Date: Wed, 4 Aug 2010 21:35:34 -0500
From: J M <jmtales@live.com>
Subject: Movie Theater

All stories I write are works of fiction. If material depicting sexual
activities between an adult male and an adolescent boy is illegal for you
to read, or you are too young to read it, please take the high road and
close this page.  Movie Theater


Thirteen, middle school, and me. That is what today is about. I turned
thirteen about 3 hours ago, and am now sitting in the movie theater, alone,
as I most enjoy. I am seated near the middle, just before the middle
isle. How could you not want to sit here? First, I can put my feet up
because there is a bar, but second, I can see all the people who walk
in. People watching. Yes, I am guilty of this. Do I care? Not
necessarily. I watch people a lot and I know I am not the only one
watching; you do it too, I have seen you.

Like just now! He's handsome. I like his arms. They have hair, but not too
much and I can see his veins. He's looking my way; I wonder if he is eyeing
up my shorts. I know they are too small, but they are my favorite pair and
I know I look cute in them. They make my butt look good, or so I convince
myself. In reality, I think I am unattractive. I even lie to myself, so I
can feel better about who I am and that I don't mind being alone. Having
this man look at me makes me feel I am not alone, though; like I know
him. I like that. I like knowing people or thinking I know them, because
then they never disappoint you; in my mind they never are mean, or dirty,
cruel or fake. I like it in my mind; everything is how I want it.

Sometimes too, the world is how I want it to be, before I even know I want
it to be that way.

The man sits next to me, after brushing against my leg, because I did not
move it in time. He grunts out an apology, which I blush at, not knowing
what to say. He slumps in his chair, taking up both arm rests. I don't
mind; I easily fit in the seat. Awkwardly, I am already pressed up against
his chair, and I can feel the heat rising from his arm. I also notice he is
alone. I like that; we are now on an adventure together.

He looks down at me and asks if I have seen this movie, or know if it is
supposed to be good. My shyness takes over and I squeak out a slight no. I
think I said it aloud. I hope I did. He keeps looking at me, probably
because I am blushing. My plump cheeks are hot, I can feel them. My lips
purse in annoyance. The man asks if I am okay. I nod, returning my gaze to
the screen. His name is Tony; he tells me that his coworker said this movie
is good. If it's not, he's going to make him blow him. I wonder if he?d let
me blow him. I bet his dick is enormous, like his arm, the one next to me.

Then I feel it. I have to pee. I squeeze my legs together; the previews
start, the lights darken. Shit. What now? Tony looks down at me again. He
chuckles and comments on my legs; he knows what I need. He says he needs to
pee too. He takes his jacket from his lap, and sets it on his seat as he
stands. His arm, that beautiful arm, shoots out in front of him, beckoning
me to go first. I get up and start walking. Outside of the theater, I
traipse ahead, bouncing in my step, making sure my ass jiggles. Don't get
me wrong, I am far from fat, but if you walk just right, you can get your
butt cheeks to jiggle. Little boys do it best because they simply don't
care what other people see. I care, and I want men, like Tony, to see my
jiggly, cute butt. I want him to see it, to want it, and act on this want I
have created in his mind.

Entering the bathroom, I hesitate. What now? Urinal, stall; urinal
stall. Which do I choose? I hesitate too long. Tony ends up making the
decision for me: urinal. He stomps towards a central urinal. I naturally
glide next to him; to his right, my left. I am right next to the arm
again. How I want to feel it, for the powerful hand attached to it to feel
me. Why can't it? It's not wrong. How can it be if we both obviously want
it so bad?

His button is undone, and now the fly. A piece of meat flops out. It is
large. I see the veins, blue and road like, morphing his penis into a work
of art. A work my mouth drools for. He grabs hold and begins his stream of
piss. At this point, my hands are still fidgeting with my button. He
catches me looking and grunts. I like his grunt. It reminds me of a
bull. He notices I am not peeing yet and queries if I am pee shy. I
blush. I am thankful the artful restroom is empty. I tell him I might be, a
little. He says he?ll help me, and pushes his now relieved meat back into
his pants, zips, and buttons back up.

His hand is now on my shoulder, guiding me toward the back stall, you know,
the larger ones for handicapped people. My plan has worked. Once again, I
have accomplished everything flawlessly. He gently pushes me in before him,
and latches it shut behind him. He guides me towards the toilet bowl, lifts
the seat, and stand behind me. His large, beautiful hands are on my stomach
now. I breathe in deep. He asks a simple question, "Continue?" I nod my
head, "yes."

His hands roam under my shirt, pulling it off. He hangs it on the small
hook on the door of the stall; he has had practice too. I find this
pleasing as I hate training in perverted men. I am now half naked, and his
hands are on my smooth stomach, caressing my belly button and flat,
streamlined torso. With one of his hands remaining on my tight bellybutton,
his other hand moves down to my jeans. He unbuttons them skillfully with
one hand. He unzips them slowly and soundlessly. I hold my breath as my
pants are now guided down my boyish, hairless legs, to sit on top of my
tennies. He praises my body, telling me I am perfect. He purrs into my ear
that I am perfect, so perfect. He calls me his son. I like it, in an odd,
excitable way.

His hands are on my hips. I feel them through my thin, overused pair of
briefs. They are too small, quite tight, and worn in almost every place,
giving them a skin-like feel I like. My four-inches of dick are hard,
protruding out from the thin material, and my tight balls are accentuated
underneath. His left hand continues to rub my hip, while my favorite, his
right hand, moves to my bulge. My penis jumps as his hand makes contact
over the cotton fabric. I fall into bliss, and lean back into his strong
physique. He tells me to turn around and face him, while removing his hands
from my body. I concede and do as he says.

I am facing him now, in total awe of this beautiful man who wants me. He
nods at me. He knows I know what to do next. My hands twitch as they move
to his button. I pull. It unlocks. His zipper is next; I tug and the door
opens. His gorgeous meat falls out once more. This time though, it is
mine. All mine. I smell a bit of stale pee. That's okay. Pee never hurt
anyone. His hands are now on my shoulders. I know what he wants; I sit down
on the toilet behind me so his cock is right in front of my face. He scoots
forward. My lips part and prepare themselves with a quick lick from my
tongue. It's been a while, but like riding a bike, I fall into the motions.

My tongue flicks out again, almost of its own volition, to taste the now
plump penis. It encircles the head, receiving a low moan of recognition
from the man. I move my head forward, and take in the head. I slide my hand
up his thigh slowly, as I am working his head in my mouth, and grab onto
his low hanging, full balls. I tug them, knead them, and make sure they
don't feel left out. I move my mouth further down; I have more than half of
it in me now. I would guess it to be at least 8 inches and thick, very
thick. I slide my mouth further. It is the moment of truth. I gag once, and
then regain control. I ease up, breathe out my nose, and slide back down. I
want it; I want it all. I have one more inch to go and I will have done it,
then I am home free to the finish, to my prize.

The man sees how I am doing and grabs onto my hair. I have learned they
like it long. I don't mind it that way. It is necessary I have learned and
this man is no exception. His hands curl through my brown locks, tugging
gently, just how I like it. He does surprise me, however, by shoving that
last inch into my mouth. His bristly pubes are now in my nose and I smell
man. What a scent: sweat, soap and pre-cum. Can it get much better?

His shorts are now at his feet. They are mingling with my jeans, missing
all the action.

The man does what he is supposed to do and takes control, just how I like
it. He moves his hips back and forth, plunging his massive cock in and out
of me. My tongue feels every vein, making sure to apply pressure along the
bottom all the while. My hand continues to pull on his sack, trying to make
this last as long as possible. I try and remain quiet with my sucking, but
his raging thrusts get the better of me and I begin to release drool down
my chin. He gets a really good thrust just now and I can feel his head
brush the back of my throat; he wants me to be his, even if just for a
single moment, and he is going to deliver. I release his balls from my
hand, and grab onto his thick, hairy thighs to brace myself. His pace
quickens even more.

His head enlarges, his cock fattens, and he body becomes tense. He holds my
whole head in his strong hands now with his cock shoved deep into my
throat. He starts to shoot. It is powerful and intoxicating, my own dick
near purple from the strain. Yet, I ignore it. I am here for the man, my
man, because he needs this, I can tell. It twitches and pulses, pushing an
inch or so in and out, as it continues to cum. I lose count at eight
impressive shots because my concentration is needed on swallowing it all. I
finally feel it stop, the bit of excess slowly drooling out of the tip. He
gently begins to pull out as I suck the last bit out of him. His large
penis is now pretty much flaccid, once more hanging in front of my face.

I look up into my man's face. His hands still rest on my head. He looks
back at me. My hands are still gripping his strong thighs. He moves a hand
under my arm and pulls me up to stand. He hooks his other arm into my other
armpit and easily lifts me into the air. My hands lose contact with his
legs, but I quickly transfer them to hang around his vein-covered neck. He
face moves in and our lips meet, just once. It was one long, deep moist,
cummy kiss. He ended it; I didn't want it to. That part is my favorite. My
reward is over now.

He puts me back down and starts to pull up his pants. I whimper quietly to
myself because I don't want it to end. I turn around and face the wall so
he doesn't see my disappointment. I look down; my dick is no longer
hard. It is back to its normal state. I hear a zipper being pulled and an
assumed button being fastened. I hesitate. Do I say anything? Do I do
anything? Once more, he beats me to it. I feel a hand on my butt cheek. It
is nice there, as if my cheek was made for that hand to squeeze it. The
hand moves to my crack and slides down to my tight hole. One finger brushes
it and pushes gently on it. After a few seconds of sinful pleasure, the
finger, and hand, is removed. "Thanks kids." I hear the door open, him walk
away, and the door slamming back. He's gone.

I move and reclose the door. I sit down on the toilet. I see my shirt
across the stall. I see my pants and briefs around my ankles. My hand moves
to my lips; they are puffy. I can't help but smile. I pull up my briefs,
snapping the waistband back into place. My pants are quick to follow, the
zipper and button being restored. I grab my shirt and slip it over my
head. I shake my head, settling my hair into a hopefully acceptable
place. I unlock the door, leave the restroom, and walk out of the exit of
the theater. As I walk out, I mouth, "No, thank you."



****************

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