Cinema

I love the movies. I've rarely missed a new release since I was old enough to go to the movies alone and buy my own ticket. Over the years, there's been winners and losers. However, most were just mediocre. It didn't make much difference to me. I just loved the cinema, sitting in the dark, nibbling on the required popcorn and letting my imagination wander into the movie until I became a part of the script.

Starr and I worked together as accounting clerks in a downtown wealth management firm, since neither of us was able to pass the Uniform Certified Public Accounting exam after graduating from school.

We laughed a lot about our names. We agreed that we could have been headliners at a Portland strip club. "Starr and Tiffany: see all of them and see them often." We didn't know why our mothers chose names with such obvious connotations but we believed we'd both be making more money in Portland than where we were.

Starr and I spent considerable time together, frequently having lunch together and an occasional outing on the weekends. Thursday night, however, was a permanent date for us. Every Thursday night we went to the movies. We went to the same theater and sat in the same seats, a ritual we followed religiously even when it meant we saw the same move two weeks in a row.

That worked terrifically for over three years until Starr accepted a new position in Oregon. She was very circumspect about the details of her new job. That, plus the fact that she has an incredible body, led me, and others, to speculate about how close to Portland was her job in Oregon.

Starr left on a Friday. The following Thursday, I went to the movies alone. I was lonely and the movie was barely mediocre. If it hadn't been for the gentleman sitting next to me, it would have been a complete bust even though he ignored my presence.

The following Thursday, the movie was an improvement and I sat next to the same gentleman as the previous week, an incredible coincidence that made the evening a success for me.

Another Thursday and another movie. Only this time, deciding to go wasn't easy. The movie was another of those space monster movies with lots of special effects and computer generated imagery with lots of blood, guts and extensive property destruction. I'm a sucker for every visual trap film makers use to scare movie goers. In other words, it was a piss my pants horror movie.

Going to a pisser movie with Starr eased my tenseness. She'd hold my hand and absorb some of my fear. Enough so that I could keep my pants dry. However, not going would spoil my perfect attendance record. So, like every other Thursday, I went to the movies. Same seat. Same gentleman sitting next to me.

Within ten minutes, the movie had every nerve in my body on alert. I gripped both of the seat arm rests and held on as if my world was going to end. The first sudden transition caused the bucket of popcorn in my lap to leap a foot in the air and fill the air with buttery snack.

Then a miracle happened. The gentleman next to me put his hand on top of mine on the arm rest. He never said a word. He just rested his hand on mine. The touch alone was enough to drain a significant amount of tension from me. It is not an exaggeration to say that his simple act of kindness made it possible for me to sit through the rest of the movie.

He kept his hand on mine until the movie ended. No attempt to hold my hand or touch me further. Just a casual resting of his hand on mine. When the move ended, he removed his hand and left the theater, just like every other Thursday, without a word or nod of acknowledgement.

I walked home, calmer than I could have expected. I held my hand across my body as if it was some sort of shrine. I went to bed that night dreaming of the man I knew only by his shadowy profile sitting in the seat next to mine.

The movie the next Thursday was a romantic comedy starring some of my favorite actors. I was looking forward to a light and pleasant evening eating popcorn at the movies. I hadn't given much thought about the gentleman in the seat next to me.

However, he was there, sitting in his usual seat almost as if he was waiting for me. I settled in my seat, watched the movie and munched my popcorn. At one point, I put my arm on the armrest between our seats. Instantly, his hand was on top of mine. It wasn't a scary movie and I didn't understand why he did it, unless he wanted it to be there. More than just on top of my hand. His fingers curled under my hand and actually held my hand. I did nothing to discourage him. I left my hand on the arm rest and let him hold and caress my hand.

When the movie ended, he let go of my hand and left like every other week. I walked home floating on air. I have no idea why. The man who held my hand for ninety minutes had no name and no presence other than a shadow in the seat next to me but his simple act of kindness somehow lifted my mood.

I thought about the movie the next Thursday for an entire week. Actually, I thought about the man in the seat next to me. When Thursday night arrived, I hadn't a clue about the movie I was about to watch. It turned out to be a film-noir mystery drama that required significant attention to grasp the plot. When the movie ended, I didn't have a clue about the plot or the actors.

About ten minutes into the movie, the stranger next to me was holding my hand on the arm rest. For reasons I still can't explain, I removed my hand from the arm rest, dislodging his hand in the process and put the arm rest up and moved closer to him. I put my hand in my lap and his hand fell softly on my thigh.

I almost wet my pants although for a different reason. I knew I had invited further contact when I put the arm rest up, but his hand on my thigh still had an emotional response to his touch. We watched the rest of the movie like that, at least I think he did. Occasionally, he would squeeze my thigh or move his hand in a short stroke on my thigh on top of my dress. Every squeeze, every stroke invoked an electrical charge up my leg and around my midsection. When the movie ended, I had my hand on top of his and was moving it in longer strokes on my leg. Then we left the theater separately just like every other Thursday evening.

Another week, another Thursday, another movie. I had been distracted all week and dreamed about the possibilities each night. This time, I didn't give a crap what the movie was. I was going to the movies to sit next to the mysterious gentleman who was willing to stroke my thigh last week.

I went to the theater, bought my ticket and my popcorn and went inside. My gentleman was already in his seat, the arm rest was already up and he seemed to be seated off center in the direction of my seat. I sat off center in the direction of his seat with our hips almost touching.

I nibbled at my popcorn until the lights dimmed and the movie started. His hand was quickly on my thigh, over my skirt, repeating the motions I had encouraged the previous week. In response, I put my hand on his thigh over his pants. When he took a short stroke on my thigh, I took a short stroke on his thigh. When he squeezed my thigh, I squeezed his thigh. When he took a longer stroke on my thigh, I took a longer stroke on his thigh.

When my legs separated slightly, so did his. When his hand rubbed my inner thigh, I rubbed his inner thigh. And then, the movie was over and we went our separate ways, until next Thursday.

The more I looked forward to Thursday, the further away it got. When it finally came, I rushed home after work, took a shower, put on a short, above the knee skirt that rode higher when I sat down, an Oxford shirt and my best bra and underwear. I walked purposefully to the theater, bought a ticket and popcorn again and headed for my seat. I was the first to arrive. The previews hadn't even started. I put up the arm rest and sat close to the still empty seat next to me. I told myself repeatedly, not to be over anxious without success.

The lights dimmed for the previews and the gentleman sat next to me. Almost before he was settled, I put my hand on his thigh. What the hell was I thinking? The third preview was just starting. The start of the movie, whatever it was, was at least twenty minutes away.

The gentleman knew what I was thinking. He put his hand on my thigh. Before the last preview, we were mutually stroking and squeezing each other's thighs. The silently agreed upon, collaborative stroking of our inner thighs was accomplished within the first fifteen minutes of the movie.

In a daring move, uncharacteristic of me, I pulled the fabric of my skirt slowly from beneath his hand, leaving his fingers stroking and squeezing my thigh on my bare skin. Over the next agonizing minutes, his strokes reached the gusset of my panties and the side of his pinky finger rubbed lightly against the damp fabric. I closed my eyes and floated into the feeling of his knowing that I was accepting of his touch and wet to prove it.

My hand drifted to the space between his legs. He rotated slightly in his seat to improve my ability to digitally explore what I found there. I wasn't surprised but I was emboldened. Before the movie was over, I had wrapped my hand around his hardness as best I could through his trousers.

Walking home from the movies was a challenge. I wanted to dance in the moonlight but I was almost too dizzy to walk straight. At home, I stripped and slid in between the sheets naked for the first time since I was a child. Everything I had worn was in the clothes hamper except my panties. My panties were hanging, stretched out on a hanger on the frame of the doorway to my bathroom. As I fell pleasantly asleep, I considered having them framed.

Saturday I went shopping. I bought a very short flared skirt. Not quite as short as a tennis skirt but not much longer. I added a matching low cut, flowing blouse that I could leave untucked. Just planning what to wear the next Thursday made me wet.

I was wet almost every day until Thursday. After work, I rushed home again, showered and dressed in my new, almost not there, skirt and blouse. I looked at myself in the mirror and liked what I saw. I wondered what my mysterious stranger would like if he could see me. In a rash moment, uncharacteristic of me, I reached under my skirt and removed my panties. I was on a mission of discovery and I wanted my nameless movie partner to have something to find. Finally, if not my panties, why not my bra. I removed my bra and put it on the bed next to my panties. I looked into the mirror and liked what I saw even more.

Walking to the theater was another new experience. The weather had cooled and there was a slight breeze. The cool air, blew gently up my skirt, encountered my naked pussy and produced several thrilling moments that caused me to stop twice to control my emotions. I finally arrived at the theater, bought my ticket and entered the building, taking short steps so as not to flare my skirt. Popcorn in hand, I walked carefully to my usual seat.

My paramour, (Is it safe to call him that even if I didn't know his name or would know him if I passed him on the street during the day?) was already in his seat. The armrest was up and his hand lying where my thigh would be soon. I moved down the row, he lifted his hand, I sat down and his hand fell on my bare thigh.

"Ahhh," he murmured. The first sound I'd ever heard from him.

If that was his reaction to discovering my already naked thigh, I could hardly wait for his reaction when he ventured further on his mission of discovery.

And he was on a mission. Before the movie was ten minutes old, the side of his pinky had discovered the absence of panties and was nestled between my plump labia. I closed my eyes and settled in to the feeling of his finger slowly stroking the inner lips of my vagina.

He rotated his hand attempting to palm my mons with his entire hand. I slid down in my seat, pushing my hips out to ease his effort and spread my legs further apart. His middle finger stroked between my inner labia while his fingers on either side stroked along the inner edge of my major labia.

His finger curled and entered me a short distance. I bit my lip, slid forward further and encouraged him. Fortunately, I sensed my orgasm building and was able to contain my reaction by biting the wrist of my right hand and prevented the sound that would have attracted the attention of everyone else in the audience.

I put a hand on top of his to restrict further movement while I recovered, My other hand, which had been squeezing his erection through his pants, moved up and attempted to open his fly. He anticipated my plan and undid his belt and button and held the top of his pants while I unzipped his fly. Before I could reposition my hand, he had pushed down his underwear and his exposed erection bounced against the back of my hand.

He slid down slightly and I corralled his erection and squeezed it gently. I began to stroke the outside of his erection with my fingers and he resumed stroking the inside of my vagina with his fingers.

Too soon, the movie was over and we scrambled to straighten our clothing before we left, separately as usual.

I don't remember the walk home. I do remember that I walked slowly with my knees together to prevent a potentially embarrassing accident. Home, I crawled into bed naked again. My tits were begging for attention. I had anticipated increased activity that included my tits. The activity with my pussy had exceeded my expectations with the deficit of attention to my tits. I fell asleep, palming my tits and resolving to rectify the deficiency the next Thursday.

Dressing for the movies the next Thursday wasn't a problem. There wasn't much less that I could wear without going naked. I wore the same skirt and blouse without the same panties and bra. I didn't rush, walking to the theater slowly and enjoying the play of the breeze on my pussy under my short skirt.

I arrived at my row in the theater just as the lights were dimming after the previews for the start of the movie. My partner was already in his seat. However, he was sitting unnaturally upright with his hands in his lap. I sat next to him and put a hand on his thigh. His thigh was exposed and, when he removed his hands from his lap, his penis and testicles were exposed as well.

My hand circled his penis immediately and his hand cupped my pussy at the same time. I moved my hand up and down his penis which quickly became an erection. I used my thumb to rub the tip of his erection and small amounts of slippery viscous fluid escaped that I used to lubricate his erection.

I was seeping copious amounts of similarly slippery viscous fluids that my friend used to lubricate his fingers as they entered me. I took his free hand and pressed it to my chest over my blouse. In time, his hand found its way under my blouse and began to squeeze my tits and exercise my rapidly hardening nipple.

We spent the majority of the movie like that. I had several small orgasms and one fairly large one. My companion had a single, very explosive orgasm that covered my hand, his abdomen and his trousers with semen.

During the movie ending credits, we both left the theater before the house lights came up and exposed the post sexual state of our clothing.

Walking home, I was on cloud nine. I couldn't imagine a better evening, unless it involved actual sexual intercourse. I lay awake that night wondering what else I could experience with the anonymous seat mate. There was only one thing I could imagine.

The next Thursday we were at it again. Only this time, before he could get his hands in position with me, I bent over and took his cock in my mouth. His immediate response was shock but he quickly calmed down, slid down in his seat, closed his eyes and put his head back. I was in an unusual position to watch a movie. I was bent over below the level of the seat backs and I was unsure how many other movie patrons could see what I was doing.

And I was doing plenty. Every time I felt my willing recipient was nearing an orgasm, I slowed and reduced the intensity of what I was doing until I was certain he was able to continue without detonating. Unfortunately, he was making all sorts of animalistic sounds, loud enough to draw attention to what was happening. I refused to care about attracting attention. In reality, the thought of being watched only intensified my desire to complete what I had started.

Being bent over as I was, interfered with his ability to stroke my pussy but my tits were available. He slid his hand under my blouse from the top and alternately hefted one tit, tweaked my nipple and then switched to my other tit. The feeling was exquisite almost interfering with my oral intentions.

And my intentions were nothing short of driving him to a total release in my mouth but not until I wanted him to. Throughout the movie, I was aware that my position and his less than subtle moans were drawing the attention of other sitting around us. When I peeked, several people were leaning over the backs of their seats watching us. If being watched was intended to interrupt us, it failed. Being watched actually excited me. Somehow, being the center of attention during sex drove me to even greater lengths.

As the movie drew to a close, so did my efforts with my anonymous partner. He came strongly in my mouth with a moan that doubled the number of movie patrons watching us. I swallowed and licked my lips several times before I sat up, straightened my blouse and left the theater with him struggling to contain the mess I left and get himself back in his pants.

Walking home, I was proud of myself. My mood was heightened by the knowledge that I had been watched while pleasuring my neighbor. I didn't understand why I felt elated but I knew being watched added immeasurably to my experience.

All week I planned my activity for the next Thursday. There was only one thing I had to do while being watched that would maximize both of our experiences. I was going to fuck him. Right there in his seat in the theater. I would suck his cock until it was erect, climb on top of him, straddling him in his seat and fuck him.

I was a mass of anxiety and determination as I walked to the theater on Thursday. As I neared the ticket booth, a man who had been lingering on the sidewalk approached me.

"Excuse me," he said as I neared him.

I stopped. "Do I know you?" I asked.

"Are you row K, seat 9?" the man asked.

I thought for a second. "Seat 7?" I asked.

"I am," he admitted. "Could we talk for a second before we go inside?" he asked.

He looked to be about ten years older than I was, with the body of an athlete and the smile of a happy person. "I'm listening," I said.

He stuck out his hand. "Keith," he said.

I took his hand. "Hi Keith," I said. "Ann." My real name didn't seem appropriate.

"Ann," he said, "I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed sitting next to you in the theater these last three months."

I didn't think agreeing with him would be going too far. "It has been fun, hasn't it?" I said.

"I think there's only one thing we haven't managed while sitting next to each other," Keith said.

I admired his forthright statement and his accurate appraisal of where we were. "I've had the same thought," I said.

"I was wondering," Keith said, "if you might consider a different venue for this evening?"

His suggestion struck me as thoughtful and appropriate. Fucking him in the theater seat wasn't optimal. "You have a venue in mind?" I asked.

"There's a motel about two blocks up the avenue. We could walk there in a few minutes," Keith offered.

I gave him a more analytical appraisal. A real bed with his naked body between the spread legs of my naked body seemed perfect. "Lead the way," I agreed.

We walked side by side without holding hands for the ten minute walk to the motel. I waited in the lobby while he arranged for a room. He flashed me the blue plastic room key and we headed for the elevator and the third floor. Room 312 was halfway down the dimly lit hallway on the right. Keith opened the door and held it for me to enter.