Last night, Robert and I went to see Gone With The Wind at the Castro. It was fairly crowded, and just before the movie started a couple of guys came and sat down next to us. I couldn't tell if they were Together, but I kind of assumed that they were. The one sitting next to me was tall, blond, and wore glasses. I didn't notice much about them other than that. We didn't say anything to each other beyond the usual 'are these seats taken?' exchange.
After the organ player finished, the movie started and we all settled down to enjoy it. From time to time in the first half, my leg or arm would brush against my blond neighbor's and we'd shuffle around as moviegoers do to avoid touching each other. As it became apparent that he and I were both too broad-shouldered to avoid it entirely and be comfortable, and of course with the business of sharing an arm-rest, we began to reach a kind of nonverbal detente whereby it became acceptable to remain in subtle contact with each other at the knee, shoulder, or elbow. I found myself enjoying the physicality of his presence and the slight warmth that came from his body.
After a little while, I started noticing that the contact didn't seem quite so subtle or "accidental." I was perceiving a certain kind of pressure against my leg. This made me keenly aware of the presence of his companion and, for that matter, of mine -- even though Robert and I weren't on a date, I didn't want to appear crude by coming on to a complete stranger in the dark. I allowed the contact to continue, wanted it to continue, but nothing too overt happened. There was one moment when I was sitting forward in my seat, elbows on my knees and legs spread, and his thigh was in undeniable contact against me. We didn't move against each other, though, so either of us could have contended that nothing unusual happened.
At the intermission, Robert suggested that it was time for popcorn. Mr. Blond's friend went to the men's room, and when I returned from the concession stand, Robert was in conversation with my seat-mate. (Robert is like that -- it's not always flirtation, but he enjoys it when it is.) I delivered the refreshments and we introduced ourselves: his name was Thomas; he and his companion were visiting from England. As they continued their conversation, I made a trip of my own to the loo, after which we all settled down for the second half.
A few minutes after the lights went down, the connection continued. His leg pressed against mine and he left it there. His upper arm had no difficulty nestling into my side. This time, however, there was movement. Our knees started an almost respiratory rising and falling. I became aware of his desire, of his pleasure and felt the rush of delight that always accompanies any realization that lust is mutual. Every time one of us would shift, there would be a breathless anticipation of the configuration of the next touch.
Still conscious of the need for discretion, I returned his warmth as invisibly as I could. As reel after reel of the movie played, our movements became more and more committed, deliberate, and erotic. Our legs, undulating slowly together, generating friction and heat, no longer seemed like enough. My hand rested on my knee and began a slow descent in the tight space between us; I moved the backs of my fingers along the seam of his jeans and felt the muscles in his calf. A few minutes later, he did the same. There was something incredibly exciting about it all.
In the penultimate reel, he slumped in his seat and propped his knee against the row in front of ours, crossing his arms over his chest. I assumed the same position; with his right arm crossed over his left, and mine the reverse, our fingertips were touching. Thus began a slow seduction of hands, caressing, holding, exploring. His fingernails were smooth and trimmed. His hands were almost hairless. He moved expressively, at times holding me tightly, then stroking my hand with his. The smallest movements became incredibly charged. We made love in the dark wordlessly, fully clothed, in the presence but without the knowledge of our companions. I started fantasizing about what I could do alone with this man, wondering how to make it happen.
As Rhett swore his apathy and Scarlett broke down on the stairs, we gradually detached from each other. THE END flashed across the screen, the Castro crowd applauded, the lights came up. The four of us exchanged a few pleasantries and I lost my temporary lover and his friend in the exiting masses. We never exchanged a meaningful glance, a wink, a look of longing. I will never see him again. I will remember him always.
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written by clarkRATE THIS STORY
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