The Bijoux

Jack could clearly see that boy in the milky light of the moon, still on his knees, heaving and gasping out the last throes of his orgasm.

In a choreographed gesture his hips shot forward, holding that pose for just one moment then pulling back slightly, jerking forward again and again to that drumbeat Jack couldn’t hear.

“Unnngghhh, oh god...oh god I’m sorry...”

That was all he heard as Lanky Boy now leaned on his arm, sitting back on his ankles and now he really was sobbing. His other arm lay across his body and Jack’s eyes followed it down to his lap, his fist tightly gripping that pale thin pole with an apple red head glistening in the moonlight.

Jack didn’t dare move, he didn’t know what this boy was capable of even so spent, literally drained and remorseful, at the altar of his sacrilegious actions, on his knees in repentance.

“Help me”

It was all Jack could croak, Lanky Boy reacting as if he had been slapped and haphazardly falling to his side, scrambling up and blindly staring down at Jack splayed at his feet, waiting to see if that sound was real, if he had really heard him speak.

The dog appeared out of the black recess of the alley, the sounds in the air just the snarling and snapping of it’s teeth, short and sharp, a ripping sound and then just howling curses, that quick shuffle of footsteps now running, the barking dog following close behind, finally just a hollow echo from that distant side street.

It was the same boy who had barreled into the bathroom that night as he finished washing his hands. He had gone directly into that rear booth but had turned, looked back at Jack in those mirrors, staring at him.

Confused and not knowing if there was any problem, Jack held his look for just a moment too long.

Lanky Boy grabbed at his crotch, rubbing at it roughly before stepping back into that booth, suddenly slamming that door. It was clearly some challenge but Jack didn’t understand what he had done to warrant this blatant show of bravado.

He didn’t want to find out either and left quickly, taking the stairs two at a time back to the projectionist booth. He had spooled that final reel before going downstairs and it would now play out in a half hour.

Though he had never stayed till closing it all seemed rather anti-climatic and he hadn’t been the least anxious when Mr. Charlie asked him to fill in for Chester the entire evening.

That scene down in the bathroom was just silly posturing and now, up here in the booth, in his world of whirring reels and stacked canisters, he felt protected. The balcony floated just below in that fog of cigarette smoke slowly sifting through that shaft of light from this perch, those catcalls re-writing the action up on the screen.

Looking out that side window he saw Lanky Boy back slumped in his seat but now alone, his date having left with those few other missing girls. The shrill, canned music accompanying yet another road race movie cut through the heavy darkness of the theater before ending abruptly mid-note to a blazing racket of guns and groans.

Chester hadn’t said what he was to do in the case of trouble with the crowd so he didn’t want to start any and he settled back in that broken chair, flipping open one of the Sci-Fi mags spread across the table.

The cover was another scantily clad long-legged alien Amazon clearly looking for a good time as she ogled those terrified Earthlings in silver space suits and that absurdity made Jack snicker. He was into comic books, had always collected them, so he knew something about that need for a fantasy life, but even this scenario seemed more than a bit over the top.

The fanfare announcing the credits blared through the theater and Jack took just a moment before throwing switches, first those blood-red floodlights illuminating the base of the screen, then the dim sconces creating half-moon crescents on the rear wall, finally those floodlights illuminating the entire theater.

The sharp snap of those switches announced this picture show was over, the soundtrack now just the clicking of the projector over the clattering of cans from his booth, a single square of harsh light leaking from that black box high on the rear wall.

The bank of spotlights that once followed an ingenue’s entrance hung stiffly across that balcony wall, now shadowy with dust and untouched for years, forlorn curtains sagging at the edge of that white empty expanse fronting the stage. He had always avoided looking too closely at the interior, the dispiriting current state of disrepair only hinting at a faded grandeur represented in the decorative plaster moldings peeling their paint, the brass railings dulled from age and neglect, the chandelier never to be lit again but looming over the orchestra seats coated in ice crystals, glistening even through the heat of July.

Judy was waiting as he bounded down the stairs, waving as she went through that glassed front facade, locking it behind her. He found the switch for the marquee and front lobby, was heading for the rear door exit when he noticed the balcony lights were still lit.

He quickly jumped those stairs and dashed into the bathroom for a quick rinse before leaving. There was no one there, of course, that was Judy’s job with her flashlight and sweet but firm demeanor to be sure all the patrons had left. Jack walked the aisle and peered into each booth, that litter of paper and debris to be cleaned tomorrow by the custodial staff.

In that last stall he noted some new graffiti and figured it could only be the Balcony Boys doing. It wasn’t original in the least, the only good thing those girls named would never know they had made their debut on this Wall of Shame.

As he turned there was that “Hump Day Here” notation, but added to the right of that toilet roll was an arrow with the words “Give Us Your Daily Dump”. As he turned, brushing against that dispenser, it wobbled and Jack bent to check how badly it was broken.

It could be swung completely out of position and behind was a large round hole, clearly going to the toilet roll on the other side of the wall, still in position but he knew that was only for lack of a tandem partner.

It wasn’t the shock of this idea that stopped Jack in his tracks. All men’s rooms had a reputation of being cruising grounds for gay men and the merely curious and most stalls had small peep holes that certainly had been put there with that intent. He had often wondered how straight men felt about this very public exposure, but here was a certified "Glory Hole", a name that still made Joey giggle from the very first time he had heard it whispered by his friends.

What Jack now understood was the scene that had played out earlier in the evening with Lanky Boy and most likely that grease monkey thug last week, going back to that night he noticed Chester in this last stall while on his Dinner Break.

It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination that Chester might be gay, despite his past marriage and his distinct lack of sartorial taste. What gave Jack pause was that this action was all Chester might expect, on the receiving end of some frustrated boy’s evening, presented through the assumed anonymity of that punched-out hole in this dank balcony bathroom.

Jack had long ago come to terms with his own sexual questioning, and though he would never have made a pass at any of his friends or classmates they were fodder for his nightly fantasies. He would embroider his own colors, tailor new endings onto those tall tales all teenage boys tell, so familiar that they were often told in just gestures and shorthand, peppered with groans and giggles.

The only bits of life in those stories was the flush in their cheeks and the swelling of his dick, watching as his friends grabbing their crotches, lewdly groping their dicks at the very thought of those very imaginative moments with that cheerleader or even the new substitute teacher.

Jack needed to know there was more blood swirling through those obvious fantasies, flesh slapping to a rhythm only he could hear while alone in his bedroom, sweat glistening in that low light across his brow, whispering their names and those imagined private places, trying to justify the re-telling of those too-stale tales.

What made him uncomfortable, here and now, was how Lanky Boy had been able to so easily assess his sexuality, leaving Jack to wonder what signals he had been giving off, making it apparent that he was even a consideration. If those scenes were played out as Jack imagined it was clear he was expected to be tonight’s replacement for Chester here in these stalls as well, that he could possibly be the only one not clued in on this scheme.

He could be disappointed in Chester, be angry at Lanky Boy for assuming he would want to suckle on his dick, but he was just as crazed by his own reluctance to see these signs, to know what had been happening around him.

In their limited grasp of arithmetic his presence in that booth with Chester, their one-on-one tag team keeping those images flickering and the houselights low, for these Balcony Boys it must have added up to sexual shenanigans in that floating room of light, as careless and fancy free as that game of tag played with those girls in the rows of well-worn velvet seats, set to the rhythmic soundtrack of squeaky springs, as quick and easy as wet lips sliding up and down a skinflute in the hollow echoes of these cold tiled bathroom stalls.

There was also his own lack of commitment, but then it was all just a bit too confusing. He wasn’t in a hurry to start dating, to find a boyfriend and get all cozy, he was expected to begin Freshman year at Corpus Christi College in the Fall, his life was all new again and there was plenty to distract him from thinking with his smaller head.

What little thinking he did was in the dark of his room, without the need for those two-dimensional doll faces stapled into a centerfold. While he held those desires in his head he could control the effects, conjure all the affects and circumstances to transverse the uncharted territory of lust, yet to lead to any sense of a treasured love, or even a trusted friend to share these desires.

He saw sex as theater, a dramatic play of spotlights and bold gestures, that improvised banter with your co-star scripting the next scene, suddenly twirling center stage for that moment alone with your audience of friends and finally family, detailing your daring dreams and even those darkest desires, whether ready or not.

He just wasn’t ready for his own close-up, not just yet, and certainly not on this stage without benefit of a net.

To Be Continued..

Copyright JWR
2017/19