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.BALCONY BONER

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by Jack Fritscher

In the dim light from the projection booth, he laid his dick over the neck of the back of the balcony seat next to me. Big. Slick. Thick. Boa erector. Already wet from other mouths. But the way his big snake hung, long and fat and veined, showed he was still looking for a good time.

Me? I was a good time waiting to happen.

His dick slung a third of the way down the wood seat. The thing wasn’t hard, but looked real itchy, like it had been, and wanted to be again. Light reflecting from the screen played silver, really weird, on this big long prick textured in the movie light like moon-skin. Great veins rolled around the massive shaft. The head was perfect. A mushroom crown. A sign of sexual good luck, my Irish grandfather told me. (He also said a part can be greater than the whole.)

What was amazing was the cock head had been recently ‘skinned, which made me cross my knees, and which also meant, attached to the other end of this dangling moviehouse bait, I must have me a white male, most likely southern redneck, young, military, who got circumcized, by choice, his or some kinky commanding officer’s, while in the service no more than maybe six weeks before. The bush of hair at the top of his hose was brunet, and, even though I’m partial to blonds, when any man drops his, I swear to God, 10-inch dick over the seat next to mine in a sleazoid movie theatre, I know how to put my lips together and blow.

What a sight! Like the Dick from the Black Lagoon, the head kind of raised up and the shaft flexed like he was tightening his belly. Massive! Rolling left and slowly returning right to hang straight down. What a fistful! I wanted to reach out and touch it. Maybe he didn’t want it touched. Maybe he just liked to show it off. Nothing’s worse than having an exhibitionist scream at you, “That’s not what I meant at all.” (I know.)

So to make certain, I climbed out of my seat, and knelt on the floor facing into the seat where the cock monster was rearing up and rolling left to right like a thing from outer space wanting some action. I touched the slit in the mouth of the head. Clear lube stuck to my finger and stretched like gossamer all the way to my mouth. A small taste of cock. I licked all my fingers and moved them slowly around the base of his mushroom crown, like I was screwing it and unscrewing it. More lube pearled out.

I wet my fingers and traced up the length of the shaft. I was getting more confident with every degree of liftoff as the 10-incher started its slow rise from the sloped back of the theater seat. The flickering movie light was kind of like a strobe that made his hardon grow in progressive disconnected flashes. At 45-degrees up, the cock looked ready for oral service.

I checked left and right. The balcony was cool.

I wet my lips and tongued into his piss slit. I wrapped my mouth around his big head. Like swallowing a 3-way electric bulb. I knelt up straighter to get me some purchase on the shaft, but my knees were stuck to the floor. Signs and omens are everywhere. I mean shit like this always happens to me when I know I’m in for a super time, so I pull my knees loose, and dive down this mysterious, disconnected dick. Fuck who it belongs to! Big cock is big cock is what that woman from Oakland said she said she said.

Despite the slick taste of other mouths, which I spit out, I quick got the true flavor of his dick. Musky. Male. Military. Seafood. Often showered. Always sweaty. Vague smegma erupting from near the fresh circumcision scar. Young. Definitely. Proud as a son of a bitch of his cock.

I started doing reps and sets in regular rhythm on his young dick, sucking first with my lips, then my hand around his cock with my forefinger and thumb ringed around my mouth, working hand and mouth together, drooling lube, sucking him, sucking him hard. Chewing on the crown, hardening him more, working my teeth lightly on the cut-scar, which really drove him crazy, hearing him moan, vaguely noticing him rise, finally him standing, big, but invisible in the shadow of an old sign reading “Balcony Closed.” Teasing him. Tongue-fluttering him. Then diving down. Intent on every inch. His cock choked me. Sure sign of a really big one. A gag on a cock, Yeah! So I gagged me again.

A quick flash of light. What the fuck! An usher. “Get the shit outta here,” I said. “You new here or just an asshole?” He flashed the light again. “Nice one,” he said.

“Beat it, bozo!” I said. Jeez. But the flash of light was great. The huge dick was one of those great big babypink pricks that if you stretch the skin, sunlight shows through. The cock rose higher than my mouth. It stuck straight out over the seat like a flagpole. I reached my hand toward the 10 inches that seemed to be rising out of my grasp. I caught the base and spit-chafed the shaft with my hand. The rosy young beast, the dark boa erector of the movie balcony, rose still harder, still higher. I held on like one Marine raising the world’s biggest flag on Iwo Jima.

Then fingers, fingers smelling of Camels and Clearasil, fingers belonging to the owner of the cock, pried my fingers loose.

Shit! The big one that got away.

But, no! His big-knuckled hand started working his meat so it was pointing straight up and a little over the top neck of the seat. I rolled up like a gymnast from my knees and over onto my shoulders into the seat bottom directly below the mysterious big cock being masturbated 12 inches over and above my face.

The change in angle was terrific. Real Hollywood.

The kid’s dick was mammoth. His knees pushed the seat so hard my head bounced. He was making deep-balled grunts. That big 10-inch cannon was gonna blow. My own cock boiled up in my hand. I held back. Timing was everything. I wanted to cum at the same time. Some big cocks take longer. Not this one. Not with the pump he had on his big-veined 10-inch sex-muscle.

I was keeping pace with him, when something on the screen, or maybe something in his mind, or maybe nothing at all but the excrutiating pleasure of feeling what a 10-inch dick feels like from the inside out, caused him to, I guess, lift his butt, tilting his 10-inches even nearer, pointing down at me like I was some kind of target. Suddenly, before I saw it, I felt it, the hot white rain of his seed, spraying in my face, splashing in my mouth, running down my chin, even hitting my cock, setting it off, so we were both cuming together like cock devils.

If this were a short story, or something, I’d like to surprise you and say, like O. Henry, “And then the guy stood up and it was my twin brother/daddy/uncle/or the pope.” But it was none of the above. I never did see who he was. He was just 10-inches to me.

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©1987 Jack Fritscher