a sex shop variety of "clothes" to consider taking along when I did leave. I fumbled through jock straps: the old and stretched one, the new but cum-filled one, and the black leather one. I fingered the leather snap and the metal cock rings, I slipped on the torn-to-the-waist almost sheer running shorts, and I threw aside the forgettable shirts piled nearby. I tied on my running shoes, grabbed a couple of "video cleaner" bottles and out the door I went.
__________

My broken garage door opener is only a hassle when I am dressed for work. On a night like this, grabbing the handle of the double door to throw it up and open is as exhilarating as is remembering that I will be on full view of the neighbors and the street and passing traffic. To make the most of the act, I yank my shorts off leaving me only in my running shoes. Up the door goes, my body stretched vertically as it curves around the frame, exposing my garage and tonight, me, to the world. I smile and saunter to the door of my Ranger, hopping in to back it out just enough to repeat the process. This time it's my backside that gets the exposure, as I slowly lower the door, crouching then squatting so it won't crash to the ground. The outside air feels as if it is swirling around my ass, even penetrating my quivering hole.

I'm off, windows down and the sound system jacked high, almost 30-year-old COLT audio sex tapes playing in the deck. Men's voices, set in locker rooms, military barracks, and truck stops, urge each other to "eat that fucker," "get down on that mandick," and "rim it out, dude." It's as if my need is being shared with the street, with the other vehicles and drivers, although I know that except for some racket, no one has any idea what is going on inside the Ford and inside the mind and body of the Irish redhead driving it.

The Top Hat Theatre is an old movie house in the suburbs that has peddled porn --really cheap, lousy heterosexual porn -- for years. Past the requisite painted over doors and windows, past the stench of the public restrooms, and past the walls lined with the boxes of video porn, lies the movie theatre, a real movie theatre from days gone by.

It is dark, pitch dark, dark as night, the kind of dark that does not allow you to see your hand in front of your face. The really cheap, lousy heterosexual porn flickering on the screen is also dark, or washed out, but it adds to the void of light in the rather cavernous theatre. The middle row of seats is maybe 30 across, the side rows just five that lead to the wall. Few of the middle seats past the back five or so rows is ever filled; the men who come here favor the side rows, towards the back, on the side away from the door that leads into the theatre. Besides, a peculiar column forms a private nook of sorts on the side of theatre away from the door.

There is no "getting used" to the lack of light, you just have to relax, move inside the door so you won't get knocked down if someone comes from behind, and let your eyes adjust as they can. For a guy who wants to be buckassed in such a setting, this is a huge frustration. You know that you are being