Here's my seventh Sunday six from Bride of the Living Dead, a romantic comedy about a woman who loves horror movies too much: Oscar and Daria, in a fever of foreplay at his house, stop when he announces the need to confess:
He chuckled at my alarm and ran his hands along my back as if he couldn’t help himself. "I saw you walk into the screening decided to buy a ticket, follow you in and sit behind you. When we kept laughing at the same awful parts in the movie, I had to talk to you."
"Very nice, I approve," I said, almost beyond words." I slipped my hand under his shirt and was lost to coherent thought.
The rest of our conversation was in eloquent body language and we understood each other totally.
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