Summer Afternoon's Matinee

It was a sultry July afternoon, with the thermometer in the 90s and the humidity chasing it. The sky was blue over the multiplex parking lot, and the teenagers ran through the heat to get to the theater entryway and temperature rationality again. Shelley walked behind them quickly, wearing her mirror sunglasses, yellow halter top, short blue skirt and sandals. The kid waited for her just inside the door because she was paying for them.

There wasn't a line at either the ticket counter or concessions, so it didn't take long for the three kids to have their rations for an animated comedy. They dashed off with their ticket stubs without a word, leaving her to wonder why she was holding an extra large drink and a stub for a movie she'd never see of her own free will.

No suspicion surfaced over her choice; the kids didn't care she never watched gruesome murder mysteries before, or that she'd dress in such a skimpy manner to watch a movie. She usually wore more than this when they went to the beach. But this afternoon she was going to meet him: she was meeting Constantine, her pen pan from afar. Over the last eight years, they'd talked about a lot, shared their intimate thoughts with each other, but this was their first meeting in the flesh. It took a lot to make this happen, but a darkened movie theater seemed like a safe place. She could always walk out, scream if he did something too strange, and having to leave with the kids gave her an exit time.

She wondered what he wanted to be called. "Conny" sounded a bit strange, but she'd heard men use it before. "Tino" sounded Italian, which wasn't bad, but wasn't him. She'd find out.

The trailers were running when she came in; only one man was sitting across the way. It had to be him. He'd told her what to wear and where to go: 2/3 of the way up the rows toward the back, in the middle of the row. She trembled as she walked up the steps, counting the rows, then giving up when she realized he was going to find her no matter where she sat down. Entering the row from the left, she want to the middle and put the armrest to her right up. Settling in, she started watching the trailers, waiting for the moment he joined her.

It took some time. Four clips played out, movies she never wanted to see, and no one else entered the theater. The feature they were going to see got horrible reviews and it was leaving the multiplex in a couple of days. A shame how big stars could lose their touch so quickly. A thought crossed her head: he was waiting, waiting to see if anyone followed her in. There shouldn't be a reason for that: she took the kids to the movies regularly on summer weekday afternoons, it was a small spot of peace she valued, and everyone knew that, especially. . .

The screen went dark as the theater's clip played just before the feature, and someone sat on her right next to her. "Hello, Carissima." he murmured in a silken voice, giving her ear the briefest nuzzle. His body was oversized, but not grotesquely, his hands were graceful as he cradled a huge tub of popcorn.

"Hello," she said and instantly regretted it. For years she wanted to see this man, to hear his voice, to claim a bear hug from him, among other things. He'd written erotic stories she loved, as well as sharing an exotic spirituality. A simple "hello" wasn't the way she wanted to speak to him the first time. Taking a sip from her drink, she continued: "Hello, Constantine. Glad you could make it."

"Me, too. Call me Stan. Like some popcorn?"

She tensed a little bit. Stan liked to spring surprises, as he told her many times, and juvenile tricks didn't seem beyond him. For all she knew, there was something extra in the tub of popcorn. Part of her wanted to find out, and part wanted it to be so, but it was a lot for her to cope with while she was still scared about being alone in the dark with a strange man. Exciting, yes, but still. . .

"Don't worry. You're all right. You're safe. Just relax and be."

Impulsively she stuck her hand down into the tub, spilling a little, and found only popcorn. A soft chuckle tickled her ear, and a gentle hand rested on her shoulder for a moment before leaving. She leaned into him and felt his softness and his strength. He put his hand over her for a moment, then stretched his left arm around her.

The movie started and was immediately forgettable. Shelley let her mind wander, let her nerves unkink and savored the presence next to her. A touch of lips at her hair line sent a little shiver down her spine, and a hand brushed her upper right arm, right next to her breast.

The tub blocked access to a part of him she was interested in, but he made no move to move it. Another touch and another kiss and she wiggled back against him, welcome his attention. The lips delicately grazed her earlobe, and a soft tongue probed the ridges. A gasp, a sigh, and squeeze of his left thigh; a turn of the head to allow easier access. It was easy to imagine those lips lower down, in contact with similar flesh, softer flesh, wetter flesh.

The hand got bolder and started to brush the fabric of her halter top. It had been years since her body got this much attention, and it thrilled her. A fingertip touch: firm, gentle, insistent, relentless. Two peaks formed and pondered release.

She turned her head more and her lips found mint flavored lips. It was a moment before her lips parted, and his tongue entered her mouth, dancing with hers. Many years passed since making out in a theater was on her agenda, but it was like high school again and it was wonderful. The soundtrack of the rotten movie faded from her ears, replaced by the beating of her heart.

The hand found the left side of her halter top, teasing the inside edge. Shifting her body, she lessened the tension so the skin underneath was accessible. Sensing this, the hand moved underneath the fabric immediately, giving her breast a fond caress and finding the naked peak to circle and tantalize. "This hasn't happened for a long, long time," she murmured when their mouths parted.

"Want me to stop?"

A firm, sudden kiss, a turning of her body and a pressing of her breast into his hand was her answer, and he accepted the invitation gladly. He set the popcorn on the floor beside him and her hand moved down: his zipper was still up, but his interest apparent. It wasn't her ideal, but it was firm and friendly, something she'd wanted for years. She didn't care: this was working.

A gentle push encouraged her to lay back. She undid the top string of her halter, and it fell loose. A firm fuzzy face nuzzled her skin. For a moment, she wished there was more to him to enjoy, but suddenly the nub was sucked completely into his mouth, his tongue running wild and all reason running from her head.

Her hand came around to caress his head, to hold it to her breast and encourage him to keep giving her the wonderful feeling. He complied with her desire for several moments that lasted for hours.

Suddenly he stopped, and took a large drink from the soda she'd bought. "Thirsty, honey?" She saw a wicked smile in the dark and he moved back to where he was. An arctic blast hit her tender skin: he'd sucked an ice cube into his mouth and was using it to make her even harder. She gasped out loud, then put her fist in her mouth so she wouldn't cry out and alert a projectionist. For a moment she wondered what the college students on their summer jobs would think, looking out to see them making out in the darkened theater and ignoring the movie. But the seats were high, he was silent, and she wasn't making much noise, although it was getting more and more difficult.

A feather touch brushed the inside of her right knee, then her left. She took an ice cube out of the drink to suck on herself, partly to keep her quiet, partly to imagine the sensations she could give. The feather brushed her knees, twice in succession, and she had a choice to make. Should this go farther? Music thundered from the sound system, flashes came intermittently from the screen in a night battle. For a moment, she pondered, then she parted her knees.

Before she knew it, a hand was at her panty waistband and started pulling down. Her hips came up to give clearance, the hand moved around and her legs came back together as the undergarment passed her knees and ankles. Stepping out, she parted her knees again, waiting for what came next.

An artist's hand touched her. Playing her like a Stradivarius, it brought out a murmur and a submission, to let him make what music he wished on her. She was gently filled, and the mouth returned to nursing; two levels of stimulation were taking her very far, very fast. Her hand went back in her mouth, but a strangled cry came out of her throat, beginning low and moving higher, higher, higher, until she hit and held the glorious high note she'd forgotten she had.

She let him know it was enough, and he slowed down, cradling her and slowly taking his leave. The movie had moved to a bath scene, and for once Shelley didn't envy the Hollywood starlet in all her glory. Her breathing calmed down, and she was able to turn her attention to him.

His fly was quickly unzipped, and he was exposed. She was determined her touch was going to be as soft as his, and she put his hand back on her breast as she worked. Two massive pearls caught her attention, smooth and spongy, and she stroked them, making him murmur and groan a little bit. Moving his hand across her body, she leaned down and saluted the wrinkled skin, telling it how much she loved her experience and wished to share it. His right hand caressed her head, circling her earlobe; his left turned up to cradle her life giving sweetness.

It was time to savor the strange licorice. Her mouth moved up, her tongue swirling, savoring the end of the sweet candy that warmed under her touch. She took more and more, letting the candy fill her, savoring its essence. It was a hard candy, and she had to rest from time to time, but she coaxed out the full sweetness of the delicacy, letting it roll around her mouth before it went down. He quivered as she thanked him, stroking him delicately as he recovered. A sip of her soda, and she lay back against him, her arms up over his neck, her head on his shoulder, while he cupped her torso.

After twenty minutes, the movie got far too dumb, and she had to go. He helped her make sure she was restored to her state of dress when she entered, but there was one piece she couldn't put back on. "I'll keep it for you," he said, stuffing her panties into his pocket. He wore large pants and the bulge wasn't that noticeable.

"Tomorrow, a safe place, candle light, wine, and more. If you want." A last kiss, and he made his way out before the movie climax.

She was sweating as she endured the end of the feature, staying through the end of the credits so her breathing, her dampness and her mindset were once again stable before she went out. The kids were in the lobby, focused on their cell phones when she approached. They asked her how she liked her movie, and she gave them a non-committal: "It was all right." As she drove home with her electronically cocooned passengers, she knew what she was doing tomorrow, the e-mail she would send tonight, and the glow she experienced in the theater on a summer afternoon.