“This film belongs as much to you as it does to us, maybe even more so,” Lancing said in conclusion. “We tried to be as realistic as possible, both the good and the bad, so ... please ... let us know how we did. Enjoy the show, everyone. Let’s get started.”
Applause rolled through the room as Lancing turned off his microphone and trotted up the center aisle of the theatre. He took the seat on the right side of Fletch. No sooner had he sat down then the lights dimmed down and the red curtain began to rise. The Merrimack Studios logo appeared and then the film began.
Us and Them was one hundred and forty-seven minutes in length, from logo to the end of the credits. This was enough time for Greg to metabolize some, but nowhere near all, of the alcohol he had consumed. He would have started to feel a little sleepy under normal circumstances, but the presence of Mindy next to him served to keep him awake. The chairs in the old theatre were not very large, not very wide. As such, Mindy’s body was continually pressed into his left side. Her leg often rubbed against his and he could feel the silky fabric of her dress. Her shoulder was constantly rubbing against his. And whenever she turned to whisper something to him, or to Fletch on the other side of him, her breast would push deliciously into his arm. She seemed unaware of the contact she was making, was certainly unconcerned with it even if she was aware, but Greg felt every touch, every bump, every slide of the dress. He felt himself becoming more and more aroused as the film went on.
And then the first sex scene came on the screen.
“Mmmm,” Mindy whispered into his ear, her breast pushing his arm again, her hot breath making him flush. “My favorite part.”
Greg swallowed but said nothing. He did, however, start to spring an erection as he watched he and Mindy doing the nasty on the big screen. He remembered what it had been like to feel those naked breasts in his hand, to taste her nipple with his mouth, to feel her hands on his bare ass.
Steady, he told himself, willing his member to return to normal operations. We were just acting. It’s over and done with now.
But his member did not want it to be over and done with now. It remained quite interested in the goings on of the scene and the memories of filming the scene. And when Mindy suddenly reached over and squeezed Greg’s thigh, just a little north of the knee, it became even more interested.
Jesus Christ, Greg thought. What was that all about? He did not know, could not begin to guess. Had that just been a companionable squeeze of affection? Had it been a drunken grope? Had it been nothing at all, just an unconscious gesture? It could have been any of the above, or all of the above, or none of the above.
Greg’s erection had almost entirely deflated when the second sex scene occurred. This one, while not as graphic or as involved, did feature the best and longest view of Mindy’s bare breasts. Her nipples were hard in the shot, sticking up alluringly. Greg remembered how Mindy had deliberately played with them in front of the entire crew and himself just prior to action being called so she could achieve that mouth-watering state for the shot. His erection reversed direction as blood began to collect once again. Mindy did not help much by dropping her hand to his thigh again—a little higher this time—and whispering into his ear: “This is my second favorite part.”
This time, however, she did not remove her hand from his leg. It remained there, still, unmoving, as if she had just simply forgotten to pick it back up again, just inches away from his now-throbbing tumescence. Greg took in a deep breath, looking around to see if anyone had noticed what she was doing. The theater, however, was very dark and no one seemed to be paying any particular attention to them.
Mindy’s just an affectionate person by nature, he told himself. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. With that rationalization in mind, he did not make an attempt to remove the hand from his leg. There was no sense hurting her feelings, was there? Or making a scene? And besides, another, darker, more primal part of his mind whispered to him, it feels kind of nice there, doesn’t it?
The film rolled on, going into the darker, more depressing part of the story. Mindy’s hand stayed on his leg. Greg’s manhood remained firmly erect. And then, without warning, that hand gripping his thigh rolled inward, seemingly in a random shift of posture, as if she were finally reaching up absently to touch her hair or scratch her nose. As it did so, her knuckles came into contact with the swelling inside of his trousers. The hand stopped instantly, remaining in contact. Greg drew in a sharp intake of breath.
“Oh my,” Mindy whispered, a hint of teasing in her voice. Slowly, the hand rolled over and her fingertips were gently squeezing the outline of his erection through his pants. “What have we here?”
Greg reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from him. “Sorry,” he whispered back. “Natural reaction.”
She put her hand back in her own lap. Even in the dark, Greg could see the teasing smile on her face. “You gotta love biology, huh?” she whispered.
She kept her hands to herself for the rest of the showing (though not her boobs, they continued to press into his shoulder every few minutes). Greg’s erection slowly, and with great reluctance, returned to its nominal state just in time for the funeral scene and the rolling of the credits. When the lights came up and the audience gave their standing ovation—and the actors and directors stood to acknowledge it—the embarrassing bulge in Greg’s trousers was no longer prominent.
Greg and Mindy exited the theatre together and took up position near one of the bars, where they could graciously accept the gushing accolades of the guests, who were bound by the rules of film premier etiquette to each approach the stars and the directing team to offer some. Mindy dashed over to the bar and got them both scotch on the rocks—doubles, no less—before they got started.
Greg downed his first scotch rather quickly, as his mind was troubled, and he was still trying to put Mindy’s actions inside the theatre into perspective. The alcohol did not help much with the perspective part, but it did wonders for the troubled part. It helped so much that he did not even argue when Mindy stepped away to score the two of them second and then third doubles as the evening progressed.
It was close to eleven o’clock when the party finally started to break up. By that point, Greg was quite hammered, as Mindy had stayed at his side all night, making sure he always had a fresh drink in his hand. She made no mention of what had happened inside the theatre, neither directly nor in allusion. Greg, however, could not stop thinking about it. She had actually touched his erection! With her hand! Something she had not done even during the most intimate stages of filming the sex scenes for the project. What did it mean?
At eleven thirty, most of the guests had gone home and those who had not were all waiting in the limo queue. Fletch and Lancing suggested to the stars that it was about time for them to get in the limo and return to the hotel. It was a plan they agreed with. The four of them climbed into their limousine and headed back in the direction of downtown. No sooner had it pulled away from the theatre than Mindy was pouring them all shots of bourbon.
“To success!” she toasted.
The three men dutifully repeated her toast and shot down their bourbon.
Once at the hotel, Fletch and Lancing declared they were going to go to the lounge for a little nightcap and asked if Greg and Mindy wanted to join them.
“Not me,” Mindy said with a giggle. “I’m pretty fuckin’ drunk now; not ashamed to admit it.”
“Yes,” said Greg, hearing himself slurring. “I’m in the same boat. And we have to be at the airport by ten o’clock. I think I’m going to go upstairs, climb into bed and die.” After I pleasure myself and blow off some of this steam, he did not add.