The Cinema
by The Scholar
"What's on?"
"No idea!"
"Pass the newspaper over, then, so I can have a look."
I handed Simon the newspaper. We were trying to decide what to do on a wet Saturday and a trip to the cinema seemed to be the best option.
Simon quickly found the film page and scanned the films that were available to us that day.
"There isn't much."
"What's on?"
"Disney film, Herbie Rides Again seems to be the best."
"What's that about?"
"A VW Beetle with a mind of its own, sequel to The Love Bug."
"Never heard of, The Love Bug."
"Nor have I - what do you reckon?"
"I suppose we may as well - is there nothing else?"
"Some X films, but we won't get into those. At least the Herbie film is a U, so we should be okay with that."
"Fair enough. I'll get my coat."
It wasn't fast, torrential rain, but that slow, drizzly stuff. I don't know what it is about slow, drizzly rain, but most people we saw on the way to the cinema were walking around without coats as if it wasn't going to do too much damage and might stop at any moment. It wouldn't! Slow drizzle made you very wet, very quickly and would not stop for ages. We headed to the cinema as fast as we could and were pleased to get to there.
There wasn't much of a queue as we made our way into the entrance of the cinema to buy our tickets.
"Popcorn?" asked Simon.
"No thanks."
"Coke?"
"No thanks."
"Crisps? Toffees?"
"Nothing, thanks."
"Sure?"
"For crying out loud, Simon, which part of no don't you understand? You sound like my mother!"
"Sor-reee."
"Don't put me in a bad mood, Simon. I'm not in the mood to be put in a bad mood."
"I'm not actually sure that made sense, Paul, but come on, lighten up, this is a Disney film - Disney films are supposed to be fun."
"Yeah, right! So what's so special about a VW Beetle with a mind of its own?"
"How should I know, but let's go find out. I'm just going to get a tub of popcorn and a Coke!"
I sighed. It wasn't actually Simon I was mad at and I would apologise later. It was the cinema - I hated the cinema. I hated sitting in a room full of people trying to watch a film when all you can hear is the rustling of sweet wrappers, rattling of popcorn tubs and the slurping of drinks through straws. If they want to eat and drink so much, why the hell didn't they just stay at home, raid the fridge and make as much noise as they wanted. If I owned a cinema, food and drink would be banned. A trip to the cinema always meant a bruised arm, too - if I went with Simon.
We settled into our seats and watched as more patrons entered the semi-darkened room to take up theirs. Most of them were young kids with their parents - great - the chomp and slurp brigade and no doubt they would be up and down running to the loo throughout the film. I don't know why I go to the cinema. It depresses me every time.
My mood lightened as I watched the kids all head to the front of the cinema - something I used to do at their age, just to be as close to the screen as possible. Always got a crick in my neck, but at that age I wasn't bothered. Older now, I sat further back - in fact, Simon and I sat right at the back.
As the lights dimmed and the performance began, we were treat to a bunch of advertisements, all courtesy of Pearl and Dean and my favourite, the Pepsi ad - the "Lipsmackin', thirst-quenchin'" thing. My mood was definitely lightening, so by the time Herbie Rides Again began, I was feeling pretty happy. The antics of the VW Beetle - the Herbie of the title, was actually quite funny and I found myself laughing at the little car and at Simon, who was thoroughly enjoying himself.
It was good to sit with Simon - his laughter was infectious, even though every so often he would nudge me and say - "Did you see that?" What sort of a question was that? Of course, I could see it the screen was big enough, for crying out loud. Like I said, a trip to the cinema with Simon always meant a bruised arm.
At the fourth of fifth nudge and "Did you see that?" I decided enough was enough and rammed my elbow towards him with the word, "Yes!"
"Jesus, Paul, now look what you've done."
"Whoops, sorry!"
I chuckled to myself - two birds with one stone - I had gotten my own back for the bruising and, in the process, knocked the can of Coke all over Simon's lap, making him drop his tub of popcorn.
He stood quickly, his jeans damp with Coke and glared at me.
"Sorry, Simon, it was an accident," I said, in my best apologetic voice.
"I'm going to the toilet to clean this up. Jesus, Paul, it looks like I've wet myself."
He stood and headed to the door of the auditorium to find the toilet down the corridor. I followed, feeling a little guilty.
Simon had wet some paper towels in the hand-basin when I arrived and was dabbing them against his jeans where the Coke had fallen.
"How is it?" I asked.
"How do you think? Look at me, Paul, it looks worse than it did before."
"I'm not surprised. I gathered a handful of dry paper towels and walked to where he stood
"Here, use these."
He took them from me and attempted to soak up some of the water he had dabbed onto his jeans - they were soon wet and I went to fetch some more.
"This isn't working," he said, throwing the wet paper towels into the waste paper basket.
"Well try that hand dryer - if you stand under that it should dry them."
Simon moved to the hand dryer against the door and hit the button, but the air that was emitted kept cutting out as he moved trying to angle himself.
"It's no good, it's not going to work."
"Well take them off."
"What?"
"Take them off and hold them under the dryer."
"I can't do that - what if someone walks in?"
"Well go into one of those cubicles and hand them to me, I'll dry them."
Simon looked round to the nearest cubicle and headed inside. I heard him kick off his shoes, unbuckle his belt, pull down his zipper and pull off his jeans.
"Here," he said from within the cubicle.
I walked over to find Simon standing in his boxer shorts handing me his jeans.
"Be quick," he said.
"As quick as I can."
He lowered the seat of the toilet and sat down as I walked to the hand dryer and hit the button. The warm air gushed forth and I held Simon's jeans as close to the dryer as I could.
"Is it working?"
"Yes, but it'll be a few more minutes before they look okay."
"Well hurry up, it's cold in here without any trousers on."
"Well do something to warm yourself up, then."
"Such as?"
"I don't know - have a wank!"
"I can't, I'm shrivelled up with the cold."
I started to laugh at the thought of Simon sitting in the cubicle with a shrivelled up dick. Actually, the more I thought of it, my own dick decided to get harder and I told Simon so.
"What do you mean, you've got an erection?"
"It was the thought of your dick being shrivelled up that did it."
"I don't believe you."
"It's true - I was thinking of your dick and mine got hard."
"I still don't believe you."
I walked away from the dryer and towards the cubicle.
"Are they dry?"
"Nearly - I just came to show you my hard dick."
"I don't want to see it."
But his protest was too late, as I unzipped my jeans and hauled out my dick to show him.
"Well, lucky you," he said, "Now get my jeans dry."
"Okay."
I turned and walked back to the hand dryer.
"And put your dick away," called Simon's voice from the cubicle.
I did.
A few minutes later, his jeans were dry and I walked back to hand them to him. As I arrived at the cubicle, I saw Simon, his hand holding his dick, gently massaging it.
"What you doing?"
"Playing with myself! Seeing your hard-on got me hard. You said to keep myself warm."
"Need some help?"
Simon smiled and I joined him in the cubicle to replace his hand with mine. He leant back and I knelt in front of him, taking his hard dick into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the soft, velvety head, coated with a silvery thread of liquid, oozing from his slit.
Within minutes, Simon let out a gasp and I could feel the rush of his orgasm hitting the back of my throat. It was awesome. I took every drop and then stood up, released my own dick and watched as Simon relieved me. My own orgasm didn't take long to explode and I thrust my dick further into his mouth as he swallowed.
"Paul, are you okay?"
More nudging, I was definitely going to have a bruised arm.
"What?"
"I said, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, why."
"The film's finished - you fell asleep, you were groaning, I thought you must be ill."
"Asleep? No, I'm fine. Guess I dozed off in the darkness. How are your jeans?"
"My jeans?"
"Are they dry?"
"Of course they're dry, do you think I've wet myself, or something?"
"No, of course not."
"Well come on, we've got to get out of here, with a bit of luck that rain will have stopped."
"I need the toilet."
"Well hurry up."
I left the auditorium and headed for the toilet. There were no wet towels in the waste paper basket.
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