Maze Runner Movie

What a surprise it was that Monday night when he wrote to me and asked what was playing at the theater. "Why?" I asked, "can you come to the movies?"

He did. Tuesday, to see Maze Runner. It wouldn't have mattered what was playing in the stadium seating theater there, it's that particular theater we need because the seat arms raise up to allow a very close, deliciously intimate close seating.

We were both there just when the theater opened and our movie showed just 15 minutes later. "You look great." he told me as we got out of cars. Before we went in though, he wanted to walk around the front of the building and I thought that was odd, but a little walk holding his hand, was fine by me. I wore a long patchwork flannel skirt and grey short sleeved clingy sweater with nothing at all beneath, just as I told him I would.

The day was cool and I wore my long green wool coat to keep me warmer and make me feel not quite so naked.

As we walked around the south side of the building, there is a narrow alleyway between the theater and the next building. He stopped me half way through and backed me up against the brick wall and kissed me. Kissed me just the way I love him to, determined and hungry. No one I have ever kissed, kisses me the way he does it. He is direct and insistent, demanding. As we stood there, enjoying the closeness and scent and connection with each other, a woman came walking into the alleyway. He whispered to me, "someone is coming, just kiss me." We never acknowledged her and she walked past quickly, quietly. When she was gone, we laughed and walked on through the alleyway to the street. We had to go all the way around the building and as he paid for our movie, I was so anxious for the dark and his embrace again.

He used the restroom before we went in and as we walked into the show, we saw to both our delights that we were alone. Hoping beyond hope it would remain that way, we climbed to the top, last row and took seats just below the projector window.

He wasted no time raising the armrest between us once I had my coat off and he took my face in both his hands and kissed me hard. "I love it the way you do that" I tell him, "the way you touch and fondle my face." When he does it, he studies my face, my eyes and he is intense just then, always so INTENSE. I put my hands over his, and marveled at how familiar and comfortable I am with him, how I had missed him and his hands on me since last I had seen him. Writing it here, I feel them now.

His hands found my naked breasts beneath the sweater and he smiled at me, lecherously, smiled and the lights in the theater were still up while the previews and commercials played on the screen. "You didn't think I would come without under things?" I asked. He laughed and said, "I did, I knew YOU would." "You are so sexual." I laughed at that. "I've missed you, Jack." I told him.

He lifted the folds of the skirt to expose my naked legs, long and lean and firm. Running his hands up and down my thigh, higher until he understood that I also had no panties to hinder him either. He kissed me again, deeply, bumping his teeth on mine and I melted into his ministrations.

Finally the lights went down and as I kept one eye on the entranceway, cognizant that other movie goers might join us, he leaned over me, covering me and making it hard for me to watch, much less concentrate on the watching.

It's a dangerous thing to get so lost in one's own senses that nothing else matters or intrudes. I go there sometimes, in the throws of my own heat and hormones. I go there easily with Jack. But Jack is usually so cautious, so paranoid himself, that I can leave the caution to him. Not today it would seem. Today his need of me and long dry spell has dimmed his paranoia. He simply needs and will have.

As the movie plays on, so do we. He reaches past me to lift yet one more armrest on my right, laying me back onto the seat there and spreads my legs to his hands. "No!" I whisper to him, insistently, "You can't do THAT here!" He hears, but is not deterred. He lowers himself to my nakedness and puts his expert tongue to the most tender flesh I own. I cannot watch the door, as I roll my head in ecstasy with the feel of his mouth on me. I know we cannot enjoy this longer, the danger is extreme. He raises up and sits back into his seat, allowing me space. As I lean over to kiss his mouth, my own taste still on his breath and lips, I reach for his pants, the hard shaft I know is there, my body has given him this need. I long to feel his naked hardness in my hand. He lowers his head to my hair and breathes hard on the back of my head and neck. He reaches down and unbuckles his belt and undoes the tight jeans that contain him. He wants my hands there too.

I waste no time, reaching for the iron hard shaft that needs my attention. Oh, the ache I feel between my legs as I fondle him and he kisses me deeply. The combination of those two stimuli heat my blood and make my heart race fast.

He reaches down and pushes his pants and shorts all the way down past his hips and I cannot believe this is the man I know! The man so carefully watchful and guarded. I look again at the entry way, no sign of any other viewers and I cannot deny the ache between my legs for the feel of his hardness. He lays me back suddenly again onto the seats and impales me with that hot iron. "Jack!" I insist, "You can't!" But his body pay my warning no heed. His heat invades me, fills me, pull slightly away and fills me full again and again. I fear he soon will be done at this rate so I insist he withdraw and he does, reluctant, but cooperative.

I smile at him, at is disappointment, his quick, hot breath coming, trying to calm, and kiss him again. I cannot get enough of the kisses I have missed so long, longed for so long. His hands reach down to my bottom and caress me there.

I love the feel of his hands, his desire feeds me. I whisper to him, "You should have left the undershirt off." He moves me back a bit and quickly removes both shirts leaving himself virtually naked, his pants around his ankles and shirts off. This simply cannot be the man I know, so daring.

My hands gratefully run up and down his chest and stomach, free to enjoy his hot smooth skin. My head spins with the scent of him, the feel of his skin beneath my hands and his hungry hands exploring my body.

It's just finally then, that I realize he has remembered the cologne I always insisted upon when he meets me. I was so anxious for his touch, his kisses that I had forgotten to notice whether he remembered or not, but he had, and all of it added to my euphoria. He knows me, remembers well the buttons to push.

He bites lightly at my neck and breathes hard there, sending tingles up and down my spine. He licks my ear and sends his tongue darting in and around it, and the ecstasy of this is more than I can describe to you here. All these things he does for me, to me, are things I starve for at home.

Suddenly, the feel of him in my hand draws me down, and I carefully, deliberately lower my head to his lap, where his desire begs for my attention, my saliva, my hot willing tongue. This happens to me with him, at a point. I must taste what I hunger for so badly and as I surround his shaft with my lips and mouth, the heat he puts off and the flavors brings down that red gauzy haze over my reality and I can no longer be the guardian for our safety, I leave that now to him, his job, not mine. I move, sweetly, deliberately up and down twirling my tongue, tasting him and my own flavors, still lingering on his hot skin. He reaches down, to begin guiding my head, the way he likes, but I don't allow direction, and wave his hands away, "Oh! Sorry!" he whispers. I raise up to speak, "You forgot." I say and laugh, but go back to my efforts quickly and resume my own agenda. When I know he is almost letting go, I'm done with this.

He pushes me lightly away then, and runs his hands down my naked leg to my left foot and removes my black high heel. God, "this too?" I think. He did this, this foot thing, the first time he took me to the movies. This, was the one thing I marveled at, that was emblazoned in my mind from that first time with him. I could not believe that a man would do this for me. He rubs gently, slow and deliberately up and down the leg to the foot and then that too is administered to carefully, gently, lovingly. As if this ministration was not enough, he puts his mouth to my toes and kisses, suckles and finally rubs my foot along the side of his face and over the back of his head and neck. I marvel at it still, as I write, the breath coming quicker as my fingers relate it. From the left foot and leg, to the right and the same time and care given to each until I am so very grateful,

I lean forward reach again and kiss him deeply. I push gently against his chest and sit him back in his seat, my hand feeling to make certain that his hardness is still mine, and I stand, warm bare feet on the cold concrete floor and move to lift my long heavy skirt over his lap and lower my hot wetness down gently onto the steal of him.

He adores this, I know without hearing or seeing his face that he does. His hands find my naked hips beneath the heavy skirt that flows over his lap and he runs warm hungry hands up and down my slender hips and over the bottom that rises and falls upon his desire. He begins to guide my movements, quicker, harder, deep - Ouch! "Be Nice!" I caution him, his hardness too deep at one point, too hard and pain bites me. He whispers "sorry" as he continues to guide my movements. Those hands speak to me more clearly than words can. They press, against my hips and thighs, run firmly up the indentation of my spine and back again, telling me of the adoration they have for the feel of my lovely, still firm, strong and oh so lovely body, every inch adored, admired and appreciated.

The movie plays on, and a violent scene is playing loudly as he finally gives up what he has held and brought to deliver to me. I hear him behind me, below me in the rapture of his release, finally, gratefully but far from quietly...

I smile, gladly giving him what he needs from me, because though I didn't get what he received, I did get everything else I hungered for, compliments and fondling and desire and the assurance that I am still sexual and desirable and beautiful.

I sit, a minute, letting him revel in his release and finally rise up off him to reach for the wipes I was fairly sure I'd need and did. I reach over and wipe him with a cold clean wipe and his breath hitches. "Cold?" I ask? Smiling evilly. He makes no further sound, just allows my ministrations.

He makes no move to dress, as kiss and fondle his chest and legs one last time and finally I tell him he can dress now, be warmer, comfortable. He does and for the balance of the movie he holds me, cuddles me and this too, I love and need, this I don't get at home.

The movie was good, a decent story and we watch and amazingly have kept track of the plot for the most part. We enjoyed each other and the show and when it is done and the lights come up, we are still alone, privately finished with what we came here for and sated, both of us.

He walks me out, graciously, chatting pleasantly and at the cars, kisses me goodbye, smiling, waves as he pulls the car away.

I drive home pleased and grateful and still on an afterglow high that will last me all that evening and most of the next day.

I put pen to paper here, to remember vividly every detail that when I may need them, these delicious memories he has given me, sometime later, when I'm blue and hungry and alone, I will have them to comfort and remind me that I may feel again those hands and lips and feelings he ignites.

Thank you Jack.