I had anticipated seeing the movie we were about to watch, but as I left the ticket booth I saw you lingering by the fountain in the plaza. Meandering around, your hips gently swaying; you seemed a very conservative woman taking in a movie. Little did anyone know the truth beneath your facade.

It was the second time you had worn a skirt; the first being when we met. I remember watching you walk from your car; the light fabric of your clothing swayed with the rhythm of your body. So sexy, that I would steal glances at you walking, or linger behind to catch a glimpse of you. I was learning you, taking you in - your slender neck, expressive eyes, and the transition of your waist to your womanly hips, your strong legs.

I had already memorized your face; your dark expressive eyes peering out from your bangs, uneven dimples made larger by your smile, the cleft just below your lower lip, your sharp but feminine jawline, and your wonderful profile. Easy to remember such an attractive face, with the fragrance of Venice’s salty ocean breeze stirring my memory.

I looked at you now, the sun shone off your raven hair. As you meandered aimlessly I couldn’t help but notice the same sway of your hips, and the anticipation of seeing the movie was overtaken by the anticipation to gently hold those hips, and run my hands up the small of your back.

I walked over and you smiled, saying “Ready?”

Yes, I was ready, but not for the movie. I nodded and slid my arm around your waist, needing to feel your warmth and the pendulum movement from your hips. I could smell your light perfume, and flashes of burying myself in your neck, under your hair, burned through my imagination. I no longer wanted to go to the movies, but we were here, and I would have to show restraint.

We walked into the dark theater and I took your hand to lead you up the stairs. I wanted to be sure I could sit in the back with you, unnoticed by whatever crowd might come. My senses were heightened by my desire, and I could smell the trail of your perfume and the scent of your hair cut through the lingering smell of popcorn and other theater delights.

We moved through the empty seats to the middle of the theater; the previews were playing and the lights had already been extinguished. As you were about to sit down, I slid my hands around you around from behind your waist. Resting my hands on the front of your hips I pulled you into me from behind, maybe a bit less gently than I would have liked, but the intent was conveyed.

I leaned into your ear, and you could feel my breath past your face as I whispered, “I want you!” I could feel your shoulder shrug up in a naturally shy movement, and your head bowed forward and sideway, unconsciously offering your neck. As we stood there I gently kissed your neck, brushed my lips lightly upward as my warmed breath left a trail, pulled your ear into my mouth and gave a quick nibble on your lobe.

I felt the shiver explode from your lobe to your hips; I could almost trace its path….

The perceptible sigh that escaped from your breast was deafening in the silence; however, looking around the theater, not a one seemed to notice. I realized we were still standing, and though I could feel great trembling, I couldn’t discern whose body it was emanating from.

I slowly slid my hands from your waist upwards under your arms, feeling every slight contour of your body as if you were a page of Braille and I was blind. Cupping and caressing my hands along your inner arms, I pulled them upwards over your head and pressed my body against yours. I wanted you to feel my heat, the blood running faster through my body and the deep but slow exhalation of my breathing against you. I wanted to feel the crush of your breasts against me, and remember the sweet taste of your delicate nipples in the darkness, imagined but yet unseen.

I was losing restraint, and the primal being inside was coming forth to the calling of your skin and breasts against me. The quickening of your breathing was a metronome, setting the rhythm for what was happening.

With sudden realization, we parted and sat down, sheepishly smiling, finding hands and interlocking fingers. I raised the center armrest and slid towards you, locking my left arm under your right. My hand pressed palm down into your seat cushion and slowly, carefully slid under your thigh. I wanted to feel the weight of you on my hand; a sensual and perceptible substitution of your entire weight on top of me in a passionate embrace.

Your left hand lay curled in your lap, fidgeting with the fabric of your skirt, but the unconscious representation of hands clawing at the bedsheets was clear. My left hand slid down towards the back of your knee, then out, up and around your thigh, tracing its line to the top of your leg.

In my mind, the primal being was trying to take control, and thoughts of pushing your legs apart and hiking your skirt up while I locked my mouth and tongue to yours was vividly being colored. Images of the shadows this scene would make against the back theater wall heightened the play being written by the primal one. His primordial response to your touch, your scent, to the memory of every kiss and embrace, every darting of your tongue was growing.

What you experienced, unknowing of this battle being played out inside me, was me leaning back in my chair, my eyes shut for a moment, my head back, and an ever so slight guttural sound came from deep within. You feel my fingers, still on your knee, dig into your thigh firmly and drag upward, slowly, almost as if I’m in pain, trying to regain control. You feel me shiver, and my leg firmly presses against yours.

My left hand has made its tortured climb up your thigh, and now sits in the fold where your leg meets your hip, pressing gently through the fabric, kneading the fabric. You can feel my hand trembling, and with your left hand you reach across to caress my arm, finding the goosebumps and raised hairs that are the byproduct of my shivers.

I sit perfectly motionless, head still tilted back. You can see the outline of my face and neck, and notice the telltale swallows of my throat. With my eyes closed, I'm unaware until the point of contact your moist, warm lips on my neck, my jaw and face. I'm acutely aware though, of the time it takes your lips to move the slightest distance, almost as if time has stopped and everything has disappeared around us. With each kiss, you feel the clench of my hand tighten on the fabric of your skirt, and the nervous upward pull, as first your knee, then thigh becomes exposed.

I sit unmoving, eyes still closed, for I know to move would be to lose control. I feel your right hand find my thigh, scratching at the fabric. There's no way the entire theater can't hear the sound of that scratching, but as I part my right eye, everyone is engrossed in the movie. The audience is absorbed with the couple on the screen who are locked in a Hollywood bedroom tangle, stale and unbelievable.

But the real sensuality is being played behind the audience, in that darkest place just under the projector lights, where if the audience were to turn around, the glare of the projector would blind them to the couple writhing in the darkness.

I put my hand atop yours, and press your hand firmly into my leg, sliding it inward and down. I feel you pull at my leg, wanting to part them and once again the primal scene rips to the forefront of my consciousness.

The movie is long lost on both of us as we play out our own unwritten script. You feel my left hand, my left arm, crossed under your right, release its hold on the fabric of your skirt. Gently, slowly tenderly you register my hand sliding down your thigh to your naked skin, just below the hemline of your already bunched up skirt. Our foreheads touch; I feel your bangs against my skin and I look determinedly into your slightly closed eyes, asking for permission – or forgiveness.

Your sighs now register in your eyes as you move your right hand back and forth over my thigh, each upward stroke bringing your hand a bit higher to the growing tightness in my jeans. Permission given...

We gaze unflinching at each other, and it is almost surreal, as the explosions and fire on the movie screen reflect in our locked eyes; conveniently pronouncing the inner burning in our bodies. The movie has been long forgotten…

My forehead gently slides across yours, my lips leading the way, searching for your ear. My pursed mouth finds its target and a long, quiet, passionate sigh is released across your ear. With that sigh, our hands find their promised land. You feel the heat, the firmness in my loins, and gently spread your finger, opening your hand, and press against me before closing your fingers around me through my jeans. The exquisiteness of your touch is almost more than I can stand.

But the primitive one finds your warmth and wetness through your lace panties. He finds momentary satisfaction by finding his mate in the soft but inexplicable moan escaping your throat. He devours that moan, stifling and swallowing it with a firm, yet incredibly delicate open mouth kiss, breathing in your feminine primitive energy.

We sit in the darkness, hand firmly but oh so slowly exploring their nirvanas. My mouth registers no noise in its passionate slow kisses to your bowed face and neck. In fact, if one were to see the spectacle from below, it would look as if I was whispering to you - my darting tongue hidden from view.

With each taste of your sweet skin and each gently squeeze of your fingers, my intoxication grows.

I’m barely able to whisper into your ear, “Find me….find me!”

“Yes…yes,” floats a reply between us in the darkened theater air.

Your hand slides upward, across my abdomen, between the buttons of my shirt, and your fingers delicately scratch my skin, caressing up and down over the contour of my chest, stopping to rest and play with my nipple. I can feel the trembling of your being through your hand, which is now sliding downward, opening the lower shirt buttons to clear its path. I can feel every hair on my stomach bristle in turn as your hands stop in this patch. You linger here, exploring this forest, meandering fingers across my midsection.

You’re primal being knows its gateway home, and it has arrived. And now you find yourself in the same inner struggle, the primitive one wanting control over the shy one. Your touches are that of the shy one, but the definite energy in the air, the heat radiating from your body through your gaze is that of the primitive one.

My fingers find a path under your lace, and your primitive one takes momentary control. Your body arches back and momentarily stiffens, your left hand clenching the armrest, your right hand flattening out, fingers spread, and then delicately but with a definitive purpose, tries to slide under the waistline of my pants. I move forward in my seat, accommodating your touch, allowing the opening you seek.

You anticipate finding the elastic and cotton briefs normally worn under jeans, but instead you find only flesh, and heat, and primal desire for you. I feel this with you, in you, as our hands explore, yours exploring a dry heat, mine finding the wetness of your desires.

If the actors on the screen could look out into the real world, they would see a theater sparsely occupied, most of the patrons sitting in the center rows, mildly interested looks on their faces and open mouth, slurping through straws and mindlessly picking at popcorn.

They would also see two figures sitting alone in their own thunderous silence atop the theater in the back row. She looks almost asleep as her head is tilted back, her left arm on the armrest, and her right in his lap. His face is close to hers as if whispering to wake her and his hand rises from her lap slowly towards his own mouth.

The actors would see him slowly suckle his own fingers, taking obvious delight in whatever sweet treat she has brought for him into the theater.

After satisfying my taste for you, I returned to fucking you with my fingers, my thumb lightly played with your clit. I could feel it swell, and you pushed hard against my hand, sliding further down your seat.

You finally managed to spring my cock and began rubbing the pre-cum that had pooled around my head. You sigh was loud, so loud we both stopped to see if someone had heard. But we were being drowned out by the scene on the screen –bad Hollywood erotica.

You lifted the arm of the chair, bent over and took me in your mouth. It was my turn to close my eyes and tilt my head back as you sucked and stroked my cock. The heat from your mouth felt amazing, as my cock was lost beneath your hair. Your tongue darted around in swirls, and your hand dug deeper into my pants, cupping and gently squeezing my smooth, shaved sack.

I could feel your juices flowing uncontrollably down my fingers. Such a waste! I pulled you off my cock, knelt in front of you, and furiously began sucking on your mound, fucking you with my fingers as my mouth vacuumed in your clit – licking, nibbling, and stroking your button with my tongue. I sensed your hands clench deeply into the fabric of the chair.

Roughly I pushed your legs open and began sucking and licking your inner thigh as my hands continued their task in your pussy. I could feel you nearing climax, and I stoked you with the rhythm of your body. Your breathing quickened, your hips pushing quicker against my mouth…you were in the throes of cumming. I stopped, and before you could protest I sat in my chair, and pulled you on top of me.

“Guide my cock into you!” I whispered, though too loudly I thought. You reached between your legs, grabbed my cock and sat back on me, guiding it past your lips. You hesitated for a brief moment; you loved the feeling of my head entering you and your pussy forming around me.

“Don’t move…let me do the work so it looks normal,” I said. You held yourself up by leaning on the arms of the chair, and below you I drive upwards, in and out of you, fucking you furiously. I was sweating, perspiration running down my chest under my shirt. The juice from your pussy flowed down my cock, and if not for the loudness on the screen, surely the other patrons would have heard the wet, sucking sound of my cock driving in and out of your pussy.

I felt your body closing in on orgasm, and I quickened my pace, pulling myself up into you, reaching around and rubbing your clit as my cock plowed in and out. Your body stiffened, and as the first uncontrollable moan left your lips, I put my hand over your mouth. You bit down into the flesh of my hand as you came, shuddering, your legs and arms shaking. As you came, you began to lick your own juices off my fingers hungrily; all pretext of “proper” had disappeared long ago. We wanted what we wanted without fear of judgment.

You slid down on my cock one last time, spent, falling back against me. I could feel the dampness of your hair, wet with perspiration. I felt upwards for your nipples, wanting them between my fingers. My turn would have to wait, but for now…