We don’t even have to pretend we don’t know each other, don’t recognize one another: we don’t.
I’ve given her explicit instructions – what to wear, what to do.
I sit down in the theater. It’s a midday show of an unpopular movie. I’m the only one there. Until she walks in.
She sits two chairs to my right, toward the back of the theater.
As the previews start, there’s rustling from her seat as she adjusts her position.
She lifts her ankles, placing her feet on the armrests of the chairs directly in front of her. She slides forward slightly, lowering her back, lifting her crotch.
Her skirt – tight, short – rides up.
I watch her, not the previews.
She watches me.
She licks a finger, and it disappears, down into her crotch. She arches a bit, rotates her hips, so her right hip points toward me as she slides her finger into her cunt.
I think I hear a sigh, but it may be the next preview.
She wastes no time, she’s impatient. She doesn’t tease herself, doesn’t go slowly. She is fucking herself, and hard. Now I know it’s her sounds I’m hearing – her breathing is heavy, her sighs escalating into moans, breathy, urgent.
Before the movie even starts, she is spent, panting.
She straightens her skirt, sits up, watches the movie.
I turn from her.
Not five minutes have passed when she slides forward once again, this time, lowering herself to the floor, to her knees. She sidles over two seats, and slides under my right leg, resting on the armrest of the chair in front of me.
She turns herself, and places her hands gently on my inner thighs. She rests her head gently on my left thigh as she starts to caress my cock through my jeans.
“I love a matinee,” I think to myself.