Misc. Erotica The Goddess (COMPLETED) - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

The cinema hall was not a proper building. It was an old tent-style theatre that had been standing on the edge of the market for years. A large, faded canvas tent stretched over a rough wooden frame. The outer walls were a mix of patched cloth and rusted tin sheets. A hand-painted board hung crookedly above the entrance, the film title half-peeled by sun and rain. The ground around the entrance was uneven and dusty. The whole place looked cheap, temporary, and slightly neglected — exactly the kind of theatre that screened flop films for a handful of people.

We walked up to the ladies’ ticket counter. It was completely empty. No other women stood in line. The elderly man behind the small wooden window looked surprised to see us.
“Two balcony tickets,” Sathyavathi said.
He tore the tickets and pushed them across. While we paid, I noticed the gents’ counter a few steps away. Around ten or fifteen men were buying tickets, talking among themselves in low voices. A few of them glanced toward us, but we ignored them and took our tickets.
We entered through the side flap of the tent. Inside, the air was warmer and carried the smell of old canvas, dust, and cheap incense. The seating was simple — rows of benches on the ground floor and a raised balcony section at the back with slightly better seats. The screen was a large white cloth stretched tightly across the far end, already showing small stains and wrinkles. A single ceiling fan turned slowly above the balcony, doing little against the heat.
We climbed the narrow wooden steps to the balcony. It was completely empty. No other person sat there. We chose two seats in the middle of the front row of the balcony, where the view of the screen was clear and the wooden railing gave a small sense of separation from the ground floor.
We settled into the seats. I adjusted the pallu of my yellow saree and leaned back, trying to relax after the long day. Sathyavathi did the same beside me. Below us, a few of the men who had bought tickets began to fill the benches on the ground floor. The balcony, however, remained only ours.
After a few minutes the lights dimmed further. The projector at the back of the tent clicked and hummed to life. The screen flickered once, twice, and then the movie began.


From the balcony we could hear the ground floor clearly. The cheapest section — the Gandhi class — was where most of the men had sat. A few of them were already drunk. Their voices rose loudly in the half-dark tent.
“Start the picture, da!” one man shouted.
“How long will you show these ads?”
Another voice joined in, thick with alcohol.
“Enough of this ‘drinking is injurious to health’! We already know! Stop showing it!”
“And the no-smoking one also! Every time the same thing! Start the film!”
A third man laughed and yelled,
“Gandhi class is ready! Put the picture!”
Their shouting and laughter echoed under the old canvas. A couple of other men added their own impatient calls. The operator at the back of the tent seemed used to it. After one more public-service slide about the dangers of alcohol, the screen finally went dark for a second.
Then the projector light strengthened. The opening credits of the film appeared, slightly scratched and faded on the old white cloth screen. A moment later the opening song began — a loud, outdated melody with bright colours and the usual dancing figures moving across the screen.
The drunk men in the Gandhi class settled a little, though a few still made random comments. Up in the balcony, Sathyavathi and I sat alone, the noisy ground floor below us, the cheap opening song filling the warm, dusty air of the tent theatre as the flop film finally started.


The movie dragged on exactly as Sathyavathi had predicted — slow, poorly made, and mostly boring. The dialogues were loud and unnatural. The fight scenes looked cheap. In the Gandhi class below, a few of the drunk men had already started talking among themselves again, no longer fully interested in the screen.
Then a romantic song began.
The hero and heroine appeared in a garden sequence. The camera stayed close as the hero pulled the heroine against him, his hands moving openly over her waist and back. He sang while looking into her eyes, then pressed his face close to her neck. The heroine leaned into him, eyes half-closed, as he continued to hold her tightly and move his hands with clear desire. The song was old-fashioned and overdone, but the physical closeness on the screen was direct and prolonged.
I watched without looking away.
Something in the way the hero held the heroine, the open hunger in his movements, the soft expressions on her face, stirred the unfinished heat that had been sitting quietly inside me since morning. A slow, familiar warmth spread low in my stomach and settled between my legs. My maroon panties felt suddenly closer against me. I shifted slightly in the seat, still watching the screen.
Sathyavathi turned her head and looked at me.
Our eyes met for a second in the dim balcony light. She must have noticed something in my expression — the way I was watching the romantic sequence a little too intently. A small, knowing smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.
“What?” I whispered, already feeling a smile pull at my own lips.
“Nothing,” she whispered back, her eyes flicking once toward the screen and then back to me.
“You are watching that song very carefully.”
A soft giggle escaped me.
“The song is too much,” I whispered, covering my mouth lightly with the edge of my pallu.
“Look at the way he is holding her.”
Sathyavathi also giggled under her breath.
“I saw you shifting in your seat,” she said, still smiling.
“Is the heat starting again?”
“Shut up,” I whispered, laughing quietly, my cheeks warm.
“It is only the song.”
“Only the song,” she repeated, giggling again, clearly not believing me.
For a moment the two of us sat there in the empty balcony, exchanging soft whispers and quiet giggles, the shared amusement light and private, while the hero on the screen continued to romance the heroine and the cheap romantic song filled the warm air of the old tent theatre.