Not a bad a girl…

As I pointed to Motorcycle Man, the Ticket Checker puffed his chest and seemed to stand taller. The Hurt-Girl Look always makes men think they are John Abraham and they all start standing tall and looking very important. As Ticket Checker puffed up, Motorcycle Man seemed to wake up from his libido-generated lunacy and stood up as well.
"She is my girlfriend," announced Motorcycle Man, with both men standing nose-to-nose. I instantly denied it and even managed some tears to show how absolutely horrified I was with the idea. I don't know if Ticket Checker really believed me, but with the attention he was giving to my still-heaving breasts, I was sure he would choose to believe me.

"You are disturbing the movie," Ticket Checker addressed Motorcycle Man and pointed to the exit. Motorcycle Man scowled and left without arguing… he had seen two of the theatre chowkidars standing next to the exit, looking eager for a fight. I thanked my willpower for not giving in to Motorcycle Man's advances. He just wasn't man enough.
"Popcorn? Softdrink? Enjoying the movie madame?" asked Ticket Checker, who was now alone with me, the guards having mysteriously vanished. The whistling crowd had settled they saw Motorcycle Man leaving. I made a great show of straightening my clothes and looking distressed, and sat on the chair's armrest chair with tears brimming in my eyes. That seemed to really alarm Ticket Checker, who I noticed looked very young, but not that young either. "Can I do anything for you?" he asked, his eyes darting from my eyes to my mouth to my breasts to my eyes… I put my hand on my chest, as if to calm myself – his eyes followed – and told him I felt very unclean and cheap. I asked him if he thought I was a bad girl; and held his hand, as if looking for assurance. He held on tighter and vehemently shook his head.
I then touched my mouth – his eyes followed – and asked if there were any bite marks. He said no. I pulled down the neck of the top I was wearing, with just a bit of my cleavage showing, and asked him if there were any marks. He looked. I cried louder and squeezed his hand; he pulled me and hugged me. I could feel him go hard down there… I was not a bad girl, just that he looked a good boy.
To be continued…