Oh, the “Biograph” was a grubby, run-down, sordid, glorious place. I’d first heard about it in 1965, from friends that lived in Pimlico, and who constantly made jokes about the alleged goings-on.
I already knew that I wouldn’t be averse to something like this. I’d had a friend in school that I used to “play” with, but that had been more adolescent discovery than anything serious.
I’d left school in 1962, started work, got a girlfriend, who wouldn’t go all the way, because nice girls didn’t do that, but she provided “relief”. Even with this, I still couldn’t get the stories of the “Biograph” out of my head.
A couple of times, after work, I’d saunter past on the other side of the road, watching the men going in. This graduated to crossing the road and slowly walking past the entrance, but I couldn’t get up courage to go in.
Eventually, my thoughts and feelings became so overpowering that, one evening in 1966, 20-years-old, with my heart beating loudly, I entered the cinema, paid my money, and stepped into the darkness.
“Nobody stood up to let me pass; instead, they would half-swivel in their seats, clutching their coats in position over their laps as I squeezed past”
Turning left, I walked to the start of the left aisle and stood there, letting my eyes get used to the darkness, and the movements of the audience. The cinema was full but seats were constantly being vacated and occupied. As my eyes got accustomed to the darkness I spotted 3 empty seats in the middle of a row, eight or nine rows down, so, taking a deep breath, I walked down the aisle to the row and started to squeeze past the sitting members of the audience. Nobody stood up to let me pass; instead, they would half-swivel in their seats, clutching their coats in position over their laps as I squeezed past.
This worked until I reached the first person who didn’t move his knees, forcing me to step over him, one leg at a time. Standing with my back to him, with my legs astride his knees, his hand coming up to grope me from behind caused me to moan, which drew the attention of the people in the row in front of me to my predicament. As I stepped over the second person, he also groped me, whilst the first person proceeded to massage my arse. Then someone in the row in front turned around and squeezed my cock through my trousers. I was in heaven! I finally made it to a seat and almost fell into it, with my heart fluttering wildly.
Whilst I was recovering from this greeting, the two empty seats to my right had been occupied.
The serious stuff quickly started, with a slow, steady, mounting pressure of a thigh against my left thigh. I returned the pressure and was rewarded with a hand slipping over my knee, and then moving up my thigh to squeeze me between my legs. After helping the fumbling hand to undo me, I half-sat half-lay there, being wanked off, encouraged by the man on my right who proceeded to kiss me.
I couldn’t hold on; with spunk shooting out, my half-stifled cry of horrified joy caused those sitting around to laugh, with one man saying “Oh, you really must come again!”.
I slowly cooled down and began to play with my new friend on the left, managing to help wank him off, before doing the same to the one on the right.
I left the cinema floating on air.
After that, there was no holding back, and I was there at least once a week, sometimes twice.
I was young, hot, and eager, so I was popular with the middle aged guys, which turned me into a bit of a precocious tart!
The encounters developed into their own routine – knee pressure, the hand up the thigh, then both sitting there rubbing each other’s cock. If the other one was fanciable, there would be the furtive whispering of “Where do you live? Can we go there?”, then the zipping up and leaving together.
One American was so overjoyed to find that I was wearing stockings, a suspender belt, and black satin panties (all bought from Axford Clothing Store, 306 Vauxhall Bridge Road. The two male owners were so kind and understanding to a young man exploring a facet of his sexuality) that we jumped straight into a taxi to get to his hotel as quickly as possible.
The audience always varied; on the weekends the place was full, whereas in the week it could be half-empty and quiet, with nothing going on at all.
Then you watched the films before going to the toilet to wank yourself off in front of anyone who cared to watch, usually with them staring at your cock and furiously wanking themselves off.
Over the years the “Biograph“ changed; there was with more hassle from the usher, although once he’d gone past it was back to normal until his next round; the lights were turned up, but it was still possible to have fun.
Walking down the right-hand aisle, towards the screen, led to the first door to the men’s toilet. Opening this led you into a fairly dark passage, about 5 yards long, at the end of which was another door which opened to the toilet proper .
This passage could also be a source of enjoyment, especially when the cinema was full, and the passage crowded, with the fanciable ones going in having their thighs rubbed, or even being groped, in passing by the fanciable ones coming out, and vice versa.
The men’s toilet itself could also be lively, depending on how crowded; I got there one time and stood next to a young guy who was being seriously sucked off. As I rubbed his arse, he looked round to his right at me, and I was kissing him as he came. I can still feel him trembling!
One thing that I eventually noticed was that there being only men in the cinema, the women’s toilet was never used, and so, if I met someone who was very nice, we could discretely go to the women’s toilet for a fuck!
Buying a motorbike gave me a justification for wearing tight jeans and knee-high leather boots.
With braces to hold up my jeans and no panties, I would arrive, undo the top button and unzip my jeans, sit down with my long jacket undone but covering me, and wait for the first knee pressure and hand moving up my thigh. There was no more fumbling, just a hard cock, ready and waiting!
I went to the “Biograph“ for 13 years, until I moved.
Even after all these years, after relationships, experiments with SM, and cross-dressing, I have never experienced anything to match the sheer excitement of my first visit to the “Biograph”. It was simply wonderful!
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