Fatma sat languorously in the darkened cinema watching a gripping film when a man came and took the seat next to her. In a short while he surprised her by slipping his hand under her skirt and fondling her. She was about to
protest, but he leaned over and whispered in her ear that she’d better keep quiet if she didn’t want to cause a scandal, one that hurt women more than it hurt men. She froze, yielding to his hand. But suddenly, she reached for him and started feeling him with nervous, greedy, and experienced fingers, trying her best to hold back the sound of her panting. His fingers became paralyzed, and he drew his hand away swiftly as if a bolt of lightning had struck it. He rose from his seat with the air of someone who suddenly remembers an important appointment and rushed out of the theater. Fatma sat back watching the absorbing film, but she now found it boring.