Theater Wives/Whores

I believe this may have been posted before but I'm not sure so here goes!


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This is a poor video of a GH girl but it's still hot.


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Here is another video of tame girl in a theater


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Hi its not a theater wife in this vid but i think it fits the bill

It a wife at a truckstop
this wife takeing some guys, listen to all the people beeping there car horns and yelling out, i think this vid although not a theater wife is still along this topic and not a bad vid 2 boot
Enjoy
http://youcuck.com/videos/shared-wife-on-truck-stop/

OK, who ordered up a wet theater whore? Here is a very wet one! Enjoy


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OOPS! I labeled and uploaded the wrong file in the last post. Here is the wet theater whore.


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The wife at the truck stop vid just proves that there are countless places with countless men ready, able and willing to fuck some other guy's wife.

I heard a few words in Spanish. Could this "Please Fuck My Wife" party have happened down Mexico way? If so, I am surprised that every male capable of breeding a female within a 50 mile radius, wasn't drawn to this bitch's scent. Or maybe they were?
A man has not lived until he watches another man fuck his wife!

dogging is my second favorite after theaters and gloryholes. thanks for the clip. here is a girl that gets him off then friggs herself off. I need to find someone who can suck like this in northeastern NC or vicinity. Anyone? Anyone?


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Robbie

THANKS! hot stuff. btw, what's dogging?

Dogging is going to a park or other public place to meet either prearranged sex partners or take on whoever is there. Mostly it is setup before hand in a place that will be safe from involvement from the Law.

I'm going to go in a different format for a little while. I met a woman on a yahoo group that appeared to be a regular in adult theaters and swing clubs. She was intriguing at the least! She has a sordid past, which you will soon read, that steered her in this direction. Some my find it disturbing but then some will find everyone's past sordid in some way if we strayed from the straight and narrow. Read it at your own risk of being offended and/or thrilled nut hear what she has to say before jumping to any conclusions. As for me, I have my own skeletons that aren't ready to come out so I thank her for being so frank in her autobiography. In the end, I think I learned a little better what makes ME tick in my own perverted way. Maybe you will too.

Her name is Amber and she has allowed me to share her unedited autobiography and for those that are interested, her email address. She is a frequent Sunday visitor to an adult theater and was going out to a swing club tonight with hubby. They have a swingers relationship rather than a cuckold one and for that reason, she doesn't feel she necessarily belongs here. I disagree. She will be reading the thread as I post the segments and I'm sure she'll be interested in your comments. Who knows, maybe you all could encourage her to join if you feel she has something to contribute here. Enjoy.
36530

Amber's Biography (1)

I was asked by a member of this group to submit my sexual autobiography. I am an old lady with
a rich sexual history, and I am one of the “regulars” at the adult theaters and sex clubs of Toronto
and in the Buffalo area. Adult theaters offer a unique type of sexual intensity that comes from the
depersonalization and just plain sleaziness of passively submitting your biology to the darkness
while an unknown number of Earth's most desperate lurk in the void for that fleeting moment of
taboo paradise at your backside. "Wow", you say, "she sounds so philosophical about a quickie
poke in the dark". Well, yes, mystery inspires philosophy. My inspiration is a mystery that
captivated a young girl at a time when the world was changing faster than ever before. A girl
being brought up by a single parent, a drug addicted hippie whose brain was too distracted to be
a mother. A girl rendered insignificant by a life void of love and emotion in a world that craved
significance. A girl left to roam her neighborhood, her mind eager to absorb the remarkable social
change of the mid 1960s in a quest to find her own significance, but unequipped to handle the
choices facing her.
And one of the choices she made was to allow her body to be used as a sex toy for an
intellectually challenged 33 year old man forced to be a virgin through his own social ineptitude
and physical unattractiveness. An unfortunate soul filled with decades of torturous sexual torment
that could only be drained by the wrongness of the ultimate taboo. The ultimate taboo that
happened upon him in the form of a six year old girl unlike all the others, for she was void of
sense, disregarding of consequence, and absent of guidance from a mother submerged in the
depravity of drug addiction. So day after day she took her biology to a place where no one would
see, no one would care, a world away from the world. A place filled with darkness where they
were guaranteed the privacy his indulgence demanded. There she laid perfectly still and
detached her mind from her body to render meaningless the physical discomfort. And, for a few
fleeting moments, she became the most important, the most powerful, the most significant entity
in the universe, as she watched her now inanimate form send this man to a paradise that cannot
be described by language.
I speak of her in third person because it still seems so surreal to know that girl was me. Today I
am a 49 year old woman recently retired from a successful career, with a wonderful family, great
friends, and a wickedly thrilling sex life. But back then I lived to be a pedophile's wet dream come
true. A chubby, curvy, pretty, quiet six year old girl with soft flesh, silky skin, and the unique ability
to dissociate from a world I didn't understand whenever it was necessary to do so. To become an
object in which a tortured man can drain a lifetime of pent up desperation literally into my guts,
then scamper off and continue my day almost amnesic, like nothing happened.
But despite the almost comatose appearance of my physical form during those episodes, I wasn't
amnesic. I remember every millisecond of every event burned in my memory forever. And what I
remember the most was what gave me the greatest feeling of power and significance - an
inexplicable tug-of-war foisted on him by a mystery for which I had no words. I could sense that
tug-of-war in the fiber of his spirit. One part of him reached hard for that piece of paradise and
found it in every part of my being, from the simple feel of my skin and the warmth of the blood
cursing under it, to the mysterious potency of the organs inside me. Even the sight of my head
cocked to the side with my eyes staring blankly into oblivion, and the availability that stare
promised him. That part of him wanted this heaven more than life itself, and ordered him to
steamroller towards it. But another part of him begged him to avoid the satiation with which it
always came. Like Ulysses tied to the mast so he would not succumb to the Sirens’ song he
craved to hear.
I was solely responsible for that tug-of-war, and somehow I strangely knew it. Before me, his
relief came entirely from masturbation, an act to which he was addicted, and that has but one
goal – orgasm. But masturbation doesn’t give you heaven until the very end. So for two decades
Neil conditioned his psyche to reach that goal quickly, then savor a fleeting moment of intensity.
But with me he discovered something he never thought possible – a journey to orgasm in every
way as heavenly as the orgasm itself. Unfortunately, by age 33 he was permanently conditioned
in the masturbation mindset. And so he had to fight a tug-of-war, half of him begging for the
orgasm, the other half begging to prolong the heaven that provides it. The result was a struggle, a
battle against an unseen, unknown, and unexplainable power that overwhelms his most valiant
efforts to ward it off – and that made me feel significant.
Before you play armchair psychiatrist, let me put your assumptions to rest. Yes – I was mentally ill
and still am. No normal six year old girl builds a fantasy world around having a grown man gratify
himself with her body. No normal six year old girl fascinates herself with the sights, sounds, and
sensations of a man draining his desperation inside her. And no normal six year old girl is so
awestruck by the mystery of it all that she runs to her bedroom right afterward, lays in bed,
reaches inside her and scoops out the egg-white aftermath that represents said desperation, then
rubs it into her skin until it dries to a crust. Perhaps it was the result of being born to a 16 year old
addict. Perhaps it was the defective genetics of the derelict drug pusher that impregnated her. Or
perhaps it was because I was conceived on the day man crashed its first satellite into the moon.
But whatever caused it, I was born with a brain that turns curiosity into obsession and thoughts
into compulsions, and cloaks the horrors of reality with the wonderment of fantasy. It’s called
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and in 1966 it was unknown.

Amber's Biography (2)

OCD is caused by a physical defect in the brain, and it’s something you’re born with. However, its
initial onset is usually triggered by some emotional event, and its first manifestations are usually
obsessive thoughts pertaining to that event. In my case the event was the instinctive realization
that a man is lusting over the sight of my body. Even at age six we are all born with an instinct to
understand “flirting”. Normal girls of that age are filled with a feeling of avoidance when subjected
to the lustful leers of an adult male. But the OCD stricken brain misinterprets that emotion, and
instead of an avoidance it becomes an imperative.
Intercourse at that age is horribly uncomfortable. It feels like something has reached inside you
and is ringing out your guts like a dishrag. But that discomfort is only physical and far
overshadowed by the need to satisfy a psychological obsession. A heroin addict tolerates the
sting of the needle. An athlete pushes her body to pain and fatigue for the glory of the win.
Penetration caused Neil to ejaculate instantly, and the brief few seconds of discomfort was well
worth the feeling of power and significance my obsessions demanded. And those psychosexual
obsessions would dictate my sexuality for the rest of my life. The encounters with Neil went on for
many weeks, then suddenly ended when he was spooked by the specter of getting caught.
The rest of my childhood was uneventful, and I was growing up seemingly normally … except for
the OCD which caused me to daydream and “blank out”, in the words of friends. Puberty hit me
early and hard. At age 11 the daydreams once again became obsessions, and I developed a
compulsion to penetrate myself with objects, my favorite of which was a round plastic pencil case
about the same size as a grown man’s erect penis. Just before I turned 12 I discovered
masturbation during one of those “penetration frenzies”. I was dismayed that I could no longer
experience the discomfort I once felt. My vagina had grown and developed, and penetration no
longer felt crampy. In a fit of anger I began to pump the pencil case up and down my vaginal tube
trying to feel the discomfort that my mental illness demanded, and in the process I felt something
I never imagined possible – the approach of an orgasm.
Instinct took over, and with one hand I pumped the pencil case and with the other I massaged my
clitoris until the orgasm hit me. I’d never felt anything so wonderful before. I remember just before
it hit my body tensed up so much that my hips lifted off the bed and my legs began to quiver. The
orgasm felt like a wave of pleasure that flooded my abdomen and raced up my back. My hips
slammed back down on the bed and I heard myself cry out. My reaction was strangely
reminiscent to Neil’s, and for the first time I knew what he felt, and for the first time understood
him. I quickly became addicted to masturbation, doing so upwards of 15 times a day, every day.
And during masturbation my mind raced with fantasies. Fantasies of faceless penises frantically
fighting a tug-of-war against the awesome power of my body … and losing. My obsessions now
focused on the male orgasm, on semen, on that weird tension in the seconds before, and on that
fascinating tug-of-war. At age 11, I was a full-fledged cumslut – at least in my fantasies.

Amber's Biography (3)

The obsessive thoughts nagged me mercilessly, and at age 13 I finally acted on them, becoming
sexually active with grown men. My first was the janitor at our school. The other girls my age
fantasized of cute boys and romantic sex, but I lusted for the janitor because he was a pervert.
He leered at the girls constantly, and just had a sexually frustrated look to him. My first encounter
with him was in the basement of the school behind the boiler. My second was a priest from the
nearby grammar school. I told him I was 11 because it made him literally drool. I was a chubby
girl, somewhat overdeveloped for 13 and my vagina lubricated profusely, yet he bought it. Soon I
was making myself available to the general male population, literally anyone who looked at me
lustfully. I wore short skirts and tight sweaters to facilitate said looks. And I was brilliant in my
appearance. My hair style, manner of dress, facial expressions, and body language, involved a
strategic trade-off – pretty and sexy enough to catch their hormones, yet just sleazy enough to let
them know that I’d do it if they could get me alone. And all this mixed with a dash of phony
prepubescent innocence to activate their pedophilic tendencies, something that adds a very
exciting thrill to the sex that ensues. Encounters were mostly anonymous and always quick and
opportunistic, occurring in alleyways, parking lots, park benches, etc. I can tell you that there is no
shortage of grown men who would jump at the opportunity to fuck an 11 or 12 year old girl if they
knew they wouldn’t get caught.
Despite my psychosexual obsessions, and untreated mental illness, I nevertheless excelled at
schoolwork. In high school my IQ was measured at 145. I read everything, and wrote incessantly
(a manifestation of OCD that plagues me to this day). In high school I was on the math team, the
debate team, the computer club, the writing club, and the science club, and I was our school’s
chess champ. I taught myself to play the piano, and by the time I was a Junior I was an
accomplished jazz pianist. I was also a popular girl with a lot of friends. I even joined the
cheerleading squad. And throughout all this I had a secret second life about which I told no one. I
was an incessant masturbator, and a sexual deviant that craved semen like an addict craves
heroin. I even discovered that a mixture of Jerkins cold cream and Metamucil simulates the
consistence and texture of human semen. I would use this mixture as a lubricant for masturbation
and rub it all over my breasts and legs every night before going to sleep. As a happy side effect,
the skin on my breasts and thighs felt like pure silk. And still, I never dated. Boys were always
trying to hit on me, and I never went out with a single one. The thought of having a boyfriend was
disgusting. The thought of having sex with someone I like was disgusting. I was so cold to the
flirtations of boys that there was even a rumor that I was lesbian.
We now fast forward to 1977, when I was 17 years old. I met Erno, a man in his early 40s and
one of the most fascinating people I ever knew. Erno was well read, spoke several languages,
loved Faulkner and Poe (two of my favorite authors), and he was a sex addict. Erno was gay, and
had little interest in women for himself. His day was spent hanging out at lovers lanes, hiding in
the woods and watching kids “do it”. Those woods were filled with voyeurs, all of whom were
there to look at the girls … except Erno. He was there for the other voyeurs, because “nothing
fires up a cock like watching a girl in action”, in his words. Many of the voyeurs became so
aroused at the “sight seeing” that they would accept a blowjob from Erno in lieu of jerking off.
“Teen girls put fire in a pervert’s cock”, Erno would tell me. Erno was so addicted to this behavior
that, despite his obvious intellect and talents, he was unable to hold a job. Erno and I had many
conversations where we spoke openly and intelligently about our sexual proclivities.
My life took another dramatic change when I asked Erno one question – “what do you do in the
winter?”. His eyes lit up and he began to talk gleefully. He told me he was avoiding the topic
because he wasn’t sure how I would react to it. He told me that there is a sexual venue that would
appeal to my obsessions. As Erno spoke he made a great deal of sense. He reminded me that
my obsessions were the result of a permanent defect in my brain and that they will NEVER go
away. So I could either go through life fighting with myself … or I could accept my uniqueness
and use the obsessions for fun. At that time there was a saying – “if life gives you lemons, make
lemonade”. He didn’t have to do much convincing because I’d already come to the same
conclusion.

Amber's Biography (4)

Erno told me about a place called the Queen Anne Theater in NJ, about 50 miles from my home.
The Queen Anne was an XXX porn theater. Now in those days there were no VCRs, no internet,
etc, so porn was relatively inaccessible and rarely indulged in by “normal” people. So the type of
men that frequented porn theaters were on the sexual fringe. They were possessed by the same
torment and desperation that infected Neil. And like Neil, they had no outlet for release. So they
took their pent up sexual torture to the Queen Anne where they would stare at the screen while
pumping their penis into the mouths of men like Erno in an attempt to simulate kind of heaven to
which they would never be privy.
The straight men that went to the Queen Anne were uncannily similar to Neil. Like Neil, they
spent their entire sex lives as masturbators. Like Neil, most of them likely never had much (if any)
sexual contact with an actual female. Like Neil, they had no desire to demonstrate sexual
prowess to another person. These are men with a serious masturbation mindset. Men don’t
masturbate to pleasure their hand. Adult theater sex is a form of masturbation to these men. In a
“mouth pussy” (Erno’s term) these men cum fast and hard. In the near total darkness of an adult
theater, these men can’t see the “object” kneeling on the floor. All they can see are the images of
their masturbation fantasies on the screen. And the porn movies of the 70s were designed for that
exact environment. The women would speak not to the male actors, but to the audience. She
would look out of the screen right at YOU and say things like “ohhh, how does that feel in my tight
little pussy” and “no, don’t cum yet, keep feeling my pussy slide up and down along your cock”.
And the gay men loved it because, as Erno so aptly put it, nothing puts fire in a cock better than a
girl. The gays would go from one cock to another all day long. And all day long new men would
enter as the discharged men would leave. Erno estimated that on a typical weekday afternoon, he
would suck 50 cocks to completion in the hours between lunch and dinner.
Then he told me something that made me feel a lot less “crazy”. He said that there is a Saturday
afternoon crowd that is different from the weekdays. He told me he avoids Saturdays because
that crowd doesn’t need gay men. Saturdays were the unofficial “swingers” nights. “Swingers”
was a word I’d never heard before. Indeed, it was a brand new term assigned to the age old
practices encompassing wife-swapping and group sex. But there was another, less acceptable,
type of “swinging” – cuckold relationships. In 1977 there were only a few so-called swinger clubs,
and they were off limits to single men. They also discouraged the cuckold fetish because these
clubs liked to pride themselves on the libidos of their clients. Before swingers clubs opened, the
adult theaters were the gathering places for conventional swingers. On a typical Saturday night it
would be common to find 5-6 couples having their own little orgy in the back of the theater. And
they would very rarely let any of the single men join in.
However, when swingers clubs began to pop up, they attracted the conventional swingers who
preferred the more classy “couples-only” venue to the sleaziness of an adult theater, leaving the
theaters populated primarily by cuckold couples. Cuckold men are usually impotent in normal
situations with women, but become sexually aroused when other men “threaten” their position
with their wives. I put “threaten” in quotes because there is no real threat to the relationship, but it
is subconscious implied when watching another man get off on his woman. Some men with the
cuckold fetish become so sexually aroused during said activity that they can spontaneously
ejaculate without any direct stimulation to their penis. And there is no better place to appease a
cuckold fetish than an adult theater.
And that was the Saturday crowd at the Queen Anne in 1977. On a typical Saturday afternoon
there were between 2 and 4 cuckold couples They would usually congregate together to
maximize the number of single men around their wives. The gay men avoided Saturdays because
these women were prolific enough to discharge at least 80% of the crowd, especially if there were
4 or more.

Amber's Biography (5)

Erno took me to the Queen Anne on a Saturday just after lunch. He instructed me to wear a
miniskirt with no panties, and a loose fitting button down blouse with no bra. There was one hitch
– I had to be snuck in, as the legal age for attending an adult theater was 21 (I was 17). Before
going he assured me that as frenzied as these men are, they don’t get out of control and I won’t
be raped or injured in any way. He assured me that I would always be in control, and that I
wouldn’t be the only female there. I was very excited to try this new means of satisfying my
cravings, as it appeared to be exactly in line with my fantasies. The Queen Anne was a huge
brick building with an old fashioned canopy out front, and was located in what appeared to be a
quaint suburban neighborhood. But it was right off the major highway leading to the Washington
Bridge, so it was easy to get to from NYC. Erno led me down a narrow alleyway on the side of the
building and told me to wait by the emergency exit. About five minutes the exit opened a crack
and Erno was hurriedly signaling me to enter. What struck me instantly was the incredible
darkness. And combined with the fact that my eyes were still burned with bright sunlight, I could
not see my hand literally held an inch from my face. Erno led me by the arm into what I sensed to
be a cavernous room.
The Queen Anne had a 40 foot ceiling, a balcony, and several hundred seats on the main floor
alone. It was a highly ornate Vaudeville era theater converted to porn in the 1950s. Over two
decades it built a reputation for attracting “perverts”, and the small community neighborhood tried
many times in vain to close it down. The projector was turned as dim as it could go to assure an
almost lightless atmosphere. The balcony received so little light from the distant screen that it was
pitch black … except for a lighted “exit” sign that the patrons would unplug every day. Indeed, the
Queen Anne attracted the sexual fringe of society. Men that we would today call “sexual
predators” travelled from NYC for the relief the Queen Anne offered. On weekdays, relief came in
the form of quickie blowjobs from gay men and an occasional cross-dresser. On Saturdays, it
came from fetishist cuckold wives. But on that hot Saturday afternoon, it came from me.
Erno led me to a row of seats on the side of the theater. I couldn’t see anything. He sat in the
aisle seat and told me to lay face down over his lap, with my legs extending into the aisle, and my
head resting on the adjacent seat and under his arm. He told me that if it gets “too much” for me
that I was to squeeze his hand and he would stop it all. Before I even had a chance to get into the
suggested position, there were already several hands vying for a spot on my body, and I could
hear the sounds of men jerking off nearby. Upon laying over his lap, Erno covered my head and
upper body with his arm so that the only available parts of my body were from the hips down. I felt
my skirt lift and hands run up and down my thighs and over my butt. By that time my eyes had
adjusted enough to the dark that I could see that the light from the screen was unbroken. It was
clear that there was nobody standing in the aisle behind me, and that the hands were reaching
from men still seated.
This went on for about a minute, then I felt Erno brace me tightly against his body and I felt
someone trying to shimmy between my legs. I opened my legs to allow the intruder and I felt Erno
smear lubricant on my vagina. I felt Erno grab the man’s erection and begin to stroke it up and
down in the lubrication slick between my labia. Every time the man tried to push into me, Erno
pulled his penis upwards away from the opening. Erno would frequently lean over and take the
penis in his mouth, while the man’s hands ran up and down the back of my thighs. Hands were
now reaching between the seats trying to curl around to my breasts, but Erno blocked them from
my upper body. It was clear Erno was steering the action towards my backside. And it was clear I
was a prop to provide cock with “fire” for him. But I didn’t care. This was very titillating. For about
60 seconds Erno alternated between sucking the penis, and running it between my labia. When
the man was no longer able to hold out for penetration, or just plain gave up on trying, Erno
finished him with his mouth. Erno taunted the penis with 17 year old pussy, then enjoyed the “fire”
it produced for himself.
The man retreated to his seat and within a second or two there was another body at my backside.
Erno leaned over and whispered in my ear, “this one’s for you”. Again he alternated between
teasing the penis between my labia and sucking it himself, but this time was different. After about
a minute of this I felt Erno pull the penis quickly up my labia and position it right only the opening.
The man’s hips lurched forward and I felt his erection penetrate all the way in. Apparently Erno
had blown him to near climax and the man was already cumming when he got that big surprise. I
heard the man moan loudly and felt him open up inside me. For about 10 minutes we alternated
between Erno taking the cumshot and me taking it. It was thrilling, exciting, and a lot of fun. Later
on Erno would tell me that he never lets them into my pussy when it’s his turn because “going
from mouth to pussy is uphill, but going from pussy to mouth is a let down”.

Amber's Biography (6)

In about 10 minutes Erno asked me if I was ready for “something bigger”. I couldn’t imagine
anything “bigger” than the fun we were already having, so I said “sure”. We got up and Erno lead
me to the balcony. On my way I saw that Erno was right – I wasn’t the only female there. But I
was the only one under the age of 50 and under 200 lbs, and I clearly had a following.
Ok, before continuing, let me take a little diversion here to explain the adult theater scene in the
70s. There was less overt action back then, yet it was MUCH more exciting than it is today. Why?
Because of the element of taboo. Yes taboo. Today adult theater sex is common enough to be
almost passé. But back then adult theaters were considered dens of perversion. And the ilk of
man who was there were predators, pedophiles, etc. The women who were there had what we
today would call the “cumslut” fetish. BUT … sex in a public establishment was illegal, and it was
incumbent upon the management to throw anyone out who was engaging in sexual activity. But
they looked the other way. It was common knowledge that sex was the purpose for being there.
So management was able to “overlook” it as long as it was sneaky, clandestine, cryptic,
opportunistic, quiet, and quick. Thus, there was never any talking or introductions. No selectivity,
no rejection, etc.
Men would sneak to seats close enough to feel you up from the seat. No one wanted to “mob” a
girl and attract attention that would get her thrown out. They would feel you up and jerk off to near
climax, then nonchalantly walk past you and take a quick penetration to finish the job. It was very
sneaky, almost like ****. And that added a very exciting element of taboo – one that the near
pitch black darkness contributed to. So the guy never really knew if he was welcome in your
pussy or not, and this triggered a very primal “rape” fantasy in BOTH parties. Also penetration
back then was all bareback. The taboo nature of anonymous, non-consenting, depersonalized
intercourse adds such an intense thrill to it that quite a few guys would spontaneously ejaculate
just from the sexual anxiety of getting into a “rape” position. Even though intercourse was very
quick, it nevertheless was extremely satisfying for the girls because of that extra taboo “kick”. The
sneakiness was the reason why the men didn’t mob me at the Queen Anne, and why only one at
a time got behind me in the aisle. These were the men who were on the verge of orgasm, and a
quick encounter in the aisle was all they needed. And with each guy that took his final poke, the
other guys had to sit still and watch, only adding to their state of arousal.
BUT … the balcony was different. Most adult theaters didn’t have one, but the Queen Anne did.
As we were heading to the balcony I noticed a line of men running up the second staircase, in
obvious anticipation that we were heading there. When we got there, there was nobody in the
balcony. The light from the screen was very dim, but the balcony was clearly lit by two lighted
“exit” signs on either end. Erno would later explain to me that the balcony was “perverts heaven”,
having and “anything goes” reputation. Couples rarely ventured to the balcony, but the cross
dressers and transsexuals frequently did. Erno led me to the front of the balcony near the ledge.
The first row of seats had no backs, they were just seat cushions and armrests. Between the first
row of (backless) seats and the ledge was a wide open space that could have easily fit another
row of seats. I could see men filing in quickly on both sides.
Erno sat in a second row seat (the first row that had backs) and gestured for me to “sit” in the
very first row. After a few seconds of initial confusion, the function of that setup became obvious. I
turned around to face Erno and he reached out to take my arms. I laid face down over the
backless seat and grabbed the armrests of the seat in which Erno was sitting. My upper torso
was now stretched between the two rows with my head in Erno’s lap, my legs were extended into
the open space, and my pubic area was resting on the seat. Despite the appearance of some
kind of medieval torture apparatus, this was a surprisingly comfortable and natural feeling
position. A number of men approached me immediately and, this time there was no attempt to be
sneaky. In seconds there were hands running up and down my legs, under my skirt and onto my
butt and back, and hands were reaching between the rows and under my blouse. I do not enjoy
sucking cock, and it was easy for me to avoid doing so by simply putting my face in Erno’s lap.
However, it was clear that this setup puts a body in a highly submissive position perfect for …
****. Erno would later tell me those seats were colloquially referred to as the “rape stands”.

Amber's Biography (7)

As men filed up the stairs both exit signs were soon extinguished and the balcony became almost
totally lightless. As soon as the lights went out, the atmosphere filled with an excitement that I
can’t adequately describe in writing. It was like the excitement you feel on a rollercoaster when
it’s climbing that first hill. It climbs steadily and gradually, but you know something enormous is
inevitable. At this point I could feel and hear, but not see. The now countless hands that covered
every square inch of my skin had a frantic feel to them. By age 17 I’d had a lot of sex with a lot of
different men, and I’d been touched in many different ways, but there was an indescribable
hunger in those hands that was simultaneously creepy and thrilling. And fingers were probing into
my butt crack and trying to reach under me to enter my vagina, which was inaccessibly pressed
against the seat cushion.
I could feel more than one body attempting to shimmy between my legs, and I could sense the
dim light from the screen being quickly blocked out by what was now a mass of men standing in
the open space behind me. I remember feeling somewhat claustrophobic at this point, and
thought of calling it off, but the comfort of knowing one word to Erno would put an instant stop to it
encouraged me to continue. It was also clear that Erno was getting off big, as I could feel his rock
solid erection against my forehead. I felt a penis trying to probe for entrance into me, but my
vagina was covered by the seat. I began to rearrange my body, and found I had to arch my back
into a serpentine S-curve in order to lift my butt high enough for the penis to penetrate, which it
did with utmost efficacy. It was clear that this stretched out, butt high position affords a perfect
height and angle to be deeply penetrated by a standing man. The man between my legs was
pumping hard and was moaning profusely, and I could hear moans and quips all around me.
“Holy fuck”, and “god” were most common expressions of surprise and anticipation. I looked up to
see Erno’s head cocked back sucking a cock standing behind his row, the owner of which was
bent forward with his hands reaching around my torso to feel the contours of my breasts.
The penis inside me started pulsing with that familiar sensation of climax, died out, then pulled
out of me, only to be instantly replaced by another, which was in me for only a few seconds
before it started it final pulsing. That was replaced by another, then another, then another. The
penetrators were cumming very quickly, and the precession into my guts was non-stop. Although
I couldn’t see more than just outlines of people, I could sense that I was surrounded by men at
least four rows deep, and the entire space at my backside was packed. There were so many
hands clambering for my legs that I literally couldn’t move them. And on several occasions, more
than one man tried to get into fucking position at the same time. The slick feeling of semen just
seemed to appear randomly on my back, butt and legs. There was even a man trying to run his
penis along my butt crack, a sensation that started out with a lot of friction, then suddenly became
smooth and slippery. Perhaps these men felt it hopeless that they would get a turn at my
backside, or perhaps they were not capable of holding back any longer, but there were many
“jerkers”, and my skin was being continuously peppered with ejaculate.
I remember watching a Jacques Cousteau documentary on sharks in which there was a scene of
a feeding frenzy. The balcony of the Queen Anne was the sexual equivalent of a feeding frenzy.
The atmosphere was absolutely filled with orgasm, and I was not left out of that. My orgasms
were so closely spaced that they felt like one continuous orgasmic grip. And still I used my hand
on my clitoris to eek out every morsel. Erno’s chest was heaving and his head was turning from
one cock to another. I was hyperventilating and rapidly becoming emotionally exhausted.
Rollercoaster is a good analogy – it was like being on the biggest and fastest rollercoaster
imaginable.

Amber's Biography (8)

This went on for about 10 minutes, then all of a sudden my orgasms stopped and I felt my body
drop onto the seat. The penis that was in me flopped out, and its owner squatted down and tried
to probe it back in. I caught my breath, looked up and said to Erno “that’s enough”. In a booming
voice Erno announced “all done guys … all done … we’re leaving”. As frenzied and desperate as
that atmosphere was, it was surprisingly respectful of his command. The men backed away as if I
was the Red Sea and Erno was Moses. As I was buttoning my blouse and straightening out my
skirt a few men around me were quickly jerking off and reaching out for one final feel. I remember
Erno announcing “we’ll be back next week” just before we got to the staircase.
We exited the back door and hurried to his car parked a few blocks away. I remember screaming
gleefully something like “holy fucking shit!! That was soooo awesome”, and doing a little pirouette
on the sidewalk. Erno looked rather uncomfortable at my outburst, but I didn’t care – this was the
most fun I ever had and I was elated. In the sunlight I could see that my skirt and blouse were
blotched with semen and lubricant. And as we walked I could feel inner thighs slicked with a nonstop
discharge of ooze from my body. By the time we got to the car, the backflow was literally
running down to my knees. As we were driving the 50 miles back home, I couldn’t shut up. “Look
at all this!”, I exclaimed at the voluminous backflow that oozed out of me and soaked into the
back of my skirt. I lifted my skirt from under my butt, and a blotch soon soaked into his upholstery.
“It just keeps coming out!”, I said excitedly. “Next time I bring tampons … and a towel”, I added.
Erno was quiet at first, but then became just as talkative as I. Erno’s delight was, however,
tempered by a concern that he would get caught sneaking an underage girl into a porn theater.
He asked me to disavow any knowledge of him if we got caught. He asked me to say that I was
there on my own, and he was just another patron who didn’t know me. I agreed, and he seemed
content with that plan.
Erno took me to the Queen Anne at least twice a month for a year. Those were the only times
Erno and I were together. I wanted to go more often, but Erno became increasingly nervous
about my age and disillusioned about the scene. But the opposite was happening for me. The
more I indulged the more I wanted to. Just before I graduated high school, Erno stopped taking
me, and I never heard from him again. I didn’t drive and had no way of travelling to Bogota, NJ.
But the 20 or so events at the Queen Anne were the most memorable sexual escapades of my
life, and would make adult theater sex my sexual mainstay forever.
I attended Columbia University that Fall, studying psychology, and graduated with honors. I was a
stellar student with a promising future. But no one knew I had a secret life in the adult theaters of
New York City. In the late 70s and early 80s NYC was teaming with adult theaters and porn
houses. I learned to stay away from the theaters in midtown Manhattan as they were frequented
by prostitutes who made it clear they didn’t want me there. And I stayed away from the theaters
near Columbia (in Harlem) as they were popular with a very disrespectful genre of black male.
I settled on a row of XXX theaters in a seedy neighborhood of Queens for my recreational sex.
These theaters were perfect as they were filled with straight men looking for quickie substitute
sex, some were “couples-friendly” and attracted a lot of very horny straight men, and that area
was easy to get to by subway. One of them (if memory serves me, I believe it was called the
Century theater) even had a pitch black balcony very similar in sexual frenzy as the Queen Anne.
I became so addicted to adult theater sex that I used to go to this neighborhood every Saturday
afternoon, and two or three times during the week. Sometimes I would even hit more than one
theater per visit. In my first year of college, I had a four hour break between classes on Tuesdays,
and usually spent that time dispatching penis at the theaters. My OCD is actually quite mild
relative to other sufferers, and my obsessions are primarily psychosexual. Nevertheless, I believe
the best treatment I could have ever received was my discovery of adult theater sex. No
medication relinquishes my mind of the obsessions as effectively as one 20 minute bout of adult
theater sex. That usually took the cravings away for a couple days, during which time my
obsessions shifted to academics.
36700

Amber's Biography (9)

In the meantime, I was intellectually fascinated with the Queen Anne and the clientele it attracted.
I began to study the history of that theater and spent many hours in Columbia’s library reading up
on sexual psychology. I devoured books, journals, videotapes, just about everything available on
the topics of sexual deviance and pedophilia. I spoke to people who knew about the Queen Anne,
and even spoke to its former owners. I learned that the “rape stands” were the result of an
accidental discovery. One seat was broken for a while and it became such a popular anal
intercourse furnishing with the transsexuals and “anally receptive” gays that they deliberately
broke several seats. The owners decided it was more cost effective to keep the back off that row
rather than continually repair the damage. The “exit” signs were originally hard-wired into the
walls, but the owners fit them with removable plugs so the clients can darken the room without
breaking the bulbs (as they started doing). A quirk in the law required lit exit signs be installed,
but didn’t require they actually be lit. The theaters in Queens were in every way as exciting and
gratifying as the Queen Anne, yet the Queen Anne had somewhat of a romantic attachment on
me.
Just before graduating college the adult theaters were devastated by the discovery of the AIDS
virus. In those days it was called the “gay cancer”, and upon the announcement that it is
contagious, the adult theaters became the target of health organizations. In less than a year most
were closed down, and the few that remained open were heavily policed by management.
Eventually, they were turning away female clientele (including me). At the same time VCR and
Beta players were becoming eminently available to the general public. With all this, there was no
reason to go an adult theater anymore. One by one they went out of business, and the swingers
clubs began to flourish.
I never liked swingers clubs. First of all, they were strictly couples only in those days, and the
couples that went there seemed to be more interested in the social aspects of swinging than the
sexual aspects. Anyone whose intention was to fuck more than talk was considered low-life, and
any woman who attended as a single was regarded as a slut. Pretty weird name calling coming
from swingers. Most of the single women (and there weren’t many) at the clubs came as FMF
threesomes with a couple because an FMF threesome was considered “classy”. Another social
factor arose that further devastated the alternative sex scene – MTV. MTV hit the airwaves and a
tremendous number of “pimp-like, negro-like wannabes” toting uptight “wigger-ho wannabies”
invaded the clubs. These pseudo-infamous were more interested in being socially unique rather
than sexual, and were completely out of their league with anyone who REALLY wanted
anonymous group sex.
The swingers clubs, which were of course profit-making organizations, saw a big market in such
“Hefners-in-their-own-minds” who couldn’t find a “wigger-ho wannabe” to join him, and in the early
90s they began to allow single men into the clubs on selected nights. The problem is that by that
time the swingers clubs were already havens or “socialites” who made it quite clear that the
sleazy adult-theater-like sexual atmosphere had no place with them. Social swingers brought a lot
of rules into the alternative sex scene. “No means no!”, “don’t touch without asking”, “the girls talk
first”, “no m/m action ever”, “no kissing”, “no glove no love”, etc, etc, etc. Social swinging was
loaded with more rules than Christianity. And it remains like that to this day. So where was a
woman like me to go? Where were the gangbang girls? Where were the cuckold couples? Where
did all they go when the theaters closed?
The answer came in a highly fringe activity called “perving”. Let me explain a little about this.
Many large public parks contain so-called “lovers lanes”, isolated areas where teens go to make
out, grope, and occasionally do more. Unbeknownst to the lovers, there is a hidden subculture
that inhabits those areas – grown men who hide in the woods and jerk off to the show the kids
unwittingly put on. These men are of exactly the same ilk as the sexual desperados of the old
time adult theaters. “Perving” is when a woman goes behind the woods and serves herself to the
voyeurs. It is in every way as exciting as adult theater sex, except that it is done in broad daylight.
And there’s one other catch – it is much more exciting when a group of women (or more
accurately, couples) do it together. Through personal ads in the local papers, I was able to locate
several cuckold couples from the old theaters and we started a “perving” group that infiltrated the
lovers lanes of New York and New Jersey.

Amber's Biography (10) Final

But perving had one major psychological difference from adult theater sex. With adult theater sex
the men there were almost guaranteed to have a nice orgasm with another person, either from
the cuckold wives or the gay men. But with perving, the men were there expecting to watch and
jerk off. So they were already deeply in a masturbation mindset, and anything more came as a
big shock to them. These men dragged out their voyeurism all day long. They would watch and
jerk off, but not to the point of orgasm. They kept themselves from cumming under the
anticipating that the images would get better, or another couple would come along, etc. In
psychology, we call this phenomenon “intermittent reinforcement”, and it’s a very powerful way to
modify behavior. So for hours these men were on the verge of orgasm, and aroused to the point
of near insanity.
This offered a perfect situation for women with the cumslut fetish, especially mine. It took almost
no stimulation to set them off. So the stimulation you give them right away is pussy. And that
starts that old tug-of-war to which I was addicted as a child. Part of them is desperate for the
pussy, but the other part fight against ending heaven with an orgasm. So you bend over in front of
one and he pushes in like handling nitroglycerine. You make sure to grab his hands and stroke
them up and down your thighs just to give a little added “punch” to his fruitless battle. And as he
struggles with all his might for just another second of heaven … just one more second, you can
feel the head of his penis bloat like a balloon, you can feel the shaft elongate, you can feel the
skin tighten to a sheen inside you, you can feel his legs quivering against the back of yours, and
you can hear those little screechy sounds a man makes when he’s struggling to lift a weight
clearly too heavy for him. You lift your butt and arch your back opening your vaginal tube to allow
him to eek out one more inch, and you wait … you wait one more second … one more second.
That’s the most exciting part – those seconds you wait.
The first two squirts come out very quiet, but hit your cervix like a bullet. Then you’ll feel his body
jerk behind you and he releases his breath with a cry-like sigh. Now that there is no need to hold
back anymore he will begin to pump, frantically trying to hang on to as much of this paradise as
biology would allow. And you can feel your vaginal tube milk every drop of torment out of him.
The torment of a dozen girls that day. The girl who Frenched her boyfriend for an half hour. The
girl with the tight shorts whose eyes rolled back when she got her tits grabbed. The girl who took
her boyfriend’s penis in her mouth after looking around to make sure perverts like him weren’t
watching. The girl who lifted her skirt and let her boyfriend have a poke at paradise. All those girls
who filled him with torment all day come out inside you at that moment. And it is a GLORIOUS
sensation.
Perving was fun and exciting. At any lovers lane there are about a dozen voyeurs you can
victimize, and you can perv all afternoon. Perving, by the way, is still an exciting pastime for many
cuckold couples and gangbang girls, and is presently called “dogging”. And the best part is that
the social swinger consider dogging to be a low-life activity and stay far away. So you see, it’s still
fun and exciting. Unfortunately, many girls today are afraid of bareback sex, and there’s a lot of
thrill lost with condoms. Me? Well let’s do a quick calculation. I’ve been doing adult theater sex
and perving for 32 years. I do it almost every week, twice a week – that’s about 100 times a year.
On each episode I average about 15 men, about half of them come back for seconds later on.
That means I absorb about 22.5 cumshots per episode. Each cumshot averages about 6 mL in
volume. Thus, in my life I have absorbed into my body 32 X 100 X 22.5 X 6 = 432,000 mL or
roughly 114 gallons of semen! I’m still healthy as a horse at age 49. So will I start using condoms
now? NOPE.
I still prefer adult theaters to swingers clubs, and happily a few adult theaters are popping up.
There are two here in Toronto (where I now live), and at least one of them has a modicum of the
old time excitement. However, there is one swingers club in town that attracts the adult theater
crowd by offering a pitch black room and advertising in the sleazy free rags. They also put flyers
up at the adult theaters advertising for men to join the “gangbang”. This club offers a very hot
atmosphere for a girl like me because it attracts the right kind of penis AND the right kind of girls.
Acting on this fetish is always more exciting when you’re not the only female there. The other girls
tend to elevate the sexual fever of the crowd. On any Friday night there are about 30 men and 5-
6 women participating. In nearby Buffalo/Niagara there are two quite sleazy (this is good) adult
theaters that are unfortunately populated mostly by gay men. But there are enough straight
penises with “fire”, as my long lost friend Erno would put it, to make the trip worthwhile.

Very nice biography on her. Would love to know where she has more information.

You have mail

Robbie,

Wow that was a great read! Really got me going. Seems like I missed the golden years, though I doubt I would have had the guts to do what she did. I'd like to know more about her too--for so long I thought I was the only one like this.

Reading her stories reminds me about the gays who were there, I'd forgotten about them. It's true that guys would mostly ignore them when women were there, but when we first came into the theater we would often see blow jobs going on. The gays must have hated me.

I've been trying to think of something else to contribute but I pretty much told all my experiences. I can tell a little more about the cocks I saw. As you can imagine, they were all shapes and sizes. One theater actually had good lighting, we liked to sit near exit signs or anything else bright so we could see that the guys' cocks didn't have any obvious sores or anything. I must say that most guys really do have pretty cocks. There weren't many I saw that turned me off. Even quite small ones can be sexy to me, though my favorites are big, black ones (I know, its such a cliche). I remember the first time I saw one of those REALLY big black ones, the kind that make you wonder if you're seeing right (fans of this site will know what I"m talking about). It was incredibly exciting to feel that guy in my hand. He was thug looking and kind of surly, which added to the excitement for me.

I remember another black guy with an absolutely enormous dick, but the odd thing was he never seemed to get completely hard. I jerked him off on a few occasions and he came, but he always seemed only semi-hard. I have to say I'd rather have a small rock-hard one than a big semi-hard one--there's no substitute for enthusiasm!

Jessica, thanks once again for sharing your experiences. you have mail!

the story reminds me that some guys will fuck anything, and I mean anything...


I suppose that this thread will soon be extolling the virtues of farm animals......

Now me, I like a little more challange....YES!
Joe Preston

Great post, tanks

Interesting story about Amber. A bit creepy at first but she sounds like a nympho that I'd like to meet. I still find it hard to believe that women like Jessica and Amber actually get into this kind of scene. I've just never seen any women at theaters or gholes I guess.

I've only seen a few women in them and only had the privilege to play with one that I recounted the event on another post here, http://www.cuckoldplace.com/2_49636_0.html. It is rare but oh so exciting!

Robiie,

The Paris theater in Portland OR is a great theater where every weekend many many women and couples are there to have fun.

Brentstheatertales in Yahoo groups gives you the play by play. Every time I go I am always amazed.