She took her time preparing for the night. Before stepping into the shower, she shaved her legs, under her arms, then carefully trimmed and shaped the curly black hair on her pussy. While her olive skin was still damp from the shower, she anointed her legs, arms and torso with an expensive skin emollient. She brushed her long, curly, dark brown, almost black, below shoulder length hair. Taking her time, she painted her fingernails and toenails with a Chinese-red lacquer. Then she picked up the bottle of White Shadows perfume from her dressing table and put a tiny drop behind each ear, the hollow of her throat, each nipple and on her pussy.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she eased a pair of nylons up the softness of her legs and hooked them to the black, lacy, garter belt. I hooked the three fasteners on the black bra for her. From the closet, she took a transparent, red, button up the front, silk blouse. Starting at the bottom of the shirt, she buttoned all of the buttons save the top three. To complete the ensemble, she put on a calf length, zip all the way up the front, faux suede skirt and then pulled on a pair of high heeled, mid-calf length, brown boots. The last step was to lightly apply red lipstick to her full lips.
My preparation wasn't quite so involved. I showered, ran a brush through my hair, splashed on some cologne, threw on a pair of Levis and a T-shirt then pulled on my socks and boots. It's a difficult thing being a male, but someone has to do it. It may as well be me.
Dimly glowing stars studded the inky blackness of the night sky. A gentle summer wind rustled the leaf-heavy tree branches. In spite of the warmth of the night, I was wearing a light leather jacket. She was wearing a long, thin, black coat. I held her arm as we walked to the old blue, '72 Ford LTD. It wasn't pretty, but it was roomy. The 429 under the hood let me pass almost anything on the highway except a gas station.
I'm not going to lie to you; I was nervous. In fact, I was nervous as hell. I could tell from the rhythm of her breathing that she wasn't exactly as cool as a cucumber. It was relatively new territory for both of us.
I'd driven past the place countless times over the course of the last couple of years. The concrete block building set well back from the highway. A rickety privacy fence partially obscured the parking lot from public view. There were, perhaps, 15 cars in the lot when we arrived. We got out of the car and shut, but didn't lock, the doors. There wasn't anything in the car worth stealing. I'd rather a thief find that out without breaking a window.
The cost of admission was eight bucks. The guy behind the glass handed me back two singles. We hesitated at the brown, double-doors that lead into the auditorium. I winked at her. She smiled at me. I opened the door and we stepped into the darkness.
We stood still for a moment to allow time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. On the screen, a woman was screaming in fake ecstasy as a well-hung man fucked her doggy style. As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I could see that most of the seats were empty. Toward the back of the room, in a corner, there was a booth and a table. I steered her toward it.
After we sat down, she shrugged out of her coat. I lit a cigarette and surveyed the audience. There were young men, middle-aged men and one old man. She was the only woman, which wasn't overly surprising. It was a seedy joint that smelled more than faintly of urine and semen. The men were surreptitiously watching us. None of them tried to make eye contact or moved closer to us.
I ran my hand up the smoothness of her leg. Whispering in her ear, I told her to unzip more of the skirt. She did. The fabric fell apart, exposing most of her thighs. On the screen, the hot and furious action continued without a semblance of a plot.
"What happens next?" she whispered into my ear.
"In a couple of minutes I want you to get up and go to the bathroom." I made a slight motion toward the short, dimly lit, hallway that lead to them. "Stay in there a couple of minutes and then come out and stand by the entrance for a minute with a cigarette in your hand. I'm betting someone will walk over to offer you a light." I handed her a cigarette. In case you're wondering, she was a non-smoker.
She got up and sauntered away. Sauntered isn't exactly the right word. I think "strutted" is more accurate and appropriate. The woman gave good walk. She had the right roll to her hips and ass that made it all look sassy, saucy, and sexy as all get out. There was nothing contrived about it.
Standing under the dim, yellow light in the hallway, she looked as though she had just stepped out of a French "arte" movie. The softness of the red, silk shirt draped nicely over her large breasts barely fettered by the lacy bra. Standing as she was with one hip jutted out, the skirt had fallen open enough to reveal a good portion of her nylon stocking covered thigh. The unlit cigarette dangled loosely in her right hand.
Within moments, a man walked up to her and held out a lighter. She put the white tube between her red lips and sucked shallowly as he applied flame to it. They visited for a minute. I saw her smile and heard her laugh softly. He walked back to the booth with her. She slid in next to me and he sat next to her. She introduced him as John. I don't know if that was really his name. Neither she nor I were using our real names.
We didn't try to converse. We didn't even look at each other. I felt her hand on my leg. I placed my hand on her left leg and slowly stroked my way up her thigh. I ran my fingers over to her pussy. Instead of her hot wetness, I felt his hand as his finger manipulated her clit. I moved my hand and listened as she began to breathe more rapidly as her excitement mounted. From the way her right shoulder was moving, I knew she was rubbing his cock through his pants. It was a familiar song. Her head dropped back as she arched her back and climaxed quietly. He moved his hand. I put two fingers into her dripping vagina.
A slender, mostly bald man walked over to the table. "You need to be careful," he said. The cops put undercover vice out here all the time. I don't think there are any here right now." I thanked him and he left.
"Do you want to get out of here?" I asked John.
"That would be good." His voice was hoarse with hunger.
We walked to the car. She slid in next to me; he next to her. As we drove out of the parking lot, I told him we weren't comfortable taking someone to our house so we were going drive around in the country where it would be more private. Since the theater was near the city limits, it was a matter of minutes before we were driving slowly down a gravel road.
