I'm a 55-year old widow who retired from teaching three years ago, shortly after the death of my husband. I have short chestnut hair (thanks in part to my friend Clairol) and I keep myself quite trim, although I have got a generous chest and large thighs. I found retirement difficult to cope with at first, on my own and after an active working life. I got involved in various local clubs and groups though, and started to build myself a new social life.
One of the things I have always enjoyed is going to the cinema. I'm not too discriminating in my choice of films: as long it isn't something with completely mindless violence I can watch pretty much anything. That, however, is something I prefer to do on my own. I find watching movies with other people tends to be distracting, inevitably you talk to each other during the screening, and remain aware of each other's presence, all of which distracts you from really losing yourself in the film. I've bought a season ticket for my local multi-screen cinema, which allows me to go as often as I like, and I enjoy visiting it on weekday mornings, when hardly anyone else is there. In fact the audiences then are so small then that I'm sure the place can't make a profit on them.
The cinema isn't a purpose-built multiplex, it's an old 1930s picture house which has been converted, and as a result it has some oddities. My favourite screening room is one off to one side from the main ones, which only has about 20 seats. A few weeks ago I was there on a rain-swept Tuesday morning, totally alone watching a screening of a pretty awful comedy involving Steve Martin and hordes of children. The reviews had been less than complimentary and I could see why. I rarely walk out on a film, but I was considering it with that one when the doors to the screening room clattered open and two other customers entered, talking loudly. I glanced round in annoyance and saw it was two skinny black boys, about 19 I suppose, more or less identically dressed in reversed baseball caps, garishly coloured T-shirts, baggy jeans, and a lot of cheap gold jewellery. I guessed they had simply come in to get out of the rain, and because the prices are lower for the morning screenings.
They sat two rows behind me and started commenting loudly and critically on the film. It seemed to me as if they were trying to annoy me, and out of sheer bloody-mindedness I decided I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of thinking they'd driven me out, no matter how bad the film was. So I hunkered down prepared to wait it out. After a few minutes the boys stopped their raucous noise, which was welcome; but then they started whispering to each other and sniggering, which was just as irritating. Then I heard a couple of thumps, and the boys swung over the back of the seats either side of me and settled in them, sandwiching me. I'd dealt with plenty of cocky young scrotes like them in 30 years of teaching, and I was damned if I was going to let them intimidate me, so I simply ignored them and concentrated furiously on the action on the screen.
The lad to my right turned towards me and gave me a cheesy grin. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye – he was quite good looking for a kid, with a slim face, high cheekbones, huge eyes and a thin, wispy moustache above thin lips. He said cheerfully, "'Ello darlin', enjoyin' the show?" I told him coldly that I didn't think much of it, and I was thinking about leaving. His grin widened further, and he slipped his arm along the back of my seat. "Don't do that darlin' – it's dark in 'ere, we're all alone, and you're a fit old bird, me and Derek thought we could all 'ave us some fun. I'm Darrell by the way." Derek said nothing, just sat on the other side of me and leered.
Summoning up my best teacher's 'do-you-want-detention?' voice I prepared to tell Darrell to get out of my way so I could leave. But as I turned to him, his arm on my seat grabbed my left shoulder and pulled me roughly towards him and he smacked his lips onto mine. At the same moment I felt Derek's hand settle on my knee, a fraction of an inch below the hem of my skirt. I gasped in surprise and Darrell took advantage, thrusting his tongue deep into my mouth. His free hand slipped down the neck of my blouse, straight into my bra and began squeezing my left boob.
I was scared now, I was totally vulnerable to whatever these two young men decided to do to me. Yet at the same time, shockingly, I realised I was starting to feel slightly aroused. One of my favourite fantasies is being taken by force by a handsome young cavalier or sheikh. This didn't exactly fit the bill, but nevertheless I was startled to feel my nipple start to stiffen against the palm of Darrell's hand, and a stirring of interest between my legs. My hands pressed feebly against Darrell's chest as he continued to grind his mouth against mine and grope my tit.
At the same time I felt Derek squeeze between my legs and force them wide apart, and his hand trace up my leg to my thighs. I heard him mutter, "Hey Darrell, she's got stockings on. Sexyyyy!" I shivered involuntarily as his fingers tickled my bare inner thigh. My stiff tweed skirt cut into me as Derek pushed his shoulders between my legs, and a moment later I gasped again, into Darrell's mouth, as I felt fingers enter my knickers and stroke along my pussy slit. Derek said, "Blimey Daz, she's got a jungle dahn 'ere." I felt a flush spread through my face, and another rising in my crotch, as Derek thrust several fingers into me and started twirling them around, adding "Wow, this old bird's soaking wet."
Nobody had touched me in a sexual way since several years before my husband died, and despite anything my rational mind might feel my hips started to twitch forward, pushing my pussy further onto Derek's fingers, while my mouth started kissing Darrell back, one of my hands reaching behind his head and pulling him onto me. Acting on its own initiative, my other hand dropped to the fly of his jeans. He made a squeak of surprise, but his hand left my tit and I felt him push my hand aside and unbutton his fly. A moment later a stiff cock sprang out and brushed against my hand. Darrell might have had a skinny build, but it felt as if he was hung like a horse. I heard myself moan as I wrapped my fingers around his burning shaft and started wanking him.
