Way back here, off to the side, no one notices. Of course there's always the chance someone could come this way... change seats... The risk of being seen adds an insanely sweet edge to the rising hot urge...
Somehow we both just know, don't we. I like your style. Subtle. From a few seats away you're totally cool. You can be counted on to handle this delicate situation gracefully. Good. That allows me full scope. I can rely on you to... respond well...
How do I know? Of course I don't, not really. And that's part of the edge. I'm sensing you, that's all. Intuition. Anyhow, the uncertainty is fuel thrown in my fire. I'm crazy-hard and feeling more beautiful than I could ever say.
I stretch my spine and arms. Anyone sitting in any theater might do this. Perfectly normal. Except that I do it in a certain way. I'm sure you feel it. I like it that you feel it. I like that you don't quite look over toward me.
You look off to the side, as if just resting your eyes from the brightness of the screen. Once or twice our eyes meet, for an instant, and that's all it takes. Like touching a match to gasoline. We both know...
I ease a leg out straight, off to the side. Again it's normal theater conduct, but again with a "certain something" that I know you can feel. I'm glad. I want to get you wet... blurry... crazy with the rising urge inside you. I want to make you forget the movie and everything else except the whirling in your flesh like a madness...
I'm sliding my hand along my thigh. This is sort of proper public conduct, but anyone who knows what's what could see it for what it is. A stripper's move. A good stripper can make you come without taking off a single stitch of clothing. In "real life" I'm a stage performer... I know the value of gestures.
And with this gesture, I'm reaching way down inside you, though there's nothing overt. It's a knowledge we share. Just by sitting here, just by sliding my hand on my thigh, I make you wet and dizzy. That's our secret, yours and mine. The most intense arousal happens long before anything remotely overt happens... way deeper than that... long before anyone could notice a thing...
So when my arm slides down a little, and I stroke my thigh, not with my hand but with the ultra-soft skin of my wrist, I can feel you grit your teeth with your need to stifle the moan. The skin of under-wrist is so tender, so sensual, it's unbearable. Almost the same as that ultra-delicate skin someplace else... someplace private and very intimate... so soft and alive that people easily risk tossing their whole lives away for a few minutes of sweet touching.
That's what I'm rubbing my thigh with... that intimate skin... and while you're doing a good job of seeming to look elsewhere, I know I've got you now... like a rabbit in headlights...
The way my hand is touching my ribs is starting to test the limits of what someone can get away with in a public place. Oh sure, I might just be stretching innocently. Maybe. Then again, not when my fingers are arching backwards like this, away from the rubs, and the palm of my hand is stroking the ribs, moving slowly up and down...
There's no other word for this than provocative. And yes I want to provoke you. I want to provoke your toes into curling with helpless craving... I want to make your tongue rub the roof of your mouth... I want to make you gasp... choke on your own desire...
Now as my arm slithers down between my legs, and my legs clamp the arm in a tight hold, I'm beyond the range of ambiguity. True, when I lean down like this, I might be reaching down to pick up a dropped napkin... but... I could just as well be yielding to orgasm... and who's to say? I do it slowly... my arm sliding along my inner thigh...
And that's what gets to you. So slowly. Like you can't quite be sure what I'm doing. What's happening? The movement is oddly like taking off my clothes, like being naked here beside you... but so subtle, so ambiguous, there's no saying for sure.
It's just plain crazy-making, and I feel how your breathing quickens as I tense and ease my thighs... gripping and releasing my arm... and your teeth are biting your lower lip... trying to cope with the flood of desire that's wetting your panties...
Opening a belt buckle in public is always tricky, since it takes such effort to keep the thing from making that little metallic clinking that anyone can recognizes for what it is. So I do it very very slowly.
And by arching my back as I do it, I make it totally obvious to you what I'm doing. True, someone in the seat behind us might not know. I'm careful...
And not just to avoid detection. I'm careful because a gesture like this goes so deep into your feelings. Almost like admitting openly to you that I'm stripping for you right here in the theater. I'm broadcasting to you, and to you alone, that I'm crossing the line into taboo... So I do it very slowly... to make it unbearable for you...
I feel how your breathing is getting messed up and your mind is getting spun around. Good. I want to mess you up. I want spin you around. I want to make you wet yourself so much that the dark splotch seeps through your skirt, and after you stand up and leave it'll be plain for all to see... not to mention the beautiful smell...
Same now with the zipper. Even the belt buckle was maybe conceivably within limits... it might be explained away as easing stomach pressure after too much popcorn. But not the zipper. Sliding a zipper down in public is just totally taboo. No doubt illegal.
Good. I like this. I like how your hand rises to your forehead, as if resting your eyes from the brightness of the screen, when you and I both know it's so you can hide your eyes and watch me directly.
And I like how your other hand rest in such an innocent-looking way against your breast... innocent... but touching yourself that a certain way. I know. Those slow circling motions that would give you away if anyone were really watching you.
We're swirling now, you and I... and the swirling can't be stopped...
It's actually a relief for me when I pull away the cloth on each side of the zipper. A relief because, though it's really risky now, I'm more comfortable with this wide open feeling. Like when you finally say to someone you've just met that you want to touch them intimately...
So much easier once you cross that line and say it... the line that feels like a lake's water once you've plunged in. It's the plunge that's hard, but swimming is easy.
Opening my pants is like that... I'm in the water now... immersed... swimming... for you... to watch...
It takes only the slightest jiggle of my hips to get the pants cloth down and out from under me, away from the seat. For the first time, you can see the private bulge, barely veiled under the soft gray cotton, and the brightness of the skin of my thighs shining in the dark theater.
The way my hand slithers between my legs now is different than before when I was still clothed. I can feel the difference inside your body. The heat is flowing inside you like lava down a mountain... I'm wet, and you know I'm wet, and so are you, and I can feel the wet between your legs... the liquid seeping out of your flesh... and mine... fountains... out of control...
