In writing entries like these, I'm reliving fond experiences spent with E. If they entertain/interest/amuse you, I'm glad. If not, then just ignore them.
E and I headed up to the art house AFI Institute in Silver Springs to watch a French film from the early fifties. The movie, I'll have you know, was mostly cover for what we intended to do to each other. Since her apartment was not available due to the presence of the omnipresent meddling roommate (whose conservative Catholicism had a way of objecting to two consenting adults behind a closed bedroom door), we had to improvise. Since none of us could think of an abandoned alleyway or dark corner, we decided on the old standard. In situations like this, I wish I had tons of money so that I could easily pay the cost of a motel. And, for the first time in months, I really missed not having my car there--though certainly not for the ability to drive.
I was told later by a friend that autovehicular sex would have been much more risky than what we did, so it's just as well neither she nor I had a car.
It's just as well that the film wasn't that interesting, otherwise I might have regretted missing entire sections because I was otherwise occupied with my hands. Or because another person was otherwise occupied with her hands. Due to a combination of strategic theater seat placement, moviegoers around us engrossed in the film, a mean average attendance age of roughly sixty (read: practically deaf), and an uncanny ability to not squirm or make much noise, we managed to conceal quite nicely precisely what it was we were doing. Two smart people have a way of finding unique methods of covering their tracks, concealing their arching backs and quivering thighs, and using a woman's sweater as suitable disguise.
Oh, sure I'm sure what we did was probably illegal or could have easily had us ejected from the cinema if we'd been caught, but part of the fun was the danger element. It's been a while since I've dated a woman who had absolutely no hangups regarding public sex. At times, I have to say that I was a little paranoid that we'd be discovered, but present along with that feeling was an impulsive kind of pleasure of getting away with something. We had been pushing the envelope regarding socially acceptable public displays of affection, drawing more than a few comments from onlookers in the process.
E and I headed up to the art house AFI Institute in Silver Springs to watch a French film from the early fifties. The movie, I'll have you know, was mostly cover for what we intended to do to each other. Since her apartment was not available due to the presence of the omnipresent meddling roommate (whose conservative Catholicism had a way of objecting to two consenting adults behind a closed bedroom door), we had to improvise. Since none of us could think of an abandoned alleyway or dark corner, we decided on the old standard. In situations like this, I wish I had tons of money so that I could easily pay the cost of a motel. And, for the first time in months, I really missed not having my car there--though certainly not for the ability to drive.
I was told later by a friend that autovehicular sex would have been much more risky than what we did, so it's just as well neither she nor I had a car.
It's just as well that the film wasn't that interesting, otherwise I might have regretted missing entire sections because I was otherwise occupied with my hands. Or because another person was otherwise occupied with her hands. Due to a combination of strategic theater seat placement, moviegoers around us engrossed in the film, a mean average attendance age of roughly sixty (read: practically deaf), and an uncanny ability to not squirm or make much noise, we managed to conceal quite nicely precisely what it was we were doing. Two smart people have a way of finding unique methods of covering their tracks, concealing their arching backs and quivering thighs, and using a woman's sweater as suitable disguise.
Oh, sure I'm sure what we did was probably illegal or could have easily had us ejected from the cinema if we'd been caught, but part of the fun was the danger element. It's been a while since I've dated a woman who had absolutely no hangups regarding public sex. At times, I have to say that I was a little paranoid that we'd be discovered, but present along with that feeling was an impulsive kind of pleasure of getting away with something. We had been pushing the envelope regarding socially acceptable public displays of affection, drawing more than a few comments from onlookers in the process.