When the concert started I was in a bad mood. I hadn't wanted to come in the first place, but my wife had already bought the tickets. She acted as if it was meant to be a fun evening out, so I had agreed to go along, although I hate classical music, and getting dressed up to listen to strings screeching sounded like a torturous evening to me.
Our budget didn't permit very good seats. In fact, we were almost completely in the back of the balcony. My wife Mary cheerfully pointed out that as we were there for the orchestra it didn't really matter what our view was. I agreed, but only because there was no reason to do otherwise. The balcony was fairly empty; we could have moved up from our purchased seats, but I didn't suggest it because I didn't see the point. My wife always felt doing such things was dishonest, so we settled into an empty row of a nearly empty section.
We sat quietly waiting for the concert to start. Mary occasionally commented on the splendor of the theatre, or exclaimed over a detail in the program. I was only listening enough to respond when I needed to, not wanting to start an argument but not particularly interested in actually having a conversation about how many light bulbs were in the chandelier, or compare the number of private boxes with the theatre across town. I glanced over the other audience members as they arrived, only vaguely noting the number couples and the varying ages of them.
It was the age, or maybe the legs – or perhaps some combination of the two – that made me notice the blonde when they arrived. The woman's dress wasn't indecently short, nor horribly low cut. It was looser than my wife's dress, but somehow it clung to her as she moved, showing off every beautiful curve and feature of her body. She was young, probably early twenties, obviously well toned, and on the arm of an equally young and attractive man. The couple climbed the steps and entered the row in front of Mary and myself, settling themselves into seats just off to one side of us.
The couple, I decided, were in early stages of their relationship. They touched often, and lowered their heads to speak quietly to each other, although Mary and I were the closest to them and couldn't possibly hear them. The blonde's face regularly lit up with a wide smile as she turned to smile at her date. I could only see the back of the man's head, but imagined he was smiling back just as widely. I glanced over at Mary and we exchanged half-smiles. All that we could manage after so many years of being together.
Mary brought up the subject of her nephew getting into college, and for the few minutes remaining before the concert started, I was pulled back into the drudgery of every day life. The lights eventually dimmed and the music started and I spent a little while staring vaguely into space. It was two movements into the first piece before my eyes wandered over to the couple in front of us again. The lighting was dim, but I could make them out easily enough. Her long slim legs were crossed towards the man she was with, and his hand was on her leg.
As I watched, his hand moved up and down her thigh in what appeared to be an absent-minded caress at first. After a few strokes though, I realized he was slowly working her skirt up. Before, I could just see her bare knees and an inch or so of thigh, but now I could see several inches more. And, a few lazy strokes later, I could see half of her naked thighs and was inwardly cheering the man on, hoping against all logic he'd somehow get the whole dress off.
As if hearing my thoughts, the blonde woman swatted at her date's hand, and pulled her skirt down, giving the man a mock-glare. But she hadn't pulled her skirt down all the way, I noticed. She also hadn't made the man remove his hand. Expecting him to wait a few minutes before he tried anything again, if that was even what he was doing, I directed my eyes back to the stage, gazing mindlessly at the violin section.
When I thought enough time had passed, I glanced out of the corner of my eye and wasn't disappointed to see the man's hand slowly stroking the blonde's leg again. He'd gotten her skirt another inch or two higher. As I watched he changed from stroking her leg up and down to rubbing it side to side. His hand slipped over her thigh, curving down and out of sight. When it came back into view, he had worked his fingers under the edge of the woman's skirt. He repeated this action, hitching the skirt up another inch or two in the process.
Unfortunately, the blonde caught his hand again. She turned her face towards him, I could see her teasing glare as she moved his hand away from her legs. I quickly directed my gaze back to the stage as I realized her head was turning further around – looking in our direction. She was checking to see how private they were, I realized with rising hopes. My cock twitched in my pants as I imagined the sort of show I might actually get.
I waited another minute before easing my eyes in their direction again. The blonde was facing forward again. She had uncrossed her legs, and they were angled slightly towards her date. My cock began to stiffen as I spotted the man's hand on her leg. He was stroking up and down again, still moving casually but less cautiously as before. Her skirt was sliding up her thighs at a slow, steady pace. In less than two minutes, I could see almost all of her creamy pale thighs.
