I checked my watch for the seventh time in as many minutes. Face it, Mel, I told myself, he isn’t going to show.
I was hovering in the foyer of the local multiplex cinema, in my short skirt, denim halter-neck top and strappy high heel fuck-me sandals, looking like a woman who had been stood up by her date. Which I was.
I flipped open my mobile, telling myself that maybe I hadn’t heard it ring when he called to leave a message for me, which he must have done, if he’d had to cancel. If some kind of emergency had occurred. But there were no messages.
I’d met Bill at a Pilates class. He was the only guy in a group of ten women, so he kind of stuck out, so to speak. I was impressed that he was brave enough to join an all-female class – and by his physique. He had a really toned body and I liked watching his muscles when we did the press-ups, imagining that I was spread out on the exercise mat beneath him as he lowered himself down on strong arms and then, with a grunt, pushed back up.
I decided to chat him up after the class, we went for a drink, hit it off and then went back to his place for a great sex session.
Initially, it was passionate, steamy, animal fucking. He had tremendous stamina and I loved feeling his big hard cock pumping inside me. But he also liked to tease, thrusting, filling me, while I gripped with my (greatly improved from Pilates) pelvic muscles, and then he would raise himself up, taking all his weight off me and slowly, carefully, pull out of my slippery, aching pussy until just the glistening tip of his wonderful cock was barely touching my wet gash.
He’d stay like that until I begged him to fill me again, my arms and legs wrapping around his waist, his back, desperate to be fucked. It was torture, but exquisite torture, and he would bring me to a point where I couldn’t stop myself coming, repeatedly, at which point he gave me a huge, smug grin before shooting his load with a cry like an injured wolf.
I felt smug, too, at landing such a great lover, ignoring several of my mates’ warnings that he had a bit of a reputation as a user.
‘Hey, he can use me all he likes,’ I responded, remembering those great orgasms.
We’d been out twice since then – once to a club, another time to a wine bar. I didn’t know if it was going to go anywhere, but the sex was so good I really didn’t care: as long as I got my fix.
Bill only came to a few of the Pilates classes, said he never really stuck at anything; just liked to sample different things. I should have realized that included people.
I glanced at the crowds filing past me to the box office. It was Saturday night and this was a popular movie. And,
of course, just to rub salt into the wound, the audience was mostly couples
The film was due to start in five minutes. I had a choice. I could go home, feeling sorry for myself, and get drunk. Or call a friend, and get drunk. Then again, I could always go in and see the film on my own.
It wasn’t something I’d ever done before. I imagined I’d feel self- conscious, like when you’re in a restaurant eating alone. In which case, I always took a prop, like a book or my laptop. I’d picked up the cinema’s free Coming Attractions magazine but I’d read that twice just waiting for Bill.
Why was I so hung up about seeing a film alone? God, I was a grown-up woman. I’d suggested we come to the cinema because I really wanted to see this film. I’d been looking forward to it (and the sex which would have followed). Of course, I could always wait until it came out on DVD, I supposed. Relieve my frustration with my favourite vibrator.
I watched as the last of the queue dwindled and people disappeared into Screen 1, the really huge screen with Dolby surround sound. It would have been fun. Damn it, I wanted to see whether Uma did get to kill Bill. I almost laughed at the irony. Because right now, I felt like killing him myself. And the idea of seeing Uma kick male ass really appealed.
‘One, please,’ I said, thrusting a ten pound note at the bored-looking teenager in the box office. Probably doing a weekend job while he was finishing his A-levels at school.
‘We only have a few seats left. Where do you want to sit?’
I wanted to sneak in and sit at the back, unnoticed. When I was sixteen, you could sit where you liked in the cinema and preferably at the back with your mates so you
could mess about, and have a snog and a fumble. I hated having to choose my preferred position from a computer screen.
‘What about in the middle of this row?’ he suggested. The lights had already gone down when another
teenager with a uniform shone a torch at row F and I had to ask people to get up, as I stumbled and pushed against them. I felt like they were all staring at me, and a few muttered, irritated that I’d left it so late. I kept whispering ‘Sorry’ until, finally, I got to my seat.
I glanced either side of me. I was between a girl snuggled up to her boyfriend, her tousled blonde head resting blissfully on his shoulder, and a guy in a light coloured shirt and dark jeans.
Trying not to fidget unduly and further annoy those who were already comfortably settled, I sat down and discreetly adjusted my skirt. There wasn’t a lot of room for manoeuvre here, because I’d chosen to wear a very short, flimsy little number that barely covered my thighs. Okay, so it wasn’t entirely my choice. Bill had suggested I wear something that would enable him to ‘get at me easily’ in the cinema. At the time, I was more than happy with this idea but now I frowned, deciding to send him a nasty little text after the show to tell him what I thought of him. However, to hide my immodesty, I left the film magazine on my knees to cover some of the exposed flesh.
I was still fuming about Bill as twenty minutes worth of advertising was bombarded into the cinema, which simply added to my irritation. Finally, the main feature began and I focussed on the screen.
The film was at the bit where our poor heroine has been buried alive in a coffin, with seemingly no way of escape when I felt something brushing against my ankle. I ignored it at first hoping the cinema didn’t have a rodent
problem, but as it continued I peered down to see that the guy sitting next to me had moved his leg across so the leather of his shoe was touching my bare ankle. I froze.
He was staring intently at the screen, as if he hadn’t noticed. Perhaps he hadn’t. Maybe he didn’t realize we had made physical contact. I carefully shifted my foot away and decided to ignore it. My focus returned to the screen, and nothing further occurred. I was relieved that I hadn’t ended up sitting next to some pervert, particularly in the mood I was in. But, after a while, I felt the slightest of pressure against my calf, so slight as to be almost imperceptible, which made me doubt the sensation.
My eyes dropped down and I saw that his leg was touching mine, the roughness of the fabric of his jeans creating an interesting sensation against my bare flesh. Hmmmm. I wondered what to do next. By rights, of course, I should give him a sharp kick at the very least, or stamp on his foot with my lethal stiletto heel. Then he’d get the message. But while I was deciding, I allowed myself to savour the sensation a little longer, which wasn’t exactly unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact. So when I felt fingertips trailing gently across my thighs, I wasn’t surprised.
Perhaps he’d interpreted my inaction as unspoken consent to what was taking place. And what exactly was taking place? An erotic exploration of sorts in a large darkened room full of other people. I was in no danger. I was quite safe. And I knew somehow that if I indicated to him to stop he would immediately do so. I wondered if anyone else could see what he was doing. Somehow that heightened the excitement, because I was, despite myself, getting a bit of a thrill from this.
His touch was incredibly light and gentle, as if he was stroking the most precious velvet, sending little tremors through me.
Although I could see the screen, hear the brilliant soundtrack, the great music, the witty dialogue, I was also in a parallel universe which consisted of pure physical sensation.
As his fingers moved, he could sense my arousal and perfectly judged when and how to step up the action.
I trembled as his hand moved slowly, inexorably, up my thighs and under the hem of my flimsy skirt. Then he stopped, as if unsure of whether it was safe to proceed. I was torn between indignation, outrage and excitement. But I was turned on. Big time!
I breathed deeply, audibly and he moved his hand further and higher, until I could feel the tips of his fingers caressing the insides of my thighs; my pussy lips, already moist, tantalisingly close.
He found the thin fabric of my lacy thong, pushed it to one side and then I thought I heard him gasp softly as he realized I was shaved, completely.
I froze like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a rapidly approaching car, mesmerized.
Then his intrepid digit found my opening, slipping inside while his thumb stroked my clitoris.
I stared ahead, unable to bring myself to look at him. Normally, I would have been groaning loudly by now but having to stay quiet, to pretend that I was fully engrossed in the film, heightened the excitement, the illicitness, the sheer naughtiness of what he was doing. It was our secret.
But it was hard to deny my vocal chords release, and I realized with exquisite horror that if he continued to minister to my wet pussy in this manner, I would almost certainly come. And almost as soon as I’d allowed the
thought expression, I did come. Suddenly, blissfully. And silently. I thought I was going to pass out, as the waves racked my body, drowning me. For a moment, I closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, wondering if I had dreamt what had just happened, I let my hand rest on his, and he turned over my palm, his grip gentle but firm, moving my hand away from my own body and placing it carefully on his lap. I was shocked to feel his unsheathed cock, hard as a rock, and took a sideways glance.
He had folded his jacket and laid it across his groin, unzipped himself (had he been wanking himself with his other hand while he was making me come?) and my hand was beneath it, resting on his rod.
So while I lusted after David Carradine on the screen, savouring his amazing sexual charisma, I brought off the stranger in the seat next to me. It took a matter of seconds and it made me feel powerful, like Uma.
When the film ended, I wasn’t sure whether I should get out quickly. He might be embarrassed. I didn’t know what to expect. Except I knew I was curious. I was also feeling randy again. Then the lights went up and it was my first chance to look at him properly and he at me.
He smiled uncertainly and I smiled back.
‘Do you want to go somewhere?’ he asked in a deep, smoky voice.
I nodded. ‘Yes.’
Together, we walked through the crowds into the foyer.
‘I know a place very close by,’ he said, taking my hand.
Walking down a corridor he whispered, ‘Wait here.’
He disappeared into the men’s toilets, where I imagined he would be using the condom machine.
Minutes later, he reappeared, grabbed my wrist and pulled me into one of the cubicles. I opened my mouth to
protest, but he whispered, ‘Shhhhhhh. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I can wait until we get back to my place.’
Pushing me against the partitioned wall, he knelt down between my legs, lifted my skirt, ripped off my soaking wet thong and started to tongue me. I quickly experienced my second quiet but incredibly powerful orgasm of the evening.
While I was still reeling, my legs shaking, he rammed his rigid cock into my waiting, very open pussy. My pelvic muscles instinctively gripped him like a vice, milking him until he exploded inside me, at which point we both placed a hand over the other’s mouth as we came, desperate not to be discovered.
We heard several guys come in and go out during the next few minutes and when the coast was clear, we crept back into the corridor like a couple of naughty teenagers.
Outside the cinema, I decided to introduce myself. ‘I’m Mel.’
He grinned sheepishly. ‘Steve. Thanks for a lovely evening, Mel.’
‘It’s not over yet,’ I pointed out.
‘Very true. You know what I want to do right now?’
I shook my head, deciding that nothing would surprise me about this guy.
‘This.’ And he opened his mouth and screamed. Loudly, as if he was coming all over again. I quickly joined in, vocalising the ecstasy I’d experienced during the past couple of hours but had been unable to give vent to.
‘That feels better,’ he sighed. ‘What now?’
I took his hand. ‘Back to my place for some good, old-fashioned sex. In a bed. With no noise restrictions.’
‘Sounds good to me. By the way, what did you think of the film?’