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
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 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