Random gay one shots

Stucky- our homo america

Adapted from the unpublished book "millions of queers:our homo America"
*added that image cus that's how I see them as grown in this AU
Word Count: 2657
Tags/warnings: time standard 'slurs' (ex queer, homo, transvestite), non graphic but still explicit sex, mentions of police (not violent), not much stucky but yeah

In the form of a diary/memoir by Steve

Theaters:
Grope theaters were usually cheap second-run houses. They tended to smell bad, literally, because of ancient construction as in Manhattan's 42nd Street, and faulty ventilation. In larger cities like New York, they'd featured Grade C pictures and go strong-on westerns. Those were Buck's favorite- cowboys in tight pants, saving damsels and what not. The admission was a dime or quarter, practically never more, but still more than we could often afford. All night theaters were the lowest of the low, and reputable second-run house of "proven pictures" were higher. That's were we'd go.
The cathedrals of the cinema had their grope addicts, too, not that we could ever afford our way in. Fellows collided in the Versailles-like lobbies and corridors of expensive first-run places, but those were exceptional.   
       The ordinary grope joints were long narrow auditoria, about the size of a deep dress shop or shoe store. Their age and their smell permeated them. Newly repainted walls and electric fans are feeble makeshifts that did not change their essential gloom and stink. Still, we got off on the thrill of it. And, hell, it was the only movies we could afford.
To grope, the dictionaries say, is "to feel about with the hands without the aid of sight, to attempt to find something in the dark." That's what was done. Someone would stand behind the low rear panel or take a seat in the rear row. He'd see a fellow sitting alone a few rows ahead. He wait, until the cop has completed a periodic hike up and down the aisle.     Then, he'd change his seat to the empty one besides his poorly-seen, half-invisible new pal. Accidentally and unostentatiously, his elbow would go up on the shared arm rest and his legs would curl to the same side in search of a comfortable position. In the darkness of the theater, you could barley make out the man beside you, but we all knew what was going on.     
     Owners of grope, and of all, move-houses uniformly solved the dilemma of more seats or more room per customer in favor of most box-office
admissions. Arranging long legs for most comfort could be a perfectly honest factal report of what happened, if need be. All could have been accidental. The contacts are minimal. All under cover of darkness. It was a perfect pick up for the lowly queers of the night. Luckily, I had Buck and he had me. Neither of us ever went in with the intentions of picking anyone up, which made it marginally safer. Of course, we could have picked up any of them in there, alone or together, but they had nothing to offer. All of them older, all of them poor.
     For those who did pick up? They had to never try too much too soon. There was always lots of time. There was the picture to enjoy. There were all the other members of a changing audience, themselves acting
strange, make-believe parts. Some are sound asleep. Some fat, unshaven, and old. Some naïve and periodically looking around in surprise, wondering at the cop's regular trip up and down the aisle, up and down. Some changed their seats every five minutes. Some decided on a trip to the basement toilet as a means of conversation with their neighbor. Sometimes we'd go and pretend we were like them, looking for a pick up. We'd play it out for the fun of it. I'd walk in front of him, never taking the shorter route by the other aisle. He'd take the hint and traipse behind. We meet in the downstairs bathroom, forgetting whatever movie we had paid to watch, instead distracting each other with illegal caresses and kisses we couldn't have in public. Fumbling in the safety of a locked bathroom, never moving below the belt in the grime covered stall. It was adventurous in the least.
       Periodically, between the endless trailers and serials, the house lights go on. People disgruntled at the sudden
brightness. Some decide that, gee, they must bave been blind and hard up to have let that thing beside them keep rubbing arms and legs. We never had to worry about that. When the lights go off, they'd definitely and firmly move arms and legs to the other side of their chair, and pay attention to the cinema masterpiece. In effect, they bluntly said "Cut it- Stop- Quit".   
      Others would decide that when the lights are on is the time to begin conversation, rather than using the cheap and transparent toilet device. Sure, we could have waited for lights, but we were 17 and wanted the cheap thrill. It was all cheap and nasty, even what of it took place in a high grade first-run house with a 75 cent admission. Maybe it was crude. Maybe it is. Depends on the participants.