From: nobody@replay.com (Name withheld by request) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: Evening at the movies (m/b/b, cons) Date: 26 May 1995 06:02:20 +0200 X-Warning: This message was forwarded by an Anonymous Remailer. X-Comment: Replay does not necessarily approve of the contents of this posting. X-Comment: Please report inappropriate use to Evening at the Movies By Peter Young A boy-lover recalls the boy who helped him discover his feelings. ANOTHER FRIDAY EVENING at the small, college-run movie theater. As usual, two dollars admitted us for two second-run movies - a real bargain even then, back in 1970. I was with Dennis, my high school buddy, who was like me, an average guy. Maybe we both looked a little younger than our 17 years, but other than that we blended into the crowd of teens and college kids. The lights eventually went down and the previews rolled. Absentmindedly I noticed two small boys searching for seats in the darkness. Soon, they both sat in the one empty seat to my right - the only empty seat in the balcony. I glanced at my new neighbors in the flickering darkness and saw, with an unexpected quickening of my pulse, two blond, tanned ruffians about eight years of age. Both were shirtless, wearing only cut-off pants and sneakers. Try as they may, there was no mutually acceptable position where they could both take full advantage of the much sought after air conditioning - their real reason for being here at all, I later found out. I watched in amused silence, but was aware of some new, as of yet unnamed desire within myself. Was I being turned on, sexually, by these small creatures? Dare I admit to myself that I longed to feel skin on skin, that the smell of their dirt and sweat covered bodies was to me like a rare perfume? That their hair looked as if it would feel like the finest fur, and that I ached to run my hands through it? What was coming over me? I had been around similar boys all my life - school mates, neighbors, cousins, and kin - and I'd never been aroused at all. Was I becoming (in my vernacular of the time) queer? Should I run from the darkened room while I still could deny my feelings - even to myself? My mind played with these troubling thoughts, even as my eyes drank in the beauty of the moment. The movie was forgotten as the two angels continued to jockey for best positions. Was I staring? Was I smiling invitingly? Did I do something - anything - to invite the following to occur? The boy nearest me, the taller and more slender of the two, slowly and deliberately slid his hand onto mine, which was on the arm rest between our seats. I did not pull away, but it was a monumental struggle given the warring factions of my brain. I turned slowly, and saw that he was watching for my reaction. Seeing that it was not negative, he gently drew his hand along the length of my arm, and surely must have felt the shudder as my body reacted to this forbidden treat. Our eyes met in the flickering darkness, and locked together, shutting out all other details of our surroundings. In my dreamlike state - oblivious to the sounds and sights of the movie, the crowd, and of my friend right beside me - I felt another hand on my arm, the hand of the second boy, who had been watching intently all that had happened so far. Then, the feeling of a third hand, once again of the boy nearest me, only this time it was on my bare leg, just below the edge of my short pants. I wanted desperately to return the touch, but was conditioned to refrain from action. But society had not yet affected this bold young child - who knew what he wanted and worked ceaselessly until he got it. He inched forward in his seat, looked at his small companion a moment, then, silently, effortlessly rose from his seat, slid toward me, and landed softly (startlingly!) in my lap. I quickly looked at Dennis for his reaction, and saw that he was curious, but not alarmed. I shrugged it off, good-naturedly, and with a slight jerk of the head, silently suggested that we turn our attention back to the screen, and I appeared to do so. In reality, I was mentally jumping out of control - my body overwhelmed by all of the physical input. I felt love, trust, acceptance, guilt, shame, fear, desire, lust, disguist, contempt, and finally, once again, love, trust, acceptance. The boy placed an arm over each of mine - total skin contact - and leaned back onto my chest. His hair was in my face, brushing against my cheek, and I breathed in the aroma of youth. He relaxed his body with a sigh, and before I knew it, I had wrapped both my arms around his body, warming him from the chill of the almost too cool air. We sat as one while the movie progressed: Dennis's presence unfelt, his opinion of the situation unknown, the plot of the movie lost, at least to me. The second boy sat close to my right, leaning into me as well as he could, his arm placed on top of mine, which was wrapped around the slender frame of my own personal angel. I softly kissed the nape of his neck, only a fraction of an inch from my lips, and tasted his salty sweat. He shuddered gratefully and sighed. As we sat in the darkness, he may have fallen asleep in my arms - his breathing was rhythmic and deep. I scarcely breathed at all. I was intensely aroused, and feared that I might have an orgasm at the slightest touch. Presently, the movie ended. As the lights came up, the boy stretched and stood up lazily. He turned to face me and I was able to see him fully, for the first time. I remember his ribs showed through his sides, his lip was slightly bruised, and his hair in need of straightening. We smiled at each other sheepishly for a moment, then I asked how it was that they were here at all. The boy next to me answered that they sometimes tried to come into the theater to escape from the late summer heat. They never had to pay, since they usually didn't stay long, and the student volunteers managing the doors knew them from previous evenings. When I inquired, the boy before me stated that they lived a few blocks away - city kids, like I, myself, had been not too long ago. They were allowed to roam freely as long as they returned home at the appointed hour, which was fast approaching. I must have looked crest-fallen, or broken-hearted. There was a second feature that evening, and I was greatly looking forward to a repeat performance from my new friend. He sensed my disappointment, but could offer no alternative. Then, he slowly reached into his pocket (which, like every boy's, contained a treasure trove of various goods). He delicately, haltingly, chose something which obviously meant a great deal to him, and with some amount of indecision, finally pressed it into my palm. It was a plastic crest, with lions and scrolls and all. A coat of arms which I recognized as having come from the cardboard gift-wrap box of a whisky bottle. I myself had several as a child. He pressed it into my open palm, and sweetly asked me to keep it for him, that he would come back to claim it someday. Then he and his companion bounded up the aisle, down the stairs, and out into the warm, dark night. I was too emotionally overwhelmed to try to explain to Dennis all that had happened, and scarcely knew, myself. I beleive I sensed jealousy in his attitude, but the second movie was beginning, and we just never spoke of the event again. I sat there in the darkness, replaying in my mind what had happened, the scent of the young boys still in my nostrils. I turned the crest over and over in my hand, my fingers exploring each crevice and bit of scrollwork. I handed it to Dennis, who silently did the same, eventually giving it up to my waiting hands. I suddenly realized that I didn't know the boys' names: that I would have no word to put to the memory in days and years to come. I resolved to see him again, and though I was a faithful member of the audience on many evenings in the years to come, I never again saw my little friend. I still occasionally travel to my old neighborhood and see a movie in the old theater. I always sit in the same area in the balcony, and sometimes think that perhaps it really was all a dream. Except I still have the crest - the seemingly cheap, plastic coat of arms - tucked away with a very few other keepsakes from my youth. Few experiences remain in such sharp detail in my mind, and few possessions hold so dear a memory. -The End