Two Little Words

We were on the motorway heading east for London. Our first taste of freedom since the baby arrived a little over a year ago. Toddler and baby were staying with doting grandparents and we were off house hunting for a long weekend, target somewhere in the northeast sector the other side of town, out beyond Romford, Ilford and the London sprawl. Somewhere we'd be left enough for baked beans and white toast after the mortgage provider had taken its sticky paws out of our wallets.

The sky was that not quite bluish colour, a mottled cloudy layer that meant an English summer was in progress. Hot, quite humid, and splodges of darkness that said, "Just you wait. We've got a thunderstorm or two up our sleeves." We were frisky as March hares. Getting soaked to the skin would just add to the excitement. A services sign loomed.

"Shall we stop for a coffee and a pee before we get into town?" I asked Jo.

"Good idea."

I pulled off onto the ramp and we parked not too far from the services building. Jo was fiddling with her makeup, not that she used much, so I got out and went round to the passenger door to do the gentlemanly thing. Jo clipped her bag shut and swivelled towards me as I opened the door. She was wearing an understated light grey business style suit and white buttoned blouse. The sort of outfit designed to convince estate agents we were serious. The skirt was cut a little fuller than the pencil type. Her legs were apart and I was greeted with the sight of stockings, white suspender straps and knickers under an equally white lace trimmed slip. She gave me that wee smile that told of things to come. Then got out and we headed for refreshment.

Coffee was coffee at the turn of the decade. The eighties were beckoning, but the baristas of today were still at the amphibian stage of evolution. We both drunk black, in white cups, as we looked out at the streams of traffic.

"Is there a plan?" asked Jo.

I had been promoted to a job in the London office, and Jo had now given up work to look after the children, still not uncommon in those days, though it made life tough for a while. As I was going to be doing the commuting, a big change from both of us living within walking distance of work, I was supposed to take the lead on this trip. Supposed. We all know how the real world works.

"We've got today to ourselves," I replied. "Tomorrow we'll see the agents we've been in contact with, collect a ton of bumf and then spend a day and a half driving all over the place to get a shortlist, with a plan to view on the Sunday afternoon, or earlier, if we can squeeze that in. Meanwhile we can relax. I thought a curry lunch in town at a place I know which should be pretty quiet. Then, perhaps, there's a cinema I've used in the past we might drop in on. We don't have to be at the hotel until evening and we'll only need a snack and a drink."

"What sort of cinema?"

"The sort of cinema you might quite like," I said.

"Hmmm. Curry sounds good. And then, we'll see."

We walked back to the car, hand in hand and happy. I thought the plan might have legs to match Jo's, but, as she said, we would have to see. Our timing was good, and travelling in the lull period we were soon closing on the city. Stopped at lights controlling a main junction before the easterly roads divided, a white minibus pulled alongside to our left. Jo looked up and smiled. My view was restricted but I could see it was a police van, and the chaps in the back were taking a keen interest in Jo. From their point of view her cleavage must have been a pleasant sight. Looking ahead to monitor the lights I casually let my left hand stray to her knee and gently slid her skirt and slip upwards. Then the lights changed and we were off. The van forked left and we right, but the gentlemen of the law showed their appreciation vigorously as our paths diverged. I wondered idly if they'd got our number and we were in for a series of visits from randy off-duty coppers, but probably not. The angles weren't right.

The curry house was down a side street on the route out just east of the centre, between the West End and the City. The pubs would have been busy but there was plenty of parking space on this street and we found we were the only customers in the restaurant. A fit looking young man, in a pale blue outfit probably supposed to be oriental and equally probably knocked up by the family seamstress, ushered us to a table in a corner and made a fuss of helping Jo into her seat. He took a sharp intake of breath as Jo sat. I couldn't see for sure, but it seemed she might have hitched her skirt right up. She smiled winningly at him.

"What's your name?"

"Mohandas, madam. Like Gandhi. But most people call me Mo," he stuttered.

"Mine's Jo," she replied, holding out her hand. "And this is Guy." He nodded in my direction and I nodded back. "Sorry about the leg show. But this is my only suit for the trip and curry would ruin it. Do you by any chance have an apron I could borrow?"

"Of course, madam. Right away."

He dashed off, crouching a little to mitigate a bulge in the groin area. I leant forward.

"Don't say it," said Jo.

"What?" I tried the po-face but couldn't hold it.

"I think you've got your "

"Don't say it!" So, I didn't.

He returned with menus and a clean blue apron. He had regained his composure and took the opportunity to help Jo with the apron while enjoying a delightful view of her breasts, and probably stockings or more. Jo wiggled helpfully for him. Adjusting the apron, she accidentally parted the blouse at the top and Mo hovered approvingly as he tendered the menus.

"The usual?" I asked Jo.

"Please."

"Wine?"

"A glass of white." I reeled off our order and Mo scribbled. "And otherwise just water to drink," I concluded.

"Where are you from Mo?" Jo asked.

"I'm from Bangladesh, but I've been here almost ten years now. I came over with my family. Things were bad back home then."

"Yes, we know," said Jo. "And you're happy here?"

"Oh yes. You people do love your curries!" he grinned. "Excuse me." And he dashed off again.

The meal was delicious, and after we had finished Mo brought us coffee. The place was still deserted but for us.

"Very quiet," said Jo.

"Friday is usually a very quiet lunchtime. The evening's busier but we do most of our business during the working week and Friday goes dead around here, apart from the pubs, by lunchtime. Poet's day I think you call it," said Mo.

"Yes, we do! You can have your apron back now, Mo," said Jo. He helped her untie and remove it. She made no attempt to readjust her dress. He was clearly enjoying things in every sense.

"You seem to like the view," said Jo, brushing her hand gently across the bulge in his loose blue trousers. "I bet your lady friends like this. Are you married?" She continued very gently stroking and Mo made no attempt to stop her.

"No. I have girlfriends, but I expect an arranged marriage one day. Meanwhile "

"Yes, meanwhile you like being a naughty boy, don't you? Are you going to take it out for me to stroke?"

"Whatever madam wishes," said Mo, graciously complying. A good-looking cock emerged. Not large, but very stiff indeed, rigidly pointing up at an angle. Mo was greatly aroused, and so was I, sitting quietly watching. Jo took hold of the offered flesh and continued her caresses. I shifted my chair to get a bit better line of sight.

Jo stroked away gently. "You're going to be a very naughty boy for me aren't you Mo?"

"Yes, madam."

"Would you like to be naughty all over my stockings? Would to like to get them all sticky for me Mo?"

"Yes, madam."

"Or would you prefer to get my knickers all sticky if I pulled them down a bit for you?"

"Oh, yes madam!" His cock visibly jerked at this suggestion and Jo let go of him, raised briefly and whisked her knickers down to just above her knees, holding them with her legs apart and her skirt right up now. She looked totally indecent. I suspected her knickers were sticky enough already. She reached for his cock and gave it a gentle squeeze. That did it. The sight of her wanton position, the feel of her hand closing round and firmly gripping his shaft again was too much. Mo grunted, thrust at her hand and started spraying her knickers and legs with spurt after spurt. He grabbed the table to steady himself.

"Bravo!" I offered, as a muted sound of clapping and cheering came from across the room where the kitchens were. I raised an eyebrow.

"Mirror," he gasped as he got his breath back.

"Could we have the bill please?" I asked. It seemed like the sensible closing remark.

Back in the car and looking as demure as a meditating nun, Jo reached into the glovebox for the A-Z. "Great curry. So, where's this cinema of yours?"

"It's not exactly my cinema. But you knew that. It was advertised in one of the mags, and I tried it out on a London trip on business. An alternative to spending the allowance on beer."

"You never mentioned it."

"No point, until now, when we have an opportunity to sample its delights."

"Fair enough. I presume it's a haunt of all sorts of pervs."

"It's mainly blokes. Mostly straight, but some obviously gay as they like to call themselves nowadays. The occasional couple as accompanied ladies get in free. The films are exclusively straight."

"What about the pervs?"

"Difficult to spot in the dark," I countered.

"Hmm. We'll just have to hope we pick seats next to one then, won't we?"

I grinned and told her the address and locality. We were going out on the Mile End Road and she would soon need to start giving me directions. Although I'd lived on and off and been schooled in parts of London, I didn't know the rat runs in any but a handful of locales, and east London was not one of them, so the turn of the decade equivalent of GPS was essential - a navigator with an A-Z. Once in the immediate vicinity I drove past the venue, turned down a side street and parked. We walked back and crossed to a door in a nondescript façade with a sign above reading The Great Auk. I ushered Jo in to the small foyer area which doubled as one of the projection rooms. The fellow behind the counter gave Jo a big smile, I handed him a few day's beer money, and he handed me a couple of tickets. There was no membership check. He knew I was on the list.

"Start upstairs. The programme downstairs will be called in about an hour."

He waved dismissively at the curtain and we took our leave, brushing past it into the semi-dark as it swished behind us and we stood to let our eyes adjust for a moment. The upstairs programme was in full swing. There were empty seats adjacent at the back so I stood aside and motioned to Jo to sidle down to our right ahead of me. She did so, selecting a seat towards the end of the row next to an occupied one and I followed behind. I could see now that we were just to right of centre and there were three or four seats to our right. VHS tapes would soon replace film in cinemas like this, then the internet would render them all but obsolete. But the Auk, yet to shuffle off the planet, was still using Super 8 silent and 16mm sound reels in those days. So, the dancing light was coming over my left shoulder to create the visual goings on. The soundtrack was Demis Roussos. We didn't need to hear the performers on screen.

Jo had taken off her jacket and draped it over the back of her seat. She pulled her skirt and slip up as she sat down, showing stocking tops and suspender straps but no more. Very decorous. I put my arm round her shoulders and we snuggled up. The next two seats were occupied but there seemed to be no-one in the corner. The rest of the place looked to be about a third full, but it would get busy later being Friday. I couldn't see any other couples.

I felt my cock stiffen. "Your knickers must be in a bit of a state," I whispered.

"A bit damp, yes."

I moved to kiss her and we began a long gentle kiss as I undid a couple of buttons on her blouse and played with her through her bra. We were both in the mood to make things last, and it was a while before we came up for air.

"I might just nip to the loo," Jo whispered.

"Fine."

She stood and grabbed her jacket, sidling past me to get down the side aisle to the door marked Toilets and Exit. I sat back and took in the action on screen. A movement to my right caught my eye and I turned to see the chap in the seat beyond Jo's giving me a thumbs up sign. He was wearing what looked to be a business suit and I judged him a bit older than me. I smiled, gave the scuba "OK" sign, and returned my attention to watching an outdoor golden shower episode which would presumably be the prelude to further bouts of enthusiastic lovemaking. I saw the door open and Jo coming back. Once she got past me, she replaced the jacket and made to sit after folding the seat down, but this time she hitched her skirt up somewhat higher. Bare flesh came into view. It would have been easy to reach her knickers, I thought. I put my arm back around her shoulders and she snuggled up again.

The outdoor enthusiasts were having a fine time. A semi-clad lady with her skirt up was lying on a towel after having a good pee on her friend, who was now between her legs gently licking her clean. A gentleman at her side taking full advantage of the sun was vigorously rubbing his cock with a view to anointing her tits. And another gentleman with a splendid piece of apparatus was moving up behind the prone friend with the obvious intention of impaling her. At which point the camera zoomed steadily in and the friend began helpfully raising her backside. The choreographer's day job could well have been Starlight Express as once impaled the gentleman set about demonstrating that no-one can do it like a steam train.

Jo turned towards me and we resumed our embrace. I slid my hand into her blouse to find she had removed her bra.

"Naughty girl. Have you lost your kickers too?"

"I thought I'd leave them on. They're soaking so they'd mess up my bag."

So sensible, women. Us blokes could never compete with that sort of bone crunching logic. But there was fondling to do so I got down to doing it.

Her breasts were so soft and yielding and her nipples so hard, her tongue and mine dancing together so lovingly I felt I would burst. Freed for a short while from all the pressures of family life we were in a private heaven, no matter being surrounded by others.

As we broke off again Jo whispered "Our friend is playing footsie."

"Naughty boy," I replied, looking down. Jo's legs were apart as she had been working on her dribbling while we embraced, and our neighbour, feeling her leg push his, had started gently moving his against hers.

"Are you going to encourage him?"

"Of course."

She snuggled back into me and I continued playing with her right breast as she slid down a little and responded to his brushing. He got the message and let the back of his hand touch her leg, just to see what happened. Jo kept rubbing her leg along his, in a slow almost imperceptible rhythm. He got braver and rested his hand on her knee. Jo pushed sideways a little harder, to show him she was trying to open her legs for him. His hand slid over so he was touching the inside of her leg and began to move back and fore, very slowly climbing but ready to withdraw. I can't remember ever being so excited about anything, albeit this was really quite tame. But there was something about the setting and our arousal which had my heart thumping wildly. I started kissing Jo again to signal we were fine with this, while watching out of the corner of a half-closed eye.

He kept up his creeping progress with his left hand while he seemed to be fumbling between his legs with his right. Suddenly a very stiff clock sprung up and he let his right hand drop out of sight. A left hand appeared from the corner gloom, grasped his cock, and began stroking it. At which point he seemed to have an outburst of bravery, sliding his left hand purposefully up Jo's leg to the bare flesh above her stocking-tops and beyond. He began rubbing Jo through her knickers and she began thrusting at him in time to his ministrations. Jo's lips left mine and she started breathing heavily. She lifted herself a little and then let herself down.

"Dirty bastard's in my knickers," she whispered. Her continued movements indicated this was not a major problem. "He's rubbing my clit. Damn, he's going to get me all horned up the filthy bugger!"

The mistress of understatement. The chap in the row in front sitting to our right turned to see what was going on. He was confronted by Jo thrusting madly with open legs while her admirer was having his cock vigorously rubbed by whoever was further along. I had my arm around Jo and seemed to be enjoying things. So, he took his cue, whipped out his own cock, and began rubbing wildly. Standing, his seat flipping up, he turned and leant forward, aiming his cock across at Jo's legs. I couldn't see now the light was behind him but he must have been quietly playing with himself while watching the film, because he seemed to have shot his load there and then. Jo gasped as if she had felt her legs being splashed, but she was thrashing around so much now it could have been from her own climax which must have hit her as her admirer came too.

The chap in front sat back down, and looked to be adjusting his dress. Good timing. I caught a movement to my left and saw the curtain move. A head poked round, and the light flooded down the side aisle as the owner of the head pushed the curtain to his right.

"Downstairs programme starts in five minutes."

A small gaggle from the previous showing trooped through the door in the far corner and headed up the aisle to disappear past the curtain. I gave Jo a squeeze and said "Our turn," nodding towards the door.

She grabbed her jacket and swung it round her shoulders as she followed me to the aisle. I stood aside to let her lead and we made our way through the door, past the toilets and down the stairs to another curtain past a second projection booth. This time the aisle was on the right and I motioned Jo immediately left to the back row. There seemed to be a bit of a commotion at the far end of the row in the relative gloom, but it ceased almost as soon as we began sidling down. Once again there were two people already in the corner, and Jo settled in the vacant seat next to them as we took up a position almost the mirror image of upstairs except there was no vacant seat at the end.

Several more drifted in over the next few minutes as the projectionist fiddled with his kit. I speculated that the chaps in the corner had been having some fun in the gloom while the room was empty and had stopped when we arrived, followed by the projectionist soon after. Then the lights dimmed further and the reels started turning. This was 16mm sound. However, the sound was in German so we needed to concentrate on the visuals and, of course, the grunts and groans when grunting and groaning began. As it would. After all the excitement upstairs, we sat back and made like we were following the plot.

There was a plain room with display boards on the wall. A lady with an open briefcase was making a presentation to a group of people round a table. She had dark hair, full red lips and was dressed in a red suit, with pencil skirt, seamed stockings and matching heels. The audience around the table was captivated. More so when she started to slowly hitch up the skirt. As we couldn't follow the soundtrack, the reason she was slowly pulling up her skirt was not evident. This didn't matter very much. The camera angle changed to show what was going on under the table. Gentlemen were stroking ladies' legs and hitching up their skirts in time to the red suited presenter's, zips were being undone and cocks were appearing. The ladies were helpfully parting their legs to show their undergarments and allow the questing gentlemen's hands easier access. The camera angle changed to the rear of the presenter, who now had her skirt tugged up round her waist to reveal a white suspender belt holding up the dark stockings and quite tight-fitting white French style knickers which emphasised the crease between her gorgeous arse cheeks to perfection.