In vintage clothes shops, I sparkle in cast-off dresses; their sheen of summer evenings in restaurants opened to a garden.Maybe explains why I visit cinemas too.In fitful, clattering dark, I skoosh along the second-to-back row until a seated man blocks the way. Indefinite silhouette and abrupt knees. I sit by him, annexe personal space. Brush arms, let him know our lives are intersecting.But I don’t rush. I like to wait for the trailers.The male anatomy isn’t complicated. I can find a dick without taking my eyes off the screen. My fingertips dart about, curious. Will it be squat and need to be nursed, or long and rigid as a spar, ready to snap if I pressed hard?And I’m cautious. Lower my hand, with the lightest pressure, to his crotch. He’s still as roadkill as my hand contracts to a clench. He swells into my grip: a fat, reassuring sausage.The night you broke up with me eleven months ago you stroked my hand in an absent, pacifying way. I pet this man’s erection like that. Sort of. ***** It happened. Have a drink and I’ll tell you. I’m sure you would have predicted it. I guess I half knew it would happen. I knew it was a chance. I should be careful, but I wasn’t. Justine was a player, and she was someone new, and I was furious at Elizabeth. In less than an hour we were naked and I was diddling her. Oh, I was more than diddling her. I was fucking her ass—doing it like I wanted to with Elizabeth. How is this day different from all other days? The edge is where I like to be, so there I was and I fell into a crevasse. I fell because Elizabeth walked in on us. Out of town, Justine? Is that what you said? Did you plan this, or were you oblivious? I guess it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that one minute I’m fucking Justine and the next minute Elizabeth is staring at us. It wasn’t as instantaneous as that. Not nearly. I knew what was going to happen before I actually saw Elizabeth. I heard the key and knew immediately. I could tell everything that would.
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