A gay story: The Show Must Go On (and it did) I sat through the thirty-minute performance for a second time. The grubby theatre’s matinee crowd for a Wednesday afternoon was indeed quite sparse. The first time I had visited the this off-off-off Broadway mini-theatre to watch this entertaining burlesque re-enactment of a 1920’s Weimar tavern musical has been the previous Saturday evening, where quite a crowd had gathered to witness this entertaining spectacle.
Trying to spot who was a man dressed as a woman and who actually had been a woman had been fun on Saturday when I was with friends and a little tipsy. Today, stone cold sober and alone it appeared they were all men dressed as women, but still just as much fun.
On Saturday I had been intrigued by one dancer and musician in particular. Today I was fascinated. I had to speak with Bertha, which turned out to be his name.
As the show finished and the three people that made up the audience shuffled out, I made my way towards the stage. When I approached Bertha I was suddenly struck dumb. I was lost for words. Bertha looked me in the eye, took me by the hand, and led me backstage.
I was ushered into a dank and dark, extremely claustrophobic dressing room, which had no illumination and no ventilation whatsoever.
Expert hands unzipped my trousers and warm, moist lips engulfed my rapidly stiffening cock. This sudden unexpected, but not unwelcome, turn of events made me determined to continue my silence in the hope of further nice surprises. I was not disappointed.
I had profusely masturbated in the shower, relieving myself thoroughly, only 2 hours since. Although the gratifyingly pleasing effects my current benefactor’s efforts were producing were welcomed greatly. The shivering sensations from Bertha’s expert tonguing that delighted me were indeed pleasurable. But Bertha had little chance of making me cum in his mouth.
Bertha had obviously reached the same conclusion as he stood up, turned around, lifted up his skirt, reached behind him and pulled my still stiff cock between his ass cheeks. This was a gesture I gratefully recognized and reciprocated. Once I had made sure I was all the way in, I began to pump ferociously. The cramped space and the fact we were now effectively demolishing his dressing table with our wild thrashing, kept me at it. Each time I felt myself beginning to reach my orgasm, I slowed the pace a little. I was only able to keep this up three times though. The next time I felt myself climaxing I pumped faster and harder until in a brain melting, frazzling mind-fuck explosion, I shot my load.
I stood panting, hanging onto Bertha’s shoulders for dear life. My semi-erect cock still wedged up his ass. Eventually my dripping cock slipped from its captive grip.
I quickly pulled up my trousers and speedily left. During the whole engagement not a single word had been uttered.
With a sense of Intrigued anticipation a few days later I once again visited the grubby theatre of my fascination. I decided to take in the Saturday matinee this time. The crowd that had gathered to witness the performance was huge this time compared to Wednesday’s scant few. I counted thirteen eager and enthusiastic patrons. The show was once again charming, witty and entertaining. Bertha however was not part of the performance this time.
The rest of the troupe skilfully managed without him. I have to admit his absence didn’t diminish my enjoyment of the proceedings in the slightest. My fancy this time was drawn to Gracie. I felt that Gracie was performing just for me. Tall, slim and wearing a blue dress and blond wig, Gracie’s heavily made-up face shone with youthful abandon.
He was indeed exuberant in his movements and gestures. This time I had chosen a seat in the middle of the front row. We made meaningful eye contact throughout the whole performance culminating with a sly wink that Gracie gave me at the end of the finale.
I had meant to congratulate Gracie on his wonderful dancing and musical talent following the final curtain. My approach however was met with the same monosyllabic display as was proffered to Bertha a few days previously. He also simply just grabbed my hand and ushered me backstage.
Gracie’s dressing-room was as far away from Bertha’s as you could possibly get, and was much more spacious, more illuminated, much tidier and much more ventilated. With coy coquettishness Gracie proceeded to pretend to ignore me. Whilst peering into a large mirror Gracie began removing his make-up. I positioned myself beside Gracie rubbing my crotch against his leg whilst I slipped my left hand beneath the front of his dress.
With no undergarments to impede my progress I was able to grasp an agreeably large penis which I began to squeeze and massage slowly. My best efforts were not having the desired effect. Gracie’s cock remained limp.
E
mploying my right hand, I assailed the rear of Gracie’s person. Smoothly lifting up Gracie’s dress, I carefully inserted my index finger into his rectum. Bingo! An immediate stiffening began to occur. Spurred on by this turn of events I quickly repositioned my body to stand behind Gracie. Replacing my index finger with the tip of my by now rock hard cock, I was both able to somewhat pin my quarry, and at the same time attend to Gracie’s also by now rigid cock.
With a pinioned Gracie under my complete control, I set about frantically and ferociously masturbating him. I took great pleasure from seeing Gracie’s eyes tightly shut, his facial expression telling me how immensely satisfying him being wanked by a stranger was to him. My throbbing penis was still firmly inserted in his rectum.
Gracie allowed me to bring him spectacularly to orgasm, spraying spasms of ejaculate onto his make-up mirror.
Having been satisfied, Gracie hung his shoulders and leaned forward to balance his hands on his dressing table in order for me to take my own pleasure. This I did quicker than I had hoped. I hadn’t been aware of how sensually erotic it is to watch yourself through the aid of a mirror, pleasuring yourself with somebody so desirable.
Ten frantic thrusts was all that I needed in order to trigger my own pulsating and gratifying orgasm.
Gracie by way of a thank you, when I had slipped out of him, turned and hugged me tightly. When I think back to that moment now, I can still feel our dripping penises touching.
As with my Bertha encounter, no words were exchanged during the tryst.
I eagerly added the memory of my Bertha/Gracie encounters to my ever growing wank bank.