I grew up before the internet, when the only porn available to teenagers were 'dirty' magazines. But one winter I was able to get into a local theater that showed adult films. Located in the poorer section of town, its marquee posted no film titles, just the letters XXX. Stepping up to the ticket window I was nervous they'd turn me away. They didn't, probably because business was slow and things were more lenient back then.
The lobby was musty and empty, its glory days as a non-adult theater long past. There was no snack bar since people didn't come here wanting popcorn.
When I entered the theater I saw about a dozen people -- a dozen men - scattered throughout the rows. Most turned their heads to see who had just entered, probably worried I was someone they knew or, even worse, a cop. I found a seat in an empty row and shrunk down.
My heart was beating fast, and I felt even more nervous now that I had made it this far. Onscreen a straight porno played; a pig-tailed blond felated an older man. It didn't take long for my nervousness to be replaced by arousal.
About 10 minutes later a man entered my row. I didn't know if he was new or someone who had just switched seats. He sat down about five seats from me and, ignoring me, stared up at the screen. I though about moving since there were plenty of other empty rows, but I didn't. I followed his lead and stared at the screen and ignored him.
A little later the man stood up. He hunched his back to not block anyone's view behind him and, still watching the screen, he slowly edged his way towards me. He took the seat next to mine, still staring up at the screen, still ignoring me. Needless to say it spooked me, but for some reason I again didn't change my seat.
For a short time we sat there quietly. My erection had subsided when he had first sat down but as the scene on the screen intensified -- there were now two blondes on their knees -- my arousal increased, and soon my erection was back. I was glad he was ignoring me as I tried to surreptitiously fix my pants. If he noticed he didn't acknowledge it.
Onscreen one of the blondes turned her attention to the other blonde. I split my attention between watching the girl-on-girl action and sneaking glances to my right at this stranger. In the dim light he looked normal, average looking, maybe in his thirties or forties. He didn't look creepy or disgusting or gay. I figured him to be just a regular Joe who, like me, felt the need to watch a little porn tonight.
But it was creepy that given all the empty seats in the theater he chose to sit right next to me. Then again, why hadn't I changed my seat? That would have been easy enough, especially when he first moved down. Now I felt somehow compelled to stay there.
And then, without speaking, without even looking at me, he reached over and placed his hand over my wrist. When I didn't protest or resist, he picked up my arm and guided my hand into his lap, placing my palm firmly over his erection. I held my breath but didn't pull away. He kept staring at the screen, not speaking, as if I wasn't even there, that only my hand was.
With his hand still on my wrist he moved my hand up and down in a slow rhythm. It was a wordless instruction which I followed, for when he removed his grip, I continued to gently massage his erection through his pants. I had never done anything like this before but I didn't doing it now. To be honest, I kind of enjoyed it.
Peering at him peripherally I noticed that he remained staring up at the screen showing, his face showing no emotion. A few minutes passed before he reached down to unbutton his pants and lower his zipper. I moved my hand but he again took my wrist and guided my hand into the open flap. I now massaged him through his underwear, feeling the full size of his penis and even a little wet spot of per-cum. He shifted in his seat but his eyes remained glued to the screen.
And me? My own erection was almost painful now. I have to admit -- this was turning me on. Me, a straight guy, was basically jacking off a stranger, and it was incredibly erotic. And the way he did it, ignoring me and yet silently controlling me, was part of the turn-on. (And maybe if he had approached me differently - if he had spoken or asked permission or intimidated me - I might have gotten scared and fled.)
