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a peek of his crown testing the
stretch of his gray cotton underwear. Oh, jackpot, girl, jackpot. Third button.
“Josie, please,” Miles whispered. Fourth button open and he was clutching my
ass for dear life. “ Fuck , Josie,” he hissed through those beautiful
teeth, now clenched. I couldn’t remember a time when just pulling apart a man’s
button-fly jeans had been such an intense game of foreplay. Then again, at that
moment I couldn’t remember much of anything before this afternoon.
    I vaguely heard some movie dialogue going on behind me and
the sound of a chainsaw, but that was reduced to unimportant background noise
against the soft fabric pop of button number five giving way. Miles looked up
at me, gasping and grateful, and he lifted his hips as I knelt and tugged his
jeans down.
    The outline of his cock was leaving very little to my good
imagination as it strained for freedom against his light-gray shorts-style
boxers. They both hid and showed just enough to tantalize. I swept my palm over
his hard flesh. His head fell back with a moan, his hands still on my ass,
clutching me with desire held in check. Not for long, I knew.
    Again came the question of what, exactly, to do with this
man now that I had him begging me with his eyes. I didn’t stop myself from
easing his boxers down, and when I did the predicament became deliciously
worse. With perfect timing, a daylight scene from the movie illuminated the
treasure before me. Miles’ cock was pure man beauty. The good size—not so big
it’s painful to think of inside you, but big enough that you won’t soon forget
what it feels like. Thick, a goodly mouthful to suck. The flesh was that
beautiful dark rose that a hard cock becomes when it wants bad, and it’s you
who it wants. The feeling was entirely mutual.
    A small bead of his desire glistened at the tip and I rubbed
it thoughtfully with my thumb, all around the bell of his head, then at the
sweet ridge that made him clench his teeth and hiss in a breath with tormented
delight. “What will I do with you now,” I said aloud, mostly to myself.
    Miles looked up at me, blinking and panting and hopeful, and
said, “I have a condom.”
    This bit of information gave me pause and I raised my
eyebrows. “Do you always go to the movies with a condom? Or did they give you
that free with the popcorn value deal?”
    Despite his desperation, he was amused by my comment. “My
buddies gave it to me at the movie wrap party after she dumped me,” he said,
nodding toward the screen, meaning his ex. “They said actors get lucky and
should be prepared.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve been carrying it around for a
while.”
    “Just waiting for the day,” I said, leaning over him so that
my nipples brushed his chest, “that you ran into some easy townie, I suppose.”
    “I get the feeling you’re more complex than easy, townie,”
he said. His hands moved from where I’d told him to put them, on my butt, to my
waist. “But we can stop here, if you want. Well,” he amended, “maybe let me
kiss you some more.”
    Beneath my thighs, I had a bare-balled man, cock worked up
beyond reason, who had a half-naked female straddling him in a near-empty movie
theater, a condom on his person, and he was saying we could stop. In other
words, by telling me that I didn’t have to fuck him, he made me want to fuck
him all the more.
    I leaned down and kissed him, once, on the lips. “Where’s
that condom?” I demanded.
    The only time his hands moved fast and clumsy was when he
searched the back pockets of his jeans. I climbed off him to make that easier
and to take off my panties. He pulled out a black leather wallet and from there
extracted one lovely foil-wrapped square. He carefully peeled it open. I took
it from there.
    Having to use rubbers never caused me any bother. To me,
they’re a foreplay toy. I considered impressing Miles with one of my favorite
tricks, putting the tip of the condom in my mouth and rolling it