Double Feature

I'm standing outside a movie theatre somewhere in Los Angeles pacing back and forth totally unsure of what I'm going to do. I was sure 5 minutes ago when I turned the corner. I was positive that I was going to purchase a ticket and go inside. I mean, what's the big deal? It's only a movie, two hours out of my day. Nothing is going to happen. I know this. So why am I so bloody nervous? Why are my teeth chattering under 90 degrees of California sunshine? I can't seem to shake the blush that's covered my body in red dye #4 and I tell myself it's just the heat. Looking at the marquee again I see that the movie started 20 minutes ago and I realize the odds of you actually being in there are slim anyway. You were probably joking when you invited me and I just mistranslated. It happens online all the time. Someone cracks a joke you would catch instantly if you'd actually heard it spoken. But the written word carries no intonation and misunderstandings are common. I mean, you've never met anyone from Lit before, why would I be the first? Sure we talk quite a bit and flirt jokingly all the time. I think of all the times you've laughingly told me to send you my panties, but it's always a joke. Why would this be any different? After all, you still haven't even told me your real name! The odds of you actually being in that theatre are nil.

For some reason this calms me a bit and I manage to walk into the cool lobby and purchase a ticket without tripping over my own feet. The sudden change of temperature raises goose bumps on my skin and makes me aware of exactly how short the sundress I chose to wear actually is. I get half way to the theatre doors and abruptly turn to the right, heading to what I hope is the ladies room as I don't even bother looking at the sign on the door before shoving it open. Fortune is with me though and I see a long line of mirrors and sinks in front of me with no sign of a urinal anywhere.

I run cold water over my hands and pat them against my forehead before even bothering with the mirror, but when I do look up I'm not as displeased as I thought I would be. The humidity has barely caused any frizz, and by the grace of some unknown deity I don't look anywhere near as nervous as I actually am. The blush is still there but it's faded to a subtle bubblegum pink.

Taking a very deep breath I head back to the theatre doors, not allowing myself to stop outside them but forcing my feet to take me through and into the dark, cool theatre where I stop, almost frozen in my tracks.

The theatre is empty, completely barren. The movie is playing but there isn't a soul in the seats. A great wave of relief tinged with disappointment floods me I a start to laugh.

Of course it's that moment that you push yourself upright in your seat and turn your head toward me. My laughter cuts off instantly and I just stand there, looking shocked and unsure. What are you doing here? You were supposed to be kidding. You look equally shocked and I realize you probably assumed I wasn't coming 20 minutes ago. But you recover first, smiling warmly at me and holding up your popcorn as an offering. I'm so nervous my stomach seems to be crawling up into my lungs, but I smile back and walk slowly down the isle. Pictures rarely do people justice, and yours did not give a hint at the spark in your eyes, or the way your closely trimmed beard accents the strength of your jaw line. You are far more handsome than I had expected.

I realize to you it must look like I'm putting on some kind of show, taking my time reaching your row, swaying my hips and glancing downward coyly. At least I pray that's the way it's coming off and you don't realize I'm actually petrified of tripping and rolling ass over ankles down the isle. I watch you look me over and I'm suddenly very aware of my body, the way my dress hugs tight over my breasts and hips, the goose bumps rising anew on my skin. Your eyes make a barely noticeable pause at what I'm sure are my nipples pressed against the thin, silky cotton before your eyes meet mine and your smile grows wider and more dashing. You let your gaze linger on my face and the curls framing it before you lower the seat next to you for me. I smile and sit, trapping your hand for a moment between the rough upholstery of the theatre seat and the smooth warm skin on the back of my thigh. You move your hand promptly but slowly. I can feel the heat of your skin, the weight of your touch and it remains after you've moved your hand back to the arm rest. It doesn't fade and as we both turn to watch the screen the tingling burn increases.

I try my best to ignore it and get myself interested in the film but the idea is hopeless. I can't follow a single line of dialogue. I can't believe I'm sitting here. I can't believe your sitting here! Dixon Carter Lee is sitting next to me eating popcorn and watching Harrison Ford do something heroically Harrison on the movie screen. No. There is no such person. Dixon is a character on a message board - a fantasy and the distractingly attractive man sitting next to me is all too real. Yet somehow, nothing seems real at the moment. The darkness of the theatre, the soft hazy light of the film has given everything an other worldly feel, as if I've somehow stepped into a fantasy. Reality seems to have shifted just slightly to the left and I can still feel a heavy tingle where we touched. If I closed my eyes it would be as if your hand were still there, pressed against my thigh. It reminds me of the last time I felt such a lingering sensation. I was 14 and Jason Fields had brushed my calf with the back of his hand as he was reaching down into his back pack for a pen. I could have drawn a circle around every molecule of skin he'd touched and the sensation lasted the entire hour of our French class.

Suddenly everything shifts again, the rational, confident adult woman is gone, and I'm an unsure freshman, sitting next to an upper classman far out of my league praying for him to notice me without noticing me. I try to shake the feeling but it won't fade and neither does the hot tingle where your skin grazed mine. Questions fly through my mind. What am I doing here? What was I thinking? I should be in a museum. I should be shopping. I should be doing a dozen different touristy things. I should not be sitting alone in a movie theatre with a man whose first name I don't even know feeling like some insecure school girl! This isn't right. I should leave. That delicious burn will fade if I just get up and go. You'll understand. Hell you probably don't care one way or another.

I turn to tell you I have to leave, just in time to catch your eyes snapping back to the movie screen. I freeze for a split second as it registers, then grab another handful of popcorn to give reason to my movement and settle back into my seat. Were you staring at me? You had to be. Why else would you have that slight air of guilt about you when I turned? Of course I could be imaging things. I shift in my seat just enough to be able to watch the screen and still see you out of the corner of my eye. I watch the actors move but I don't see them. I see your eyes slowly moving over my legs, up over my breasts to my profile, so slowly that I never would have noticed had I not been looking for it. I listen to the soundtrack but I'm not hearing it. I'm hearing the subtle changes in your breathing as you try to seem unaware of me sitting here. You lift your arm to the back of my seat, not touching me but resting on my hair. After a moment I can feel the tiniest friction as you rub a lock between your fingers. I know I'm not supposed to notice, so I pretend not to and simply stare at the screen, wondering what you're thinking, whether you can feel the pressure in the air that is threatening to suffocate me. Are you battling with the same logic and rational that is tearing through my brain?

Focusing on the movie is pointless. The physical memory of your touch on my thigh is all I seem to notice. I try and make it fade. Try to focus on other parts of my body, but that only brings me to the realization that I want that same burning on every inch of my skin. I'm dying for you to touch me and nothing I try and think about, no internal lectures about right and wrong can mask that. At the moment I can't even place a definition for wrong. I just need you to touch me and the waiting is killing me.

I lift my legs to rest my feet on the seatback in front of me, pushing my knees toward my face. I've done it a thousand times before in a hundred theatres with dozens of people and the move is completely unconscious, but it causes the flimsy silk of my dress to ride up my thighs and while the tops are covered well enough, the side and back of my left thigh all the way to the curve of my ass is now right in your sightline. It takes a moment for me to notice the air has gotten even thicker, to realize you've stopped breathing and why. At first I'm not sure what to do. My heart starts to pound and I can feel the heat marching over my skin from my head to my toes. I silently thank God for the darkness of the theatre and hope it masks most of my blush.

I can hear you breathing again, heavier than before as you shift your arm back to the arm rest between us. Disappointment pours into me and I tell myself that I should be relieved. You aren't going to touch me. I know that you want to, I can feel it, but you are stronger than I am. I should be relieved, but I'm not. I want to feel more of that amazing heat.

Everything in my head is telling me not to, but my body refuses to listen, and I lean over you, stretching across your lap for the soda in your left arm rest. My breasts press into your arm and you close your eyes tight, inhaling the scent of my hair as it passes under your face. Your knuckles move, grazing my nipple and I swallow a groan, but a barely audible sigh escapes me before I lean back into my seat, sipping from the soda straw. A moment passes and I realize that may not have been the smartest thing to do as the heavy, tingling sensation is now roaring over my breasts. My heart is pounding so hard I can't believe you don't hear it. Teasing you is driving me insane and I can feel the tingle traveling down to my clit. All it would take is one more touch to start the throbbing.

I bring my feet down, pulling my left foot to the edge of the seat, causing my dress to ride high on my thighs, barely covering me. The rational arguments are screaming through my mind now. What are you doing? You know this isn't right. I shove them into oblivion, shift my foot until my leg is pressed against the side of your arm and wait. I don't know what else to do. I'm not going to tear off my panties and drop into your lap. I don't even know how to go about doing that! With my natural grace I'd probably get my toe stuck in the leg hole, stumble, bash my forehead on an arm rest and knock myself unconscious. So I wait what seems like an eternity until I hear you breathe a very quiet, shuddering sigh as you lift your hand from the arm of the seat and ever so lightly brush the back of it over my thigh.

My breath catches and my clit starts to throb, but I'm frozen in the heat and I can't think to move. You stroke the back of your hand agonizingly slow over my skin, pushing the thin silk higher with every stroke and then turn your hand and give my thigh a squeeze, moving your thumb gently over my skin. Your hands are warm and slightly rough. You push a bit, silently instructing me to bring my thigh back down to the seat and you brush the back of my knee as I do drawing another sigh out of me as my legs part slightly. Now your fingers are better able to roam up the inside of my leg. You're taking your time, enjoying the soft heat of my skin. Or are you not sure how far you can take this? Suddenly I realize I'm not sure myself. All I know is that I wanted you to touch me and now you are and it's not enough. My clit is throbbing. I need to cum, but more than that I need you to make me cum. I slide a bit forward, forcing your fingers closer. Your breath catches, but then something changes. Your breathing stabilizes. You're suddenly calm. You've made a decision and for a moment I am terrified that you are going to tear your hand away and leave. But you don't. Instead you shit closer and run your first knuckle over the damp satin covering my pussy, pushing slightly against my clit. That earns you a quiet groan as my hips slide further forward and I drop the soda into the cup holder. You press my clit again, this time more urgently, letting the tiny circles of my hips guide you, feeling my juices soak through the silk. I'm panting now, fingers curled around the arms of my chair and you twist your hand, pressing your thumb hard against my clit, "Cum for me". It's the first thing you've said to me and the sound of your voices sends wild shivers over my body making me cry out as I cum in shaking waves, gasping for breath and collapsing back into the seat.

You lean over and kiss my shoulder as your fingers probe the edges of my panties, but the material is pulling tight across my body and you can't slide them under. You raise your lips to my ear, "Take your panties off". Neither of us has looked away from the screen yet, but as I raise my hips and push my underwear down to my knees you bend forward and finish their removal, tucking them discreetly into your palm and bringing them to your face. You look at me, drawing my eyes to yours and smile as you inhale my scent, a shocked laugh escapes you, you had thought I was lying. Then you slip them into the pocket of your jeans.

Watching you leads my eyes to your lap and the very visible bulge there. They open wider and my breath catches. Chuckling that cocky chuckle I love you take my hand and press it to your growing cock, lifting your hips slightly. All of the fear of consequence has left you and now you are feeling completely in control and sure of yourself. You know how badly I want you and it fills you with confidence and power. My fingers instinctively try to squeeze you but the thick material of your jeans makes it impossible. You raise my hand and kiss my palm, your lips warm and smooth. I can feel your smile against my skin. Turning you make sure the theatre is indeed still empty before unbuttoning your jeans and sliding my hand inside them to your cock, hard and throbbing. I'm shocked at the heat of you as you curl my fingers around the shaft and squeeze your hand over mine. I stroke you free from your jeans and you push them down over your hips. My eyes are locked on the head of your cock and I my mind flash to all the jokes you've made about me giving you a hand job. Now it's my turn to chuckle, knowing I need to do more than that.

I lean forward slowly, allowing my dress to fall forward, feeling your eyes on my breasts, and take the head of your cock into my mouth, running my tongue over the tip and under the rim, scraping my teeth over the top as my hands stroke your shaft. You groan as I take you all the way into my throat until my lips are pressed against your belly and you burry your fingers in my thick curls. Your hips start to thrust slightly and I let you lead the pace, using my tongue and teeth over your cock, sucking harder as you pull out of my mouth. Slipping a hand between my thighs I press a finger into my pussy, covering it in my juices then lift your balls to your body and slide my finger behind them, moving it back to your ass, pressing, rubbing but not entering you. Your moans are more constant now and I suck harder on the head of your cock, stroking the shaft tightly, wanting so badly to taste more of you as your precum slides over my tongue.

Abruptly and with more strength then I would have imagined, you grasp my arms and pull me up to you pressing your forehead to mine and panting heavily. Pushing the hair back from my face you kiss me, hard, demanding but so sweetly my muscles melt and I fall into you. Pulling me into your lap you slide your tongue past my lips, tangling with mine, kissing me so deeply I loose thought of all else until I feel your hands on my breast and I groan into your mouth. You pull the ties that hold my dress up loose and it falls to my waist, freeing my breasts to your eager hands as you kiss my over jaw, down my neck, nibbling and sucking my nipples into your hot, wet mouth. My body starts shaking and I squeeze my thighs tight, waiting for the orgasm to take me but you lift me suddenly and drop me into my seat, kissing over my stomach and pushing my skit over my hips. "I need to taste you". I don't know if it's the words or the way you say them but an electric current slams through me and now every inch of my body is on fire.

I'm shaking with anticipation as you kiss your way up the inside of my thigh, licking the crease where it meats my body, sliding your fingers over my smooth lips. You push my thighs up and back, pulling my ass to the edge of the seat and give me one long lick from my ass to my clit. I shudder, digging my fingers into your hair as your flick your tongue over my clit again and again, sliding your fingers into my pussy and rubbing that sweet spot until I'm moaning your name over and over, begging you to let me cum. You wrap your lips around my clit and suck, playing your tongue in delicious circles and when you feel my body tense you slide one wet finger into my ass. My hips rise off the seat as my back arches and I cry out shuddering.

Remembering where we are you quickly cover my mouth with your hand and I nibble your palm as the orgasm slowly recedes. Without giving me a moment to recover you rise up and slam your cock into me, freezing instantly, caught off guard by the tight velvet heat, you shudder with pleasure trying not to move, not to cum. It subsides a bit and you move slowly, building a steady rhythm that I match, reaching up to grab your hip and pull you into me. You move faster now and I can feel my muscles tense, my back arch and I know I'm about to cum very hard - when a noise outside the theatre doors catches our attention and you jump instantly back into your seat.

A minute passes and whatever it was is gone. You're panting now, but your cock has not lost one bit of its smooth hard pride. "Come here baby" you motion for me to rise and taking my hips in your hands guide me back onto your cock. Grasping the back of the seat in front of me I grind back into you, squeezing you tight as I pull away, moving slowly then an little faster. Your hips buck up to meet me and you feel so good thrusting inside me, rubbing all the right places, my clit sliding over your shaft. As my body tenses my movements become jerky and your stand up, pushing me against the seat in front of me, taking my breasts into your hands as you slam your cock into me harder and faster. Your hand cracks down on my ass and I want to scream your name but I can't so I moan it over and over while you whisper into my ear "Cum for me Sunny, cum with me". Hearing you say my name like that throws me over the edge and I start to cum hard moaning "Dixon" over and over. Then you whisper one word that pushes me to ecstasy and I cry it out just as I feel you tense, groan and empty into me. You shudder and collapse against me. Waves like aftershocks take us both, causing our hips to buck slightly again and again. Your arm is wrapped tight around my middle, supporting me. You're panting against my cheek and your breath is sweet and buttery.

When we've both caught our breath you turn me around and kiss me tenderly, deeply before pulling the front of my dress back up and tying it behind my neck. You place tiny kisses over my shoulders, across my collar bone and then sit back in your seat buttoning your jeans.