My husband and I have had more than our share of wild, trippy, and at times, dangerous sex trips during our thirty years of marriage, but nothing tops the evening we spent in a porn theater in New York City for heart-pounding excitement.

The theater, like most porn theaters, left a lot to be desired, but one thing they weren't short on was men. We went in, saw two seats in an empty row near the back, sat down, and looked around. Except for the woman on the screen blowing a well-hung black man, I was the only woman in the theater.

It wasn't long before one of the braver men realized this. He got up from where he was sitting, shuffled down our aisle, and sat next to me. He wasted no time unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. I grabbed a quick look, leaned over, and whispered to my husband.

"The guy next to me has his cock out and is jerking off."

My husband glanced over and whispered back, "Why don't you help him?"

I'm no prude. I've jerked off and fucked more men than most women, but I've never given a hand job to a man I'd never met or seen his face.

My hands were shaking, and my stomach was doing somersaults. I wanted to do it but wasn't sure I had the nerve. I started to slide my hand over but quickly pulled it back.

"What's the matter?" my husband said.

"I'm afraid. What if that's not what the guy wants, and he causes a commotion?"

My husband leaned over and whispered, "Trust me, it's what he wants, or he wouldn't have sat next to you."

I still wasn't convinced. If anything, I was more nervous than before. I was breaking out in a cold sweat.

'I want to do it,' I told myself, but my hand wasn't listening to me. It rested in my lap, quivering like a bowl of jello.

"If you don't do something quick, the guy's going to get off," my husband whispered.

I grabbed a quick look. Sure enough, the guy's hand was working like a jackhammer.

'Okay,' I told myself. 'It's now or never. It's not like I haven't jerked a cock off before.'

I willed my hand to move onto the arm of the chair and across the chasm until it rested on the man's thigh. He moved, and my hand froze. When he stopped moving, I realized he wasn't getting up to leave but was positioning his cock to make it easier for me to reach. Summing up all my courage, I slid my fingers around the thick shaft slippery with pre-cum and began running my hand slowly up and down.

The man moaned, but it was low enough, so no one else could hear. He began pistoning his hips, wanting my hand to move faster. I obliged. Seconds later, he came splattering cum over my hand and the front of his pants.

Without a word, the man tucked himself away, got up, and walked away.

When I turned to my husband, I was shaking so hard I could hardly talk.

"I-I-I need a drink," I said as I took a tissue from my purse and wiped my hand. That's when I realized we had an audience. Every seat around us had men looking over their shoulders.

"Come on," my husband said as he took my quivering hand. "Let's get you that drink.