I Never Complain About A Gangbang
The lights are low in the theatre, just those tiny lights at the end of each row. They illuminate feet, but not faces. In this place no one really wants to be seen. It thrives on shadows and what’s done in the dark. Only when the celluloid images on the screen in front suddenly brighten, showing some milk white ass or thighs rendered on the theatre wall, do the patrons risk being noticed.
I walk in swishing my ass, knowing that there are a dozen eyes peering out of the darkness through the dingy haze of cigarette smoke, waiting expectantly for a little more light to flicker on the screen so they can see a woman in the flesh. I’m a rare commodity in this theater of men. And the sleazier I look the better for the show.
The third row, right in the center.
