The Movie Was Forgettable

The movie was forgettable. Dinner had been nice, but quiet. She didn't talk much. She thought that he sometimes talked too much to other people, but not to her. Sometimes they just didn't say a lot.

He was preoccupied. She asked "what are you thinking?" and he shrugged. It seemed better to shrug than to describe the image from earlier that he had carefully cultivated into a vision. He didn't want to let it go.

They had been on a road ride. A normal early summer afternoon session, sometimes side by side and chatting, and sometimes single file, taking turns in the lead. It depended on the traffic, and the terrain, and the mood. He had been following a lot. She had new shorts.

Most of her cycling shorts were boring. Even unflattering. Black lycra, with a big pad that made her ass a misshapen lump. But the new shorts were different. The chamois followed the shape of her, instead of floating over her. And the shorts were cut so that they accentuated the shape of her ass. The center seam subtly delved into her crack, defining her ass as two independent globes. The difference from her regular shorts was astonishing, and the vision was arresting.

He had always admired her calves, and the way the muscles rippled under the thin skin, alternating, bunching high on her lower leg, and in turn elongating into a smooth taper. He loved to look at the taper of her legs, and felt possessive pride about that particular part of her, along with the width of her shoulders, which tapered similarly to her waist. But he hadn't really been proud of the way her ass looked in bike shorts until today.

The thing was, the shorts held the two halves of her ass so perfectly that it made the cheeks into extensions of her legs. It lengthened her legs, and he could see the muscles working through the lycra, and it made a fantastic picture.

He had gotten uncomfortably interested when his imagination augmented the vision. He had imagined the cycling shorts pulled down, exposing the tops of her ass cheeks. He had caressed the exposed skin with his eyes, and some unseen hand had lowered the waistband further, until the crack between her cheeks had deepened into a mysterious and inviting darkness. He had imagined himself there, poised at the entrance, and he had been forced to stop pedaling and adjust himself.

She didn't mind when he was quiet, but something was clearly bothering him. He was answering her questions with one or two words, or sometimes not answering at all. But he wasn't ignoring her. He was looking at her. His eyes were focused and easy to track, and he wasn't pretending not to look. He looked at her shoulders, and her neck. He looked at her tits, and she straightened her back unconsciously. Normally he was playful; he made a game out of accidentally brushing his open palm across her butt, and would exclaim "whoops" as he grabbed a fleeting handful. It was irritating at times; sometimes also flattering, depending on her mood. But he wasn't playful at dinner. He wouldn't grab her butt in a restaurant, but he would normally flirt. Now he was just looking at her, and concentrating.

Dinner was quiet, but not because she didn't make an effort. She had probably asked him three or four questions, which failed to start conversations. He was moody, almost sullen.

"Is anything the matter?"

"No."

She had seen him adjusting his dick in his shorts while they were riding. He seemed to be making a show of it. OK, so he had been horny, but they were riding. Sometimes he got moody and quiet when he wanted sex and didn't get it. But they had been riding, and then getting cleaned up, and then at a restaurant. Just like they had planned. What was she supposed to do?

They paid the check with cash, and stood to leave. He looked at her ass in her jeans, to check whether his carefully constructed vision of her would still work. The waistband of the jeans being lowered gradually over her ass, the crack opening to inviting darkness where the waistband exposed the bottom of her ass... It did work. He felt a pulsing flush in his temples and a surge of blood to his cock. He enjoyed the feeling, but grew self-conscious about the public setting and adjusted his cock to rest at an angle, where the jeans would hold it still.

She saw him adjust himself, and she saw that he was still hard. Did he ever give it a rest? He put a hand on her shoulder and walked close to her as they returned to the car. She thought about his dick. She liked sex well enough, but she wasn't fascinated by his dick. It was more the idea of his arousal. What had been getting him so worked up? His hand rested heavily on her shoulder, and she felt pressure from his fingertips, pulsing, as though the blood moving through them could push on her skin. His hip bumped hers as they walked, and the pressure of his fingertips on her shoulder seemed to send a signal to nudge her hip back against his. She felt warmth where they touched.

"So, should be go see that movie?" she asked.

"That was the plan." He answered.

They had taken her car, and he settled into the passenger seat just before she got into the car. He watched her come through the car door, her foot finding the floor, and then her hip swinging over the seat. The jeans hugged the shape of her ass, and the waistband was pulled away from the hollow of her lower back, momentarily exposing the pale white of her skin. And then she was sitting in the driver's seat, and starting the car, and gripping the shifter to put the car in reverse. He watched her had on the shifter, the knob secure in her fist, as she worked the car through the gears.

"How were your legs today?" he asked.

"I felt pretty good. How about you?"

"Not bad. You were strong on the flats."

"You didn't seem to be working very hard on the climbs."

"I felt good on the climbs."

She felt him watching her. She didn't like to drive because normally it felt as though he was judging her driving from the passenger seat. Sometimes he would say something, but usually she just knew he was silently critiquing her gear selection, and the way she steered through corners. But now he wasn't paying attention to the road, or the driving. He was looking at her. She didn't need to take her eyes from the road to know that he was looking at her tits. She felt her nipples harden against her sports bra, and she glanced down to see whether they showed against her t-shirt. They did. She felt a small vibration low in her stomach, as though a moth were beating its wings slowly against the inside of her skin.

They walked together to the ticket office. This time he put his arm across her back and rested his hand on her waist, just above her hip. She tightened the muscles of her stomach in response to the light touch of his fingers as they walked. She glanced down and saw the shape of his dick against the front of his jeans. As she walked, she felt the seams of her jeans rub against her inner thighs. It made her want to sway her hips to accentuate the motion and the friction, but she didn't walk that way.

They stood close together in line, but the line was short. He bought the tickets. "I need to go pee" she said. "OK," he replied, as he put the change in his front pocket, his hand lingering over the place where she knew his dick was.

She checked herself in the mirror as the entered the bathroom. She could just see the shape of her nipples against her t-shirt. In the stall she unzipped her jeans slowly, and pulled the sides of the fly apart. Her underpants were pushed out into a small mound by her pubic hair. She put her hand on the front of her underpants, and pushed the mound flat. She flattened them down with her hand, and she pushed her hand down into her jeans so she could see. The heel of her palm pushed hard against her pubic bone, and her fingers hung in the space between her underpants and her jeans.

She lowered her jeans so that the waistband the material was gathered above her knees, and she watched herself as she pushed her legs apart, against the waistband of the jeans. She pushed her hips forward, watching as her pubic bone protruded through her underpants. She put her hand back to where it had been, the heel of her palm on her protruding pubic bone. This time she wrapped her fingers up until her hand covered her vagina and her fingertips brushed the bottom of her butt. She pulled up, as though she could lift herself off the ground. She pulled herself onto her toes. Then she pulled down her underpants. She sat on the toilet and peed. She felt the warmth of blood in her cheeks, and she inhaled deeply.

"Do you want popcorn?" he asked, when she came out of the bathroom.

"No. I'm fine."

"Should we find a seat?"

"Yeah."

She went into the theater first, one of six shoeboxes in the small cinema. This one had a large stain in the middle of the screen, but you wouldn't notice it when the movie started. She paused at the entry. There were some people already seated, mostly in the middle rows. She took him by the hand and led him into the back row, seven or eight rows behind the other people. She took a seat under the projector window, and he sat next to her, closer to the aisle, to her left. They both slumped down, and didn't turn to look at the last few people who entered.

The previews started, and they sat with their knees against the seats in front of them. Their heads rested on the backrests of the theater seats. He put his hand on her leg. It would have been on her knee, or her mid thigh, but because they were slouched so low, his hand rested on her upper thigh. She felt the pressure of his fingertips pulsing against her leg. The pressure danced on the precipice of the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She crossed her arm over his, and put her hand on his leg, further down than where his hand rested on her. She placed her right hand on her right leg, opposite where his hand rested on her left leg. She looked over, to see whether he was watching her. It was mostly dark and flickery, until a bright scene cast a momentary pale light over the theater. He was watching the screen. She pulled her right hand up her leg until her thumb rested between her pubic bone and her upper thigh. She waited for the fingertips of his right hand to crawl further inward, toward her middle. But they just pulsed gently where they were. So she placed her own right hand over her vagina and pushed her jeans and her underpants against herself. She watched the screen. The previews were over, and the feature film had started.

He couldn't focus on the movie with her hand on his leg. He could feel the pulse of her through the fingertips on his right hand, where they lay against her thigh. He thought about how few inches separated his hand from her pussy. A few millimeters of fabric, and a few inches of inner thigh. The images from the screen washed over him meaninglessly, as he called up the vision of her ass, split by the seam of her bike shorts. The same seam would continue under her, and split the lips of her pussy, and the small pearl of her clitoris would be pushed side to side as she pedaled, back and forth under the seam, which would be stiff because of the layered fabric. Or maybe the chamois pad would just cover the whole thing like a big hand, pressing indiscriminately against all of her parts. And then her hand was gone from his leg, and he felt the cold air against the warmth that had been there.

But her hand was back, at his waist, fumbling against the button of his jeans. He looked at her, but it was dark, and she was watching the movie. Her hand couldn't work his button, and it moved to his cock, as though she knew exactly where to find it. She squeezed him through his jeans with her fingertips, and he sat up from his slouch with a start, looking around to see whether anybody in the audience saw what was happening.

She also sat up from her slouched position. She turned half toward him, and reached for his waistband with her right hand. She pulled it away from him, and snaked her left hand into his pants and grabbed his cock. He went rigid, and pushed her hand away, but it was wedged under his waistband, her fingers pushing against his cock. He was on the edge of panic, but nobody appeared to have noticed that he hand somebody else's hand down his pants.

She pulled her hand free, and this time used both hands on the buttons of his jeans. Once the top button was free, she just pulled the fly apart and the rest of them popped on their own. He leaned forward to cover himself up, but she pushed him back to his backrest, and pulled his cock free of the waistband of his underpants. She held him in her left hand, and sort of squeezed and stroked. She was terrible at it. She didn't squeeze hard enough to create any pressure, but she squeezed way too hard to also stroke, so it hurt a bit. But he didn't stop her. He looked over at her, and she was watching the screen, so he did as well. The images from the movie washed over him again, and he watched, uncomprehending, and she tugged at his cock.

After a few minutes he was surprised that he wasn't building to any sort of climax. He might have been losing interest a little bit, and he returned his mind to the image of her ass emerging from her cycling shorts. This time he put his cock into the vision. He imagined it wedged against the crack of her ass, the head protruding above her ass cheeks. He rocked his hips a couple of times on the theatre seat. In his vision he imagined rubbing the head of his cock down the crack of her ass, to where the darkness opened below her. He imagined advancing until his cock protruded under her. The top of his shaft would be where the seam of her bike shorts had been earlier. He rocked his hips some more, and she tugged at him while the light flickered around them. He reached his hand for the junction of her legs, and found her own hand already there. He twined his fingers into hers, and pressed through her jeans against her vagina.

She shook her hand free of his, and released his cock with her other hand, and stood. She moved to cross in front of him, still facing the screen, as though she were making her way toward the aisle. He spread his legs to the sides to allow her room to pass. When she was directly in front of him, she unbuttoned her jeans, and lowered her zipper, making an alarming noise. She pushed her jeans down over her ass, and they pulled her underpants with them. The cheeks of her ass glowed pale in the flickering light, and then she sat on his lap, her legs between his.

His cock was sort of mashed, with the waistband of his underpants and the buttons of his fly jammed between it and her pale ass. He leaned back as far as he could, and hunched his shoulders up to get his hands into a position to free his cock. He pushed the button-fly material to the side, and nudged the waistband of the underpants further down. And then his cock was against her ass. She was sitting forward, partly between his spread legs and partly on his lap. With his fingers, he pushed his cock against her, against her ass crack, and she pushed back against him.

She was losing patience. She pushed her bare ass against him, and she tried to rock her hips, but there was nothing to push against her where she needed it. Nothing to give her any satisfaction. She twisted around to look at him, and he seemed to be looking down at her butt, and his dick. She reached behind her and took his dick in her hand, while she raised her butt over him. She moved her hips back, and held herself above him. She pulled his dick all the way under her, and sat down again. It wasn't in her, but it was something to push on. She moved her hips against him, and she rocked them forward to try to push her clitoris down against him.

She reached a hand between her legs, under her pants, which were pulled down just below her butt. She felt him there with her fingers, and she grasped his dick and pushed it against her. She could feel her wetness being spread by his dick, and she reached a couple of fingers around him, toward her opening. Then she raised herself again, and took his dick in her hand, and made the necessary arrangements. She pushed down and back, and she felt the head of his dick slide through her opening, and then it was easy and he was in her and she pushed and pushed against him.

He gasped involuntarily, as she pressed herself down and back, his cock buried in her. She was heavy against him, her weight focused on their union. And then she was moving her hips, rolling her pelvis forward and pushing back at the same time, and then pulling her hips forward under her. She pushed and pulled, and the wetness of her pussy made a soft slurping sound. He held his hands on her ass, his fingers reaching around the sides, and his thumbs almost meeting at the top of her crack. He watched, in the flickering light, as she rocked herself on him. He tried to see his cock going into her, but it was too far under her. He just saw the crack of her ass disappear into darkness. When she rocked her hips forward and pushed back, her crack opened, and he saw his pubic hair merging with the darkness of the shadow of her crotch. When she pulled herself forward her crack closed, pulling his thumbs together, and he felt the cool of the air against the wetness that her pussy left on the base of his cock, where it was exposed. And when she rocked her pelvis forward and pushed back again, he felt her pubic bone push back against him. Her pants were just low enough to expose her pussy, and when she pushed back the waistband of her jeans pressed into the very base of his cock.

The soundtrack of the movie went silent; the action on the screen had slowed and wet sounds of fucking were suddenly loud in the theater. One or two heads might have turned back -- it was hard to tell in the dim light. They both froze, her hips rocked into the forward position. She ducked her head down. Was she trying to hide from view? Her torso was pressed against her legs, which were held together by his own spread legs. He held his breath, and felt the beat of his heart pulse in his cock where her pubic bone was pushed back against it.

Leaning all the way forward against her legs, she could feel the base of his dick pushing against the front wall of her vagina. She kept her head down, out of view, and pushed backward. She could almost feel the pressure of her waistband against her clitoris. She needed a little more. Her tits were mashed against her knees, and her stomach was uncomfortable against the bunched up material of her jeans, which were only low enough to uncover her butt. She pushed her knees apart, and rocked her pelvis further forward. She couldn't spread her legs far, because of her jeans, and because she was trapped between his legs, but she pushed them open enough to lower her torso a little more. Her clitoris was touching something. She pushed back harder, but it didn't do much. She kept her head down, and lifted her butt a little bit. She felt his dick against the front wall of her vagina. That part was right. She pushed back down, and felt his dick in her, and then her clitoris was pushed against something. She did it again; lifted up, and pushed back down. And a little higher, and a little harder. She rose up on him, and then slammed down hard, and felt the rasp of fabric and pressure against her clitoris. She needed more. She could hear him going in and out of her, and she could feel him going in and out of her. She fucked herself against him, lifting and slamming down hard, and lifting, a little higher. She was going in the right direction, but it was going to take a lot more fucking for her to get off this way. She lifted herself higher.

He was watching her fuck him, and he could almost see. When she was all the way up, he could see the pale skin of the very base of his cock peeking out from under the round shape of her ass. If he could lay back flat, then he would be able to see her pussy envelop him, and he would be able to see himself disappear into her, though it would be nice to have a little more light. The waistband of her jeans scraped painfully against his cock, and every time she rammed herself down onto him the extra force was exquisitely painful. But he wasn't about to stop her from fucking him in a movie theater because of a little pain. He could hear the sex as well, even above the soundtrack of the movie, which had resumed. When she lifted too high, his cock popped out with a loud noise as the suction in her pussy was released. He was sure the whole theater had heard. As she smashed back down, trapping his cock against his stomach, he leaned forward and held her still with his arms. "Shhhh!" he whispered, urgently. His heart was racing.