Going Where the Spirit Leads

This story is an entry in the

Literotica Halloween Story Contest 2024

. Please remember to vote. Thank you.

"Hurry up!" bellowed Toby. "We're going to be late!"

"And what," replied Irene, putting on the last touches of her makeup before her vanity table mirror, "miss a half-hour of commercials and previews? Sue me."

"No, I don't think they'll have anything like that for this exclusive Halloween showing."

"Exclusive or not, someone is going to want to sell or promote something before it starts playing, even if it is just

A Nightmare on Elm Street

."

"Which happens to be one of the greatest horror movies of all time," Toby mentioned enthusiastically.

Finishing with her lipstick, Irene stood and slipped into her shoes. "That's what you say and it's ridiculous; you only say it because it's your favorite. So much better is

The Birds

, the Hitchcock classic. That's the scariest movie I ever saw."

"Yeah, well, that's a good one, too," he responded. "But it's not just me saying it, so are the so-called experts. Besides, they're only saying it's

one

of the greatest, not

the

greatest." And then perhaps hoping to win her over a bit, or at least lighten the mood, added, "The teens in this movie aren't just mindless morons like in most flicks like it; they can actually think and have personalities. And the thin line between dream and reality, that's classic -- you never know what side of the line you're on."

With an expression showing mild contempt and a strong opposing opinion, Irene said, "Those crows in

The Birds

make it very clear what's real and what's not."

He was going to respond to that, but decided to keep quiet. The tone of their conversation was taking on a sour edge and he didn't want it to lead to another argument. It seemed the simplest thing could trigger one of those, and they'd been having many of them lately. They were soon to celebrate their eighth wedding anniversary, something Toby couldn't help but feel Irene was trying to avoid like the plague.

Irene Tierney wanted to go to this movie about as much as she wanted to sprawl naked with her husband and make love with him. Meaning not at all. Something she couldn't fathom had descended on her like some evil Fury and wreaked havoc with her emotions, had dampened her intimate desires to the point of nonexistence. A thick suffocating cloud had enveloped and imprisoned her blotting out all sexual urges. There was a time she would have loved nothing more than spending hours with Toby indulging in one sexual act after another until they were both exhausted. It used to be they made love the proverbial "every day and twice on Sunday," and sometimes that wasn't enough. But that was months and months ago, as distant a memory as decent fresh strawberries at Christmastime.

The passionate flame that had sparked the most intense episodes in their marriage seemed to be flickering like a candle in a room that was having the air sucked out of it. How many times had she scanned the women's magazines with their endless stream of articles about "Are You in a Sexless Marriage?" and "Ten Reasons Intimacy Stops in a Marriage," and shook her head, sure she was safe from such concerns. Sex for Toby and her had always been great, always frequent, always fun and exciting, always daring and with lots of variety. Until it wasn't. Now it seemed more a chore than unpremeditated enjoyment, more a duty than a pleasure, and sometimes not even that. It astonished her how many excuses she could think of for saying "No."

Of course, why this was occurring was a constant torment. Always cropping up on those magazine lists of reasons for the loss of intimacy was stress outside the marriage. It's true there had been trouble at the consulting firm Irene worked for, first the sudden cancellation of a project she had been working on and then being passed over for a promotion. Her confidence had been shaken by those developments, and granted she felt useless for a while. She was also disappointed, even angry, when Toby attempted to search for things to blame the company for rather than just giving her his unconditional support and love. But Irene knew she always had a backbone and wasn't made of straw, and would forge through these setbacks. And to be honest she would have to admit the sexual distancing that was occurring between them had begun weeks before that already, and these happenings merely augmented that development. As for the other reasons frequently cited in those articles, they were non-existent.

Mysteriously, but undoubtedly, at the crux of it all a certain ennui had set in, a feeling that sex was dull, boring, not worth the effort. Desire had stopped existing, had vanished like the light layer of snow evaporating after a late-spring storm. What had once been so vital, so right at the apex of their relationship, just ceased to be. She felt as if she had lost her way, a hiker who had wandered down the wrong trail, a trail that led to darkness and despair, and she couldn't find her way back into the light.

And the frustration it produced! Irene had never experienced such mental anguish before. It was pure torture observing the problem unfolding and not knowing what to do about it, like having to use a sieve to fill a container with water. Was she being cursed like one of the Danaides? But why? It was also one of those problems that seemed the more she tried to overcome, the more deeply entrenched it became. Every move seemed to backfire, every attempt to be spontaneous and natural and tender turned out feeling forced and harsh and went nowhere.

Perhaps the most distressing thing of late was that they had received a text invitation to a special Halloween party to be held next Saturday evening. One of the reasons she decided to go with Toby to the

Elm Street

viewing was so he wouldn't insist they go to the party, a sort of trade off: the movie, yes, but no party. It was a poor exchange, Irene knew. This yearly Halloween party was a big deal and attracted a large but select crowd. Everyone came in costumes as per the Halloween custom, but before long costumes were being shed by many as the fete became more and more a bacchanal with it's designated orgy rooms and fetish areas. Toby and Irene had attended this party in the past, had participated in much of what it had to offer; they had always come away from it blissfully exhausted while awash in a rapturous sexual high. None of it appealed to Irene now. Which meant a major disappointment for Toby. Attending the movie with him would be a small consolation, she believed, but at least something.

The drive to the multiplex began in total silence. The atmosphere inside the car was oppressive, like the humidity in a tropical storm. Feeling desperation building up inside him to say something, anything to shatter the silence, Toby asked, "I wonder if any will come in costumes?"

"You mean with fingers that look like knives? Oh, God," Irene groaned as if in pain. "Shoot me right now." Then silence again.

Suddenly feeling a mixture of anger and sheer frustration, Toby said, "I can't believe you really don't want to go to the Halloween party next Saturday. I remember us having such a great time last year."

If they had been stopped at a red light and not doing 30 miles an hour she might have opened the door and jumped out. It was the last thing she wanted to talk about. She was going to this fucking movie with him, she fumed to herself, wasn't that enough?

Getting no response, he said, "Irene?"

Annoyed beyond toleration almost, she replied, "I'm just not up for it! I don't think I could bear it." She turned her head and stared out the side window, fighting back tears.

"Jeez, Irene. Why?"

"I don't know, that's just it! I don't know," Irene answered bitterly after a short pause.

"Are you upset with me?"

"No Toby, it's not your fault, for the hundredth time, you haven't done anything, okay? Don't blame yourself."

"What can I do to help?"

"Nothing, not a thing. And the more you try, the worse it makes me feel. So please..."

They continued the rest of the way in silence. He parked the car and they entered the multiplex. Quite a few people were milling about, most it seemed for other movies that were playing. No one was outfitted with fake hands with knife-like fingers, at least, to Irene's relief.

Toby handed their tickets to the ticket-taker. "Number 8 to the left," he uttered mechanically.

They made their way down the carpeted corridor to screening auditorium 8. "They finally finished renovating down here," Toby said, hoping to rouse a response from his silent and detached wife. When there was no reply, he added, like a battered prizefighter determined to finish the bout still standing than giving in, "This might be the first movie playing in this part of the theater since they finished the work."

"The lighting is terrible," she finally commented. "You can barely see anything."

They reached an entranceway with a red 8 LED light visible on the wall and walked down it. Twenty feet later they emerged into the theater. They were late and just as they stepped in the lights dimmed down low so only fire/emergency lighting remained on. They stopped for a moment to gain their bearings and adjust their eyes to the pale light. The opening credits were showing on the screen along with Freddy Krueger assembling his lethal digits as that eerie, rather unpleasant music issued forth. The theater was maybe a third full, everyone spread out. Toby noticed that the back two rows were vacant and taking the lead maneuvered the two of them up the side aisle toward them. He sidestepped into the last row and after passing a dozen seats or so, sat down, Irene plopping down next to him.

On the screen Tina was in the middle of her first nightmare in the boiler room. Toby, his eyes fully adjusted to the lighting by now, took a quick look at the audience in front of him. He imagined most everyone was like him and had seen the movie numerous times. They were there, he conjectured, for any of three reasons: they were super fans and couldn't watch it enough times, they wanted a chance to see it on a large screen, or they were having a bit of Halloween fun. When Toby bought his tickets a week or so earlier, he knew for him the first two reasons applied without question, but was despondent about the third. Things hadn't improved since then, had only gotten worse. Rather than attending what he hoped might be a fun extravaganza with his wife, he felt now like he was sitting in a dentist's office prior to having a root canal procedure.

Then three rows down from them and off to the right he noticed another couple who were enthusiastically kissing one another. He thought at first they were just a teenage couple necking, but closer scrutiny indicated they were about the same age as Irene and him and the kissing they were engaged in was pretty passionate. She had medium-blonde hair and what he could make out in the light, a pretty face. The way they embraced it was difficult to see more of her.

He thought about leaning over and pointing them out to Irene and making a comment something like, "Those two look like they have something better than old

Elm Street

on their minds," but decided not to, fearing she would just mock him. And that depressed him. So he gazed at them some more in silence, jealous of how passionate they were and how their kissing went on and on. He remembered a time that would have been Irene and him.

Little did he know, but Irene had spotted them, too. She, too, stared at them kissing passionately, though for her rather than stirring up memories, the sight entrapped her in the present with its emptiness and just made her feel hollow and sad. She quickly looked away toward the screen, unable to watch them.

But something, she couldn't quite put her finger on it, pulled her eyes back to watching them again. The couple seemed oblivious to the rest of the audience around them; they certainly weren't being discreet in their actions. But Irene began to feel something strange. She was sure that woman hadn't once glanced in her direction, yet she had the impression she was fully aware that Irene was there, watching her, just as she wanted her to. Irene began to sense the woman was communicating with her through her actions; she felt herself being drawn in by this woman and what she was doing with her lover.

What Irene saw next further astounded her. The man was not only kissing her, now his hands were on her breasts as well. He was leaning over kissing her almost wildly on the lips and fondling her tits through her blouse. It was a brazen thing to be doing in such a public place, Irene thought. She noticed that some of the emergency lighting along the side wall of the auditorium was almost shining directly on them, on those particular seats as if spotlighting them, and if they had only moved three or four seats farther into the row they would have been in virtual darkness. Yet they stayed where they were, almost inviting prying eyes.

Toby, who had been fixated on the couple almost the whole time, was also aware that an extra element had been added to their sensuous kissing. His attention was riveted on the other man's hands as he caressed her tits, sometimes his fingers dipping inside her blouse. Lucky guy, he thought, and the acute dry spell he was living through with Irene pained him keenly. He remembered times in the movies with Irene when they were glad no one had asked afterwards how the film was because neither had the slightest clue what it was about. He could feel his cock stirring a bit as he became more aroused studying them, wishing he could trade places. Despite her black mood, his wish to point this couple out to Irene was becoming overwhelming.

Assuming a wryly humorous tone, Toby finally whispered to her as blandly as he could, "Do you see those two love birds over there? They don't seem the least bit interested in Wes Craven's masterpiece unfolding before them." It was a silly comment, but it emphasized the movie and not that he might be trying to come on to her, or make her think passionate thoughts, which he thought would just annoy her and push her away further, if that were possible. It was a blanket statement, nothing more.

She was already looking, of course. She had heard what he said, but his words didn't really register. Unbeknownst to him the passionate thoughts he had concluded would be best not trying to conjure up in her were on the verge of sweeping her away. Just then, the woman, who had been somewhat slouched down in her seat, sat up straight and unbuttoned her blouse, revealing she was not wearing a bra. She draped the blouse back over her upper arms and thrust her petite but firm tits in the man's face. He cupped them with his hands and kissed them. There was an instant twinge inside Irene's pussy and she could feel her wetness begin to form. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced for a long time; maybe that's why it felt so overpowering and delicious now. The desire to touch herself became galvanic, though she resisted doing so.

As Irene stared at the lovers, the woman moved from her seat, slipped her blouse off completely, and straddled the man's lap, tucking her knees into the seat by his waist. Her tits were right in his face now and he wasted no time suckling them, biting the nipples, and rubbing his face all over them. She tilted her head back in ecstasy, her face toward the ceiling, eyes closed and mouth wide open. Irene was intrigued by her countenance, wished she was sitting in the seat right behind her a row back so she could examine her face, every beautiful line and contour of it, the utter joy and passion she was exuding. The lovers seemed unaware or uncaring that others were nearby and might discover them, her tits exposed and in his mouth and hands. Their daringness further incited Irene. In an odd sense, she felt challenged by this couple, especially the woman. She couldn't help but feel totally captivated by her. The heat from her own loins began radiating out from her as she became very aroused watching them.

Suddenly, as if half in a trance, Irene turned sideways to Toby and said, "Me, neither."

"What?" Toby said, not sure what she was referring to.

"I don't give a shit about

Elm Street

either. Look at me." As if a wave over-swept her, a mad impulse suddenly seizing her, she unbuttoned her blouse quickly and took it off, heaving it on the empty seat next to her. Then she unhooked her bra and slid the straps down her arms and off, placing it on top of her blouse. She breathed hard and scooped her ample breasts in her hands and massaged them; she felt as if she were being bounced from one extreme emotion to its opposite one, losing all control of her actions. "Kiss my tits," she ordered.

Toby eyed her with astonishment, almost frozen on the spot. "Oh, wow, Irene," he stammered. "What are you doing? Holy shit!"

She reached for his face and pulled it down to her tits. He kissed them greedily, his mind going back and forth between the incredibly sexy thrill he was enjoying and the fear that someone would turn around and spot what they were doing. His hands engulfed her tits and his tongue circled all around her nipples, first one and then the other, delighting in the slightly salty taste and pliant flesh. He could feel her breathing harder while trying not to moan or cause a disturbance. He felt his cock grow hard inside his pants.

Then, half crouching, she raised her skirt and slid over to Toby, stretching her legs across his lap facing him, just as the other woman had done with her lover. He scrunched down in his seat so her pussy rested on his cock. She ground her cunt into him through his trousers, feeling his engorged member underneath her body. Immediately she took his hand and put it on her thigh between her legs. He could feel the heat emanating from her pussy as he caressed her smooth skin all along her thigh. "Feel good?" she asked.

"Fuck yes, it feels wonderful!"

"Me, too. More, touch me more." She raised herself slightly and opened her legs wider making it clear where she wanted him to go. She felt like she was back in college again, any one of a score of Friday or Saturday nights as she and Toby clawed frantically at each other's clothes as they collapsed on the bed in his apartment or her dorm or the motel on the other end of town or the array of other secret and not so secret places they found themselves, eager and mad with desire to make love. All those sensations came flooding over her as Toby's strong hands kneaded her flesh. It was as if she had been on the verge of starvation and was now feasting on a life-sustaining meal. She could feel her juices really flow as his hands slid higher up her leg until they pushed against her pussy.

He felt the silky fabric of her panties on his fingertips, and was thrilled by her wetness; she was drenched. "Feels even better there," he growled softly, pushing the fabric between her lips. He then pushed her wringing-wet panties aside and entered her cunt with his middle finger.

"That's it," she responded. "Yes, do it, harder!" He moved his finger all around the familiar territory touching her everywhere along her grasping walls and protruding clit. She squirmed at his invasion and when she felt a second and then a third finger enter her, she almost collapsed on top of him. It brought her back suddenly to the reality of the theater they were in, and she looked around briefly. Part of her wanted all eyes to be riveted on her, unable to turn away, while another part wished her to be invisible. Have at least some of the audience caught them out, she wondered -- how could they not have? -- but chosen to ignore them? This thought caused a further tingling inside of her and brought her focus back to Toby's fingers caressing her, giving her tremendous pleasure.