Dr. Randy Wolfe, PhD, stared with purpose into the bathroom mirror as he applied the last bit of near fluorescent, ruby red lipstick to his mouth. Setting it aside, he used a piece of toilet paper as a blotter to dab away any excess, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. Suddenly his deep voice began to reverberate off the walls and ceiling of the small bathroom.
"I wanna go... Oh, Oh, Oh... To the late night, double feature, picture show... By RKO... Wo, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh... To the late night, double feature, picture show... In the back row... Ah, Ah, Oh, Oh!"
He watched his reflection intently as the exposed fingers sticking out from the elbow-length formal black gloves he wore danced across his chest; his pecs hidden behind a matching black vest that was laced up the front. He moved them slowly down the sides of his torso to the lace and silk, black panties that was showing a very prominent bulge in them. Brushing quickly over the half erection he was sporting, his fingers slid lower but stopped mid thigh to double check the snaps of the garters that were holding up the skin-tight, black fishnet hose encasing his long legs. The smile that looked back at him from the mirror almost completely took over his face enough to hide the choker of gaudy, over-sized fake pearls that surrounded his neck.
"You're really going to do this, aren't you, Randy?" The words came from the nearly naked man leaning against the frame of the bathroom doorway.
Dr. Wolfe did a rapid and exaggerated heel and toe spin to face the body attached to the voice and answered, "We, my love.
We
are going to do this. Or am I mistaken by you being fully dressed in nothing but that pair of gold lamé boy undies you have hugging your hips and crotch?" He stepped forward and left a trace of red as he grazed his painted lips across the left cheek of Paul Robinson, his partner of forty years. Cupping and gently squeezing the quite obvious lump Paul was displaying in the skimpy underwear, Randy purred in his ear, "Frank N. Furter can't go to the Athena without his Rocky can he?"
Chuckling at the rhetorical question as Randy's tongue teasingly traced the ridges in his ear, Paul answered, "Guess not. I just wish I still had the same body I did the first time you talked me into this when we were sophomores at the university back in '76. This Rocky's sculptured chest and washboard abs disappeared at least twenty-five years ago."
A quick grind of his silk-covered crotch against Paul's hip came with, "I still think my Rocky is the sexiest thing on campus." Randy punctuated the comment by adding a triple hump to Randy's bare leg.
"Damn, what am I to do with you, professor? Sixty years old and still getting horny at the drop of a hat. And without the added benefit of Viagra even."
A large grin and three more leg humps preceded, "What can I say? The rest of my body might be sixty, but my cock still thinks it's eighteen, so the need for those little blue pills has...never 'popped up'...shall we say?" A slow sensuous grind of his now fully hardened crotch to Paul's bubble butt negated the need for an answer.
"And thankfully it still performs like it's eighteen also." Paul's compliment was followed by turning around into his lover, wrapping his arms around him, and driving his tongue between the bright red lips as they graduated to full-on, crotch-to-crotch, frottage. After a minute or so of silk and lamé creating heat-filled friction against each others' erections, Paul broke the erotic embrace with, "We need to stop before you end up with a pre-cum stain the size of Lake Erie on those shorts. That's not a typical accent for the costume."
"It certainly was forty years ago...and probably will be again tonight," Randy predicted with a suggestive wink. "And speaking of costumes, we need to get moving. The look-a-like contest should start in about an hour and I have every intention of us bringing home the top two trophies."
* * * * *
The downtown was alive with activity, especially around the century-old Athena Theater. After all, not only was it Friday and Halloween Eve, but tonight was the official fortieth anniversary of the debut of
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
in Athens, Ohio. There were showings scheduled all night and tickets were more coveted on campus than a full keg of beer or a bag of primo Maui Wowie. Every seat for every showing had been sold out within a week of the fall semester starting. Ones for the most desired midnight show had even been sold on eBay for as much as ten times the original price by a few enterprising marketing majors who used some of their student loan or grant money to snag up ten or twenty when they first went on sale. In the small town where the population of Ohio University students nearly outnumbered the city residents, the annual event had become an almost religious holiday. Midnight was when the year's highest mass was held and the faithful had already made their pilgrimage to their temple: The Athena.
Parking was obviously at a premium, but fortunately, Paul's popular bookstore and cafe was only a half block from the cinema building. They had it's almost secret, two stall parking area off the little-used alley behind it for a guaranteed place to park Randy's classic 1974 Triumph Spitfire convertible. It was the same car they had driven to the Athena forty years earlier. The British-green roadster had been
the
hot car for college boys when he started at OU, and he never let loose of it after getting it as a high school graduation present from his wealthy grandfather.
Most of the student revelers had walked over from the campus to avoid the parking nightmare and be able to avoid any chance of being busted for driving under the influence after partying. The ones that did drive had already done battle with the townies crowd for the precious few street parking spaces. The only real traffic on the streets now were the thousands of costumed people turning most all of downtown Athens into the world's biggest Halloween block party. Probably at least a quarter of the costumes were for the same theme: a favorite character from Rocky Horror. Not at all unusual since the cult classic had been the number one end-of-October tradition in the small city for four full decades now. It was celebrated even more enthusiastically by the adults than trick-or-treat was by the kids.
As Randy and Paul walked hand-in-hand towards the entrance of the theater, they collected more than their share of surprised looks along with the friendly waves and comments from the mass of students. With his trim, six foot tall frame, topped by a head full of thick silver hair, Randy made quite the visual impact as a well-aged Dr. Frank N. Furter. Paul got plenty of smiles and thumbs-up also in spite of the noticeable minor paunch he carried on his slightly shorter body. The fact he looked twenty years younger than his fifty-nine years, certainly helped him pull off walking down the street in nothing but a pair of skin tight, square cut trunks, though. The shoulder length, golden yellow hair he sported forty years earlier, was much shorter and had thinned, but thanks to the 'Clairol for Men' aisle at Walgreen's, it still gave off a blond glow under the street lights. Randy's high profile position as Chair of the Business College and Paul's large customer base with the bookshop and cafe combination, made them arguably the most popular couple at the university and well respected in the local community also.
As they joined the queue for the midnight show, Paul turned to Randy and whispered, "Are you sure this was an intelligent decision? I mean the whole world knows we're gay and been together since Noah got off the Ark, but damn Randy. Me dressed like an ancient Ric Flair getting ready to wrestle one more time, and you out here in full-blown tranny drag...shit. Nobody cared when we were students, but what if the Dean calls you on the carpet Monday?"
"Fuck the Dean if his butt hole cinches up over this. I'm the business college chair and been tenured for over two decades. The students and alumni association both think I can walk on water. Short of getting caught screwing the university president's high school twink son on his desk, I'm bulletproof."
"I love it when you go all butch, babe," Paul added a laugh to the words before he snuggled up to his lover for warmth. "Dammit! Open those doors and get us all inside. The temperature can't be over fifty degrees and I'm cold as hell."
