Cammers With Benefits

The taxi pulls up in front of the theater that has been abandoned as long as I can remember. But now instead of the dilapidated marquee hanging at an odd angle from the brick theater building on the corner of Main Street, it’s filled with lights and colors for the first time in my memory. Spelled out in letters Brice put up there himself (despite my worries that he was going to fall off the ladder and end up in the hospital just when he managed to get out) are the words ‘Grand Opening!’

“It doesn’t matter how many times I see it, I still can’t believe you bought this old place.” Brice says as we step out onto the sidewalk, our gazes rising up the length of the building.

“Same,” is all I can manage to say. How many times have I dreamed of buying this theater, fixing it up, and watching movies whenever I damn well pleased? Now, thanks to the money from my own skin flick, it’s all mine. Well, most of the theater belongs to the bank, but it’s my name on the hefty mortgage.

As I unlock the doors, peering inside to the shadow-blanketed lobby, Brice says, “We’ve still got five hours before we open the doors to the public. I could rearrange your paintings for the thousandth time.”

This gentle jab has become a running joke over the couple of days. After paying for a construction crew to renovate the inside—bringing in new carpet and a fresh layer of paint everywhere else, not to mention a new concessions stand, new upholstery on the 200 theater seats, and a refurbished projector that still uses film rather than digital files—the first thing I did was have Brice hang my paintings on the lobby wall.

It doesn’t matter how many times I see them; with the abstract retellings of my favorite movie scenes in every direction I turn my head, I feel like I’m in a dream. I only wish that right now I had time to just soak in the perfection that this day is. But there are far too many things to do.

“Let’s check the projector one last time. Liz said that it wasn’t her fault that the sound wasn’t synced up, and I want to believe her, but at the same time, it’s worked every time I’ve done it.”

“I still don’t know why you insisted on hiring her. She doesn’t exactly strike me as being Employee of the Month material.”

“We’ve been over this. She could quote the entirety of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Plus she was wearing a Monty Python shirt when she came in for her interview. The movie gods would have struck me down if I hadn’t at least given her a chance.”

“I’m just saying Tuesday could man the projection room tonight. She’s definitely got it down pat.”

Brice isn’t wrong. Tuesday has been a lifesaver during this rebuild. It turns out that we share a love of cult classics, and when she found out what I was doing, she had to be involved. Still, I want her to enjoy the fruits of our labor tonight rather than getting her hands dirty again.

The stairs up into the projection room are narrow and dimly lit. I insist that Brice walks in front of me, despite his protestations that he’s perfectly fine. But I just can’t help treating him like this fragile crystal statue and imagining how his freshly healed bones couldn’t stand a fall down the stairs. So I’m here to catch him, just in case.

It only takes five minutes of setting up the projector until Bill Murray is grumpily talking on the screen in the iconic Groundhog Day.

“You really need to have a talk with Liz.”

“I’ll show her how to get it working again tonight, even if I have to stay up here with her the whole time.”

“Don’t even think about it. We’re sitting down there,” Brice says and points out the projection window, down to the theater seats. “It’s been too long since we’ve enjoyed a movie night together.”

This simple statement gets me thinking about that night he found my camming site. And how shy I was undressing in front of him. Only minutes later we were making the most passionate love of my life.

When I lick my lips and look up to Brice in the shadowy projection room, I can tell he’s remembering the exact same scene. There are so many things I want to double and triple check before the opening tonight, but when he steps into my space and his breath falls on my cheek, there’s no stopping where this is going.

The main show can wait; right now it’s time for a steamy intermission.

Our lips meet, and a blissful bolt of electricity runs down my body, all the way to my toes, which I curl up reflexively in my shoes. Shoes that I’m already slipping out of, while at the same time Brice’s fingers make quick work of my pants.

This isn’t the first time we’ve been intimate since the accident, but this is the first time since Dr. Heyman gave him the all clear. As such, I’m a little bit less delicate with him as I pull away his shirt and pants, running my fingers over the scars that litter his body now. Scars from the accident itself, and from the four surgeries that followed.

When Brice bends down to suck at the nape of my neck, I allow my eyes to flutter closed, and I push out all thoughts of the horrid past few months we’ve just managed to survive. Instead, I allow myself to bask in everything we’ve accomplished. Not only has my Choose Your Own Sex-venture series been so successful as to allow me to afford this theater, but I also managed to save Brice’s mom’s house. It’s not like Brice has been lazy this whole time either. On top of making a full recovery in half the time the doctors predicted, he’s been accepted into a nursing school.

Brice one-handedly flicks my bra strap open and then whips the contrivance off me, releasing my breasts, which he makes sure to pay immediate attention to. With one hand he holds my right breast as his lips suck at my other nipple. We’re still standing up, but there’s a couch against the back wall that Brice is edging us towards. And by the time my shin grazes against the leather cushions, we’ve managed to strip each other down to bare, flushed skin.

He falls on the sofa first, pulling me down on his lap, my legs splayed as I mount him. I try to slide down, with plans to suck him off a bit first, but he pulls me back up with desperation in his voice.

“I need you. Now,” he says. So without any further delay, I grab his cock—pausing only long enough to appreciate its girth and rock-hard eagerness—position it at the entrance to my pussy, and then I slide down over him.

We both shudder at the sensation. The first minute with Brice is always a bit of a stretch, but once I’m past that, it’s perfect bliss. His hand comes down, thumb finding my clit and painting little patterns over it as I ride him. My hair bounces against my chest, and my legs burn with the exertion, but I don’t slow down.

Brice leans forward and kisses my neck. Little pecks that mark a trail up to my ear, where he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I just manage to get out before his hands move down to my ass, where he works me like a machine, upping the tempo and pressing against me each time I come down so that our skin slaps together.

The groans that fall out of me are animalistic. This pleasure swelling up inside me strips my brain of all other thoughts. All the worries of the opening night, of whether this venture will fail or not, about money and health: they all disappear in the shadow of the perfect dopamine release building up to a crescendo.

I wrap my arms around Brice’s neck, bury my face in his hair, and grind against him as