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every so often, a movement would flutter in the corner of my eye. It wasn’t fast, and it certainly wasn’t furtive; at first I thought he was simply munching popcorn. But then Wendy, sitting on my other side, nudged me. “Are you watching this guy?”
    I looked. He had his cock out…and that was unusual; most of the guys we’d seen playing with themselves had their hands wedged down the front of their trousers or maybe covered their laps with a coat. But not this one. Bold as you like, it was out in the open, quivering hard and pointing bolt upright, and he was stroking it, a long, slow sweep with one hand and then, as he reached the tip, and his fingers hung there, the other hand would start at the bottom. And between each sweep, his free hand would go up to his face, and he’d sniff his own fingers and palm.

    I glanced at the screen. The movie was into one of its plot interludes. I turned back to the guy. His eyes were glued to the screen, but his hands were still working their magic, slow and patient.
    Wendy nudged me again. “How old do you reckon he is?”
    “I dunno. Midtwenties, maybe?”
    “He’s cute.”
    “He’s all right.”
    “Watch this.” Wendy rose, placed her purse on her seat and squeezed past our friends on her other side. She walked a smart circuit around the theater, and then headed back to her seat from the other end of the row…the end where the guy was sitting. She’d have to get past him to regain her own seat.
    All three of us were watching her now. Laughing, we’d often wondered what would happen if we crept up on one of the guys sitting around us and placed one hand where his was, just to see what it felt like. I never thought Wendy would be the one who actually did it, though. Looked like Lilly Lamarr was working her magic on her as well.
    She’d reached him. By the light of the movie, I could see her mouth “Excuse me,” and the guy’s look of absolute shock as he registered her standing there. He made to stand up to let her pass, while frantically trying to tuck his cock out of sight, but as Wendy passed him, her own hand gripped it.
    Have you ever startled a kitten when it’s doing something it shouldn’t be? That’s what his face looked like, frozen, wide-eyed, bewildered…and those eyes grew wider still, as Wendy settled down into the empty seat between him and me, still clutching that twitching erection. Then she leaned forward a little.
    With her nose just millimeters away from his cock, she took a deep breath, then clasped one of his wrists with her free hand, sniffed at that, too, and slowly licked her tongue up his palm.

    The guy had shifted his feet a little; he was standing in front of her now (I hoped nobody behind them was trying to watch the screen!), and I could see everything around Wendy’s fingers: the thick vein that ran up the side of the shaft, the thick mushroom head, the forest of dark hair at the base.
    There was a kind of bend in his dick. Although the guy was facing Wendy, the eyelet in his helmet was pointing straight at me. I took a breath, hoping I could catch his scent, but my own was so powerful that I’d need to get a lot closer before that happened. Close enough to smell him, close enough to taste…
    Wendy read my mind, moving forward herself. Maneuvering myself in my seat, I saw her tongue snake out at the underside of his helmet, and I heard his gasp as she made contact. She’d been eating mints all the time we’d been in the movie house; would their tingle translate itself to her tongue? Or did that even matter now? What did it feel like to have such a sensitive part of your body immersed in the warmth of someone else’s mouth, to feel the heat of their spit soaking into the nerve-ends? I glanced up at his face, which held an expression of absolute pleasure that ironed out every line in his forehead, as her mouth inched itself languorously over the bulb.
    A moment of irrational, unreasonable envy swept over me—partly because of