A matinee;

He was fresh out of Basic Training, enjoying a little R&R in a darkened theater screening "Quantum of Solace." Her eyes adjusted to the gloom as she stood near the entrance, looking for prey. A long weekend at her friend's condominium was NOT an opportunity to be wasted.

The casement Diana identified an opposite number, and moved quietly, like a lioness. While the King of the Jungle is known for his terrific roar, the lioness makes the kill. Prides hunt by design, like Orcas, and the Lion's job is to scare the meal into the path of the ambushing lioness. He became aware of her just as she slid into the seat just next to his. It was a half-empty theater, and her forwardness was unavoidably evident.

She recovered from even this small exertion easily, by deepening the draw of her breath. He knew, from recent experience in clandestine ops, that this translated into excellent stealth on her part. When fleeing, the noise of your labored breathing is as telling as any indication a fugitive can hide.

Her Baby-Doll Tee was short, and her skirt was shorter. She felt that the ball was in his court, and did not go further with introductions. 007 undertook yet another 130 minute epic of history, and he was well underway before their shared armrest became the pleasure of his audience.

She was, (by design,) seated to his left, and his first right move was to move his drink to his right armrest. He contemplated the old "stretch and put the arm around her" maneuver, but decided he didn't want to explain a juvenile failure to his bud's back at the base, much LESS his XO. Besides, Movieplexes frowned upon that kind of thing nowadays... At least, this was not THAT kind of Movieplex, and she gave no evidence of being that kind of vixen.

His relaxation went away as she maneuvered her right arm until about a square inch of her bare skin touched his arm. She added a cook's portion of time, changing position just often enough to keep his attentions divided. By the time Gemmma Arterton's "Agent Fields," made an entrance, he was ready to surrender, adolescent or not. And she was... adolescent. Nubile, but not excessively so, he strongly suspected that jail-bait was on the line, but he could not avoid the evidence. There was BAIT on that hook.

She leaned over and whispered, "Did you know that 'Quantum,' (as used in the title,) isn't 'two-states at once,' but rather 'the smallest distinguishable unit?'" she asked. Agent Fields herself was quite delectable, and the comparison inebriated the senses. "You should get a trench coat like that yourself," he suggested frankly. "No, I didn't know. I thought it was 'solace,' and 'not solace,' at the same time. Shhh!"

She had his attention and desisted from harassment, satisfied that her Marlin needed to burn some energy, or the line would snap. The constant touch at the arm was becoming intimate, and had progressed to more than was in any wise necessary. The play developed to crescendo, and abated, like the tide coming in and going out. This was her third angling expedition, and she monitored the plot in the pedestrian manner of minors who watch a favorite Disney episode repeatedly.

For his part, he anticipated that her bare midriff and exposed thigh were fair game after her advances, but he was not only ethical, he had not yet surrendered all his morals. The closing credits rolled, and the lights came up.

She struck while the glowing metal was still malleable. "Could you help a girl out by sharing a taxi?" she inquired. A combination of respect for women and a desire to be a White Knight coerced agreement out of him, and soon they stood side by side at the edge of the curb. Her right hand took his arm just above the elbow, and he was her escort before he knew what had happened.

"How old are you?" he soon demanded. It was impolite to ask a woman her age, but this waif at his side was certainly his junior. "I turned 18 three months ago," she replied, then added quickly, "...but I'm NOT innocent!" Hmmm... he thought, can't argue with you there. He spoke gently, "I just don't want to take advantage of you," he explained.

As soon as they were seated in the cab and had given instructions as to their destinations, her eyes caught his intently. He had no other warning of her next salvo. "Want to get involved in a 'Love Triangle,'" she asked, with a playful grin. His mind had come to no organized conclusion before his blood chemistry assaulted any remaining clarity that he may have enjoyed. Instinct and long established decorum asserted themselves. "Of course not," he managed weakly. She maintained eye contact, as her right hand guided _his_ right hand north of her southern border. The beaver pelt he found illustrated her point, as the vessel of his physical constitution discovered it was underway. Ships were safe in harbor, but that was NOT what ships were for. He kissed her gently, and they directed the cabbie to her condo. Women preferred their OWN beds.