At The Adonis

It had been an awful day at work, but a really nice day outside, and I didn't particularly feel like sitting on the bus for two hours going home. It's funny that the so-called express bus actually takes longer than the subway, and costs $3.50 to boot! Not only that, but I invariably get some huge woman who hasn't seen her feet in years sitting next to me, whether there's room or not. No, I thought, I just don't feel like going home... but I couldn't decide what to do.

My dilemma was solved when I opened up that day's edition of the Village Voice to check out the movie listings. "Century Mining" was now playing at the Adonis! Having jacked off to some of the photo sets from that flick, I realized where I could find my salvation: at the movies, and without Siskel and Ebert!

Five o'clock finally rolled around, and I took off like a shot. Even though I work on Seventh Avenue in the thirties, I figured I'd rather save my energy for cruising the theater, so I walked over to Eighth Avenue and took the bus up to fiftieth. There is was on the marquis, "Century Mining," and the co-feature, "A Night At Halsted's." Oh well...the B-flick was almost as old as I was, but with Pierce Daniels (who I'd actually met a few weeks earlier), in the other movie, I figured I couldn't lose!

I went in, paid my $6, and then bumped into at least five seats while my eyes were getting accustomed to the dark. That's the fun part - the anticipation, the mystery, of not knowing what would happen. I wandered over to the smoking section, not just because I smoke, but also because the sign that says "Smoking Section" is lighted, so you can see a little better, and, having found myself a seat, started watching the movie until my eyes got used to the darkness.

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Well, at this point, I must digress from this narrative. Anybody can give you a film review...what's important here is what I (and just about everyone else the theater), was up to that evening. If you've ever been there, you're familiar with what goes on, but bear with me. The parade of men up and down the aisles may not have been the best, but it certainly was above average. A couple of young, yuppie types; a few twinkies, more than the usual number of jocks, and the usual number of trolls. On a scale of one to ten, the crowd so far was a seven.

After watching the procession of horny men go past my seat a few times I decided on the one(s) I wanted. My first target: a guy about twenty-seven or so, business suit, good-sized basket (anybody who can show a basket through a three-piece suit is worth knowing, believe me!), six feet tall or so, dark curly hair. A moustache. And a wedding ring.

I guess I ought to stop again for a minute and tell you that married men are a favorite hobby of mine. They seem so sexy...and afterwards, most are soooo grateful! With most, it's not that they don't get enough at home from the wife; it's that they were always attracted to men and thought they could suppress the feeling by marrying. Unfortunately (for them, anyway, not for me), it doesn't work.

This guy was hot, and as soon as I saw him coming again, I leaned back in my chair, unzipped my fly and hauled out my cock. I'm certainly not the biggest in the dick department, but my eight inches is pretty good-sized, and I've learned how to work it to my best advantage, to make it look even bigger. I started tugging on it, using both hands, and stared up at him as he passed, licking my lips (yeah, I know, I'm an awful slut!). He stopped dead in his tracks, and stared back at me...and then kept moving. Damn!

I would imagine that if you ever went to any of these places, you know the type of games that go on, almost an elaborate ballet of sex. There are certain moves, certain actions, that have a universal meaning in these situations, whether it's a backroom bar or a alley in the Village or a movie theater. Men are men.

As I saw him coming around again, this time from the other direction, I started my little show again. This time, he stopped, stared, started moving again...damn! Oops, wait a minute...he was doubling back. He stopped and stared again...and then moved into the row of seats behind me. Bingo!

He picked the chair right behind me to my left, and sat down, spreading his legs wide. I kept one hand on my dick, and slowly reached around, putting my left hand on his right knee. God, it felt good! I looked up at him and smiled, and he smiled back. Geez, gorgeous white teeth, and now I could see his eyes - a beautiful green. I moved my hand up his leg, and as I got closer to his groin, he started thrusting his hips out, trying to get my hand on his cock as soon as possible. Finally, paydirt! My hand closed around his bulge between his legs, that big, pinstripe-covered basket, and I squeezed, gently. It was already hard, and felt thick...and he had a good pair of balls, too. I rubbed some more, and feeling his cock start to grow some more, I reached my hand up for his zipper. As I started to pull it down, he put his hand over my mine. Electric! I looked up at his face again and smiled, and sort of motioned him to come down and sit next to me. He got a sort of strange look on his face and got up, looking like he wouldn't do it...but he did.

Aw, God, he smelled good! It almost hurt...just thinking that one guy shouldn't be that good looking. It also hurt a little bit thinking that no matter how good it was, he belonged to someone else. But then he put his hand on my dick, and it was easy to forget all about that. I turned to him, and found my lips against his...and then all over his. He sure knew how to use his tongue, and I returned the favor in kind, our mouths dueling in the darkness, my lip being tickled by his moustache.

Still with my tongue in his mouth, I reached down his body, feeling through his shirt...hairy chest, good sized muscles, erect nipples. I toyed with his nipples for a few seconds, felt him respond...heard him respond as he almost groaned. Then lower, down to his groin. I rubbed his cock through his pants again, and then reached for his zipper, still not looking. Once again, I felt his hand cover mine, restraining it...only this time, I could hear/feel him opening his pants and unzipping his fly. Victory was mine!

I reached into his briefs, finally, going past his cock and cupping his balls. He stiffened a little bit at that point (maybe nobody played with his nuts at home), but we still didn't lose mouth contact. Good sized nutsack...felt like they would be real low-hangers, and pictured this married son-of-a-bitch getting out the shower, stark naked, his balls hanging down and his cock half-stiff. Umm! I massaged his nuts for a time, and then moved my hand up, up his shaft, not stopping 'til I got to the head of his dick. It was thicker than mine, not quite as long, though, and I felt a pang of jealousy for the bitch who could have this any time she wanted it. Not now, though, I thought viciously, right now it's all mine!

As I rubbed his dick, even though I still couldn't see it (well, a little, out of the corner of my eye), I could tell he was cut. He was also working on my dick, and seemed to be enjoying it, so I felt the way he was rubbing my cock and started working his the same way. That's always the way to handle these guys...see what they do to you, and then do the same to them. They usually don't have enough experience to do a routine, so they usually do what comes naturally. God, I love a real man!

Finally, I needed some air and broke away from his kiss, glad of the chance to see what I'd landed. Christ! His cock, sticking out of my hand, was gorgeous...thick, and cut, and beautifully proportioned, his balls resting on top of his briefs, his shirt hiked up giving me a tantalizing view of his hairy gut. He leaned back, and I felt his hand leave my dick and caress my face...his fingers run through my hair...his hand rest on the back of my neck. I knew what that meant. He looked clean, no precum, and I had no open sores in my mouth...so down I went. I started at his navel, working my tongue through the wispy hairs that drew a line down to cock, feeling his big dick against my neck...I worked my way down, bypassing his cock, and licked his balls...a fresh, clean sort of smell, macho but gentle. Then I worked my tongue up his shaft, and, still being in a safe-sex frame of mind, took my hand and wrapped it around the head of his dick. He groaned, audibly, but who gave a shit? I lathered up his shaft with my spit, then went back down to his balls, and started to let my fingers do the walking - up and down his wet, slippery meat. Fast on the way down, slowly on the way up, making sure I got in a lot of friction on the head. He spread his legs a little wider, and took my cock in his hand again, jerking it faster than he had been before.

I half wanted this to go on forever, but the other half really wanted to see this married stud shoot his load. I started working my hand faster and faster, and I was getting so hot that I thought I was about to shoot my jizz as well. My mouth sought out his again, and we played dueling tongues again while we jacked each other off. We must have made quite a sight, the two of us sitting there, our hands on each others cocks, our faces mashed together like we were trying to swallow one another. He spread his legs a little wider, and I felt his cock surge, getting even thicker...and that sent me over the edge too. We broke the kiss in time to watch each others load shoot from our hands...I felt weak, but watched him shoot five good blasts of cum onto his hairy belly...he aimed my out between my legs, and I shot all over the back of the seat in front of me. Whew!

He pulled a handkerchief out his one of his pockets, and wiped up the cum...while I kinda sat there, just idly milking my dick, enjoying the last of the sensation. He looked over at me again, smiled, and we kissed one last time...not as intensely this time, but nice...almost as if he was saying, "thanks." It gave me one more chance to rub his now-soft cock. He tasted so damned good, I didn't want it to end, but finally he pulled back...looked at his watch...I guess he had to catch a bus home to the little missus or something like that. I watched him put his equipment away, and I did the same, almost catching my dick in the zipper since I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. He sat back again for a minute, and smiled again...and then looked down to find himself still holding the cum-soaked handkerchief. He looked up at me again, and reached over, putting the damp rag into my hand. He smiled and got up, rubbing me once on the shoulder and running his fingers through my hair once more...and was gone.

I scrunched back down in the seat and pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and turned my attention to the movie that I'd come to see, fondling the handkerchief. In the dim light of the theater, I could see the embroidered initials, "DTS." I wondered what they stood for.

But not for long. There were some new men wandering around, and that rag came in handy a few times that night!

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