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 His elbows rested on the armrests, and his fingers were laced together, the outer edges of his index fingers absently stroking his lips as he slumped rather low in the seat.
    Why didn’t I consider something like this happening? Why didn’t I ask what was playing? Why didn’t I wisely stay home in the first place?
    Theresa tolerated the remainder of the love scene, and as it progressed a queer reaction threaded through her body. Saliva pooled beneath her tongue. She could feel her pulse throbbing in the place where her purse was pressed tightly against her lap. And a quicksilver liquid sensation trickled through her innards, setting her alive with sensations she’d never experienced before. But outwardly, she sat as if a sorcerer had cast a spell upon her. Not so much as a pale eyelash blinked. Not a muscle twitched. She stared spellbound as the climax was enacted, reflected in the facial expressions of the man and woman on the screen and the animal sounds of fulfillment.
    And not until those climaxes ended did Theresa realize Brian’s elbow had been skewering hers with pressure that grew, and grew, and grew ...
    The scene changed, and he wilted, pulling his elbow against his side as if only now realizing what he’d been doing. Her elbow actually hurt from the pressure he’d been applying. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossed an ankle over a knee and negligently dropped his laced fingers over the zipper of his corduroy pants.
    Considering what had happened within her own body, Theresa had little doubt the same had happened to Brian. The remainder of the film was lost on her. She was too aware of the man on her right, and she found herself wondering who he’d been thinking of while the pressure on her elbow increased. She found herself wondering things about the male anatomy that the screen had carefully hidden. She recalled pictures she’d seen in the bolder magazines, but they seemed as flat, cold and lifeless as the paper upon which they’d been printed. For the first time in her life, she ached to know what the real thing was like.
    When the film ended, she took refuge in chattering with Patricia, making certain she walked far enough ahead of Brian that their elbows didn’t touch or their eyes meet.
    “Anybody hungry?” Jeff inquired when they were back in the station wagon.
    Theresa felt slightly queasy, sitting once again with Brian only a foot away. If she tried eating anything, she wasn’t sure it would stay down.
    “No!” she exclaimed, before anybody else could agree.
    “Yeah, I—” Brian spoke at the same time, then politely changed course. “I’ve been thinking about a piece of your mother’s German chocolate cake all through the movie.”
    In a pig’s eye,  thought Theresa.
    Oddly enough, nobody talked about the film as they drove back to Patricia’s house. Nobody said much of anything. Patricia was snuggled up with her shoulder behind Jeff’s. Now and then he’d turn and smile down at her with the dash lights clearly outlining the ardent expression on his face. Patricia’s shoulder moved slightly, and Theresa conjured up the possibility of where her hand might be. Theresa gazed out her window and blushed for perhaps the tenth time that day.
    When they pulled up in Patricia’s driveway, Jeff turned off all the lights and gathered Patricia into his arms without a moment’s hesitation. Behind the couple, another man and woman sat like two bumps on a log.
    Kisses, Theresa discovered, have more sound than you’d think. From the front seat came the distinct rush of hastened breathing, the faint suggestive sounds of lips parting, positions changing, the rustle of hands moving softly. The rasp of a zipper sizzled through the dark confines of the car, and Theresa jumped, but immediately wished she hadn’t, for it was only Jeff’s jacket.
    “Come on, Theresa, what do you say we go for a little walk?” Brian suggested. The overhead light flashed on, and she hustled out his door,