The memory of my father was there for one last moment, marking the difference between what I had always believed to be and what was there, lying on the floor, with a hot dick in front of his face. Over the following years, I would discover that the image of my father, his memory, and his belief in my decency and worth would always be present just before I lost myself in that true essence that was being born on that dirty floor of that theater that day.

His words echoed in my psyche, "Until the last drop," and then I thought of opening my mouth, but before I could do so, the tip of his glans was already pressing against my lips and on its tip was a firm drop of lubricant that was the first thing that touched me, making the phallus slide up, passing alongside my nose, rubbing against my cheek and getting close to my eye. The man closed his fingers around my nape, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back as he looked at the tip of his own penis as if aiming to fit it in, as he did in my mouth which was already open by that point, and my face had just been marked with the masculine scents of this man who had me at his feet. My lips felt the warmth of his dick's skin, the rough texture, the many veins that ran through it and made my lips conform to its shapes; I felt his glans touch my tongue, slide back, and enter my throat as my nose sank into the hairs of his belly and his testicles settled on my chin. It was a single blow until the point where I felt his hand squeeze even harder and more virile against my nape. My instinct led me to try to move my head back, but he prevented it; I needed air and began to breathe heavily through my nose, but it was not enough, so I tried to breathe through my mouth in vain, then felt how I spat between the skin of my lips and his dick drops of saliva that came out desperately, then tried again to get some air, generating sounds that I would hear millions of times from that moment on in my life.

With the free hand he covered my nose, making me need even more the air he was depriving me of. My mind began to focus on the real reason why I found myself lying on that floor, drowning and needing air, choking, wet, dirty already, with my face smelling like another man's dick; to serve, to serve. That thought that had begun to take root in my brain since moments before entering the theater. He removed his hand from my nape and with the fingers of his other hand pulled my nose towards himself so I wouldn't try to take his dick out of my mouth, then released those fingers finally allowing me to breathe, and I took a deep breath that felt endless of... of… that was not air... The man had placed in front a bottle of poppers that now replaced the air that should be going into my lungs. When I stopped inhaling, with one hand he repositioned his dick back in my oral cavity and with the other hand he grabbed my head to dominate me as he had been doing for a while. A warmth rose through my cheeks and a dignity ...