To my complete dismay, it has been a scorching hot day. You and I have been out and about together during the hottest hours of the afternoon, taking care of a rather long list of errands and having a late lunch with friends. As you well know, I have a difficult time with this kind of heat. Summer is not my favorite season. The Sun and I have never been on the best of terms. I cannot stand Its oppressive and ever-invasive touch, and It resents my inability to accept Its molten rays of lava light -- delivered directly to me all the way from the cold depths of space -- for the declaration of everlasting love and devotion that it truly is (obviously). I also object to the fact that the Sun seems to want me nearly naked at every moment beneath Its boiling gaze -- and long after It has finally released me to the Moon, which gleams Its pity upon me to useless effect during the very brief hours of darkness allowed us at this time of year.
Despite my natural inclination to cover up, I am dressed in as few items of clothing as possible. I chose a linen halter top dress this morning, tied at the back of my neck and exposing the smooth skin of my bare back, with the material of the full skirt flowing down to my ankles. My feet are in a pair of heeled sandals with wide ribbons binding them to each of my ankles. You wrapped and tied the ribbons yourself before we left today, your hands caressing my ankles and calves before pulling me to my feet and into your arms. Other than the dress and sandals, I am not wearing much else and am feeling a little defeated by the fact that wearing less does not seem to be offering me any tangible relief from the heat.
Once the Sun reaches Its glorious zenith of maximum damage, I cannot stand it anymore, grip one of your arms with both my hands, and start to express my displeasure. I tell you how much the Sun hates me and very clearly wants me to die a horrible, horrible ultraviolet death. Why aren't you concerned about my imminent demise? Don't you know that the Sun's molten lava space rays are going to melt my face off soon and that my sweat is a crazy clown circus of sticky doom and dehydration? Please, please -- can't you stop the madness?
You have become quite used to my dramatic habit of assigning a personality and voice to just about everything around me, including today's character -- the Sun. I can tell by the amused look on your face that you are not about to take my side, though. You love the Sun and are in league with Its desire to keep me as naked and exposed as possible. Throughout the day you have been enjoying the feel of my bare skin. Your hands have brushed against my neck, run along the contour of my shoulders, down the length of my back, and have occasionally stopped to rub your thumb along your favorite curve at the base of my spine. By now, though, you can probably actually feel how miserable I am as your hand encounters the beads of sweat pearling on my skin and the heat radiating out from deep within me. Are you able to handle this hot, hot weather? I'm not. I tell you that it makes feel like I'm wilting and that I cannot breathe. So you tell me that you have an idea and that you want to make the both of us feel better -- at least for a little while. We are close to a movie theater. You don't really care what movie we see. You only care about the pleasure of sitting in a dark air-conditioned room with me for a couple of hours, and I tell you that I think that sounds absolutely divine! I am very, very game for escaping our current fiery fate and for telling the Sun to go fuck off for a while.
The theater we arrive at is a newer one, with 8 to 10 different screens, stadium style seating, and big velvety chairs with plenty of leg room -- all the bells and whistles. There are several new movies out, with one or two that we have actually contemplated watching, but you buy tickets for one that has been showing for several weeks now and is probably in the theater for only a few more days. It's some sort of super loud and over the top action type movie -- not one either of us has expressed the least bit of interest in seeing. I give you a questioning look, but you just smile and tell me not to worry. Like you said, the movie doesn't really matter. We are only here to get out of the heat and feel better. You get us some cold drinks with plenty of ice and we head into the theater. It is fairly large, but so far, there are very few people inside, and the 20 minutes or so of movie previews has already gotten started. You take us all the way up to the back of the theater and into a corner section where no one else is sitting. The closest people are probably 6 or 7 rows down and have crowded more in the center section of the theater, presumably for the most optimal position for visuals and acoustics. Again, it seems there is little public interest left in this particular movie, and perhaps none existed in the first place.
We have the whole row to ourselves, so we sit somewhere in the middle. Already, I am feeling a million times better as I feel the air-conditioning on my skin, already doing its magic to help cool me down. And I'm grateful for the dark as well. It feels very calming -- an instant, soothing relief compared to the glaring onslaught of the sunlight we have been enduring all afternoon. All the armrests of the chairs are in their upright positions, and we leave them that way so we can sit closer together, setting our drinks down by our feet. You put your arm around me as I lean in close to you and rest my head on your shoulder, closing my eyes contentedly. After a moment, I raise my head, whisper a thank you and kiss you softly against your neck, telling you that I am starting to feel so much better already. You whisper to me that you are glad and that, actually, you were hoping we could feel even better. You grab my wrist, raise my hand to your mouth and kiss the back of my fingers before lowering them down again to the front of your jeans, pressing me tightly against what I discover to be your extremely hard cock. It hasn't sunk in with me, until now, what you meant when you said that you wanted to make us "feel better." I was so preoccupied with the heat that I didn't sense how horny you've been. You and I are so connected that this isn't something I usually miss -- not very often anyway. God, I hope you haven't been like this for too long. Of course I will make you feel better! There is never a question about that with me.
