We sit in the waiting room filled with the quiet white noise that so often accompanies such places. I look at you to see if you are nervous, but you are reading intently. You are intent on things when you set your mind to it, that is kinda how it all got started. We've often talked about my adult theater and gloryhole fantasies quite a lot, but I'm not really sure why they stick in my head so fervently even when I know they don't turn you on much. I guess when I came with you to New York to see your friend graduate, you felt like you owed me something since I had to miss my friend's party. That night, though, I believe your exact words were, "What do you say we do something naughty?" And I'd never turn something like that down.
You were wearing comfortable jeans and black long sleeve shirt, fit but not tight. Your trim body glowed when you smiled at me and said that we could check out an adult theater and then come back to the hotel for some "special loving," as I believe you termed it. I gave you a kiss and rubbed my hand up your front over your chest, a perfect handful each of your breasts are, so nice to cup. I felt that you were wearing the see-through bra, and couldn't wait to see it later.
Of course, it almost didn't go any farther. The first place we went to, Pleasure Dream, was a dive. Aside from the foul smell, there were some sketchy types in there. I could tell you were annoyed that you had consented to this. You hung in there, though, as we made our way to Video Xtacy.
The place was a small with a bright store in the front. Books, movies, condoms, dildos, blow-up dolls, all the usual rif-raf that fills such places. We scanned through the video section to see if there was anything interesting, aside from the usual Hollywood fake sex drivel. "Come on," I said and led us to the counter where we payed what looked to be a teenage boy - how did he ever get a job here? - for tickets into the theater.
Walking over to the theater I looked around. There was a couple, probably late twenties, looking through the lingerie. To the left was a large black man, walking with a slight limp, scanning the movies. He looked to be in his thirties and wore a faded baseball jacket. A chubby guy, married by the ring, and wearing a dirty white t-shirt looked through the magazines. Then it grew dark at the entrance, and once we opened it and stepped in we couldn't see anything except the blonde on the screen giving a blow-job. I wanted to stand and get my bearings, and my night vision, but I could tell you were nervous as you pulled at me and moved to find a seat. We sat a few rows back in the old, damaged chairs in the first spot we could find without vision. I put my arm around you and turned to the front, where the busty actress was now turned on all fours tilting her ass towards a black man's cock behind her. The camera zoomed in as he placed his cock on her ass and began to press. His cock slid in, she moaned, and my cock began to rise. Apparently you liked it too, because I felt your left hand reach slowly up my thigh, and then to my surprise, your fingers to my zipper. With some awkwardness, I guess you didn't want to be too obvious, you extracted my member and wrapped your soft and warm hand around it. I leaned back and towards you a little, and reached my left hand across to rub down your neck and to your chest, where we both stayed, locked, tense, watching intently as the blonde actress moaned monotonously at the black cock pumping her behind and the red cock in her mouth. It seemed like a long time we stayed like that, my mind quickly wandered to images of you on the screen instead of the actress with your silky brown hair falling in the way of the red cock and the black man enjoying his cock deep in your bum, only your moans would be ferverish squeals and ohhs, muffled every time the man in front of you dove his cock into your mouth. I don't know what was going through your mind, but when you started to gently move around, almost rhythmical, I knew it must be good. Then suddenly you jerked, zipped me up, stood up and pulled me with you.
I could tell as we walked towards the door, now that my eyes were adjusted, that there were 10 or so guys in there, although I couldn't seem them well. Their eyes watched us as we walked out, I'm not sure if you noticed that. When we stepped out the door we were immediately blinded and stopped momentarily. The bathroom was right there, so you stepped towards it and said, "just a quick moment." As I waited I took in the scene again. The large black man and the kid behind the counter were talking and laughing, although they both looked over towards me now and again. A punky looking guy, probably early 20's with a baseball cap came out of the theater long enough to see that I was standing there by the bathroom, but then turned around and went back in. There was a second chubby, married looking guy replacing the one that was at the magazines before. He wore a blue polo shirt and faded jeans.
As I stood there I planned my wording, and when you came out I carefully asked, "Before we go, I'd be interested in checking out the peep booths. We can just step in for a second and then head back home for you know what," and ended it with a big smile.
"Lets just go, O.K.?"
"Please... I'll give you an extra-special back rub when we get back."
You sized me up for a few seconds and then consented. With a woohoo I lead us to the counter again. The large black man emanated an annoyed feeling, I guess because we interrupted their conversation, until I asked for tokens for the booths, at which point he stopped and looked you over, from top, down to your toes and then back up, lingering for a moment at your mid-section. I don't know if you noticed that or not either, but I bet you did notice that as we walked away towards the peeps, he followed a short distance back.
"What are you thinking about," you interrupt my thoughts and bring me back to the smell of industrial cleaners and that silent noise in the waiting room. I get a sensation of the blue and lightness of the place in comparison to the heavy feeling of the adult theater.
"That night," I answer, "what about you?"