Two Guys and a Girl by Thomas Roche

The lobby didn’t smell half as bad as Naomi expected. In fact, it smelled better than the alley it was located on, and in comparison it seemed almost clean. She had never been inside a porn theater, but she’d heard all the stories — feet sticking to the floor, rats the size of cats, that sort of thing. This wasn’t any worse than a really bad locker room — which is not to say it smelled good, but it could conceivably be tolerable. She took a deep breath to make sure the faint smell of bleach, come and sweat wouldn’t set off her allergies, and instead of sneezing she felt a vague surge in her pussy, repulsion mixed with attraction, fascination for all that male sweat and semen like it spelled a chemical secret working its exotic magic on her curiosity. She looked up at the smudged glass box with a chaser light running its sprints around the movie poster for Two Guys and a Girl, one of those porn-movie takeoffs on a Hollywood gig, some chick who looked very vaguely like Heather Graham between a dark-haired and a blond-haired guy, looking sleazy in pink spandex and go-go boots, the three of them obviously about to get it on. Naomi decided she’d stay.

The ticket counter was just inside the door. The guy took Naomi’s money and she caught him doing a double take. She stared him down and he stared back, then smiled faintly before looking down. Naomi couldn’t tell if he’d made her, seen beyond the hooded sweatshirt, slim build and faked gruff voice, or if he was just a guy cruising another guy. He was an older black man, good-looking and built. She smiled back at him, wondering if her smile looked enough like a guy’s.

She took the ticket and sauntered slowly past the display case of off-pink dildos, ball gags and penis pumps, noting that a thin layer of dust covered them.

Inside the theater was where the smell hit her, stronger than the lobby, intense. She had fantasized about that smell ever since the first time she’d heard somebody complain about it. She wasn’t entirely sure what the fascination was, but it had nagged at her for what seemed like forever. She savored it, grossed out and turned on at the same time.

There were only two guys, both of them down toward the front. Two guys and a girl, Naomi thought. If they only knew. Neither guy turned around as she entered. Naomi took a seat in the third row from the back and watched the credits roll, suppressing a need to laugh at the stupid performer names. Then the action started, a badly lit scene of a garishly made-up blonde woman giving head to a Latino guy with an enormous cock. Naomi felt a pulse between her legs and all of a sudden she really, really wanted to masturbate. She fought the urge for about two minutes while the blowjob continued, but when the Latino guy started holding the blonde’s head she gave up. She cocked her body to one side and slipped her hand down her sweat pants.

She had no idea she would come that fast. She never had before, not like that, not explosively, eyes wide, staring, trying to suppress the yelp that wanted to explode from her lips. She came for a long time, one of those orgasms that surges through you to the point where about ten percent of you is waiting to see when it stops and the rest of you is begging for it to go on forever. She was right in the middle of that when two more guys walked in. They sat down right behind her. She didn’t dare turn around. But she realized almost immediately that she could smell them, their musky bodies mixed with the harsh scent of the theater.

She couldn’t take her hand out of her pants; that would be way too obvious. The telltale motion of her arm would no doubt give her away. The best she could do was curl up a little and pull the bottom of her sweatshirt over her arm, and pray they didn’t notice that her hand was jammed down her pants. The aftereffects of her orgasm were still pulsing through her. She felt her muscles contracting deep inside, felt her fingers still jammed against her clit. She was so distracted by her own pleasure and the fear that she would be discovered that it took her a long minute to recognize the sound behind her.

The two guys were kissing.

At first she thought there was a blowjob involved, but something told her it was a kiss. She fought the urge to turn around and look, and when she heard the sound of a belt being undone it did not get any easier to keep staring forward at the screen. Two women were making love, kissing with mock hunger as their hands explored each other’s crotches. Naomi had never kissed a woman, and she certainly had never had two guys kissing so close to her. The screen blurred into nothing as she heard someone’s zipper go down. She wasn’t sure when her hand started to move again, but it did. Her clit was so swollen and raw from her intense orgasm that it hurt to rub it. That didn’t stop her; nor did the sound of one guy sliding to his knees, the feel of her theater seat rocking as he crammed himself into the space behind it, sucking the other guy’s dick. She heard faint hypermasculine grunts, mingling with the girl-moans from the movie.

Naomi rubbed gingerly, her heart pounding as she felt another orgasm approaching. She knew she shouldn’t come again; this was going way further than she’d meant to. But before she could come, she heard the creak of the chairs as the guy leaned forward, his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Want a blowjob?” he asked.

She moved like an automaton, driven by the throb in her loins. She turned her head, cocked it slightly, and said in as gruff a voice as she could manage: “Nah, but I’ll suck your friend.”

What the fuck was she doing? Sure, she’d crammed a condom into her pocket — why, she hadn’t known at the time, she just figured it might be nice to have. But suck off a strange fag in a porn theater? That was going way further than just wanking to a fuck film. That was going too far, way too far.

“Yeah, all right,” the guy said.

Naomi kept her face averted as she came around the end of the aisle. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt down and moved toward them. The guy on his knees got into the chair, not looking at Naomi, hunched over awkwardly so he could keep sucking as the other guy undid his friend’s belt and zipper, pulled out his cock. Breathing hard, Naomi took the seat next to him. The first guy tried to look her in the eyes. She kept looking down, at the anonymous hard cock jutting out of the guy’s pants. She ripped the condom open, popped it in her mouth. Thank God she’d practiced this trick on her last boyfriend. But this time her mouth was watering so much that it was really hard to do it. By the time she had the condom on him, there was drool everywhere. She started to suck his cock, feeling her pussy juice as she did. She was still very close to orgasm, but of course touching herself was out of the question now. Wasn’t it?

She glanced up and saw the upright guy’s eyes flashing as he looked at her intensely. It was dark, very dark. Naomi slid her hand down her pants and touched her clit, desperately trying to make her hand look like it was moving up and down on her cock. She kept sucking the anonymous cock as she stroked herself, feeling her pussy juice around her fingers. As she mounted toward her second orgasm, she felt the guy she was sucking put his hand on her head and lift his hips off the seat. She switched hands so she could stroke him off, driving him toward his orgasm while she awkwardly crammed her left hand into her pants and pushed herself toward hers. Then the guy was coming, his cock spasming inside the condom, Naomi wishing she could taste his come coursing into her mouth — and that thought bringing her orgasm on like a flash of fire, as she kept sucking through the guy’s groans and bucking hip-thrusts while he pumped his friend’s unsheathed dick with his hand.

As soon as the guy was finished coming, he bent down and started sucking his friend’s dick again. Naomi stayed bent over as she felt him taking her hand, pulling it over, wrapping it around the still-hard dick so she could jerk it off into the second guy’s mouth. There were more moans, a naked cock pulsing in her hand, a mouth sucking and gulping come. As the cock softened in her hand, she realized there were dribbles of come running over her fingers. It took her a minute to realize what was happening; she felt the tongue working around her fingers, hungry lips closing around them. Then she felt the guy freeze. He pulled Naomi’s hand out of her mouth, sitting bolt upright and staring at her wide-eyed as she realized, all of a sudden: that was the hand she’d had in her pants until a moment ago. She barely even realized what was happening as the guy reached out and pushed back her hooded sweatshirt.

Naomi sat paralyzed, staring at the two guys. She wasn’t sure what she saw in their eyes — Fear? Pleasure? Revulsion? Fascination? — and she didn’t particularly care. Maybe she’d gone too far, maybe she hadn’t. But she wasn’t going any further.

As nonchalantly as possible, Naomi stood up and started walking up the row of chairs. The two guys just stared, following her every inch of the way as she reached the aisle and bolted for the door.

Once she got out into the alley, she took a deep breath, welcomed by the alley’s smell of urine and garbage. She massaged her temples, realizing in a rush that the smear on her forehead was the stranger’s come. She inhaled deeper, the mix of scents sending her head into a spin. Smiling to herself, she wiped her hand on the front of her sweatshirt and rushed down the alley toward the bus.

About the author:

More than 300 of Thomas Roche‘s articles and stories have appeared in books, in magazines, and on the web. He edits the Noirotica series of crime-noir erotica anthologies and is at work on a series of crime novels.

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