by electric bulbs. Above, the domed ceiling was painted like the
night sky, complete with pin-light stars, but I couldn’t bring myself to look
up at it, fearing it would make my head swim. Even sitting, the illusion of
height made me feel unanchored. So I kept my eyes on my boots, which were
parked up on the armrest in front of me, and folded my arms against the first
chilly blast of air-conditioning.
This balcony felt like a second living room to me, and I
hadn’t thought until now that this might be something of a mixed blessing.
Ghosts of afternoons past began to play out like mini-movies, all the times I’d
come here as a teenager, first with girlfriends to look at boys, then with the
boys. This beautiful old theater had been the setting for those first tender
adventures with touch. I remembered the thrilling butterflies that came with a
boy’s hand traveling over my shirt to feel my breasts. Then under. A warm male
palm on my bare breast, his fingers squeezing with wonder, for the first time.
The memory brought that tummy flutter back as though it were happening right
now. The deep kissing, lips parted. Then the hand that had been so content to
make my nipples go hard with want got hungry for more forbidden fruit. Thinking
of Bobby Kincaid’s fingers exploring under my pink cotton panties made me bite
my lips. Those afternoons were sweet and so were the boys, who were eager and
wary, but ultimately more eager. Even now I could feel that lovely pull between
my legs at the thought of being touched here in the balcony of the movie
theater, where the thrill was all the juicier for the possibility of being
seen.
The creak of the door startled me out of my red-tinted
memories. Someone else had come in. Damn, I wouldn’t have the balcony all to
myself anymore. Force of habit made me turn to look, hoping this wasn’t someone
I knew.
He surely wasn’t.
I felt my lips part at the sight of him, because he was
something to see. Blonds aren’t usually my type, but I could really make an
exception for this handsome case. With the theater lights still on, I could see
that he was tall and built to do something good with his body, maybe score a
touchdown or carry damsels in distress. Broad chest, wide shoulders, arms
carved like sculpture by someone with an imagination I highly approved of. I
liked the cut of his jib, as my Aunt Lucille would say. Momma always said I
took after Lucille, and she always looked a bit worried when she said it.
His preoccupation let me keep feeding my eyes, and when I
could tear them away from his form I noticed he looked a tad dismayed. He’d
come in holding the large-size bucket of popcorn and soda with a bounce in his
step, as if he’d been anticipating something good. Now he was looking around
and seemed to deflate, if a guy that built could deflate any.
Stare too long, and with overheated eyes, and you’ll get
caught—as I was, now. He saw me and started walking down the steps toward me.
I turned quickly back to face the theater screen, though its
deep-red velvet curtains were still drawn closed. I’d been determined to spend
this time alone, shut off from all, especially men. I hadn’t included
male-model types in that shutdown, though.
He got to my row and then he kept going, up to the front,
where he looked down over the railing. I got the willies just watching him do
it. I’d never been able to look out over the balcony at the vast theater. Again
his muscle-rounded shoulders sagged and he let out a sigh. Then he turned to
me. “Are we just really early or something?”
“It’s midday on a Wednesday,” I answered. “What did you
want?”
“A crowd, I guess,” he said. I puzzled over that and his
seeming disappointment. He regarded me and started to smile, as though things
weren’t all as bad as they’d seemed a second ago. The feeling was infectious.
That blond hair fell straight and thick to his strong jaw, and the theater
lighting, though low, still made sure to
night sky, complete with pin-light stars, but I couldn’t bring myself to look
up at it, fearing it would make my head swim. Even sitting, the illusion of
height made me feel unanchored. So I kept my eyes on my boots, which were
parked up on the armrest in front of me, and folded my arms against the first
chilly blast of air-conditioning.
This balcony felt like a second living room to me, and I
hadn’t thought until now that this might be something of a mixed blessing.
Ghosts of afternoons past began to play out like mini-movies, all the times I’d
come here as a teenager, first with girlfriends to look at boys, then with the
boys. This beautiful old theater had been the setting for those first tender
adventures with touch. I remembered the thrilling butterflies that came with a
boy’s hand traveling over my shirt to feel my breasts. Then under. A warm male
palm on my bare breast, his fingers squeezing with wonder, for the first time.
The memory brought that tummy flutter back as though it were happening right
now. The deep kissing, lips parted. Then the hand that had been so content to
make my nipples go hard with want got hungry for more forbidden fruit. Thinking
of Bobby Kincaid’s fingers exploring under my pink cotton panties made me bite
my lips. Those afternoons were sweet and so were the boys, who were eager and
wary, but ultimately more eager. Even now I could feel that lovely pull between
my legs at the thought of being touched here in the balcony of the movie
theater, where the thrill was all the juicier for the possibility of being
seen.
The creak of the door startled me out of my red-tinted
memories. Someone else had come in. Damn, I wouldn’t have the balcony all to
myself anymore. Force of habit made me turn to look, hoping this wasn’t someone
I knew.
He surely wasn’t.
I felt my lips part at the sight of him, because he was
something to see. Blonds aren’t usually my type, but I could really make an
exception for this handsome case. With the theater lights still on, I could see
that he was tall and built to do something good with his body, maybe score a
touchdown or carry damsels in distress. Broad chest, wide shoulders, arms
carved like sculpture by someone with an imagination I highly approved of. I
liked the cut of his jib, as my Aunt Lucille would say. Momma always said I
took after Lucille, and she always looked a bit worried when she said it.
His preoccupation let me keep feeding my eyes, and when I
could tear them away from his form I noticed he looked a tad dismayed. He’d
come in holding the large-size bucket of popcorn and soda with a bounce in his
step, as if he’d been anticipating something good. Now he was looking around
and seemed to deflate, if a guy that built could deflate any.
Stare too long, and with overheated eyes, and you’ll get
caught—as I was, now. He saw me and started walking down the steps toward me.
I turned quickly back to face the theater screen, though its
deep-red velvet curtains were still drawn closed. I’d been determined to spend
this time alone, shut off from all, especially men. I hadn’t included
male-model types in that shutdown, though.
He got to my row and then he kept going, up to the front,
where he looked down over the railing. I got the willies just watching him do
it. I’d never been able to look out over the balcony at the vast theater. Again
his muscle-rounded shoulders sagged and he let out a sigh. Then he turned to
me. “Are we just really early or something?”
“It’s midday on a Wednesday,” I answered. “What did you
want?”
“A crowd, I guess,” he said. I puzzled over that and his
seeming disappointment. He regarded me and started to smile, as though things
weren’t all as bad as they’d seemed a second ago. The feeling was infectious.
That blond hair fell straight and thick to his strong jaw, and the theater
lighting, though low, still made sure to
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