Rocky Horror Redux

Dr. Randy Wolfe, PhD, stared with purpose into the bathroom mirror as he applied the last bit of near fluorescent, ruby red lipstick to his mouth. Setting it aside, he used a piece of toilet paper as a blotter to dab away any excess, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. Suddenly his deep voice began to reverberate off the walls and ceiling of the small bathroom.

"I wanna go... Oh, Oh, Oh... To the late night, double feature, picture show... By RKO... Wo, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh... To the late night, double feature, picture show... In the back row... Ah, Ah, Oh, Oh!"

He watched his reflection intently as the exposed fingers sticking out from the elbow-length formal black gloves he wore danced across his chest; his pecs hidden behind a matching black vest that was laced up the front. He moved them slowly down the sides of his torso to the lace and silk, black panties that was showing a very prominent bulge in them. Brushing quickly over the half erection he was sporting, his fingers slid lower but stopped mid thigh to double check the snaps of the garters that were holding up the skin-tight, black fishnet hose encasing his long legs. The smile that looked back at him from the mirror almost completely took over his face enough to hide the choker of gaudy, over-sized fake pearls that surrounded his neck.

"You're really going to do this, aren't you, Randy?" The words came from the nearly naked man leaning against the frame of the bathroom doorway.

Dr. Wolfe did a rapid and exaggerated heel and toe spin to face the body attached to the voice and answered, "We, my love. We are going to do this. Or am I mistaken by you being fully dressed in nothing but that pair of gold lamé boy undies you have hugging your hips and crotch?" He stepped forward and left a trace of red as he grazed his painted lips across the left cheek of Paul Robinson, his partner of forty years. Cupping and gently squeezing the quite obvious lump Paul was displaying in the skimpy underwear, Randy purred in his ear, "Frank N. Furter can't go to the Athena without his Rocky can he?"

Chuckling at the rhetorical question as Randy's tongue teasingly traced the ridges in his ear, Paul answered, "Guess not. I just wish I still had the same body I did the first time you talked me into this when we were sophomores at the university back in '76. This Rocky's sculptured chest and washboard abs disappeared at least twenty-five years ago."

A quick grind of his silk-covered crotch against Paul's hip came with, "I still think my Rocky is the sexiest thing on campus." Randy punctuated the comment by adding a triple hump to Randy's bare leg.

"Damn, what am I to do with you, professor? Sixty years old and still getting horny at the drop of a hat. And without the added benefit of Viagra even."

A large grin and three more leg humps preceded, "What can I say? The rest of my body might be sixty, but my cock still thinks it's eighteen, so the need for those little blue pills has...never 'popped up'...shall we say?" A slow sensuous grind of his now fully hardened crotch to Paul's bubble butt negated the need for an answer.

"And thankfully it still performs like it's eighteen also." Paul's compliment was followed by turning around into his lover, wrapping his arms around him, and driving his tongue between the bright red lips as they graduated to full-on, crotch-to-crotch, frottage. After a minute or so of silk and lamé creating heat-filled friction against each others' erections, Paul broke the erotic embrace with, "We need to stop before you end up with a pre-cum stain the size of Lake Erie on those shorts. That's not a typical accent for the costume."

"It certainly was forty years ago...and probably will be again tonight," Randy predicted with a suggestive wink. "And speaking of costumes, we need to get moving. The look-a-like contest should start in about an hour and I have every intention of us bringing home the top two trophies."

* * * * *

The downtown was alive with activity, especially around the century-old Athena Theater. After all, not only was it Friday and Halloween Eve, but tonight was the official fortieth anniversary of the debut of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in Athens, Ohio. There were showings scheduled all night and tickets were more coveted on campus than a full keg of beer or a bag of primo Maui Wowie. Every seat for every showing had been sold out within a week of the fall semester starting. Ones for the most desired midnight show had even been sold on eBay for as much as ten times the original price by a few enterprising marketing majors who used some of their student loan or grant money to snag up ten or twenty when they first went on sale. In the small town where the population of Ohio University students nearly outnumbered the city residents, the annual event had become an almost religious holiday. Midnight was when the year's highest mass was held and the faithful had already made their pilgrimage to their temple: The Athena.

Parking was obviously at a premium, but fortunately, Paul's popular bookstore and cafe was only a half block from the cinema building. They had it's almost secret, two stall parking area off the little-used alley behind it for a guaranteed place to park Randy's classic 1974 Triumph Spitfire convertible. It was the same car they had driven to the Athena forty years earlier. The British-green roadster had been the hot car for college boys when he started at OU, and he never let loose of it after getting it as a high school graduation present from his wealthy grandfather.

Most of the student revelers had walked over from the campus to avoid the parking nightmare and be able to avoid any chance of being busted for driving under the influence after partying. The ones that did drive had already done battle with the townies crowd for the precious few street parking spaces. The only real traffic on the streets now were the thousands of costumed people turning most all of downtown Athens into the world's biggest Halloween block party. Probably at least a quarter of the costumes were for the same theme: a favorite character from Rocky Horror. Not at all unusual since the cult classic had been the number one end-of-October tradition in the small city for four full decades now. It was celebrated even more enthusiastically by the adults than trick-or-treat was by the kids.

As Randy and Paul walked hand-in-hand towards the entrance of the theater, they collected more than their share of surprised looks along with the friendly waves and comments from the mass of students. With his trim, six foot tall frame, topped by a head full of thick silver hair, Randy made quite the visual impact as a well-aged Dr. Frank N. Furter. Paul got plenty of smiles and thumbs-up also in spite of the noticeable minor paunch he carried on his slightly shorter body. The fact he looked twenty years younger than his fifty-nine years, certainly helped him pull off walking down the street in nothing but a pair of skin tight, square cut trunks, though. The shoulder length, golden yellow hair he sported forty years earlier, was much shorter and had thinned, but thanks to the 'Clairol for Men' aisle at Walgreen's, it still gave off a blond glow under the street lights. Randy's high profile position as Chair of the Business College and Paul's large customer base with the bookshop and cafe combination, made them arguably the most popular couple at the university and well respected in the local community also.

As they joined the queue for the midnight show, Paul turned to Randy and whispered, "Are you sure this was an intelligent decision? I mean the whole world knows we're gay and been together since Noah got off the Ark, but damn Randy. Me dressed like an ancient Ric Flair getting ready to wrestle one more time, and you out here in full-blown tranny drag...shit. Nobody cared when we were students, but what if the Dean calls you on the carpet Monday?"

"Fuck the Dean if his butt hole cinches up over this. I'm the business college chair and been tenured for over two decades. The students and alumni association both think I can walk on water. Short of getting caught screwing the university president's high school twink son on his desk, I'm bulletproof."

"I love it when you go all butch, babe," Paul added a laugh to the words before he snuggled up to his lover for warmth. "Dammit! Open those doors and get us all inside. The temperature can't be over fifty degrees and I'm cold as hell."

Randy grinned and reached out to seductively pinch one of Paul's erect nipples. "Yeah, I kinda noticed."

"Don't be starting something you can't finish, stud," Paul purred as his nerves sent the finger pinch from his chest straight to his groin. He made an attempt to hide the growing erection in his tight shorts with a quick shift-and-tuck motion.

"You do know that's the same thing you said to me when I pinched that same nipple standing right here in 1976, don't you? Remember?"

"How could I ever forget anything from that night? The things we did in the balcony...oh gawd! We were such horn dogs on that first date."

"You were the horny one, sweetie. I was still the innocent gay virgin scared of myself then."

"And that lasted until I draped my hand over your thigh in the darkness at the beginning of the movie if I remember correctly. It took all of three minutes for you to turn into the more-than-willing gay boy you knew you were and have your tongue in my mouth."

"Do you really want to go there, Paul? It wasn't my hand turning my black panties into a complete mess massaging my cock through them."

"At least you still had them on. My gold swimsuit was down my thighs and around my ankles before Frank N. Furter finished hugging Rocky the first time on the screen. And I wasn't the one that pulled them down there." Paul added a wink that tacked 'checkmate' onto his statement.

Before they could continue their jesting verbal sparring over the memories, the crowd suddenly moved en masse as the doors were finally opened for the midnight show. They had no choice but to get swept along by the current from the flood of bodies.

* * * * *

"You scored balcony seats for us, Randy?" Paul inquired as they headed for the stairs. "Really?"

"That's where we were forty years ago wasn't it?" Randy replied with a wink.

"Yeah, but the balcony wasn't packed out back then like it will be tonight." Paul's response was telling Randy whatever he had in mind as far as reliving the moment frozen in time, was going to have to wait until they got home after the show. Then he thought to himself, 'Maybe that's his master plan. A whole bunch of making out and cock teasing in the dark, and then finish up with the hot and heavy back at the house. Randy always did get into lengthy serious edging before great sex.' Paul grinned happily at the thought.

"You never know my hot little stud. You just never know." The cryptic wink he added to the words was telling and yet no real explanation at all. Randy took Paul's hand again and practically dragged him up the first half dozen stairs that led to the old theater's small upper level.

"You know it makes me crazy when you do stuff like that...being all mysterious and dropping useless hints when you have something planned," Paul opined as they stepped onto the small landing at the top of the stairs.

Randy simply replied with, "Have the words 'Trust me' ever failed you when I've uttered them?" The confident smirk on his face said the answer was a given.

"Well, no. But that doesn't stop me from feeling like the world's dumbest blond when I don't even get a clue from your clues."

Randy stepped to the side to let other patrons pass and turned to Paul. He ruffled his hair as he spoke. "You forget yet again, it was 'the world's dumbest blond' that kept me from flunking every damn undergrad math course when they had me almost suicidal. Even to this day, I still throw up in my mouth a little every time I see Professor Burns in the faculty offices. He is a walking, talking, tunnel visioned reminder of that asshole statistics and quantitative analysis professor I had that thought the only reason we were in college was to become math teachers. But you saved my butt...and degree...with all the late night tutoring." He paused to peck a kiss to Paul's forehead, then added, "You might be blond, baby, but dumb you never were."

Paul grinned. "Well, you took care of me too. Between help with my business law courses and the 'thank you blow jobs' after every study session, I was paid back. Paid back very well."

Randy matched the grin on Paul's face and proffered, "If I remember correctly, that was a two-way street most nights. I still think the way you would twist and shift so rapidly once my lips were working your tool, the position we usually ended up in was just your way to make sure I understood how to interpolate two into sixty-nine without using a three-blackboard equation."

"It was just my version of an oral quiz. And a pop quiz at that from the way your cock would pop right up when I kissed the tip." Paul scrunched up his nose and nodded his head as if to say 'Gotcha.'

The walk down memory lane stopped as they stepped through the last hall doorway to the balcony seating. Paul didn't think too much of the back half of the six-wide, eight-deep seating section being completely empty until Randy ordered, "Pick out a pair for us, honey."

Paul's head double snapped as he looked first at the twenty-four empty cushioned seats wedged between the narrow aisle and the theater wall, and then almost instantly to Randy's face. "But it's nothing but assigned seating on sell-out nights, isn't it?" he queried.

"Right. But when you have the tickets for half the section, it becomes our choice which ones we take." Another one of those only half telling winks came along with, "I would suggest you consider a short phrase from the movie opening music in your choice...'In the back row' comes to mind." Another quick double wink was added as Randy's piercing eyes suddenly sparkled like blue flames and his painted-up lips transformed into an almost evil grin.

Paul knew he must have the world's largest confused look on his face as he spoke. "Huh? Don't tell me you bought every seat over here in the corner."

"Okay, I won't tell you that. But I will tell you when Dan, the theater manager, comes into the cafe for his extra large to-go cup of mocha every morning for the next month, they are free. It was part of the deal." Randy added a scolded puppy dog look and a shrug of his shoulders to the statement. His evil grin came back immediately though when he added, "You can take that $5.00 out in trade with me every night, though if you want."

"Dare I ask what else you had to give up for this deal? I know you didn't snatch up twenty-four of the most sought after tickets of the year for a hundred bucks worth of free coffee."

"Well, no. That was just the bribe to get him to go along with my request to be allowed to buy half the section out. Let's just say you probably shouldn't look at next month's American Express bill until I've transferred a little money from my pension fund to the checking account."

"Randy!"

"Yes, Paul?"

"Why would you spend that kind of money for reliving one night of craziness from our youth?"

"Because this is going to be a special night and I wanted to make it as special as I could."

"And that little ambiguous as hell explanation is another 'Trust me' isn't it?" The combined sheepish look and 'What-can-I-say?' teasing grin on Randy's face gave Paul his answer. He shook his head in mock disgust and surrendered with, "Okay, Frank N. Furter. I guess Rocky should know better than question his creator. To the back row it is. And let's take the two in the darkest corner against the wall for maximum privacy, if you can call it that anyway."

* * * * *

The mood in the cavernous old theater was something betwixt raucous frat house partying and borderline insanity. People in full costumes of nearly every character in the movie were running up and down the aisles. A collection of two dozen Frank N. Furters were on the stage in front of the giant screen, with their arms linked and doing matching high kicks to the opening soundtrack theme that would have embarrassed the Radio City Music Hall professionals. Off to one side, a Betty Hapschatt look-alike dressed in full bride regalia was waving a huge handful of flowers and teasing the mob of Janet clones below her on the theater floor waiting for the bouquet toss. At the other end of the large stage, there was a 'flex off' styling and modeling contest going on between eight or ten blond gym rats that had come to the show as Rocky. Suddenly, the house lights went dark and the crowd noise died instantly as the giant red lips and glistening white teeth filled the screen.

Randy, leaned into Paul and whispered, "The damn opening gives me a boner every time."

Paul responded with an audible snicker and quick crotch grab of his lover to confirm the claim. As hundreds of voices now joined in singing along with the soundtrack music, he asked, "And that would be any different just how, from the way this thing of yours has reacted to nearly any outside stimuli since you were twelve?" Massaging Randy's cock to its full seven plus inches, he quipped, "This thing at full staff and packed into a pair of hip-hugger jeans is probably what got your cherry picked by your English teacher back in high school...and kept Mr. Stud getting laid regularly until you graduated. You had more chicks pulling you into the sack than the entire football team combined from the stories you've told me."

Randy grinned and shrugged at the same time. "Probably so, but that reputation I so deservedly earned never got me what I really wanted back then. You know that since you were the one to drag me out of the closet and straight to your dorm room bed forty years ago tonight."

"It wasn't like I had to make any huge effort at getting you under the sheets, babe. You wanted to let out that 'I really like boys' side as much as I wanted to find out just how much truth there was to that 'stud rep' of yours." Squeezing Randy's hard-on and making it burp up some pre-cum inside the silk panties, he matter-of-factly stated, "I still walk with a little limp thanks to letting you show me how true it was that night too." A look was on his face that combined ecstasy with a little fear at the memory. An overdone fake shiver was included with his next words. "I still can't believe you fucked me five times that night in positions I didn't know existed. And when you slammed my hot button the first time...oh my fucking gawd! That had never been done by anyone else and I knew right then, I was no longer just infatuated with you. It was love from that point on."

"So you're telling me the last forty years was just so you could hang onto what's in your palm right now?"

Quickly slipping his fingers inside the waistband of Randy's costume panties and getting an actual grip on the subject at hand, Paul replied, "This slab of meat was just the bonus that came with the rest of the package. Certainly, it got my attention, but the rest of the body and most importantly, the heart and soul that came with it, is what I ended up truly lusting for. But you always knew that. From day one."

Raising his eyes to the ceiling as if searching out that specific memory, and then dropping them again to stare directly into Paul's suddenly luminous green ones, Randy nodded as he spoke. "Sure did. It scared me when you made love to me that first time. Not because of the initial pain when you breached my man twat the first time, but because I realized you were making love to me. It wasn't just a fuck or another notch on your well-experienced gay bedpost. It was magical...it was intentional...it was way too real. I did know right then too. No one had ever made me feel what you made me feel, and most likely no one would ever be able to take me to that nirvana again. I fell for you that first night every bit as much as you did for me."