Arthouse Cinema

Many thanks to Cinnamon69 for her quick, useful and kind and corrections and comments.

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I've always loved Paris art cinemas. These old, worn-out theatres, showing forgotten films in bad state, smelling of rotten fabric and dust, nowhere in the world is quite like them. There is something special about Parisian art-house cinemas; the very bohemian meets the very snotty, the richness of the film and the beauty on the screen conflicting with the nastiness of the space and people. They are always run by old, tired looking people, who grunt at you for asking a student's discount, and they are always populated by the strangest mix of film aficionados, romantic couples and aspiring artists, all glaring at the small screen looking for some revelation; well, all but the couples, who often come here to make out.

It was a late night show, midweek as well. And anyway, 1970s German avant-garde films aren't that popular these days. So it was hardly a surprise to find the theatre completely empty when I walked in late on one mid-March night. I sat in the very back; the place was so small that there were only ten or so rows of seats. I could see, sloping in front of me towards the screen, two or three heads absorbed in the opening credits. "Love colder than Death" announced the rather mysterious title. I sat deep into my seat, getting ready for some deep cinema, something beautiful and unsettling, that will leave me excited and troubled, will touch me profoundly.

The film looked promising. Black and white of course, with almost no soundtrack, only dialogue; the actors seemed distanced and remote, living in a cold and isolated world, they showed no emotions, too engaged in their actions. I was absorbed by it, taking in every shot and thinking about every angle. Such a beautiful piece of art, untouched through years and wear; I wanted to understand it, to enter this universe fully. It had a rare beauty, challenging the blandness on commercial, ready-made cinema.

Obviously I was then highly annoyed when an unknown person entered about halfway through the film and sat just next to me, in the middle of the last row. I sneaked a glance at my disturbing neighbour, and discovered it was a woman. She was hardly visible in the light reflecting from the screen, but it was clear that she wasn't young. I could roughly see her profile, partly hidden through her hair; mid-fifties perhaps, but still with sharp, well defined features, lean like many bourgeois Parisian women. She was wearing a jacket and trousers, elegantly but not too business like. She seemed classy and out of place, her movements, as she sat next to me were rigid and mechanical.

We ignored each other silently, though I was a bit annoyed that she decided to sit here. I could understand that she preferred not to go down the aisle, and disturb other people, but why this seat next to me? I moved uncomfortably, trying to convey to her the message that she rather unnecessarily invaded my private space and that there were, after all, plenty of empty seats on the row. But she took no notice and stared at the scene, trying undoubtedly to pick up the plot from this point. So I did the same and returned to the screen. We sat there quietly.

I couldn't resist, a few minutes later, to glance quickly at her again. Her face was mostly shadowed, but it was clear that she was, and still is, a pretty woman. What once must have been full was now sunken, but her face didn't seem shaggy or worn out. She reminded me of an aging movie star, a beautiful girl now old, but still captivating and enchanting. Briefly, the light from the screen reflected in her cold and distant eyes; she had harsh and even bitter eyes. Like a forgotten lover. She must have seen that I was looking at her, because she turned her chin less then an inch towards me. She didn't smile, her face was motionless, and in a flicker her eyes were back at the screen, watching unknown German actors. I sighed and got back to looking at the film as well, trying to recapture the complicated plot. I made a decision not to bother about her, though her unsmiling face stuck in my head.

I sank back into the film. The plot was thickening, but the actors' expressions remained frozen. They moved, talked, made love, and killed as if bored or uncaring, their faces languid and stern. The camera documented them without movement, without judgement, as if they were above emotions. The slow rhythm of the film pleased me, and though I didn't understand much of the subtle meaning in it I felt very wise and arty.

Then something brushed against my leg. I moved away, annoyed. Not only has this woman invaded my private space, now her feet are trying to push me further… how rude. A minute later, again, I felt her leg touching mine. I looked at her and tried to reproach her with a look; but no, her eyes were fixed on the screen, she didn't even notice brushing against me. I let it be, there was no point telling her off. So every now and then I could feel her dangling shoe touching my ankle, it was very disturbing, but I maintained my effort to ignore her. I tried, once more, to return and watch the film.

Suddenly I felt her hand on my thigh, lightly fluttering the fabric of my trousers, and I froze. It was clear that this was no accident, no occasional brushing. Her fingers gently caressed my leg, going back and forward, she was tracing little circles with her forefinger. I held my breath and stared at the screen with eyes wide open.

"Alex," a voice said in my mind, "this woman is flirting with you; be careful, don't ruin it."

I suppressed a desire to look at her and continued to sit motionless. Her hand continued to caress me, now with her entire palm. She placed it high on my left thigh, near my hip, and slowly slid it along until she grabbed my knee; then stroked it back to the hip and down again; very smooth, very gently. This movement, caressing my corduroy trousers, excited me deeply. I could feel my penis starting to harden and push against my zipper.

She moved slightly in her seat, leaning a bit towards me. Her hand was now stroking my thigh from inside, going almost all the way up to my crotch, but not really touching it. The movements were so smooth that it didn't feel as if she was moving; all her body, except her hand, were still.

My penis was really getting hard now, and it hurt me, being folded in my pants. I shifted a bit, and managed to slide sideways along my leg. I could now feel it getting bigger and harder, and suddenly was frightened that the lady next to me will notice the bulging in my trousers.

"What will she do?" I wondered. "Be small, stay cool." I told myself, "watch the movie and ignore." I thought and tried. But my cock grew still bigger with every stroke. After a minute I could feel her hand going nearer and nearer my cock. I bit my lip in excitement, waiting and now wishing to feel her fingers touching me through the fabric. Every minute now…her hand grew closer…but then she suddenly stopped.

I didn't breathe, I didn't look, I only prayed she wouldn't stop. All of a sudden I felt her hand carefully rubbing my balls. I lowered my eyes until I could see her white, bonnie hand lightly squeezing my crotch. It felt nice, real nice, her hand massaging my sack. I sat back in my seat and spread my legs further, giving her more access.

She started to caress my cock. A shiver rippled through my body. I closed my eyes and struggled not to moan, as I could feel her finger stroking my penis back and forward, trying to grab it through the corduroy. I was a very intense feeling, and I was completely absorbed by it, ignoring everything else in the theatre. I was only faintly aware of the voices from the screen, the light and darkness flickering through my shut eyelids, all was inconsequential. I tried not to make any noise, not to move, as her hand stroke me faster and faster.

"How far would she go?" I wondered. I was almost panting, my mouth open not to make a sound. My dick has reached its full length, though it was uncomfortably stuck down my trousers. The tension was so hard; I wanted to rip it out and let her grab it with both hands but didn't dare move. My hands gripped the arms of the seat, squeezing the worn-out velvet and almost rattling the frame.

"Please…" I whispered through my teeth. "Please take it out…"

I couldn't believe I said that, and I couldn't believe even more when she did just that. Without a word, not even a giggle, I felt her unzipping me and slowly placing her hand inside my pants. She grabbed my cock and wrestled it out. I couldn't resist any longer and opened my eyes, just to see if any of the other people in the place noticed anything. But everything seemed to be in order. The heads in front were still gazing at the screen, oblivious to what was happening in the back rows. I looked at my cock. It was red and full, standing from my crotch like a post. Her hand was resting, motionless, near its base. It looked at her, but she was still fixed to the screen, intensely watching an actor recite an incomprehensible monologue.

I closed my eyes again. Her fingers started to slowly climb my exposed penis, squeezing it lightly on their way up. Soon she reached the top, and her thumb started playing with the head. She massaged it, traced her finger around the contours of the tip, caressed it gently and then began to stroke the shaft up and down.

I swallowed my spit, feeling her hand touching me, but I did not look. My penis' muscles twitched every time she squeezed them and the sensation sent slow waves of pleasure up my spine and to the back of my head. Bit by bit, I felt flooded by the continual pleasure of the handjob. My hands, rigid from grappling the chair's arms, loosened, and I could feel the blood returning to them. I had to swallow again, as my mouth felt wet. And very softly, in a whisper, I began to moan. The movement of her hand was hypnotic, and it sent me far away. My body relaxed and I slumped down in my seat, the only tense muscle in me was my dick. So little mattered now, I didn't really care about the other people in the place; I knew they couldn't see us anyway. The voices from the screen became nothing but background noise. My mind was reduced to follow the up and down rhythm of this lady's gentle fingers.

I couldn't say how long this went on. Suddenly it stopped. Her hand stopped jerking me, and was only holding firmly the base of my cock. I waited with controlled anxiety, wondering whether the treat is over now or is she only teasing me. My cock was burning with desire to be touched and to be fondled; it was so bad that I almost started stroking it myself. A minute went by, I could feel, though my eyes were closed, the woman shifting in her seat.

And then I felt her wet mouth. My body tensed at once, my hands gripping the chair's arms again and my feet pushing hard against the floor. She used her mouth to kiss the head of my cock, very very gently. I gasped and opened my eyes, surprised at this new development.

Her head was in my lap, her dusty brown hair only twenty centimetres or so below my chin. It was slowly moving up and down as she licked and kissed my tip and shaft. Then, in utter silence, she began to swallow the tip, inserting it slowly into the warm, wet space between her lips.

"Oh my god." I said, louder than I wanted to.

She was entirely bent in her seat, her legs almost kneeling on the floor and her head buried deep in my crotch. In the dim light reflecting from the screen I could her clothes, cut with care. I carefully put one hand on her hair and started to stroke it, and pushed it down to swallow me deeper. I looked to the rows in front, afraid that the others have heard some noise and turned, but no, all heads were staring at a robber scene on the screen.

Her tongue flicked my tip. Fast, short licks, like a cat lapping milk. She placed her lips around the shaft and started sucking again. Her hand stroked the lower part of my cock up and down and her mouth was doing the same to the upper part. It hardly made a sound. I could feel my cock getting even harder, and tiny drops of pre-cum were almost forming on its top. She quickly licked these with her sharp tongue. I couldn't stop looking, though I couldn't see much but her head raising and sinking. Every now and then she came up for air, and then dived back and swallowed my cock, glistening from the saliva that covered it.

The orgasm was not far now, but I resisted it. My balls wanted nothing else than to start pumping semen into her face and throat, but I was terrified of doing it here and now. I didn't think I could keep myself quiet. Already I had to breathe hard, struggling not to make noise. So I closed my eyes, concentrated hard and whispered to her:

"Slower…please go slower…don't make me cum yet."

She did as I asked. Her movements became slower, but also more pronounced. She sucked my cock hard, taking every gesture to the full. I kept my mind focused on not cumming yet; to ride the pleasures without being controlled by it. I could feel every stroke of her tongue, every draw by her lips, but had to resist the desire to let it all go. She had an experienced mouth, velvety and wet. It traced the contours of my prick, the bulges, the creeks, purchasing her lips and sucking hard. .

Yet whether I wanted to or not, I could feel the cum urging to splash out of me. I struggled, cramped every muscle in the body to contain it a bit longer. But soon I felt that it is nearly the end. My balls started to tighten and the sensation in my loins was just too strong. I wanted to warn her, to let her know that in a minute I will cum all over her face. But then, very suddenly, she stopped. My dick was burning from desire.

I opened my eyes with a flash, and was about to look at her. But within a second I realized that credits were already rolling on the screen, the film was over. She regained her rigid sitting position, and quickly cleaned the saliva from her mouth. She looked so calm and unmoved, it was hard to imagine that a minute ago those lips were circled my cock, sucking life and cum out of it.

I panicked. My heart raced. Soon the lights will come up and my dick was standing, bright and erect, like a lighthouse, in the middle of my lap. I struggled to relax it, to shove it in, to stuff it back into my trousers; but it was very unwilling. I moved and shifted in my seat, trying to find the right position to put this disturbing bulge under cover. Finally, when the theatre lights were already becoming brighter, I managed to stick it down and zipped my trousers. I sat up, took a deep breath and looked around me.

The few other cinema goers gathered their belongings and started to move slowly towards the exit. The woman near me, however, was as motionless as ever. I sneaked a look at her, now that the lights were on; she was certainly beautiful, her sharp features had hardly changed through the years. She still had a sharp, pointy nose, a thin, tight mouth and sunken, high boned cheeks. She, on the other hand, did not look at me at all. Her eyes were always fixed at the screen, looking at the end of the credits rolling. We both sat without movement, watching everyone else leave.

Finally, once the place was empty, she stood up. I stayed seated, wondering what will happen next. She walked down the stairs, reached the exit door and placed one hand on it. Then she stood there waiting, simply staring into space. I got up and started to walk towards her. As if by a cue, she pushed the door and went into the back passage that led outside. I followed.

Pushing through this door, I found myself in a narrow corridor, facing a flight of concrete stairs. The mysterious woman was nowhere in sight, but I heard the tapping of her high heel shoes ahead of me. I climbed the stairs and I found myself in front of a heavy door. It was slowly closing, and I pushed it open and walked into the street behind the cinema. The air was cold and fresh, it was late and all was quiet. The pavement was shining; it must have rained during the film. I could see closed down bars and cafés in the distance. The street was dark and empty. I looked at my clock, and realized it was well past midnight. Then I looked around, searching for her.

She stood about twenty meters away, at the corner of an alley. Her eyes looked at me, without really looking, a disinterested look. I was merely I passer-by. She must have realized that I saw her, because she quickly walked on, entering the alley and disappearing from my view. I briefly looked around to see that no one was noticing us, and followed her further.

When I reached the entrance of the alley I saw her standing further away, where the narrow passage turned. Again, once she saw me she moved on, and I walked behind her. I wanted to catch up with her, to grab her, tear her cloths and finish what she started inside the cinema. But I knew it couldn't be rushed. So I walked, listening to the sound of our shoes on the pavement.

When I turned the corner at first I couldn't see her. For a minute my heart raced. Then I noticed where she was, standing in a back exit of a shop or something, just a few meters from me, in the shadows. She was facing the wall, her back was turned to me and she didn't move at all. I looked around. This was the perfect place. There was no one around, not even lighted windows.

She stood there motionless and silent; not even her breathing was heard. Her silhouette was dark against the dirty wall. I approached her slowly, until I was just behind her. From here, I could see her body better; she was slightly shaking from anticipation. I moved in closer, almost, but not quite, touching her. Her body was only a dozen centimetres away, I looked at it. It was pretty, slender and hard, proud and contained. There was almost something cruel in her, perfectly beautiful, untouched by age.

I took the last step and touched her. My chest brushed against her shoulder blades, her hair almost touched my face. I pushed my loins further, until they touched her ass. From here I could feel her shakings. Our bodies trembled from the tension. Her hair and skin smelled of a mixture of perfume and almost odourless skin lotion. My hands were twitching, eager to grab her, but I controlled them. I panted lightly in her ear, watching how this excited her. Her eyes were shut, as if she was afraid, but her mouth was clenched, anticipating.

Finally I used my arms, or rather they moved by themselves, obeying some mysterious script. I placed my right arm across her body, holding it flat in the middle of her chest, between her breasts and with my left arm I did a similar movement, embracing her from behind and putting it on her crotch. I pulled her on to me, so that are bodies were united, and started to rub her slowly with both hands. My right moved up and under her jacket, grabbing her left breast through the shirt and at the same time my left went down, completely flat, rubbing over her pussy.

Her breathing deepened and she arched her head backwards until it rested on my shoulder. I rubbed her like this for a few moments, sensing the dampness of her pussy through the fabric and feeling how hard her nipple had become. My hips started slowly and carefully to stroke against her ass in round movements, pushing her forward towards the wall with every gesture. I began to unbutton her cream coloured shirt with my right hand and carefully opened two buttons, enough space to glide my hand in and grab her small breast. I squeezed it tight, through her bra, massaging the hard nipple between my fingers. Her skin was rich and full of texture, not smooth and plain like girls my age, but full of tiny valleys and risings, soft and almost shaggy.

At the same time my other hand tried to slide between her trousers and body, to finally touch her bush and clit. But it was too tight, and my hand couldn't find the space to move in. So I slowly started to unbutton her, first the big button and then a series of smaller ones, until I could put down my fingers and touch her wet panties. She gasped, her lips trembled. I played on the smooth fabric of her undergarment, and finally found a way around it. My fingers were brushing her bush, striving further and further down to touch her pussy.