Randy was a KLM Airline Pilot

I had gone over to Amsterdam for a “dirty weekend” but I hadn’t made out at the clubs that evening, so around midnight, I decided to finish up at a sleazy side-street cinema.

They were showing some old Falcon movies I think, because there was a soundtrack consisting of a lot of heavy breathing accompanied by a great deal of “Suck that dick!” and “Fuck me, oh yeah, fuck me!” but I was more interested in what was going on in the shadows of the audience.

It was just a small place and there were only a few rows of seats salvaged from some old cinema that had clearly seen better days. The floor, although carpeted, felt sticky under my trainers and I remained standing at the back, where I would be free to move around if necessary, which is what a number of others were doing.

In one of the rows in front of me, in the light cast by the film being shown, I could make out people moving from seat to seat – and there seemed to be one guy sitting well back, with his cock out of his trousers and guys on each side of him taking turns to suck and wank him. I was quite shocked. It was all a bit much for me really, a naïve young guy of 22, not long “out” and still discovering things I had never imagined just a year or so before!

In the area along the wall at the back where I was standing, there were a number of figures and I watched the ritual unfold; a guy would shift places to stand next to his chosen quarry, both facing ahead and seemingly watching the film. In the darkness the “hunter” would move closer to his prey until he touched his chosen quarry; sometimes, the quarry would move away to find another position in the line along the wall, or to take up the role of “hunter” next to someone else. Sometimes, a hunter’s hand could be seen to pass in front of his chosen quarry, fingers feverishly investigating, exploring, squeezing. Occasionally, a hunter and his chosen quarry would whisper to each other in the darkness and then leave through a mysterious curtain on the other side, where there seemed to be an even darker area from which people would emerge from time to time.

Two or three times, I tried to summon up the courage to approach someone, only to be “pipped at the post” by someone else. At one point, a middle-aged guy sidled up to me and began “the routine”. He turned towards me and grasped my crotch – and squeezed quite hard. No-one had ever done that to me before; certainly not in public! He whispered in my ear in accented English,

“I have a place to go not far from here”.

He was short and tubby and his breath smelled of beer and cigarette-smoke. I said, simply,

“No – thank you” and slowly moved away, hoping not to hurt his feelings too much.

There was one guy I spotted who looked quite nice. He had turned down at least two overtures, one of them from my tubby middle-aged smoker, but at this moment he still seemed to be “available”. He was quite tall, easily 6 foot and with what looked like a moustache or heavy stubble. In the dark, he looked youngish and well-built. He was wearing a leather bomber-jacket and jeans and at this moment there was a space beside him. My heart pounding, I moved across and stood next to him.

Once beside him, I realised I couldn’t see him without being obvious. Then I thought, “He already knows you are interested, so why be shy now?”, so I turned to look at him. Reflected in the light from the movie-screen, his profile was even nicer than I expected; his nose was slightly rounded and his face was kind and well-groomed. Even with what I could now see was dark stubble, his hair was neat and his sideburns were sharply trimmed. He smelled quite nice too; he was wearing after-shave. So was I. He was quite a bit taller than me and I suddenly started to have second-thoughts, “He’s rejected at least two other guys; why would you be any different?” My heart was in my stomach now and I felt a bit queasy.

I put my arm behind him and gently placed a hand on the cheek of his bum.