Even though I had chosen the early show, the place was still packed. Luckily for me, there was a single seat in the middle of the fifth row that was s...ill open--apparently, the audience was heavily couple-oriented. I should have guessed. I took out an old novel I kept with me--an old Ludlum thriller--for time-killing purposes, but only managed a page before a vaguely familiar waterfall of gold up near the stage drew my attention. Penelope Stanton, her friend, and their escorts were trying to. The restraints were solid, but not painful, and once again, she was aware of her body, exposed and splayed open. The room was dark, but she could see his silhouette above her, running his hand over her cool flesh. Occasionally, he would stop and squeeze one of her tits, or pinch on of her nipples forcing a small wince of discomfort. Finally, he stopped with the palm of his hand on her mound, his fingers dangling over her clit. As they flicked over her, she would twist, encouraging him to rub. During my college days, I was usually the one who was getting fucked and it was mostly with older men. Now I was an older man and my first few hook-ups were with younger men and I was the one doing the fucking. However, more and more I was remembering my college experiences and the need to be fucked returned to me in a very strong way.I had just turned 50 and, if I do say so, I looked a good 10 years younger. I was just under 6' tall, exercised regularly and had a good build. I travelled a lot. "Hi honey. Are you home?" Yeah, mom, I'm home. What do you want to do about dinner? Want me to start anything or do you want me to call for takeout?"His voice always gave me a feeling of comfort just knowing he was safe and home where he belonged. He was getting older and would soon be going out more and more but until then, he was mine. I treasured him. He was my life now and had been for the past six years, ever since..."That sounds good. Why don't you call for Italian since you like that so.