The Ritual

It started after I was released from my time of slavery. But I still had the cravings, the need to feel used. I was living on my own, having been raised very well by my widowed mother but with no strong father figure, I was easy prey. I won't elaborate on that, it's been so very long now that the memories grow hazy. This time of my life lasted from age 18 until I was about thirty. I'd had many jobs, much education and many wild encounters. With women I was very dominant. But when there were dry times with them, I always seemed to wander back to the times of my youth. THEY had been older white males. It helped that thanks to my own genes, I always looked much younger than my chronological age. With men, I was VERY submissive and passive to a fault. I needed it but I made these men work for it.

I developed a ritual that I always went through. First I'd spend some time at a few strip clubs watching women slither like sluts and I'd drink quite a bit. I'd stay the bar from about 10 p.m. until about 1 a.m. Then when I was really horny and pretty buzzed, I'd drive very carefully across town to an adult bookstore I knew of which had a mini theatre and was open until about 5 a.m. But first, I had to stop for the first part of the ritual. I would venture down a specific neighborhood road and turn into a specific driveway. The driveway was long and very dark and unlit. I happened to know the home at the end was unoccupied and boarded up. The driveway was hidden from view on both sides by thick vegetation.

So I'd ease into the darkness and kill my lights and vanish from the world for a few moments. Stopping my truck, I'd quickly "prepare myself" for the rest of the night. I'd slip out of my belt and drop it behind me. Next I'd strip off my pants and remove my underwear and put my pants back on, now "commando." I always wore jeans, very well worn and thin.

They showcased my cock when it was hard nicely. I'm pretty average, not real long, but thick and cut. Never had any complaints from men or women, not ever. Finally, I'd make sure my dark colored shirt was out and hanging loose. Then, backing from the driveway in the dark, I'd wait until I was down the street some to put on my lights.

I'd arrive at the adult bookstore and go inside and directly to the counter and the attendant. Buying my $7 ticket, he'd buzz me inside two doors. This gave a moment's notice to those inside and let folks get respectable and allow them a chance to examine the "new arrival." I always felt like meat when I'd go inside and it thrilled me. My breathing would quicken and my cock would stir.

I had a very specific seat I always wanted. The theatre was very small. There were maybe 25 or 30 seats. It had rows of three on one side and rows of two on the other. My favorite spot was in the very back in a corner up against the doorway alcove and a wall. It was such that to see me you really had to be either standing next to that aisle or seated next to me. I always took the corner. And I waited. Most men at that time of night were my type: Older and white.

Invariably someone would leave their seat and go stand next to the door. They would stare down at me. The "dance" had begun. My part of the game is to ignore everything and watch the movie. I always liked movies where women were being force-fed cocks with lots of facials and slaps and rough treatment. I liked to fantasize it was ME. So when a man would stare at me, I'd ignore him. Sometimes, not getting any sort of affirmative signal, he'd get scared and go away. Other times, a man would ease into the seat next to me.

PHASE TWO:

Next, there would come a slow and seemingly innocent contact: Usually a knee against mine. I would ignore that. If he nudged more aggressively, I'd hold my ground, effectively signaling that I was available. But that was all. Next would come a hand on my knee, slowly sliding up to my now rock hard cock which always jumped at first contact through my thin pants. Then the unsnapping of my pants and a rough hand on my cock. Now it depended on what HE wanted.

Sometimes a guy would just be aching to suck me. That was my "role" with my masters from before. I was the "on tap" cum machine. Up until I was in my forties, I could cum from three to four times in an hour, almost every waking hour. They liked the taste of young cum. Lots of folks do. Let me tell you, I've gotten blown by guys and girls alike and nobody gives head like a guy who knows what he's about. Sometimes I felt like my soul was getting sucked out through my cock. Maybe it was.

Sometimes a guy would want a reciprocal hand job and he'd put my hand on his slippery cock sitting there in that dark adult theater. So I'd languidly jack a cock. Sometimes he'd gush all over my hand and leave. Other times, a guy would want more. Me being usually three sheets to the wind (drunk), I'm up for that. In my past there were things I never did. One was take it up the ass. That's not my style. Still not. But I am very oral. I love making people cum with my mouth and I'm pretty good. Better I think with women than men, but I have been told that I have a very hot mouth.

I don't like to swallow a guy's load. I think in my whole life, I've only taken four down the hatch, all without warning. Thankfully none were up to Peter North standards in volume. THEY never made me do it. It was always the other way. That was fine, I always just loved the way they expected me to obey, to do as I was told. THEY always man handled me, but gently. No violence.

As time passed, I grew more sluttish and I would have liked rougher treatment, even if it was only verbal. But they never picked up on that.

In the theaters, my favorite finish was to get a guy to cum all over my face. Sometimes, I like for them to speak roughly to me, and to maybe dick-whip my face. I'd love to hear them whisper about how I was such a little slut and to take their hot load as it sprayed my upturned face.

It's been a long time since any of this has happened now. White guys older than me (in the proper age range) are getting more difficult to find. I still look young, though. I'm pushing sixty but I can easily pass for mid thirties. The mini theater is long gone and with the advent of online porn, they're getting more difficult to find. Also with age, comes wisdom (sometimes) and I'm not into all the increasingly risky behavior: Everything from the possible DWI to a deadly car accident to the other, longer-term health risks. I'm not gay - turns out that having gay sex doesn't make you gay. You've got to be able to support an emotional relationship for that to be true.

Not that there is anything wrong about that. If you're gay and happy, more power to ya, I always say. I knew that having a minor in psychology would have some redeeming value. I'm truly happy in my sexuality and I'm in no way homophobic. Sometimes, I miss the theaters. Maybe someday...