YOUTH REVISITED

It was one of those one screen movie houses. Old, quaint and not many left around. We were early. My wife is big on getting a good seat, about half way down in the middle section. She likes to sit on the end. We were just one of a few couples, just time to get to the refreshment stand for popcorn.

The theater filled up. The movie was starting late, people were still coming in. My wife sat on the outside, from the other direction in our row came two very attractive women, twenties probably and sat beside me. I gave a furtive glance at the one next to me, our eyes met--drop dead gorgeous. My heart rate increased. I thought, "Well, not bad for an old guy, still there." The armrest was all that was between us. Our arms touched, no, they reallly didn't touch, it was the slight movement of hair on both our arms.

The movie started. I could still sense the hair on her arms, my pulse was maxed out. I was nervous. I stole a glance, she was whispering to her girlfriend. Her neck was smooth as silk, untouched.

The door flew opened and suddenly we were all over each other, the smooth neck at last mine, the bristled hair. Getting to this time seemed forever. Could we find fulfillment with this frenzy of activity--the way they did it in the movies, the throwing off of the table cloth, ripping of clothes, hands everywhere. The overwhelming passion as we ate each other's lips and mouth. How about doing it on the floor or better still the stairs like Tom Stall (Viggo Mortenson) and Mario Bello, the sexiest woman alive, in A History of Violence--the clutching now and the loss of sense. She is grasping my shirt, pulling it up over my head. My hands are free, passion, passion.

What is wrong with you, be still, my wife whispered, none to softly, "you are spilling the popcorn."