his jacket seemed to cover up what felt like a copious and bulky chest, and we talked rather awkwardly in the light, not exchanging addresses, and waved goodbye.
DIARY 1938
5/8/71
EASY DO AT ELGIN
The back row is now COMPLETELY dark, and it's impossible to see, but there aren't too many people around to be worried about, except for two sitting together near the center aisle, and there's not much nice wandering around, but lots of transients in the side section, and a fairly nicely dressed gentleman sits next to me, but I refuse to return his knee-pressures and he finally leaves. Then there's a tall nice-looking fellow cruising around the bak, and I've moved down to the next seat from the end in the side section, and I move into the back, hoping something can be done there, but he almost immediately moves into MY seat, so I move up close, he keeps looking at me, so I crawl over the seat and sit next to him, and soon the knees are together and we're groping each other through open zippers with pleasure, and then he seems uncertain about sitting on the side, and he asks that we move "back here." He goes to the back, and I follow him, but then he moves into the center section of seats, and I follow him again, and again his zipper's down and he's out, and I'm having a lovely time playing with him, and he seems again to be pointing me down toward himself by moving his arm around my shoulder and pulling me toward him, but not for necking. I glance around and go down on him, enjoying the feel of his distinct and tiny balls in his silken scrotal sack, and they tighten with pleasure when I go down on him, and I move my mouth up and down only a half dozen times before he sits transfixed and I can feel the pulsing action propelling the fluid down my welcoming throat. I do him still longer, but he grunts and pulls me off, then allows me to hold the diminished cock for only a few moments, then pushes my hand away, zips up and leaves after squeezing my leg. He'd obviously wanted just to be done! Then a fair-haired fellow with a boxer's face sat next to me and we exchanged tentative feels, I going around his back, quite a switch, but he didn't seem interested in crotches after he asked "You got a place?" and I said, "Yeah, but it's in Brooklyn Heights," and it had the discouraging effect on him that I'd hoped it would have. He quickly left and sat next to someone else, and, soon after, I left, too.
DIARY 1946
5/12/71
ELGIN NUDITY
The lights behind the last row are working again, and the brightness seems dazzling in contrast with the previous opaqueness. I sat in the center of the right section, looking at the blue-jeaned fellow who kept looking at me from my right, and people came and went across the back of the balcony, not many of them worth looking at. But it was early, and three rather striking hippy-types came up the stairs at once, separated to various seats, one sitting in the rightmost section, one all the way on the left, one next to the person on my left. I fidgeted at being out of this action, but the movies were interesting and I watched. Finally, with increased action, I decided to stand in the back, looking qt the fellow nearest the door, and he looked back at me, ignoring the tall blond that I assumed was the small-cocked fellow I did at the Bleecker Street on Sunday, though it would be rather a coincidence if it WAS him. Since I got looked at, I slid through the space and sat next to him, and he looked at me strangely and started massaging his crotch. I reached over and felt the abrasion of opened zipper, and his cock was quite available underneath, and he slid down in his seat, scootching his trousers lower, and to my surprise ducked his head into his polo shirt front and tucked the front behind his neck so that his entire body from his chin to his thighs was there, exposed, in front of me. I did him with my hand for a bit, but since it was obvious everyone was friendly, I went down on his growing cock, and it stayed palatably small through my sucking, throbbing up to maximum hardness when I would slow to play with it, getting slightly softer, and when I was sucking at my hardest, there were little suction sounds which I hoped didn't travel far over the soundtrack, and I relied on him to warn me if anyone came by. I sucked merrily away, taking a moment to use my hand, and did him very cleanly, while he sucked air into his lungs and went down in my mouth, and when I raised my head, he quickly dipped his shirt back into place and zipped up his trousers. I patted him as I left, went back to my seat, and everyone stayed away from me, and I had the vague apprehension that I was an overly active outcast (probably from envy) in my own group in the uptight theater.
DIARY 1965
5/29/71
FOURSOME AT THE ELGIN
"Poppy" and "The Old-Fashioned Way" were the titles on the screen, but the show in the back row was by far the best of the day. The lights are on again all along the back row, which is a nice help in looking at the beauties of the darkness, and there are quite a number of beauties there. In fact, the back rows, the center sections, are dotted with guys, and I had to settle for the second seat from the aisle in the far right section. Older fellows from the back row looked imperiously down on me, and I decided there was nothing worth watching in the back row, and settled down to see the movie: that is, until---no, I've got the beginning wrong. The place was QUITE empty, and therefore I had the SCOPE of the back row to choose from, so I took the third or fourth seat in from the center in the right center section, seeing that the two scattered in the left section and the one on the far right of the right center section weren't worth looking at. I sat there for only a bit before a fellow in tight white ducks came in, pushing his crotch ahead of him, and after scanning the back row, he chose to climb over the back row and sit two seats away from me, all the while covertly covering and displaying his crotch. I propped up one knee and pushed at my crotch, and he looked over until it was quite obvious, and then I moved directly next to him. He tried to give me that "What do you think you're doing?" look until I groped him directly on the crotch, and then he relaxed and we played with each other until hard, right under the brightest light in the back. I could see the fellow at the end looking over at us, and we played with each other until it seemed time to take more direct steps, so I said, "Let's go over to the side section," zipping each other up and walking over to the right side, sitting next to each other, and quickly the zippers came down again, and we moistened up each other and began feeling very good in the groin, and from the touch of his balls when he undid his waist fastener and slid his trousers lower, it was the same guy I'd done a few times ago with the tight balls, when I'd assumed he just wanted his cock sucked without returning the favor, and here we were playing with each other as if there were no intermission. He began that lovely game of frowning, pursing his lips out, and holding onto my hand when he got too close to coming, but then there was a series of interruptions of people coming up and down the aisle, mainly female types who later seemed to think better of it and moved downstairs, and I went down so that he couldn't get me up again, and then we were both distracted by a beautiful bodybuilder in a pink tight tee shirt and skin-fit blue jeans who was wandering along the back, and he surveyed our little activity on the side and then HE came down and sat next to the fellow next to ME. Soon all three cocks were out, and by bending forward, I could see a sizable cock shining in saliva in the reflected light from the screen, and the face was even nice, the chest was full blown and beautifully molded, and the long stiff cock, thrust out from the well fitted jeans, was quite some competition with mere W.C. Fields. Middle fellow's left hand was on the hard cock to his left, and every so often his right hand would leave my cock so that he could stop MY hand on HIS cock, and the fellow on the end slouched lower and lower in his seat, and finally center fellow went down on him, and I could hear the breathing intensify from end-fellow's lovely nose, and then the slouch stiffened, and his hands wrapped around the torso whose cock I still had in my hands, and he came with a lovely shifting of breath and features in the reflected light from the screen, and center fellow chuffed and sucked and smacked all the come, and I was quite envious for the coup. Then he sat back up, still playing with the still-hard cock, and he turned his face to me in agony as he stopped my hand on his cock for about the fifth time, and I kept it there and in turn went down on HIM, and there was the familiar pillowy hardness of the taut balls, and the cock strained into my mouth, eased by copious saliva, and he struggled to come and came, squirting again and again into my mouth, and he strained in his seat, clasping the person next to him, and I stayed down, teasing and torturing him, until he was quite down, quite drained, and he forcibly raised my head from his cock. Then everyone zipped up and end fellow went to sit on the side of the next section, and I was sorry he'd shot his wad so soon, and soon the fellow next to me left, and I was sitting, swallowing, enjoying the slimy taste in my mouth, and got re-engrossed in the films. Things were quiet for another time, the other two keeping separated, others not yet joining together, and next into view came a tall thin blond in loose fitting jeans, and he again looked over the crew, and chose to clamber around the far end of my section, sitting two seats over from me, and he, too, started playing with himself, and I sat a bit to make myself somewhat more aloof, but he patted and primped his filling crotch until I could stand it no longer, and I moved over to sit next to him, and the knees came together, and the hands clasped the knees, and the next thing the hands were full of hot cock from unzipped laps, and I was quite hard and he enjoyed playing with me, taking his eyes away from the screen and fixing them on mine with a languorous look of complete physicality, and while we slowly made each other crazy with slipperiness, our heads came closer and closer together until we kissed, lightly at first, then more heatedly, as the stiff cocks bumbled around in our clenched fists, heads almost squeaking with fullness and saliva, and he, then, too, made me stop my hand, and when I tried to do more with him, he stopped me forcefully, looking with pain into my eyes, and then he started working more feverishly on my cock, and I stayed up for quite a bit, until he went down on me, and I felt not at all like coming, but pushed my feet against the bottom of the row in front, ignoring most people who came up and down the aisle, but the traffic was making me go down, and finally I took an excuse of a female coming up the other aisle to rap him on the shoulders and draw him out of my lap. When she had sat down, I again started playing with him, and his round cockhead was shiny in the light, but again he stopped me with this frustrated agony and emotion in his eyes and on his lips, and we kissed, but he wouldn't allow himself to come. I couldn't understand why, unless he wanted to go somewhere afterwards and indulge in perfectly free sex, or he wanted me to go to the john to do him, or he wanted to save himself for other activities. Whichever it was, he quickly zipped himself up and moved to another seat, removed from everyone. I was still quite enamored of the muscle builder who'd come once already, who was sitting, now, next to someone fairly nice, but nothing happened, and the other fellow moved away, so I went to stand in the back for a bit, until it was certain that he was interested in me, and then he moved into the side section, and I quickly crossed over him to sit in my old seat, now next to him, and immediately reached over for his chest and neck and arm. He looked at me strangely at this, and it was only after another few minutes that I reached down to the crotch and was pleased to find that he was up again, and it was almost as if he hadn't come merely an hour before. Down came the zipper, and he didn't seem interested in me, but I was vastly interested in him, playing with his large cock, feeling the slick skin rub over his frenum, squeezing the blood-engorged cock between my pleasurable fingers, and enjoying reaching over with the other hand to feel his hard tits, the ridge of muscle which ran from his waist to the back of his shoulders, raising his shirt to feel his trim belly, moving his trousers down to feel his tightly muscled legs with soft hair on them, playing with his balls and the edges of his ass, and above all almost lionizing, idolizing that stiff hard huge cock that pulsed in the silvery light. He hadn't learned the trick of stopping my hand, and when I figured he wasn't remotely interested in coming, he suddenly made a flurry of motion, avoiding my hand, and slumped down to bend his cock surely painfully forward, and I immediately knew he was on the point of coming, and wanted to shoot onto the floor so he wouldn't stain his trousers. Before I could really think, I dove into his lap, and don't know if I caught the first splash of liquid, but there, as soon as I arrived, was semen waiting for my mouth, and I sucked and tugged and squeezed as his breath rose and fell behind my neck, and his hands alternated between my back and neck and sides and his legs and crotch and the chairs on either side of him. I kept down on him until he had completely spent, and still I sucked the still-stiff cock, until finally even I was tired of such bliss, and rose back to my seat to whisper in his ear "That was BEAUTIFUL," and he smiled and cuffed me affectionately, and we sat through the next section of the film while I ran my hands up and down his body, delighting in the feel of his flesh beneath my fingertips. Then the gangly kid came back again, bringing someone with him, an older man who looked quite dirty, and we two moved over next to them, and from the way the older man was sitting forward on his seat, it seemed that the thin blond had his fingers or fist up the other guy's ass, and he was jerking himself off while the blond was playing with himself, and I was still playing with the fellow I'd just done, and he was playing with me, and I was amazed at the thought of the four of us, sitting right there on a line, playing with ourselves and each other, and for a while we didn't even pay too much attention to people coming and going: it was obvious anyone would know what was going on anyway, and I was certainly glad I wasn't stoned, because this seemed like the very epitome of my dreams, to play with three other guys, watching two with nice bodies and cocks, while the rest of the audience ignored us, it was enough to transport me to another world from which I would never want to return. But no one came in the last frenzied session, and finally the old fellow got up and left, which I was glad about, but the blond quickly left too, brushing off my hand that searched for his crotch, and I whispered a few things to the fellow with the muscles, until he, too, moved away to find new ground, and I sat there, head smiling and awhirl, tasting the second one's come in my mouth, enjoying the movie, wondering what was going on down in the john, and it wasn't even three-thirty in the afternoon yet, and yet two people in the incomparable back row of the Elgin had come into my mouth, and two or three others had very pleasantly played with me. WOW!
DIARY 2013
6/8/71
AWFUL VICTORY THEATER
Though it's only 99 cents, it's the only bargain there is: the back rows of the balcony are very well lit, and there are hangers-over who seem to be checking that nothing goes on. A fairly young hung guy sat down next to me, but during the whole thing there was not the faintest hint of a roving knee. I kept looking around at other guys, but everyone seemed pointedly interested in the screen, and after a bit I had the feeling I was violating some sort of unwritten law about "keeping your eyes to yourself" as I looked around at others watching the movie. Once or twice there was someone with a large crotch looking in at me from the aisle, but nothing would come of it, and though I kept looking back at the aisle, it was obvious there was nothing going on there. I didn't go into the john, so there may have been action there, however. At the end of the first film, I decided to see what was going on downstairs, and it was quite crowded, and to make things worse, the management was concerned about people standing in the back, so every so often there would be a conversation-level announcement that everyone should take a seat, and then there would be a proclamation from the scurvy hired sweepers who would roam up and down the aisles, shouting "There's a seat right here, right here there's a seat," precisely as if they were intending to empty the auditorium of people. Sometimes the audience would get surly back, and there were scattered shouting matches which echoed under the low ceiling under the balcony. There was a second balcony, but sadly it was closed. Someone in front of me kept looking over at a rather humpy number an empty seat away, and he seemed to panic whenever it looked like someone from the side was going to occupy the vacant seat, and though the knees were positioned rather close to the center of the empty seat, there seemed to be absolutely no contact, and the whole place just looked like one of the most frustrating experiences known to man, horny to be sucked off, though I can only hope the john was working. I suppose I really should have tried it, but there would have been the dirt and the smells, and it's just not the most pleasant place to suck cocks in, and that's a fact of life.
DIARY 2076
6/26/71
NUDE SEX IN ELGIN
Get in at 1 pm to find very few people in the theater and only one other person in the back row, and he was so far on the right side, where lights were off again, that I assumed he must be awful looking. The start of "Sancho the Bailiff" was fairly good, so I didn't pay too much attention to him until he lit a cigarette, and I saw a nice square face and a nice head of hair, rather overall like the leather guy John and I met at Norma's. So I looked over and he kept looking at me and playing with his crotch, so finally when he got to the stage of massaging something that looked rather long down one leg, I simply stood up and moved over to sit next to him. He did a rather double-take at my sitting NEXT to him, but his leg was right there, and in the shadows I could see that he was small but hard along his left leg, and I reached over and grabbed it, and he obligingly tensed it a couple of times, and I wandered up and down his leg and belly to decide that he wasn't anything aside from his cock, and he unzipped himself when I started fiddling with his front, and out came this really very tiny cock, which had a perky little head stuck on at an angle, and I played with it for awhile, but when I moistened my palm, he seemed not to like it, and someone passed in back and he froze, and he didn't really come up after that, even though I continued to play with him in the best John Vinton method, and when at last a black in white trousers started standing behind us, I decided that he'd never move in with us sitting together, so I tapped him a farewell greeting and moved back to where I was, but to my surprise, the black went and sat in about the second row. Nothing more happened until the second feature came on, and then the black wandered across the back of the theater, and a fellow who'd come up to sit in the far left side (but got no takers), a bulgy fellow with ill-fitting pants and nothing much to show underneath, sat three seats empty between us, and the black came and sat right between us. The white, I guess not liking blacks, decided to leave, and I rather quickly moved over one seat when I saw this enormous cock laying across one leg, and he was squeezing it as if it weren't quite hard, and there'd be simply yards more of it. I sat next to him and reached over, and he gave the quizzical look I rather got used to, but he let me do what I wanted, helping me get it out from his trousers and shorts, and it stood up thick and black out of the white trousers, and I played with it awhile, without any reciprocal play, and this for the second time of the day, and finally he said "Want to suck on it?" and I went down on him, and he obligingly wriggled back and forth in the seat, though I left out a few sucking sounds which no one was around to hear, and I kept up on him, coming up for air every so often while he rather objectively studied me, and I kept going on him, nothing interesting on the screen, levering my lips back and forth with stiff fingers, and his uncut cock had lots of free play and lots of ridged veins which made it tasty, and finally he fell forward in his seat, making no noise with his mouth, and thrust upward just as I was getting very tired, and he thrust deep into my mouth, and I think he came for quite awhile, and I played with it for a bit, but he began holding his breath and tugging on my head, and he pulled me up and zipped himself up with hardly a murmur, and I rather jestingly broke the silence by asking what I'd missed. He filled me in, giving me the simile of the "Italian tearjerker," talking about the costuming the Kyogen and Noh and Kathakali, and we chatted easily, he making no sign of anything toward me, and when he left after the first film, he said goodbye with the curious phrase, "Take care of your appetite," and he left. Then there was a twosome in the corner, and I could hear sucking and creaking sounds, and I was rather sorry to be missing something, debated going over, but figured I'd wreck whatever the scene was, and then one person left, I think he was colored, too, and a fellow strolled across the back who was rather like a very sexy Peter Ream with his shirt open to his hairy waist, with a nice pair of trousers into the bargain. I looked back and forth at him, and he sat down for a bit in the more-crowded center section, and I walked across to the side, hoping that he's follow, and he wandered around the back for awhile, and for a moment I feared he'd be distracted by the fellow with the small cock, so I draped my hand over the back of the chair, and he moved closer and closer, so that I could finally see that not only was his shirt completely open, but his belt was unloosened, sticking forward in phallic silhouette, and a wide V-shape of white shorts appeared above his lowered zipper. At that point I was ready to do anything to entice him to sit next to me, but he quickly slid into the seat two down from the aisle, two over from me, and gave me this long hard stare, legs sprawled apart with his belt slung toward one side. I wasted no time moving next to him, and my hand went across the surprising corduroy texture of his legs, and he spread his legs even further apart, and I could feel his tense thighs, and reached around to feel the stiff rod sticking down one leg, and I reached toward the hairy waist to ease under the shorts and down into the warm moist pubic hair into the root of the cock, and along its stiff length, squeezing its veins and pulpy head. He looked over at me and hooked his thumbs around his trousers and shorts and slid them down. I helped, they paused at the base of the pubic hair, and then they were down the legs and this large stiff cock flopped back on his stomach. I reached down for the balls, but they weren't the pillowy ones I'd rather expected, as being the butch number who slung his tee-shirt over his head when the going got good, but the cock seemed familiar, and I sighed inwardly as I figured he'd probably come already, and I would be able to get only leftovers. But the shirt was out at the sides, and the chest was laden with large pectorals that were square and solid even in his slumped position, and I rubbed my hands over them and down over the belly, which was hairy and ridged with every muscle there was to develop, and he obligingly flexed for me as my fingers read the Braille of his constant exercising and interest in his body. His cock tensed as I found it again, and he reached over for me, and I was hard between my legs and he fumbled with the zipper while I undid the buckle, and he slid the pants down lower than I'd ordinarily put them, and reached around under my legs. I'm glad for the theater scene, since it's simply not possible to engage in anal activity (yet) in a theater seat, but he seemed interested in my ass, and he enjoyed the sight of my body tensed up while he played with my ass, but then I sat down on my seat and reached over for him again. He looked at me with an urging intensity, and I went down on him, to hear a small sigh of pleasure from behind my head, and he tensed the whole length of his body and eased his cock into my mouth, as if it were a very tired body slipping between the welcoming sheets of a bed, and I lapped and stood back to look at it shining in the light reflected from the screen, and he reached over to look at me and play with me, and he slid his pants ever lower, about halfway to his knees, and reached up to push my shirt up, reaching down to suck my nipples as they became visible, and again he reached around my back and caressed my entire body, straining toward me in the seat, and then he tugged my pants practically to my knees, urging his thighs toward mine, and I felt that I'd reached Nirvana at last. His cock stood into the air as I held it, tense, with every ridge visible in the half-light, and I could see him appreciating me, too, looking at my belly, which wasn't nearly as sexy as his, but it was mine, and not his, and that gave him reason to be the most excited by it. I felt his balls moving back and forth over the hardening ridge of flesh underneath, and he played with me harder and harder as I squeezed him, going down on him from time to time to keep him moist, and he began looking at me with an appealing look, but not once did he ever look into my eyes, and when we caressed as closely as we could, he didn't kiss, though I nipped his neck. When I went down on his chest, he curled over me all the way, picking up my shirt in the back and kissing my back, feeling down to my ass, and I went back to his cock in a positive voluptuousness of motion, and he was so stiff I didn't see how he stood it, and as I sucked VERY easily on him a few more times, when he'd gone down ever so slightly on me, without effect, he seemed at the end of his excitement, and he held me off a few times, and I acceded to his demands a few times, but he wasn't going down on me anymore, and we'd long passed the stage of expressing clear drops from the tips of our cocks, sliming them down over the taut skin surfaces. So I raised his cock into the light as it tensed and the world paused, and then I dipped my lips to the font, and he sighed deeply in satisfaction above me, and without any effort shot his load into my mouth. I squeezed, feeling the veins engorge with blood, his head full of blood, pulsing out the semen into my mouth, which drew and sucked on that rigid cock. His balls were almost disappearing into his groin, his legs spread apart so that I could feel the surfaces of his muscles, and his stomach filled in and out with the air he gasped into his lungs, and then his crisis was over, though he still breathed irregularly to show me that I was having an effect with my sucking, and then finally I finished him off as he was going limp, and I moved my head back up for what I would have liked to have been a kiss, but he kept his eyes fixed on the screen and quickly put himself back into his trousers, zipping up and fixing his belt, even going so far as to wrap his shirt around his slightly moist body. So he was one of the "guilty after coming" types. But I kept my hand on his leg even after I zipped and buckled myself back up, down from having done him, and as the movie continued to be boring, I began moving my hand ever so lightly over his leg, running it down around the side to underneath, as he liked to do to me, and finally I was rewarded by his sliding slightly down in his seat and turning his eyes again in my direction with an "Oh, God, how could you start it all up AGAIN?" look in his face. I again undid his buckle when I felt that he was becoming hard between his legs, and got his out from the folds of his corduroys, playing with it only a tiny bit before it was completely hard again, and he tugged his trousers down further again. He didn't seem interested in doing anything with me, but I took myself out anyway, and he finally came over to me, again enjoying the sight of my body, now that he was sufficiently excited to disregard whatever "straightness" he chose to assume between orgasms. Then again the trousers were drawn to below the midrange, even down as far as the knees, and he pivoted around in his seat, straight in body, though at a slant, like a log laid on a theater seat, and encouraged me to face him in the same position, and we embraced for the length of our bodies, and his hands went around my back with firmness and a grasping that betrayed his coolness after coming. I started kissing his neck, but again he wouldn't respond except to kiss my nipples, and again to curl over my bent back and kiss the bare spaces where he could pull up my shirt. We had very little concept of people around us, and the fact that it was still fairly early in the afternoon meant that few people were coming up and down the aisle, except that once a young couple came up the aisle, and we quickly separated and hunched forward to cover up the sheen of our flesh, and the guy, possibly lying to make us feel better, said "Gee, it's dark up here," as he passed our row. They ended up at the opposite side of the balcony, near the front. Others watched us from the back row, but no one came over, though they certainly watched us more than they watched the screen. Now I was prepared to give him all the time he'd wanted before, since I now KNEW he had come already, and we played and played, and he began giving me these despairing looks, as if he were in the extremity of pain, and he wanted me to rescue him from it. So I prolonged it, hard as wood myself, and we played with each other and squeezed and I sat over him, loving to look down on his body, sliming up his cock with my saliva, moving it back and forth, tickling it, feeling every bulge and curve and tenseness in it, and he pulsed again and again, loving all of it, and went down on me for a bit, but I wasn't about to come. Then I went down on him again and he sighed, and pushed my head down, but it wasn't as easy as before, and finally I just had to work over him, but at least he again came up to full hardness, and I paused, and he pushed my head down as he pushed his crotch up, and he came, squirting fully again, and I stayed down until he was drained, and again he buttoned up quickly, and it was the end of the show, so I left, not saying any word.