We sat in the back row. I thought we would be sitting in a dark, almost black back row where no other theater patrons could see what I was going to do to him during the course of the film. About ten seats away there sat about 5 or 6 teenagers, munching away on their popcorn. My first thought (the Catholic school girl in me): “FUCK”. My next thought (the indifferent teenager in me): “Oh well. Whatever”. And the thought after that, my favorite thought of all (coming from the exhibitionist in me): “HOT”. I got excited.
The movie started. We shared our popcorn. Our elbows and legs touched. The electricity and sexual chemistry grew. I am 47. He is 28. Not more than 20 minutes into the film, he reached down and placed his hand on my leg. I wore a dress with a tiny black g-string under it. His hand slid up my thigh. We made eye contact. Deep, intense, penetrating eye contact. That beautiful, sinister, turned-on look in his eyes was too much for me to bear. My breath quickened and deepened. I leaned into him. Our lips touched. I reached over and placed my hand on his hardness. I undid his belt while maintaining eye contact in that dark, back row of the theater the entire time. Slowly. Ever so slowly, I unzipped his pants while his hand raised up higher on my thigh, finding my tiny little g-string underneath my dress.