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“Mmm, how about Star Wars? The new one, have you seen that one?” I asked. I honestly couldn’t think of anything, and besides, hadn’t it gotten great reviews?
But Jock snorted.
“Naw, I’m not into intergalactic shit. Insidious 2 it is,” he said with finality, overruling my suggestion. I gritted my teeth. This was gonna be bad, I’d have to force myself to stay in my seat, it promised to be three hours of torture. But at least there’d be movie popcorn with heaps of butter, I could feast on that and make myself feel better.
But when I showed up at the theater the next night, Jock looked disgusting, his face slightly red, broken capillaries in his nose and cheeks. What the fuck?
“Hey,” he grunted. “Let’s get tickets.”
And the answer was immediately clear because his breath reeked of booze. Holy shit, this sucked. I was going to suffer through three hours of some shitty movie with a steaming human pile next to me, a dude who stunk to high heaven through every pore. This was going to be bad, and I braced myself for the worst, really expecting things to go downhill before ending in a ball of fire.
And as I expected, it didn’t get better. When we stepped into the darkened theater, I looked around quickly, hoping there were some fellow movie patrons. I’m not sure what I was thinking, that these folks could save me from a bad experience like strangers standing in the way of harm. But the place was empty except for one old dude sitting in the far right corner near the door, bent over and elderly. I huffed, exasperated. This movie was so bad that no one was coming to see it, it was probably a huge box office bomb and I’d been forced here because of myself. Shit, I only had myself to blame, and mentally cursed again.
And Jock didn’t make the waiting easier. He was so dumb that steam started to pour from my ears dealing with him.
“You’re so pretty,” he grunted, shifting around in his seat and stuffing popcorn in his mouth.
“Thanks,” I managed while leaning away. Because the alcohol smell was killing me, Jock must have downed a forty before the movie, it was like sitting next to a rag soaked in Jim Bean. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spontaneously combusted, there was so much alcohol.
“Yeah, real pretty,” he grunted again. “I like it,” he said, seizing one of my brown curls in his fingers. I shuddered at what was happening, but at least he was touching my hair and not my body. I couldn’t actually feel his hands on me, thank god.
“Uh, thanks,” I said, none-too-graciously. “Would you mind letting go of my hair? It kinda hurts,” I said shortly, my neck twisted way over so that I could maintain as much distance between us as possible.
“Oh sure,” he grunted. “No prob.” And he let go, my curls bouncing back like springs. Thank god he hadn’t touched my body, I’d scream if he so much as laid a finger on me.
But fucking Jock just wouldn’t leave me alone. Because once the movie started, he began pawing me like a crazed animal.
“Come on, Katy,” he panted, his big hand on my thigh, squeezing. “Come on, give it up, I know you want it.”
I was incensed. When had I ever indicated that I wanted it, that I was attracted to this douche? So I twisted away, my torso twisted in an effort to maintain distance, skin crawling. But Jock was insistent and his fingers dug into my thigh, cold and clammy, making me wince.
“Stop,” I hissed, literally contorting myself in my efforts to get away. But a particularly loud scream rang out from the movie and my words were reduced to a muffled “mwmwmwwm.” What the fuck? Had Jock chosen a horror flick because the screams on-screen would drown out my own? Holy shit, he was one messed up motherfucker.
And the douche just wouldn’t give up.
“You want it,” he grunted. “I know you want it, I’ve seen you looking at me in class, you want it.”
I was angry now, really mad. Jock McMahon wasn’t my type at all with his bulging steroid build, the slick of oil on his forehead, the small patch of acne on his neck. If I’d been looking at him it was because I was turned towards the blackboard and Jock just happened to be in my way, his hulking frame like a huge dog that refused to budge.
“No, I don’t want it,” I hissed, still trying to squirm away. There could be no mistaking my anger now, I’d said the word “No” quite loud and had literally slapped his hands with my small ones, making sure he knew that I wasn’t into this.
But some people have never been told “no” in their lives, and Jock was one of those idiots. He let out a harsh laugh before grabbing me around the waist and dragging me into his lap, planting his face between my boobs, lapping at the creamy flesh.
