That Saturday I Went Into a Porn Theater Alone

That Saturday night my body was lit up for no concrete reason. Sometimes that happens to me: I wake up that way, with a restlessness between my legs that no quiet plan can put out. I’d gone out for a walk to clear my head, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know exactly where my steps were taking me.

When I passed in front of the dark marquee of the old theater on Lardero Street, I didn’t think twice. I paid the admission without looking the cashier in the eye, pushed through the padded door, and let myself be swallowed by the darkness of the auditorium.

I’m just going to watch for a while and touch myself a little. Nothing more.

That’s what I told myself. As if I’d ever listened to myself.

The room wasn’t as black as I expected. The screen spilled a trembling, bluish light that drew the silhouettes of the few occupied seats. It smelled of damp and old fabric. Instead of sitting down right away, I decided to take a slow stroll along the side aisle, pretending to look for a good spot. The truth is I wanted to be seen as much as I wanted to see.

I walked slowly, my skirt brushing my thighs with every step, feeling a few heads turn just enough to follow me. That silent attention already got me going. I like knowing I arouse people, that I exist in someone else’s gaze.

It was about halfway down the room when I saw him.

A man alone, slouched in his seat, one hand sunk between his legs. It wasn’t unusual: inside there, almost everyone was doing the same thing, each in his own corner, in his little world of contained gasps. What pinned me to the floor wasn’t the gesture.

It was the size of what he had in his hand.

Even backlit, even from that distance, you could make out the monstrous bulge between his fingers. I stared a second too long, and that second said everything.

Without giving myself too much time to think, I went to sit a few seats away from him, just far enough to watch at my ease while I slipped my hand under my skirt. I crossed my legs, uncrossed them. The fabric of my panties was already warm and wet, and I had barely even started.

The man didn’t take long to notice me. He turned his head, found me licking my lower lip without even trying to hide it, and instead of looking away, he did something that left me breathless: he stroked himself slowly, as an invitation, and nodded with his chin for me to come closer.

God. What if someone sees me? What if this is insane?

I looked around, my heart hammering against my ribs. But no one was paying any attention to us. Everyone was too busy with their own business to notice us. And that certainty, of being invisible and watched at the same time, made me get up.

I changed seats. I sat right next to him, with the armrest as the only barrier between us.

Up close it was even worse, or even better. The screen’s light came and went over his lap, revealing him in flashes. He was thick, heavy, and throbbing just from his breathing. I could feel myself getting wet just looking at him, my stomach tightening with pure anticipation.

—Do you like it? —he murmured, barely moving his lips.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t get my voice to work. I nodded, and that was enough.

He motioned for me to touch him. I blushed like a little girl, my hands were sweating, and for an instant shame overpowered desire. I wanted him, of course I wanted him, but the fear that someone might turn around had me rooted to the spot.

He decided for me.

He took my wrist gently and brought my hand to his crotch. He closed his hand over mine and began guiding me up and down, setting the rhythm. I let out a sigh I couldn’t hold back. He was warm, rock-hard, and pulsed against my palm with a life of his own that made me squeeze my thighs together.

Holy shit. It’s huge.

Before long I no longer needed him to guide me. I stroked him on my own, slowly at first, then with more eagerness, fascinated by the way he tensed under my fingers. I could feel myself getting worked up to the max, how every touch from me ignited me more than him.

And then I stopped thinking.

I didn’t give a damn who might be watching. I followed the impulse, the only one that really mattered to me, and bent down over his lap. I took him into my mouth without ceremony, and the first contact drew a muffled moan against his skin.

***

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, bent over in that uncomfortable seat, my neck at an impossible angle and not wanting to stop for anything in the world. I savored him whole, felt him throb against my tongue, against my palate, and every time he held his breath I grew a little bolder.

I had become someone else. The girl who smiles politely at the office by day and kneels before a stranger in the dark of a cinema at night. And the worst part is that I liked that girl. I liked her too much.

I noticed the liquid heat that had gathered between my legs, unbearable. I spread my knees in the seat, looking for air, looking for some relief, and touched myself over the fabric. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was going to be enough that night.

He noticed. How could he not notice, if I was writhing beside him like a cat. He stretched one arm behind my back and reached over my hip, sliding his fingers down until he found the curve of my ass.

I hiked my skirt up a little without stopping sucking him. I pulled the thong aside with my free hand, offering myself, making the way easier for him. No words were needed. In that dark corner the two of us spoke the same language.

His fingers found me soaked. He played with me slowly, drawing circles, sinking in just a little, pulling out, until I was moaning against him, silently begging him not to stop. He pushed one finger into me, then two, and pleasure shot up my spine like a current.

—You’re trembling —he whispered, amused.

I was. From head to toe.

And when I thought I couldn’t possibly lose any more control, he took those same fingers, wet with me, a little farther back. He tested the tighter opening, pressed carefully, and when I felt him forcing his way in there I let the cock out of my mouth and buried my face in his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream.

I can’t take it anymore. I need this. I need it now.

I was on the edge, dangerously close, and the seat was getting too small for me. I grabbed his wrist, forced him to stop, and spoke in his ear for the first time.

—Come with me.

***

I dragged him down the side aisle to the back of the room, where a faded sign pointed to the bathrooms. I pushed open the women’s door and pulled him inside with me. The white neon hit my eyes after all that dimness, and for a second we looked at each other, dazzled, almost laughing at our own urgency.

No one else was there. Just the drip of a faucet and the buzz of the fluorescent light.

I turned my back, braced both hands on the sink, and looked at him in the mirror. I hiked my skirt up to my waist, yanked my thong down, and offered myself without the slightest bit of shame. The woman staring back at me from the glass had shining eyes and a smile I didn’t know.

—Slow at first —I asked him.

He nodded. He gripped my hips with both hands and sank into me with a slowness that made me bite the back of my hand. It was a lot, it was almost too much, but my body took him centimeter by centimeter until it got used to him, until it begged for more.

And then he stopped being slow.

He slammed into me against the sink again and again, holding me steady so I wouldn’t slip, and I arched my back, reaching for every thrust. The mirror fogged with our breath. I watched my own face fall apart with pleasure, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and the image excited me even more than the feeling.

—Harder —I panted—. Don’t stop.

He didn’t stop.

He took me by one shoulder to drive deeper, changed the angle, and hit exactly where I needed it. Pleasure piled up in my belly like a wave growing without breaking, until it became unbearable to hold it in. I bit my lips, squeezed my eyes shut, and let myself go.

The orgasm shook me all over, in long waves that folded me over the sink and tore a moan from me that bounced off the tiles. And while I was still trembling, I felt him tense behind me, grip me hard, and spill inside me with a rough groan that made me shiver again.

***

We stayed like that for a moment, fitting together, catching our breath, the dripping faucet the only witness. I was soaked in sweat, disheveled, with my skirt wrinkled up at the waist and my legs still weak from the battle we had fought in that tiny cubicle.

He recovered first. He pulled up his pants, brushed my nape with his lips almost absentmindedly, and left quickly to avoid being caught with me. We didn’t even ask each other our names. That was fine. The names would have ruined everything.

I stayed a little longer, sitting on the toilet seat, waiting for my heart to find its place again. I looked at my hands, still trembling, and laughed to myself in that deserted bathroom.

What kind of woman are you?

A smile of pure satisfaction spread across my face before I could stop it. I knew the answer, and for once I didn’t feel like regretting it. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

I straightened my skirt, combed my hair with my fingers in front of the fogged mirror, and went back out into the dimness of the theater, where the screen kept projecting other people’s gasps for no one in particular. I crossed the aisle with a firm step, without looking at the empty seat, and pushed through the padded door out into the street.

The cold night air hit me like a delicious slap. I stood for a moment under the dark marquee, breathing deeply, feeling more alive than I had in weeks. And as I walked home, I knew two things for absolute certain.

The first, that night I would sleep deeply.

The second, that I would come back.