I watched her push her wet breasts back into her bra, pulling the top-laced edges of the bra cups over the peaked nipples, and slide her tight blouse over them. They were big; the bra and blouse held the breasts high on her chest, almost above her armpits, and even in the flickering balcony light I could clearly see the thick white streak of her bra bulging out of a stretched opening in the armpit of her red blouse.
She turned, and saw me leaning against a side wall of the balcony aisle steps. It was a weeknight and the porno-house was almost deserted, just a few fags sitting in the back rows pawing each others’ crotches, and a figure here and there, sipping out of a paper-bagged bottle or already sleeping it off.
I moved my foot off a back step and turned towards her, my stiff penis poking at the edge of my thigh; there was an exaggerated flitting of the eyelashes and a sly smile, and she turned back to the movie screen: a guy in pants was lying atop a girl in panties.
I had been standing and watching most of the time she was getting her breast felt and only moved away when I saw the guy seated beside her begin to buckle and shiver and slide down his seat as he ejaculated from her handjob; I didn’t want to see her dip her tits to his wet cock. I suppose she had read in one of those chic ladies’ magazines how freshly ejaculated semen is rich in nutrients and vitamin just right for a woman’s soft complexion and tired pores, but the number of cocks I sometimes saw her smear on her breasts in a few hours was as if she had discovered her own fathomless fountain of youth! --if she swallowed as much scum as she smeared on she’d probably live forever!
I looked at her bare arms and puffed dark hair, then stepped down and entered her aisle. She reached out for my dick even before I fell into the vacated warm seat beside her, and I put my arm around her shoulder and groped at a breast. It was soft and large and beautiful and I raised my free hand and cupped her other beautiful breast…I’m sure she was a trans, expertly made up….
I squeezed. Her head fell back on my shoulder and I breathed in her perfume and opened my mouth and let her thick hair-sprayed strands pulse past my teeth and tongue. (I saw the cover of a fashion magazine sticking out of her purse on the seat next to her: a model exposed her bare belly beneath a décolleté blouse.)
I moaned into her hair. She fumbled with my zipper flaps, flicking her thumb nail against the metal zipper tongue, though unable to slide the zipper down, and I reluctantly let go of one beautiful breast and helped her open my pants. She reached in and found my hard cock and gently maneuvered it through the overlapped underwear folds and began to stroke the fat dick while I squeezed her breasts through her blouse and stared at the screen: the girl in panties wrapped her legs around the guy in pants and simulated a fuck. I began to pull her blouse up.
I had been with her many times before: she often came to the Pix and had her tits felt and sucked, stroked and licked, mauled and chewed, groped and nibbled, but would never allow a pawing hand to stray below the breasts, keeping the hands of her tits, tweaking the nipples, kneading the flesh, refusing even a touch of belly, crotch or thigh, and if a hand persisted in reaching down her waist she’d angrily snap down her blouse and order the errant groper, Go away!
The first time this happened I skulked to the bathroom and furiously masturbated, cursing at the loss of tits and the unsatisfying touch of her crotch, until I ejaculated then slinked back to the balcony to see her being pawed by a more obedient groper who was rewarded by a prolonged handjob until she leaned over and bobbed her tits on his cock, rubbing the scum into her flesh and stiff nipples, then kneading them back in her bra.
I sometimes wondered why she even bothered in raising and lowering her blouse, since it was often, especially on weekends, a long and frequent procession of gropers, one after the other, taking the seat next to her; gropers who gaped from the surrounding seats or lined the balcony steps and impatiently awaited their turns and resisted the urge to masturbate while watching her masturbate someone else.
But she was not the sole reason I kept returning to the Pix; the majority of porno-houses on the block had made a swift transition from soft panty porn to hard core reality with exaggerated visuals and extreme close-ups of outspread vaginas, bloated cocks, and stretched ass-holes, while the Pix, and its neighbor across the street, the Bryant theater, with their passé films of girls in panties and bras intimating at intercourse and hinting at fellatio, remained a sort of demure haven of soft core in the casual and ready hard fuck world along 42nd street and attracted a different shuffling clientele more interested in sucking each other off than in looking at the screen, whether it displayed covered asses or outspread panties crotches. At the Cinema 42, Caeser’s Harem, Globe Sex World, the camera lens focused on interior visuals of lubricated vaginal and anal walls of some faceless woman, probing and lingering over every glistening vein and blown up gelatinous lump, while the Pix and Bryant still trembled at a bare thigh above a dark nylon mesh, or the contour of a large breast pulsing out of a tight bra cup. There’s definitely something to be said for the mystery and hint of early soft core porn: it treated the woman as an object to be desired, craved, and lusted after, a hint of stocking as something shocking, something heady but out of reach, a dream, a quest, a possibility, rather than a pliant immobile cadaver to be disemboweled, dissected, and discarded. Open you ass! the director cries. Cunt! That’s a wrap!
I slid her blouse over the top of her breasts and slipped my hands into her tight bra cups, circling her fingers around the warm and clammy beautiful tits. (I suppose like many of the other gropers, I at first was repulsed by the idea of pawing tits with someone’s cum on them, and once stared incredulously as a new groper fell into a vacated seat beside her and proceeded to lick and lap up the previous pawer’s scum off her breasts. But there’s something extremely erotic about sloppy-seconds and orgiastic sex and as I watched I tried not to come in my pants and couldn’t wait to put my hands on her beautiful scum-slathered tits; though it took a while and many jerkoff sessions afterwards that I dared shut my eyes and stick a wet tits in my mouth.)
On the screen, the man in pants bounded atop the girl in panties and she pulsated beneath him his gyrations: the camera caught them in the moment of intimate frottage and they fell back exhausted; --it was bullshit, but enough to get hard over.
I wobbled the large tits out of the bra and she quickened her strokes on my cock. I bucked and roughly squeezed one breast and she looked at me expectantly as I grimaced and sucked in air.
-Yes? she asked.
And I yelped, Yes, yes! and she quickly stooped over and lowered her tits atop my crotch; the pre-cum spurt shot on her neck and blouse but she caught the remainder of scum on her breasts and nipples.
I held her shoulder as she swayed below me, buckling my torso against her tits, then moved my hand down her back. Dare I reach for her beautiful ass? She remained over my cock, dabbing her breasts in my scum, and I put my hand on a buttock in her tight black pants. She didn’t seem to notice my first wary grope, concentrating, I suppose, on massaging and savoring her tits in my vitamin-rich scum, so I moved my hand onto her thigh and reached around for her cunt. She bolted upright, her wet tits swaying and dripping with scum.
-Hey! she said, and glared at me. I meekly smiled, but quickly moved my hand to her waist.
-Just the tits, OK? she said, and pushed my hand off her waist.
I nodded, and she looked down at my cock. It had grown flaccid and drooped between my thighs, but she reached down and cupped the wet cock and balls and squeezed out a remainder of weak fluid onto her fingers and dabbed it on her mouth as lip gloss (I could have kissed her then), and sat back down in the seat and glanced at the movie: the girl in panties was putting on nylons, the camera patiently following the slow movements of the hose sliding up her legs.
I looked around the balcony; no one lingered in a nearby seat or waited on the stairs. In the back, a bald head bobbed on lap --his eyes closed. I moved my hand over a shoulder and reached for a wet tit. (I certainly had no objection to touching my own scum.) She glanced at me, and the empty seats around us.
-Can you come again? she asked, tapping my limp cock.
-I think so, I nodded. I’m hot.
She looked around and put her head on my shoulder and I rubbed and massaged her shiny scummy warm tits. On the screen, the girl in panties and nylons stepped into a skirt and high-heels, the camera slowly panning up her fully clothed body. I felt my erection slowly returning and I tweaked a wet nipple.
I glanced down at her crossed legs; the triangle of her wet pussy trapped in her pants was clearly outlined in her tight pants crotch. I looked at the belly-button model on the magazine cover in the other seat. My wet cock was almost hard enough to be stroked again. I lowered my head and put a clammy tit in my mouth then lowered my hand to her waist.
Soon, real soon, I thought.
She fumbled under my chest for my cock and squeezed at my balls. I slurped on her tit and grabbed her cunt. Surprisingly, it wasn’t hard as I expected it to be. She fumed in disgust and left me alone on the balcony….
I saw her a few times after that but sadly she wouldn’t let me get close to her again.
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