Flicker 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This short little tale was inspired by an iconic scene in the campy 1968 movie called

The Killing of Sister George

.

We sat together basking in the quiet flickering light of the theater screen. We faced away from each other while our hands wended their way downward, going lower. Adele's fingers worked, tentatively at first, from the top button of my shirt, down. The light fabric barrier parted, while the shirttail escaped the waistband of my skirt, and an errant cool breeze kissed my chest. She spoke softly in my ear, almost whispering. I stared straight at the screen. My eyes lingered on Suzannah York's breasts while Coral Browne leered over her, ogling and touching.

My mind wandered to a time during our senior year in Sister Fortino's English class on the second floor of St. Brigid Academy High School. I sat in the row closest to the wall just behind her when Sister's habit caught the late summer breeze from one of the open windows as she walked past, snapping a command at Laura Welty in the front row to "Stop that inane tapping and keep your eyes on your own paper!"

A second later, Sr. Fortino turned away, adjusting the cincture around her waist beneath the scapular, before moving up the next aisle. While her back was turned, Adele (she sat in front of me) tilted her head back, yawning. Several strands of her long hair dangled, bobbing, between the edge of my desk top and the back of her seat. I moved, and just like that, the loose caramel curls were trapped. Adele moved her head, gasping, when she felt the pull on the back of her scalp.

I didn't mean to do it. It was an accident. "Sorry!" I apologized, mashing the soles of my shoes against the floor while I pushed away, releasing her. Jesus stared down at me, arms outstretched, from the ancient plaster wall. His loincloth was slipping. My face flushed with heat.

"Let's go see a movie." Adele said. The conviction in her voice made it sound more like a command than an invitation.

"I don't have any money on me." I told her while I leaned against the cool metal surface of my locker door. Though we were both 18 and adults in the eyes of the law, I still felt like a child in Adele's presence. She radiated confidence, and all I knew was that I wanted to stand closer to her--

press

closer to her--than I thought was possible. I felt my skin prickling and gooseflesh erupting on my skin as if I'd developed a sudden allergy to my school uniform. "Who said anything about money?" Adele demanded playfully. "Come on!" Her presence and her voice held me firmly in thrall. I followed her down the nearly empty hall. The even pleated lines of my skirt admitted a welcome breeze against my thighs and the feverish space between them with each step.

In the balcony of the Arcadia Theater downtown, next to the Bowl-Mor bowling alley, catty-corner from S.S. Kresge's on a crisp March afternoon, we saw

The Killing of Sister George

, starring Beryl Reed, Suzannah York, and Coral Browne. The ornate theater, which had seen better days, swelled with an odor of mildew, stale cigarettes, and staler popcorn.

The seat hinges whined in protest when we settled in to sit. My hand clutched the large Pepsi I'd bought while my lips searched in the dark for the end of the straw. I drank and a shudder coursed through me. My feet edged along the worn carpet, touching the school bag I'd banished to the dark recess of the littered floor.

The movie had barely started when Adele shifted in her seat beside me, jockeying to get a little closer. I felt her thigh brush against mine while her left hand settled on my knee. With her right hand, she reached out in the darkness, caressing my face and lips with the pad of her thumb. Her fingertips wandered and rested near the base of my neck.

My eyes stared forward, light dancing and pulsing, in my field of vision, when I felt Adele's curious touch around the collar of my uniform blouse. The screen's light illuminated the small pearlescent buttons, making them glow beneath her fingers.

First came one button, and then another, separating the light cloth barrier between us. Adele whispered in the darkness. "What a perfect little gem for the Sunday press. Did it have to be here?" Her lips, hovering close to mine, moved inaudibly, while June's voice accused Mercy of stealing her beautiful young lover in the almost empty theater.

Adele lingered for several moments on my now exposed areola, aching, as it pebbled around the painfully erect nipple, while her fingers toyed with its twin. Her wandering hands explored beneath my skirt, pausing at the edge of my underpants. Then, slowly tracing along the circumference of the worn elastic, she teased and caressed the dampened recesses between my already quivering legs until she found the courage to pull me closer to her.

I felt her arm around my shoulders, guiding me over. She settled me between her legs and my back curved against her chest. I couldn't see Adele's face anymore, but my eyes fixed on the lesbian spat unfolding on the screen, while I felt her hand sliding down, squirreling in between the waistband and the feverish skin underneath.

I gasped when I felt the first intrusion of her fingers. The tips searched, skating along my pubic hair and the dank recess of my dampened cleft. A man, about two rows in front of us, turned around. For a second, I froze, but he said nothing, turned around, and stared back at the screen while the shadows swallowed us up. The searching fingertip skated along the slippery folds for a few seconds. My eyelids fluttered and closed while my mind's eye concentrated on the sight of Coral Browne playing with Suzannah York's perfect tits.

Adele put one finger in, then pulled it out, and returned with two fingers. She pulled out again, this time, slower than the last. My hand found hers, touching her retreating fingers. The two fingers returned, burrowing deeper. She spread them apart slowly, stretching inexperienced muscles, while her thumb brushed the outer rim.

I knew what it was to feel wet. Still, I was shocked by the sensation, worried for a second or two, that I might've started my period, or lost control of my bladder. My cheeks bloomed with an uncomfortable heat. The wetness rushed, bursting like a juice laden grape, crushed between the molars, while being devoured. The dark plaid of Adele's uniform skirt was damp; its even pleats crinkled and warped beneath me. Her fingers returned and retreated inside me. Two, one. One, two. Two, two, one. I closed my eyes again while her fingers worked, almost matching the rhythm of her thrusts to the increased hitching of my breath. Beryl Reed's accusatory voice echoed in my head: "What a perfect little gem for the Sunday press. Did it have to be here?"

"Yes..." I breathed.

Yes, it had to be here.

Adele's thumb found my clitoris, skating against the swollen nub of flesh with a flickering exactitude. I arched into her hands, back pressing against her, while my breaths came shallow and quick. Then, the breath caught in my throat. For one agonizing moment I thought I couldn't breathe. My skin tingled and a buzzing sensation prickled my skin and ears. My lips parted and a soft groan erupted from my throat while I came in the darkness.

More than 10 years have passed now. I don't go to the movies very much, but when I do, I think of Adele. My scalp tingles and my hamstrings contract. The popcorn tinged darkness opens up to her form. The worn cushion and seat arms soften, and I feel her thighs against mine, pressing. While the light flickers from the screen, she descends on me. Her mouth is near my ear, brushing coyly against the space beneath the lobe. Her hand wanders between my legs, searching for my center.

She finds it quickly, thrusting in and out like a man fucking his wife for the nth time. One, two. Two, one. One, one, two. I arch back, spreading my legs wider. Staring ahead at the screen, and the sight of Suzannah York half naked before her older lover, I remember the mottled and flickering light on my classmate's face, Beryl Reed's accusation piercing the dark like a lancet: "What a perfect little gem for the Sunday press. Did it have to be here?"

Yes. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

THANK YOU for reading!!