Drunk At The Porno Movies

One of my first experiences with a straight stranger took place some years ago after moving to a large city with a number of 24 hour movie houses. My fascination with the unconscious, sleeping, drunk, unconsenting form had been awakened several years earlier so the potential was obvious. After exploring several of these at various hours of the night and day, I found the expected variety of older alcoholics who used the seedier of these theaters as flop houses, but I also found that there was a very interesting element of young tourists that could not afford a hotel. These I was later to learn, and to be recounted in the future if there is interest, were frequently soundly asleep in the hour or two before the cleanup crew started working around 8 a.m.

Back to the Porno move house. At several times the admission of the other 24 hour theaters, this had a different crowd, but the added interest of often drunk, straight guys jacking off to the straight porno on the large screen and from time to time as the screen would brighten they were in clear view with their equipment out. A visit or two also brought to my attention that at times drink, many hours without sleep or a combination of both took hold and rendered an otherwise unconsenting guy "available."

On this, my first "hands on" experience at this theater, I followed the unwitting subject into the theater I had noticed him weaving half a block away and had hoped he would find his way to one of these theaters. Maybe he was 25, wearing tight white jeans, T-shirt and a light jacket. A bright wedding band on the ring finger of his left hand. A trim, fit, construction worker build. As he approached the ticket booth of what was to become a favorite theater, my heart was pounding. He produced the admission and after a short pause, I paid my own admission. He had not noticed me.

He sat toward the wall just under the overhang of the balcony and as the other seven or eight seats on that side were empty I sat on the aisle of the same row. He was still oblivious to my presence. After a few minutes he got out his handkerchief and started to jack off under this cover. This modesty turned me on all the more. After he came, it didn't take more than ten minutes to hear a light snore from his end of the row.

I moved in but still sat with one empty seat between us while I watched for a while and looked around to see who else might be watching us. Everyone else seemed to be focused on the screen. I always tried to give the appearance of having had a few myself, when in fact, I wanted nothing else clouding my own high of the conquest. I started to lean in his direction, as though I myself was falling asleep in the event anyone noticed.

No one seemed to know that either of us was there. He had lost consciousness with his hands crossed on top of his cum filled handkerchief which still covered his now limp dick which with his balls was out of his zipper.

His breathing was regular and slow. I reached over put my hand on his. No reaction. Slowly I lifted his left hand and put it right back. Still no reaction. Even more slowly, I moved his left hand to his left leg and let it rest. His continued regular breathing encouraged me further and I reached under the handkerchief, just moving the right hand slightly. I could feel the sticky mess. I removed my hand after what seemed an eternity, and enjoyed both the scent and then the taste (this was pre AIDS) of his musky seed. Getting bolder yet, I moved his right hand and removed the handkerchief. I get hard to this day just looking at this talisman. Locked in a baggy all these years his starchy scent and DNA survive, perhaps beyond his own physical life.

I had cum at once by this time, but I couldn't stop. I reached for the buckle of his belt to free things up a bit. Slowly I unbuckled it. Slow breathing continued... then I popped the button at the waistband of his jeans... that did it! His head jerked up and he pushed my hand away and I just knew I had blown it. Well if I got away without incident, I'd already had a grand time. But wait, after tucking everything back in place he just barely got his zipper up before the steady breathing returned.

He didn't even miss the handkerchief, or manage to fasten his waistband or belt. He must have had quite a few drinks. Was it with his buddies at a bar after work? Or had he drowned his sorrows alone. I really didn't care, because from all appearances he was once again mine. I waited a good twenty minutes this time to be sure that he was well under. After a few tests of responsiveness, I was convinced that he was deeper out of it than even before. His zipper was not even locked so it was easy to slide it down and lay his waistband wide. I lifted his T-shirt so that I could see the hairy trail that led to the waistband of his boxer shorts. Getting bolder, I moved to the seat directly next to his. His hips were forward on the seat as he was slouched down and leaning with his head against the wall. The breathing was regular and his mouth had dropped open. Reaching though the open arm between our seats I grasped his belt at his back and started to pull it out of the loops from his far side and finally from the front I removed it entirely. Next, I started to work the jeans down a bit at the back and sides until the waistband was very near the edge of the seat. Now it was an easy task to pull them free and worked them to his knees.

Next the boxers, an easier task. I would always from this time forward have a pocket knife with a pair of scissors and a small flashlight in my pocket. Just a few snips opened the waistband to the fly. This allowed me to lay them wide. Finally, he was mine to view and explore. A finer uncut dick and hefty globes covered with just enough hair you have never beheld. He was totally flaccid at this point. Ever so slowly I retracted his foreskin. I had to smell my fingers.

I certainly didn't need alcohol to be intoxicated. My heart was racing. Fortunately the theater was not to active and we were still the only ones in that row or for that matter in the several rows front or back on that side of the theater. I was ever so careful, as this was my very first experience with someone that I had not even met, or that for that matter didn't even know that he had a new and very intimate friend. One could only wonder how many girls other than his wife had this access.

Leaning over his seat I drank in the starchy overtones of his musky core. Sliding down in my own seat I watched and could see that he was deeply in his own world with little idea what was going on in the outer world. Without any help from me his lastly limp unspoiled cock started to show life. I watched his eyes under their closed lids and I could see them darting from one side to the other. He was starting to dream. His REM (rapid eye movement) cycle of sleep had begun.

Even in my early medical studies I had started to become fascinated by the NPT (nocturnal penile tumescence) that accompanies the REM phase of sleep in all healthy males. This in fact led to my determination to become involved in sleep research professionally, that and all of the screening exams that I got to do as a pre med student for the college age research volunteers, but that too is another story.

Important for now, for anyone interested in sleep and sexual response, all healthy men, experience an erection that lasts for a longer and longer period of time during the night approximately every 90 minutes. Toward the end of the night or after six or seven hours of sleep the NPT may last for the better part of the REM stage of sleep. This is what led to the development of the old wives' tale of a "piss hardon." It is not the need to urinate that brings on the erection or even the cause of awakening in many cases, but instead the stronger and more turgid erections. The fact that voiding brought the erection down seemed to confirm the myth for everyone.

Particularly when a man sleeps in a constrictive enclosure, such as briefs, this can lead to a painful situation. Not to mention possible infertility from preventing the scrotum to do its job and allowing the testes to cool rather that cook their precious cargo. Sorry, I diverge again, you are not reading for a medical background, but if you understand a bit more of what is happening, perhaps you will understand your own opportunities better, in your mind at least.

Back to this early unsuspecting, unwilling participant in my empirical observations, his cock was growing. As the blood filled his cavernosa the girth of his penis became immense and started to bob. I had to shake my head lest I be hypnotized by the rhythmic movement of the metronome that his shaft had become.

The above not withstanding, alcohol and drugs can interfere with the natural occurrence of REM and NPT. These however are very individual, in fact unique to each person depending on his own body chemistry. I would make note of this for future research.

Regaining my own consciousness and control I now wished that I had a cold washcloth for my face. I was at risk of going to another world myself. This was incredible. This young man may have missed a nights sleep as well as have had way too much to drink. This could account for his loss of motor control from the alcohol as he arrived at the theater and yet still have such a forceful NPT after only two and a half hours of sleep.

Reaching across the seat arm that separated us, I held my right hand inches from his throbbing meat and felt the heat rising from the insurgence of blood pumping wildly through his prong at the risk of denial of even minimal flow to the rest of his body. The tip of his manhood was just peaking though the end of the hood that nature intended to shield and protect this core of nerve endings. It would not take much to give him relief and at least momentarily deflate, while satisfying his need.

I allowed my thumb, forefinger and middle fingers to grasp his foreskin and slide it around ever so slightly. His head, the only one that mattered at the moment, gave a thankful nod. Sliding it back almost entirely I started to move in rhythm with his plea. It did not take many stroke before he erupted. He shot with such strength that it would not surprise me if some struck the underside of the balcony overhead. Two, three, four spurts and it was over. This has to have surpassed in vigor what his own hand had produced about three hours earlier, even if the volume now had been lessened.

His breathing stared to slow as his tension relaxed. This entire experience had been outside of his conscious experience. Just as the sleepwalker can cross a street and not know the next morning that he has ever left his bed.

Granted, both the time that has passed and this early quest of obtaining the prized package may have enhanced the image in my minds eye, but I still think back to him often.

If only digital cameras had existed in those days...