a night at the movies

So we went to see a movie, they were playing Shame. We had been trying to get together for a while, her best friend had told me she was just waiting for me to make the move. It was a perfect chance to be crazy, the theater was empty and alone we could just give up to each other. The theater was old and dirty, the floor was full of trash and darkness concealed it all, we felt we could breath. We sat on the top seats, but due to the layout of the place, we had the entrance to our backs, you would be getting very nervous about this. But this would help avoid most prying eyes. The movie started and we had a full on view Michael Fassbender, the man was naked in an impressive way. It was not what we expected and we laughed about it, as the first five minutes were obscured by that, well, big dick. The balls were nothing to write home about though.

After a few minutes, I looked around just to be sure, and then took your hand and put your arm around me. We looked into each other, there we were naked as always, that would be a problem, but tonight it only led me to your lips. Neither small or big, but pink and sweet, like an ice cream Sunday with a hint of chocolate. So while scenes of sex played along, we took each other in, our tastes so personal; your lips wet, I’m kind of a sloppy kisser luckily just enough to not disgust you, our tongues casually acquainted. A bite of your lips and you leaned back, all the space I needed to put my hands on your subtle breasts.

I love your boobs, though tiny or like you said sometimes, lacking, they pound with your heart and I can feel you growing anxious, the layers of cloth between be dammed. I slowly move my right hand down your flat stomach and stop to play with your blouse.  Deftly I open the top button of your jeans and slowly creep down to my favorite spot. The movie now played indifferent, I think by this time Michael had already tried to fuck a coworker with no success. But I was getting somewhere, feeling you shaved and slowly going towards your lips. 

My fingers already know their way to their home tonight. You finally get nervous about the fact we can’t really see the door, but a bite of your lips and a flip of our tongues make you ignore the fear. Yet your heart pounds harder, and I don’t need my hand to feel it, I know you’re excited about it. I play with your lips and I can’t find your clit for a moment, but then I let my fingers do the work and it’s theirs; you moan into my kiss and I want to bite your lips again but I stop.

Slowly I stick my finger between those lips; my fingers call it home, because tonight you let it be mine. In this game, ownership is fiction, but you play none the less and encourage the fantasy. I can feel you slowly getting wet, my finger working hard, and I bring my hand up. I have to taste you. I lean back and look into your eyes, I feel so naked to them. It scares me sometimes, and I just touch my lips to taste. It’s not sweet or sour, bland or salty, it’s just you. You lean into me and pull my hand down, taking over for my hesitation. You and my fingers apparently don’t really need me. Your crotch is warm and moist, I rub, hard and your little moans fill my lungs. I love your quiet excitement, how you just let the moment come, your heart screams but your lips keep quiet.

And then I can see the lights turn on, your eyes still closed need a second more and we lean away. You grab my hand, and I offer you my fingers, you lick them and give up one final kiss. By that time the door had opened and a man was behind us, asking us to leave. We just got up quickly and walked fast towards my car. There I grab your arms and pull you in, we kiss again, I can still find your taste on those lips. And we start laughing, even if you were a little angry, we can’t stop laughing like teenagers who’d just been caught. That’s the moment I feel in love and fucked everything up.