Roxie stared across the table into those gentle blue eyes. This had been the oddest date she had been on in a long time.
Peter smiled and sipped from his tankard. He had decided on St. George’s Fire, a local pub, for the first date.
The place was done up in old oak fixtures and furniture with black iron accents. There were no televisions and the only music was from the folk band performing on the tiny stage in the corner. Of course there would be tunes piped in when the band took a break, but for now it was a patch of Medieval England that had blossomed far across the pond from London.
His voice was deep and mostly calm. “You’re sure you want to do this? We could just hang out here for the evening and…”
“What, and drink our heads off?” Her lips were the same shade as the wine they sipped from and her eyes danced above the glass. “I don’t remember the last time I was in a movie theater.”
“Really? That long?”
“Regular dating is unusual in my line of work.”
Rolling eyes of understanding, he nodded.
“This will be refreshing.”
“I’ll keep my hands to myself even,” he said, both hands up mocking as though he were at the wrong end of a pistol.
“Don’t you dare,” she growled at him.
Since the couple had arrived at St. George’s Fire the snow had picked up its intensity. They sloshed across the street to the cinema.
Peter stole a glance as they walked. Her attempt to appear incognito still involved thigh boots, fishnets and a leather skirt and made him chuckle…gorgeous as she looked.
The double feature that evening was based on Rowan Atkinson’s Johnny English films. The first film, “Johnny English” was listed on the poster as 88 minutes. The second, “Johnny English Reborn”, was 101. There would be a fifteen minute intermission.
Peter, was a fan. They were films he had watched with his children and knew that, for someone like Roxie, they would not be expected. He figured that the very reason these films were not well-known was that everyone had expected Mr. Bean and not some James Bond mockery with a diaper on his head.
Thanks to the snow, the cinema was near empty.
Shivering from the cold, Peter and Roxie slipped into the back corner just as the previews were beginning.
Still feeling very awkward about all of this, Peter stared at the screen and kept a respectful distance. He nearly jumped when her arm slipped under his and she took his hand, pulling it into her lap. As John Malkovich began his first lines with a French accent, Peter’s hand was now seeking the warmth under the leather…feeling the fishnet wrapped around her thighs.
With her left hand, she pulled his hand higher between her thighs, past the tops of the stockings where his light touch sent shivers through her once again. Her right hand slipped between the seats and, as she expected, found a newly formed erection already growing beneath the fabric of his jeans.
Peter’s hand quickly discovered that Roxie wore no panties. The warm wet that quickly enveloped his fingers was sticky and, when pulling his hand away for just a moment, tasted sweet.
Leaning over just far enough to whisper in his ear, she spoke softly. “Would you mind?” Without waiting for an answer, her right hand slid the zipper of his fly down, slipped inside and under the elastic of his shorts. Her nails trailed over his flesh and right to the tip before she wrapped her hand around his length. Her hand moved no more, but simply squeezed and kept him hard…
…through the rest of the film.
Lights came up for intermission…
…Roxie was out of breath and felt slightly jilted having not reached her third orgasm just yet. Peter quickly slipped his, suddenly free erection back into his pants and zipped up. Then, Roxie’s arm linked in his, they stretched their legs in the lobby.
“You sure you don’t want popcorn?” Peter asked.
“No, but I’d be better if I could take you home with me,” Roxie said and sighed her disappointment at the rising snow outside.
She slapped his shoulder with a giggle. “I still haven’t made you cum.”
“So? What’s your point?”
Roxie had no answer. She had always assumed that if a guy did not orgasm, he was not enjoying the play.
The cinema was even emptier as the second film started. A few of the patrons had decided to bolt before the snow got worse.
Peter’s hand quickly found itself between her legs again while she howled at Atkinson mocking the Dark Knight Trilogy in the opening sequence.
Before much longer, Roxie had his penis out again. Same as before, she simply squeezed to bring it back to life as it would start to go limp. After her next orgasm, which came during a scene where Johnny commandeered a British yacht to follow a dingy, she leaned forward slowly and began to lower her head towards Peter’s lap.
“Stop,” Peter said with more force than intended.
“Enjoy the movie. You can do that later.”
She leaned back.
“Good girl,” he whispered.
Her heart melted and she ached for him to be inside her.
As the film ended, they sat through the credits…and were pleasantly surprised by the cooking scene at the end with Rowan chopping up a storm. Being the cinema was already empty, they were a bit more leisurely about zippers and buckles this time…although, Peter did not quite recall when his belt was unlatched.
With laughs and a slow stroll they made their way back out into the lobby.
“Holy shit,” were the words that escaped the lips of Roxie.
“What?” Peter had kept his own blue eyes on her.
She pointed out the front window.
The snow was a good three-foot deep against the glass and one person moved passed as though jumping hurdles on the evening street.
“Fuck, how am I getting you home in this?”
Roxie grinned. “You’re not.”
His eyes drifted back to her.
“If you can hurdle two blocks, I know the concierge at the Delta Hotel on Margret and Fourth.”
Peter felt the blood drain from his face as, without waiting for him to answer, Roxie pulled him out into the snow. “This is a first date,” he said quietly.
Roxie, in the falling snow, stopped and grabbed his coat by the lapel to pull him down to her. She said with that growl again, “Best first date ever.” She then kissed him with a force that would put Wesley and Buttercup to shame.