As long as I can remember, I’ve had a fantasy about porn theaters. Most of the time, it’s pretty demure – go there with a lover, cop some naughty feels, maybe kneel on the sticky floor and take him in my mouth while he watches the action onscreen.
In my fantasy, the “theater” looks like one of those lovely old theaters before the word multiplex became part of our culture’s lexicon.
Velvet drapes, velvet covered seats, now tawdry and run down, cracks in the ceiling. (For any Torontonians out there, I’m thinking along the lines of The Danforth Music Hall. Only smaller.)
And I always picture myself with my lover in the back seats, where I can see a few men further down, their shoulders moving a little as they touched themselves through their clothes, but they aren’t close enough to see me.
At least, that’s in the demure version.
Sometimes, the fantasy gets wicked naughty. It involves my lover pulling out my tits and playing with my nipples. Some of the men notice. They seem torn between watching what’s happening on screen and what’s happening in the rear of the theater. My lover slides his fingers up my thigh, under the short skirt I’m wearing. I’m moaning now, my sounds competing with the grunting in the film.
Slowly, one man makes his way back to the second-last row of seats; he’s stopped watching the film altogether, interested in what’s happening live in front of him. My lover slides his hand into my hair, pushing my head down to his waiting, naked, hard cock. I kneel on the dirty, sticky floor and begin to suck him. And while I do so, he flips up my skirt, high over my ass, showing off my ass and sticky pussy to our voyeur. Before long, the other two or three men in the theater have also moved back, watching us, stroking themselves as I make wet nasty noises around my lover’s cock, fingering my pussy at the same time. Making crude remarks about me and commenting how much I look like I need a good fucking.
At any rate, I explained some of this fantasy (though not quite all the naughty bits – oops, guess the cat is out of the bag now) to the boy when he told me that there are still porn theaters in Toronto. Who knew?
Well, he decided to surprise me the other night. We were shopping downtown when oops, would you look at that, here’s the porn theaters he told me about! Of course, I had to see them for myself.
They were about the size I figured, though much cleaner than I’d supposed. And not at all shabby chic. But sadly, the back row was taken on each side by a lone man. I’ll be honest – I was too nervous to look in their laps to see if they were stroking themselves.
So we grabbed two seats together about halfway down. The porn was interesting enough, for porn – the boy and I traded some naughty whispers, and he kept rubbing my nipple through my sweater until I was squirming and nearly ready to throw myself on the floor and beg him to do me right there.
That is, until a new man came in and sat himself in the seats directly across from us. Oh, about ten feet away, maybe less.
Isn’t there an unspoken etiquette about not sitting in the same row as another person when you’re in an x-rated theater? It’s not like I know this for sure – I’d never done this before. But men have these rules about everything else (don’t take the urinal next to someone if one further away is available, don’t look at the person beside you, etc.), it seems like there must be some unspoken rules about this.
We continued with our naughty whispers, though less touching now (I think the boy was trying to respect my privacy, with this stranger in our line of sight). And then some movement caught my eye.
The stranger (a young guy, maybe in his twenties) had his pants around his ankles. His legs were completely bare, and rising up from his lap was this very long, very hard cock. His hand was stroking gently.
God god god. This stuff just doesn’t happen to me! 🙂
But there it was, in all its glory. I couldn’t resist looking again – ok, truth be told, I watched him stroke himself as much as I could without being too obvious about it. It was absolutely wild.
The boy was shocked when I told him what was going on. But instead of being offended that I was watching (god bless the boy) he encouraged me to watch. Knew how much it was turning me on.
We left very shortly thereafter. We’re both a little less daring in reality than in the wicked depths of our minds. Thus far, at least. So no, I didn’t go over to the stranger or acknowledge him in any way. No, the boy didn’t strip me naked, finger me in front of the lad, offer him a better view of my pussy while I did naughty things on the floor.
But I was left wondering if he was hoping we would.