Billy and the Goon - 24. Chapter 24

Billy was sitting in the back row of a stadium style movie theater. He didn’t see movies this way very often, preferring his familiar, comfortable, living room chair with his feet stretched on the matching hassock and a beer at his side. And – often – with his hand down his pants.

But he wanted to see this movie – one of those sci-fi epics that are all expensive special effects – on a big screen and from a long enough distance to appreciate it. The movie had just started, when a hand slipped into his pants.

“Stay,” the goon said, and Billy grinned. He wasn’t going anywhere. This was better than popcorn.

The goon started slowly to edge him. He opened Billy’s belt, then his pants, then unzipped his fly, then he stretched the top of his jockey shorts to just under his balls, so his quickly hardening dick was free.

They were sitting in the center of an otherwise empty row, and most the theater was as empty. It was ten o’clock on a Tuesday night, and Billy had just finished work. He had the next rotation off.

The goon had some kind of oil for lube. Maybe it was butter – or fake butter – from the concession stand. But it wasn’t hot, and he kept the small container between his legs. Whatever it was, it did the job, and Billy was soon trying not to make noise.

The goon laughed at an appropriate point in the movie, but Billy knew he was laughing at his efforts to stay quiet, and he was trying to defy them.

Billy liked being edged. It could be frustrating but was generally fine if done right, and he’d taught himself early – so early he didn’t know he could shoot more than once a night. He’d only learned that in his teens. Originally, he saved himself for one burst just before he fell asleep.

Before that, he’d lie in his dark room, with his laptop warming his still pajama topped chest – just in case his parents came in – watching the screen – not always even porn. It was usually games that he could play with his left hand while his right kept busy.

He’d take himself up, then slowly let himself go soft. Then he’d take himself up, and repeat. Up and repeat. Up and repeat. Until finally... boom! And always a new surprise.

He could do that for several hours – with no lube, no less. That gunked up his computer. He also didn’t want to leave evidence on the sheets. He had to be careful where he shot and always had a box of Kleenex on his night table, even when he didn’t have a cold.

He’d quit around 1 AM, knowing he had to get some sleep before school. On Friday and Saturday nights, he’d sometimes go later, and holidays were an orgy. Though every time, he’d set finally aside his laptop – so it didn’t slide off the bed – and jerk into a Kleenex. Then he’d take that to the john and flush it, happily knowing his secret was safe – as safe as what he’d been fantasizing about.

So up and down in the movie was fun, and the goon was good at it. Besides, Billy had all these great looking actors in front of him, often with at least their shirts off and sometimes more. Sometimes, it was just an open shirt, or far enough open, or tight enough for him to fantasize. The guys were sometimes captured, too, and shackled, or celled, or something equally arousing. And the hot women were okay.

As far as Billy was concerned, the goon wasn’t even there. It could have been Billy’s hand or anyone’s else’s. It was dark, there was the movie, the effects, the guys, and Billy riding a parallel wave. First Act. Second. Mid-point – something big changes. Third Act. Climax. No, not quite. Not quite. Not quite. No. No. No.

Yeah!

Then the movie was over, and his personal celebration easing down as the long credits rolled. Billy had time to get his breath, pull up his shorts, let them absorb the wetness, tuck in his shirt, zip, and somehow walk out of the theater without wobbling or seeming to lurch.

By then, the goon was gone with the credits. The only problem Billy realized, as he started his car, was he’d have to see the movie again. He couldn’t remember a minute of it.