He’d arrived at the theater early. Richard was supposed to meet him before the show - at the bar across the street - for a quick drink, but given the quantity of alcohol Richard had consumed the night before, he wasn’t going to make it. It was a time-honored tradition of theirs to go see the annual showing of Groundhog’s Day on Groundhog Day. This time though, Alfred stood outside the theater casually - and also conspicuously - swiping through his phone, perusing lists and looking for someone to call. In this scene it was dreadful to be caught looking bored, or worse, alone. He phoned a friend and killed half an hour getting caught up on the latest trials and tribulations, reminiscing on the old stories of lust and deprvaed indulgence, the nostalgic echoes of their past. Looking down at his watch, he realized the movie was about to begin and quickly ended the call.
As he hung up the phone he watched an attractive woman dressed in black pass by and enter the theater. She looked like she might be a few years older than him, at most, but she was well kept. She walked with a casual nonchalance that was also attention-seeking. She’d seen him notice her as she passed, her eyes trained on her reflection in the glass window of the boutique beside the cinema. Alfred didn’t notice her noticing him, but he did notice that she was alone.
Standing in the popcorn line, looking up at the mirrors affixed to the ceiling at a near perfect slant, hanging like television screens on which he was the star, he saw her in line behind him, half a dozen people back. He ordered a bag of popcorn and what seemed to be a whole liter of Dr. Pepper. He suspected his subsequent bloat would match his debt; an inverse relation, he thought. As my funds recede my waistline exceeds. After relinquishing a crisp $20 bill and receiving a meager $2 change, he stood away from the line by the restrooms, the woman in black in full view.
He wondered how he might approach her, what he would say. Something witty perhaps, or charming, maybe something insightful and poetic to show he was sensitive, clever and artful. The more he observed her though, he began to get the impression that she might be immune to such advances. Her face had a kind of weathered look to it that suggested she'd had her share of hard winters and long falls. Her posture conveyed a dignified rigidity, an almost impetuous recalcitrance. No, to make this work he'd have to be direct, no bullshit.
He let her pass first, so he could follow her into the theater and place himself beside her, avoiding the chance she might separate if he tried to inveigle her before entering. After counting to twenty he walked in and found her sitting in the 7th row of a loosely packed theater, with an empty seat on either side. Smiling, he moved up through the aisle and, motioning to the empty seat at her left, he said:
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
"Oh, no, go right ahead," she said, waving her hand.
He sat down and saw she'd just opened a box of Raisinets. "You know," he said, "the historical origins of chocolate-covered raisins are unknown."
She looked at him, a bit perturbed, but not wanting to be rude, and flashed a convivial smile encouraging him to proceed. The movie will start any minute anyway, she thought.
"Yea, it's strange, they think it's German: they called it wenig Schokolade Ball," he said.
I bet you looked that up on Wikipedia before you sat down.
She wasn't impressed. This wasn't working. He was bombing, hard. Panic set in. His heart began thumping loudly in his ears. His chest felt tight. This is it, he thought, it's time to bring my A game:
“Listen, I'm going to be frank with you; you look as equally pathetic and lonely as I do - if not moreso. Would you like to suck my pee-pee through this bag of popcorn that I’ve conveniently cut a hole into?”
“What?!” she said, unable to conceal her astonishment.
"Well, I was just thinking we could turn this dry crunchy bag into something hot, buttery and salty; a savory treat at the behest of my man-meat," he said chuckling.
She wasn't amused. She glared at him.
“Oh, my mistake. It’s just that you look like the type,” he said.
With a loud bang, she slapped him across the face with her box of Raisinets, sending small schokolade balls flying into the air, raining down on a theater full of moviegoers. It sounded like someone had popped brown paper bag, and it startled everyone within earshot. In a deep baritone voice someone yelled out "Chocolate Rain!" Others groaned and turned around in their seats leering back at him.
She yelled, "Get this creep away from me, someone, please!"
No sooner had the words jumped from her mouth than he felt the firm hands of someone strong and sizable wrenching him up from his chair. Before he knew it, he was being forcibly ejected from the theater and dragged into a darkened alleyway.
"Think you're funny talking like that to a lady you sick fuck?" the man asked. "I'm tired of motherfuckers like you; today I'm gonna teach you a lesson in etiquette."
The man, tossing him onto the floor and stepping out from the shadows, revealed a menacing muscularity, like a pit bull's. He was colossal and intimidating, with eyes like eight balls, stinking of ferocity. He pulled out a pair of cuffs from his back pocket, clamped Alfred to a sewage drain, and slowly began to undo his pants. Alfred began to scream out and tugged at the cuffs with savage futility, trying madly to break free. The man slammed a fistful of Milkduds into Alfred's mouth and said: "Chew on this, bitch."
Taking a half empty bag of popcorn that lay on the floor next to the dumpster, he tore a hole in the bottom of it with his now erect and formidable penis. His cock looked dangerous, like a miniature version of himself. Through a mouthful of sticky schokolade, no one could hear Alfred's muffled cries as the man injected butter into his butt.
Then, the man bent down and whispered: "They call me - the butterer."
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