Disclaimer: I am not Jonathan Larson. I do not own RENT or any of the characters you recognize.
He didn't plan to end up doing this. The first time he went to a Rosh Hashanah service in over five years, and this was the temple he chose. He chose the one temple in New York City with a new cantor; a cantor around his age and gorgeous. And the high notes. Hot damn could she hit the high notes. Hell, he couldn't even remember the songs having notes that high. He wouldn't have thought Rosh Hashanah services would make him feel this way, but damn when she hit those high notes he couldn't help but imagine what it'd be like to make her scream those sounds as he thrust inside of her.
Oh G-d these were not thoughts a person should have when he went to temple. And yet, he couldn't help it. Mark walked straight out of services, and into the men's room of Temple Beit Shalom. He went straight into the first stall and unzipped his pants. As he pulled down his boxers he let out a sigh of release, no longer feeling an uncomfortable bulge in his pants.
He began at his shaft, pumping it up and imagining her hands where his were. He began to picture himself thrusting into her, right there on the bima. As he massaged his balls with one hand, and ran his other hand up and down his shaft he was making the first thrust inside her tight pussy. As he pumped, her mouth was around his throbbing cock. She was sucking, and licking, and deep-throating. And then he was thrusting into her again.
They were on the bima, having a different sort of High Holy Day. With every pump of his fist, he pushed himself inside of her. With each thrust she let out a scream, a scream of those same high-pitched notes she was singing inside the sanctuary this very second. He ran his hand up and down his cock; he imagined her wet, tight pussy where his hands were. As he pictured this image, and heard realistic screams he could feel his end coming.
He let out a low guttural moan, as he came in his own hands. He pulled his pants back up and unlocked the bathroom door. As he watched his hands, all he could think was "Maybe, Roger's right. I should make a documentary."