The Redhead Who Stared Straight at Me in the Darkness of the Cinema

I had been living in the neighborhood for barely a week and still didn’t know anything about it. From the window of my apartment, I could see the glowing sign of a multiplex barely two blocks away, and one Monday night, bored among half-unpacked boxes, I decided I’d had enough of organizing. I went downstairs without a plan, just wanting to walk and hoping something—anything—would get me out of the new walls.

I took a walk around the little square across the street. I spotted a bar that looked promising for Fridays, a bakery, and not much else. It was Monday, everything was dead, so I ended up where I knew I would: buying a ticket for the only showing that started soon. A local comedy I expected nothing from, and which, in fact, gave me nothing.

The theater was practically empty. I counted five people scattered through the darkness, all of them near the front. Out of habit, I chose the back, liking the feeling of having my back covered and the whole screen to myself. I settled in, rested my elbow on the armrest, and prepared to be bored in peace.

I didn’t quite get the chance. Ten minutes later, while the advertisements were still running, someone came up the side aisle and sat in my row, leaving only one empty seat between us. A redheaded woman in her thirties, wearing a dark-blue straight skirt and a black blouse with a deep neckline. She had the whole theater to choose from, and she sat there.

Of all the possible seats, right here.

At first I thought it was a coincidence. The movie started, just as bad as it had promised to be, and I began doing what I always do when I’m bored: looking around. Except that night there was only one thing worth looking at. The light from the screen fell across her, outlining her profile, the curve of her neck, the shape of her tits whenever she took a deep breath and the black fabric tightened over them. I watched her without trying to hide it, convinced that in that darkness nobody noticed anything.

I was wrong. She turned her head slightly, just enough to confirm that I was watching her, then turned back to the screen without changing expression. She didn’t seem uncomfortable. She didn’t move away. If anything, she settled more comfortably into her seat, crossed her legs toward me, and let her skirt ride a couple of centimeters up her thigh.

It was an invitation, and we both knew it.

Several endless minutes passed in which neither of us did anything. I kept watching her; she let me watch and, every so often, returned the gesture from the corner of her eye. It was a silent game, a negotiation made entirely of glances in the dark, and it held my attention more than any movie could. Then she stretched out her leg as if by accident, and the tip of her shoe brushed mine.

It wasn’t accidental. She did it, waited for my reaction, and when I didn’t pull my foot away, she did it again. This time she left her leg resting against mine, firm, without asking permission.

I worked up my courage and moved to the middle seat, the one separating us. We sat shoulder to shoulder, facing forward as if something important were happening on the screen. We smiled at each other in the darkness without saying a word. I searched for her hand on the armrest, and she instantly laced her fingers through mine, as if we had spent the whole night waiting for that contact.

We stayed like that for a while, hands joined, pretending to watch the movie. The brush of her thumb over my wrist told me everything her mouth kept silent. Slowly, without taking our eyes off the screen, I guided her hand to my leg and placed it on my thigh. She left it there for a second, sizing me up, then moved it on her own toward my fly and felt, without hesitation, the bulge already distorting my pants.

She squeezed me through the fabric, slowly closing her hand around my cock as if measuring the size of what she was about to hold. I lifted the armrest that still separated us to give her a clear path and, as soon as I did, she leaned toward me. With a skill that betrayed experience, she pulled down my zipper, reached inside my underwear, and pulled my cock out into the open, right there in the last row. She closed her fingers around the base and began jerking me with her whole fist, long, slow strokes, squeezing hard at the tip every time she reached the top. The theater was dark, the few spectators were looking straight ahead, and I tried not to breathe too loudly while a strange redhead jerked me off in the back row.

“Here?” I murmured, more out of disbelief than genuine doubt.

“Nobody looks behind them,” she replied in a very low voice, without stopping her hand. “And if they do, even better.”

She was right. That was exactly what turned me on most: being in plain sight and hidden at the same time, playing with the possibility that someone might turn their head at the wrong moment. I ran my hand over her blouse, felt the warm weight of her breast beneath the fabric, and pinched her nipple until I felt it harden against my palm. She let out a muffled little moan and squeezed my cock harder. I lowered my hand to the edge of her skirt and began moving up her thigh, slowly, waiting for a stop that never came.

I reached the edge of her panties and pushed them aside. Her pussy was soaked, the short, neatly trimmed hairs wet from end to end, her lips swollen and hot beneath my fingers. I ran my middle finger along her slit, from bottom to top, and when I reached her clit I felt her whole body shudder. I thrust in two fingers, and she bit down on her free hand to keep from screaming. I began fingering her right there, slowly moving in and out, curling my fingers inside until she squeezed her thighs around my wrist.

While I fingered her, she crouched down in her seat and, without asking permission, buried her head in my lap. First I felt her hot breath, then her tongue traveling up my shaft from the base to the tip, and finally her entire mouth enveloping me. She sucked me slowly, taking her time as she slid me down her throat, loosening her jaw to take all of me. Her red hair rose and fell in my lap to the rhythm of her fingers clenched around my base. Every time she took me all the way down, she stayed there for a few seconds, gagging and swallowing around my cock, then came back up sucking hard, her tongue working over my tip.

I moved my fingers inside her at the same rhythm, coordinating the two, and pressed her clit in circles with my thumb. I felt her contract around my fingers, her entire pussy dripping over my hand, and her moan came out muffled against my cock because she didn’t take it out of her mouth even when she came. The vibration of that moan against my glans finally melted me.

I don’t know how long it lasted. I lost all sense of time and the movie, lost in the darkness and her mouth, my fingers buried in her soaked pussy and her ragged breathing escaping through her nose. When I felt I couldn’t hold back any longer, I tried to warn her with a gentle tug on her hair, but she didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she took me all the way down, pressed her lips around the base, and looked up at me with shining eyes. I came down her throat, spurt after spurt, biting my lip until it bled so I wouldn’t reveal to the entire theater what was happening in the last row. She swallowed it all, without losing a drop, without stopping her suction until the final contraction.

She slowly sat up, adjusted her hair, and licked the corner of her mouth with disconcerting calm. I still had my hand between her legs, my fingers gleaming with her wetness, trying to catch my breath. We looked at each other. Then, without a word, she pulled down her skirt, stood up, and walked toward the exit.

I was left looking like an idiot, with my pants half-zipped.

***

By the time I managed to straighten my clothes and get outside, she was already crossing the little square at a brisk pace. I nearly ran into an elderly couple coming out after dinner. I caught up with her near the fountain, without the slightest idea what I was going to say.

Standing beneath the square’s lights, she was even more impressive than the darkness had allowed me to see. Tall, with broad hips that the straight skirt emphasized mercilessly, and heels that added height and attitude. I stammered something—I don’t remember what. The only thing that stayed with me was her name.

“Mariela,” she said, moistening her lips with her tongue, those same lips that had been swallowing my cum a little while earlier.

The gesture was enough to make my cock, which had only just begun to soften, spring back against the fabric, and she noticed immediately. A mischievous smile crossed her face.

“Do you always get this nervous with strange women?” she asked, amused.

“Only with the ones who sit beside me in an empty movie theater,” I replied, finally managing to smile too.

I gathered what little sanity I had left and suggested we go get a drink. I told her I lived two blocks away, that I had coffee, that the showing had been a disaster but the night didn’t have to be. She looked at me for a long moment, sizing me up again, just as she had in the darkness.

“Then show me that apartment,” she said. “I still haven’t come down properly.”

My heart pounded against my chest. We started walking the two blocks, which at that moment felt endless. I opened the building door and let her go in first. Climbing the stairs behind her, watching her hips move at face level, the skirt tightening and loosening against her ass with every step, was a delicious torture. For once, I regretted not living higher up.

As soon as I closed the apartment door, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I grabbed her by the waist, turned her against the wall, and kissed her. She answered with the same urgency, shoving her tongue deep into my mouth and biting my lip, and I could still taste on her mouth the salty flavor of what she had swallowed in the theater. I undid her skirt and let it fall to the floor while she wrestled with my belt using both hands, desperate.

I opened her blouse button by button, taking my time, looking into her eyes. When I unclasped her bra, her heavy white tits sprang free, pink nipples thrusting upward, so hard they pulled at her skin. For a second I simply stood there looking at them, just as I had in the theater, except now there was nothing between us. I lowered my mouth and caught one nipple, sucking hard and biting it lightly while I kneaded her other breast with my free hand. She dug her nails into the back of my neck and arched her back against the wall.

“What are you looking at now?” she said, panting, repeating the game, knowing the answer perfectly well.

“The same thing I’ve been looking at all night,” I replied, and dragged her toward the bed.

I laid her on her back and spread her legs wide. Her panties were gone; I must have ripped them off somewhere along the way without remembering. I sank between her thighs and buried my mouth in her pussy, my flat tongue traveling up her entire slit to her clit. She jerked and grabbed my hair with both hands, pulling me against her. I licked her slowly at first, savoring how wet she already was, then focused on her clit, sucking it between my lips and circling it with the tip of my tongue while I pushed two fingers inside her and curled them.

“Like that, like that, don’t stop,” she gasped, moving her hips against my face, riding my mouth without shame.

I added a third finger and increased the pace. Mariela clutched the sheets, stopped pretending to be in control, and surrendered. It didn’t take long for her to tremble against my mouth, squeezing my head between her thighs and letting out a long moan she no longer had to hide because there was no theater full of people around. She soaked my face, drenching my chin, and kept moving against my tongue even after she came, prolonging the shudder until she couldn’t take any more and pushed me away.

Then she shoved me onto my back on the mattress and climbed on top of me. She took my cock in her hand, positioned the tip at the entrance to her pussy, and lowered herself onto me slowly, inch by inch, eyes closed and head thrown back. I felt her open around me, hot and wet and tight, until she sank all the way down and stayed still for a second, breathing hard as she adjusted to my size.

“Fuck, you’re filling me up,” she murmured, and began to move.

She moved at her own pace, setting the rhythm, first bracing herself on my chest and riding me slowly, rising almost to the tip and dropping hard, making me bottom out every time. Her tits bounced in front of my face, and I grabbed them with both hands, squeezing them and twisting her nipples between my fingers. She sped up, began bouncing faster, and the whole apartment filled with the wet sound of our bodies colliding and her moans, no longer filtered.

Then she turned around with her back to me so I could watch her whole body move as she rode me. Her back arched, her waist narrow, her white ass opening against my pelvis every time she came down, my cock disappearing completely inside her and emerging shiny, coated in her juices. I grabbed her hips and began thrusting up from below, driving into her harder, and she braced herself on my knees for leverage and bounced faster. That image—her moving backward on top of me while I stared up at her ass—completed the perfect circle of a night that had begun with a look.

“Get on all fours,” I asked, unable to stand watching her without being able to touch her the way I wanted.

She obeyed immediately. She lowered herself onto her hands and knees and offered me her raised ass. I knelt behind her, grabbed one cheek in each hand, and sank into her with one thrust. Mariela screamed and buried her face in the pillow. I began fucking her hard, without restraint, pulling her hair to make her raise her head, watching her back tremble with every blow of my hips against her ass. Her pussy dripped over my balls, making an obscene sound with every thrust, and she begged me for more through muffled moans.

“Harder, come on, break me,” she gasped, pushing her ass backward to meet every thrust.

When I felt I was about to finish, she asked me herself to pull out and come on her skin. I withdrew suddenly, knelt over her, and jerked myself off, aiming at her back and ass. I came in two or three strokes, thick, long spurts landing on her shoulder blades, waist, and the crack of her ass. She writhed beneath me, laughing, feeling every warm drop fall onto her skin. When I was finished, I collapsed beside her, breathless.

Afterward we collapsed together onto the bed, tangled up and sweaty, gradually laughing at how absurd the whole thing was.

“You know I didn’t even see the movie,” I told her.

“Nobody forced you to look at the screen,” she replied, snuggling against my chest without caring that she was smearing me with what remained on her skin.

We stayed like that for a while in silence, her breathing falling into rhythm with mine. Then she lifted her head, looked at me with the same mischievous smile she’d worn in the square, and said:

“Well. Now I really would have that coffee.”

And I, who in fact still didn’t have a single grain of coffee in the kitchen, was left wondering how I was going to get out of that one. But luckily, that was another story.