In the Carretas (1979)

I am 21 years old and almost a virgin. Sitting in the smelly darkness of the movie theater, barely illuminated by the glow of the screen, where they are showing some bad movie with nudity and breasts.

A guy stares at me from the side aisle. I look at him. He's a man in his thirties in a suit and tie, of medium height, fashionable mustache, looks like a salesperson at El Corte Inglés. He probably is. He sits next to me.

The usual mating protocol follows: His foot brushes against mine, his thigh touches mine. I don't move away and he proceeds quickly, he seems to be in a hurry: His shoe presses against my sports shoe, his hand takes my hand and directly leads it to his crotch. He is aroused and, under the zipper of his polyester pants, a thick and firm cock is hinted. Something that I confirm when he unzips and unbuckles his pants and belt. He smells like a working-class man, the tie doesn't fool anyone.

I also get comfortable and start caressing the area carefully, usually this will end in mutual masturbation, an exchange of tissues, and a "if I've seen you, I don't remember."

But it seems that this man has other intentions: While I am busy masturbating his cock overflowing with precum, he reaches behind my back and starts stroking my neck. Foolishly, I interpret that he wants to kiss me and I move my face closer to his but, when I'm about to reach his lips with mine, he pushes me away and whispers in my ear, full of contempt:

"Get to it, faggot...!! You suck, like a good slut, if you don't want to get hit!!"

As he forcefully grabs my neck and forces me to lower my head towards his crotch. Stunned and not knowing how to react, I obediently comply. It's not the first time I suck a cock, I'm a good blowjob apprentice. But it's the first time I'm forced to do it after being insulted and threatened. And it's the first time a guy cums in my mouth without warning, holding my head down to make me swallow all the abundant and creamy load.

Then he releases me, without any comment he adjusts his clothes and leaves without saying goodbye.

I sit for a while, between excitement and nausea. I didn't expect to find the love of my life that afternoon, but I also didn't expect a cheap recreation of Tom of Finland's illustrations.

I met him again, I obeyed him a couple more times. And I found out from other patrons of Carretas that he didn't work at El Corte Inglés... He was from the secret police and worked at the very Francoist Directorate General of Security.