by Charles Bryant
Black guy keeps looking round at me in the darkness, his eyes flashing. Second film's up and in it there is also a black guy, but he's lean and has an enormous cut cock. I prefer the big build of the guy sitting in front of me and his nice uncut cock with the slippery foreskin sliding over the wide head.
Fucking...I'm getting hard again. I can see the outline of the bro's big shoulders. I remember how he sucked my face, his pink tongue in my mouth. I'm hot for another session already, feel as if I want to explore more possibilities with this great guy. I wanna fuck his cock and balls, face to face of course, rubbing each others tits, our mouths plugged together like two sucking plungers, our thighs together, skin against skin.
I wanna get inside him too, riding that beautiful arse shaped like a pair of melons in a net bag. I want him to fuck me too, his massive weight pressing me down against some seedy bed in a manky room.
A voice inside my head says there will be time for all this. My excitement is rising and I can feel my whole body shaking like washing drying on a line that is blown by a riffling wind. It's as if I'm about to take off. I suddenly realise that I am mumbling to myself. Bad sign!
The lean bloke onscreen is saying "Honey I wanna fuck you until the teeth rattle in yer head." She's laying back with her legs open. Close up shot of his cut hard cock sliding into her fanny. She's moaning and scrubbing her own tits, fucking big bazookas they are too, and pushing herself onto his spear.
The guy on screen is getting up some speed and the sound is a huge turn on. He's gritting his teeth and sweating, looks like he's in pain. She's doing some pretty convincing deep register moaning, her head thrashing from side to side like he's hitting her with one fist then the other. There's a lot of movement in the cinema, ducking and clinching. The smell is predominantly male with the odd whiff of sweaty aftershave running down someone's chest. And the smell of cock, cheesey ripe cock.
There's suddenly a shadow between me and the aisle and someone plonks down beside me. I turn to look. Wow! Nice! It's a young guy, early twenties, dark hair, delicious profile. Masculine looking in a slim and well-dressed way. Longish nose and nice shaped chin and lips. Jacket with the shirt open at the neck and the tie loose. Puts his arm next to mine on the seat rest, stretches his thighs so that our legs are touching. Looks at me and smiles. Handsome face.
I reach down and grab his hand. We lock and squeeze, affectionate and reassuring. He leans toward me and says "Hi" and I can only just hear him above the noise coming from the couple onscreen. I say hullo back and squeeze his hand again. We lock fingers and sit still for some time, watching the action.
I lean toward him so that I am almost kissing him. "You just come in?"
"Yeah. Never been here before. A mate told me about it. Much happening?"
I reach between his legs and cup his packet through his silky textured trousers. "Now there is," I say.
He looks straight in my eyes and the light from the screen is reflected in his shimmery stare. "Mmm, that feels good," he says. I kiss him on his big mouth. We're in a fairly exposed position and I can hear the attendant coughing loudly.
"Have to be discreet," I whisper.
"I'm so fucking horny," he says; and his voice, deep and tuneful with a nice accent, turns me on just by itself. Everything about him is neat and pleasant and his thick curly hair looks freshly combed. Like coming out of a smoky room and breathing clean mountain air after rain. He makes this whole setup appear tawdry but is himself untouched.
"I don't do anything anal," he says. "But love to suck and be sucked." It's as if he's stating his terms right away. I wonder if he is naïve or very knowing. Could be either.
"Suits me," I say and I am already calculating that he would probably let me fuck him given the chance. Does that make me a rotten bastard? Probably.
My black friend looks round at me and winks, or I think he does. It's difficult to tell in the dark. Like it's difficult to tell much about my new friend. Nice guy? Nasty man? All moral judgements are usually way wide of the mark.
Now what am I thinking? Usual crap, like how it would feel to make love with both of these at the same time. He says "So who is that black guy winking at?" Confirmation. I say, "I just had some fantastic sex with him."
"He looks big."
"Tasty shoulders. Tasty all round."
"I've never done it with a black bloke. Some of them have great physiques."
"He certainly does."
Like two stud keepers remarking on the best points of a particular horse. Is that demeaning or not? Not necessarily. We calculate the merits of all sorts of things and the human body need not be exempt.
I jump in and say "Have you ever had a threesome before?"
He drops his head. "No. I am not terribly experienced actually."
I was right. A bit naïve. Have to tread carefully here. I don't want to have to accuse myself of debauching an innocent. Some might think that was fun, but not me.
He says "But I have often fantasised about it, being between two guys." He lets this sink in and then adds "Why did you ask? Got any ideas?"
I giggle. "Got plenty of ideas, mate."
"You and me and the black guy?" It already sounds as if he is agreeing to something which nobody has asked him -- yet.
"You'd like that?"
"Love it." He sounds very passionate about the idea. And then I begin to wonder if he is as inexperienced as he says. Gay people often lie about this. You hear someone telling you they are a virgin but when you get against their arse you find a hole big as a shire horse's collar. I've got my hand down the back of his trousers (discreetly!) already and it feels sooo good. Buns with muscle and curve and I can feel the hip bone so not much fat. He raises himself in his seat so I can feel everything but when I attempt to put a finger in his floret he pushes me away. Of course, he might be trying to get me worked up, nothing more.
I indicate the black guy. "You want me to ask him?"
The young guy squirms in his seat as if in anticipation of a big treat. "OK. But I am not definitely commiting myself to anything, so don't get annoyed if I might back down. I like to see how things develop."
"Caution is best, mate. Hang on, I'll just go and see what he thinks."
What am I now? A pimp? A procurer? In for a penny...
I glide down the aisle and along the row like the sugar plum fairy. All I need is my wand and a silvery transatlantic accent and a little furry squeeky muff. That delightful mound of meat which is my black bro is squeezed into a chair a couple of sizes too small for him, made for lesser mortals. His arms and shoulders bulge and overflow as do his heroic thighs and legs. He is smiling up at me and I feel an irresistible desire to plunge my cock down his soft wet throat. I want to lick and devour him. I am getting weirder and weirder.
"Come back for more of the same?" he wickedly asks and his smile is conspiratorial. I squeeze in beside him, overwhelmed by this slab of desirable flesh. Is it a person? Is it a mind? When the forces of nature take over we all become objects.
Like a daft girly I say "I really like you."
He squeezes my hand warmly, and then my thigh. "It's mutual bro."
I've known him about an hour and I adore him. But in another hour, when the wave of satisfaction has rinsed me clean and unclogged, I might feel nothing at all.
"Did you find another recruit?" he asks, motioning his head to the younger guy sitting some rows behind us. "He looks cute."
We both look at the film. Passion is spent and the two of them are smoking and staring at the ceiling. Highly original. Onscreen the black guy's big dong looks even bigger compared with his slim body even when it's slack.
My hand is on my friend and I say "The newbie looks a bit like that guy up there. Except he's white and his old fella is probably not so well developed."
My friend is squeezing me back and makes a murring sound. Pussy is warm and satisfied.
I look at him. "What do I call you?" I ask.
It's like some sort of proposal and terribly intimate in this arena of the nameless gladiators. More squeezing and murring, feeling easy with each other, defences down. Robert, Robert: I want to call him by his name, and I do this, several times, like calling up some deep and hidden force. And with each repetition of the word I feel closer to the source -- of love; nearer to the fountainhead of true grace. He's smiling at me all the time as if used to such crazy behaviour.
Our hands are on each others bodies. So how much closer can you get? We are all flesh. The intellect is unreliable, the changing of the mood is tidal: all is flux in that arena. But when our glances interlock and when the feeling rises in us both and when our hands touch fellow flesh, then we are closer to the mystery than ever. `Nearer my God to thee...' That is no blasphemy where He is love. And when we love we too (or two) are One with the Three.
Now I become arcane, and that is good.
"So what's the young guy's name?" asks Robert. "And what does he want?"
"I haven't asked his name yet. The anonymity of this place has held me back. But he's interested in exploring with us."
"Bodies. A threesome. He says he is inexperienced. But I don't know."
"Only one way to find out, Michael."
"Yeah, for sure. But I don't want to do it in here. I want it to be -- nice."
Robert pats my leg, like he's my uncle. "I'm married darling, got four teenage kids. No privacy in my house." He sounds regretful, as if he'd really like some smoochy stuff.
Married? Well, what's that to me? Good luck to him. I'm not seeking some lifetime's bonding just the pleasurable sensation of the moment. Like I reckon that's all we have -- the moment. Anything else is a dream and beyond reality. All the phrases, the ceremonies, the conversations, the ideas -- all a dream.
I live alone. Two small rooms and a kitchen. But it's mine, my palace. Don't usually ask anyone back, don't often want to. I look round at my younger friend and he gives a wave, as if glad to be noticed.
It's OK. My mind's made up.
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