I wriggled back and forth in my seat, gazing up at the couple in front of me. The way their bodies were moving together, the way their skin seemed to melt together, their moans, their gasps, those linked hands, linked bodies…
I couldn’t take my eyes off the scene unfolding in front of me. It had been far too long since I’d had a chance to experience that kind of lust – since I’d split with my last ex nearly six months before, and politely sworn off men for life. Or at least until I could find one who made me come again. I had tried to convince myself that I wasn’t craving sex, or anyone, really, that I could strike out into the world all by myself and prove my success as an independent woman. That was what these weekly solo cinema trips had been in aid of – dates for myself, self-care, an indulgence for me and me alone. But, as I watched those bodies grinding on the enormous screen in front of me, I knew that I needed…something.
I slipped out of my seat and ducked down the stairs that led to the bathroom in the small, retro cinema that I attended every week. It had been open for decades and usually showed some pretty interesting movies – in this case, an arthouse classic that seemed to be about forty percent writhing flesh and the sound of a man letting out those long, low growls of want. It had been a long time since I’d heard them. And it had turned me on more than I could handle.
I would steal off to the bathroom and slip my hand into my panties and relieve myself, make it so I could actually focus on the plot once more.
