by Olivia Myers
Jamie brought over a black overcoat. “Here,” she said, as she motioned to Catherine to let her help her into the coat. “You have to borrow this. This will help keep you warm when you need to, and it will help strengthen the illusion of a real suit.”
“Guys, I couldn’t be happier,” Catherine said. “You did a great job.” She reached for her checkbook to pay the girls, adding an extra $100 to the agreed fee. “Promise me we’ll do this again?”
“Hell yeah,” said Paula. “We’ll be here. I just love what you’re all about, Cat. I hope I can find the balls to do what you’re doing someday.”
Catherine chuckled. “Trust me, you will. I got a feeling about it.” She dropped a quick kiss on each of their cheeks before heading out the door.
The show was starting in less than thirty minutes, and Catherine wanted to make sure her opening act went well.
Catherine floored it to the concert. She was so excited to start her night; the thought of stirring up some fun at such a rigid, traditional function gave her that warm feeling she had come to love and long for. The symphony wouldn’t have landed anywhere near her list of fun things to do, but the tickets were a last-minute perk from her boss, who had bought them before scheduling a trip to the firm’s London offices. She didn’t think she’d actually end up using them, but now that she stood in the lobby of the ornate concert hall, she knew she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
The usher directed her to a section to the left of the stage, along the wall and surrounded by a cluster of boxes jutting from the walls off to the side. Her tickets reserved the last two seats from the far aisle, and a seemingly married couple already occupied the seats next to her, out for what looked like an obligatory date night. Jesus, Catherine thought. If that’s what marriage looks like, I’m so happy I was spared the abuse. Being an exhibitionist taught her a lot about reading people, but there was no secret to be kept about her seatmates – they were miserable.
Not to be done in by a challenge so early in the evening, Catherine took off her coat and draped it over the aisle seat. That left her sitting right next to the depressed husband, who finally noticed her when she slid into her seat. Catherine wasn’t paying attention to the man much anyway. In a room full of hundreds of people, Catherine was completely exposed, on display for anyone willing to take a look and expect something a little more than the mundane. She said hello to the husband next to her, who smiled back with a terse “hello.” His eyes darted everywhere except her face. As she settled in, Catherine could feel the labored breathing of the living statue next to her quicken a bit. She knew that the husband could be onto her at any second, but he was far too reserved – or turned on – to say anything.
I wonder if there’s anyone else who might suspect something, Catherine thought. In the bustle of the full house, everyone else seemed to be too involved with their own conversations to even notice the woman who came in alone. Because her seat was on the outer aisle, she practically sat underneath all of the box seats above her, except for the one closest to the stage. Catherine glanced up to see a handsome young man looking down. He turned away from her the moment she focused on him, as if he had been watching her and didn’t want to get caught. Even though the effect of the body paint was better perceived when further away, it was possible that with the right glare from the house lights, it would be pretty obvious that she was naked. The man turned before she could get a better look at him, but Catherine could swear there was something familiar about him.
The lights began to fade out, and the orchestra stopped their tuning. After a few beats of silence, the music began. Catherine was surprised at how much the music moved her; she was certainly not a classical music lover – unless the Rolling Stones counted. Taking it all in, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was being watched. At first she just chalked the feeling up to being anxious and excited about the possibility of being caught, but soon she recognized the feeling. She was being watched. Aside from the disgruntled husband – who seemed to mind less about the strange woman next to him – there was someone else in the house who couldn’t seem to stop watching her. She looked up again at the balcony above her, and again, the handsome man was turning away. Ah, it must be you, she thought. That’s okay, sexy. Look all you want. Catherine had a feeling she had found a new lover to claim, but in order to get his full attention she needed to give him the performance of a lifetime. The orchestra continued to play as Catherine composed her next move. After a few more minutes the music swelled to a gripping, intense conclusion, with the conductor pushing the pace with his baton. Just when the pace has reached its climax, the conductor signaled the orchestra, and the music stopped. The abrupt ending pushed the crowd off the edges of their seats, and the entire house erupted into a standing ovation. Without her overcoat, joining the applause would almost surely expose Catherine to the people sitting closest to her. Is that what I want? Catherine asked herself. If everyone knew, I might get kicked out of the concert. Almost immediately, her mind became flooded with the images of the streakers from her childhood memories. Everyone will think I’m just some nut, out to make a scene and leave people uncomfortable. Instead of joining the crowd, Catherine stayed seated and applauded. She wasn’t out to ruin anyone’s night, only to make a memorable one for her and the lucky man she chose as her next lover.
After the applause, the house lights began to rise, signaling the intermission. Catherine quickly slipped on her overcoat while sitting, and darted back out to the lobby to walk around a bit. She felt a bit more secure in her overcoat, which made her start to wonder if she’d pushed herself too far this time. Was the risk too much for her? Had she stepped too far out of her comfort zone, so much so that she was losing control of her reality? Catherine never considered that she could ever go that far, but the pressure of the crowd was getting to her. I need to get the hell out of here, Catherine thought. And just as she turned toward the exit, she saw a face descending from the mezzanine stairs that she could never forget. In fact, she had just seen that face on her way to the break room at the office yesterday. It was the face that reminded her of the first real orgasm she’d ever had.
It was the accountant.
He stopped in his tracks when he locked eyes with Catherine, almost as if he had seen a long-lost lover. After the fun in the courtyard, Catherine treated him as if nothing had happened; their customary greetings and exchanges in the halls of the office were no different from before, and they never spoke of or repeated their encounter. Even now, after they had clearly recognized one another, the game continued. The accountant was the one who finally broke the standoff, and finished making his way down the stairs to the restroom. He glanced over his shoulder to find Catherine looking at him again. This time, she slipped enough of her overcoat off to reveal her right shoulder. That move was enough to stop the accountant in his tracks once more. With her left finger, she rubbed a small portion of the paint off to reveal her skin. The accountant covered his mouth to stop from laughing out loud. Once he composed himself, he looked Catherine in the eyes, shot her the biggest grin, and mouthed the words, I knew it. Then he turned and walked into the men’s room.
Catherine wasn’t a believer in fate until she became an exhibitionist. But for her, that was the only explanation for running into the accountant just as she was giving up on her night. The lights in the lobby flickered, signaling the end of the intermission. Catherine turned on her heels and went back to settle into her seat. She hoped the musicians had as much of a rejuvenating concert break as she did. If that was true, then everyone in that room was about to witness one hell of a finale. She had finally located her audience, and she had one more trick up her painted sleeve.
The house lights were just finishing their final fade to black as Catherine slid back into her seat. The orchestra ramped back into the symphony, with the crowd enthralled. Catherine looked up, and there was the accountant, staring back at her. She had him once again, gripped by the spell her energy cast upon him. She wanted to fee
l that ache of longing from him, and now that she was bolder and wiser in the ways of showing off, she wanted to give him a special treat. Without breaking the accountant’s gaze, she reached over and put her hand on top of the grumpy husband’s thigh.
She closed her eyes when she felt the husband turn to look at her – she didn’t want to give the accountant away. Catherine then opened her eyes and look at the husband, who had already checked to make sure his wife hadn’t noticed anything. He looked into Catherine’s eyes, almost pleading with her for … something. She could tell he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity he had in front of him, but he didn’t know what to do.
Just like she planned, Catherine took the lead. She held his hand and brought it over to her thigh. His breath quickened as she inched him closer and closer to the center of her lap. She then parted her legs and let go, inviting him to explore her.
He glanced over quickly at his wife to make sure she wasn’t looking, while Catherine quickly looked up at the accountant to make sure that he was still looking.
Two of the husband’s quivering fingers entered Catherine, causing her to gasp with pleasure. She reached over to give his cock an approving squeeze, and the husband quickened his pace. Catherine responded by spreading her legs wider, allowing him to stretch her enough to fit another finger inside of her. She breathed controlled, slow breaths to stop her from panting, but it wasn’t an easy task. The husband had clearly been without affection for a long, long time, but it was easy to guess that when he did fuck, he was very good at it. He played Catherine’s clit as expertly as any of the violinists onstage; even matching the ebbs and flows of his strumming with the music.
Since the husband had to pretend to watch the orchestra play in order to fool his wife, Catherine was able to keep looking up at the accountant, who was busy keeping himself quiet by biting his lip. She could see that his right shoulder was flexing up and down, and his hands were nowhere to be seen. Her eyes flashed with excitement. Nearly one hundred feet and one story apart from one another, Catherine and the accountant were making love, giving one another pleasure, longing, and the fleeting devotion that kept every interaction between them riddled with sexual energy.
The pressure soon became too much for Catherine to hold onto, and she allowed herself to cum all over the husband’s hand, drenching her seat. She shuddered and pulled her hips towards the back of the chair, taking herself off his hand. The husband smiled a devilish grin at Catherine before he realized that not only was his hand covered with the scent of another woman, but also a thin coat of black paint. As if on cue, the concert ended. Catherine grabbed her overcoat and scurried out of the theater as the audience gave the performance another standing ovation.
Catherine chuckled softly to herself, imagining how her seatmate was going to explain his hand to his wife. Good luck pal, but thanks for the memories, she thought as she strode towards the exit doors. On the way out she heard a familiar voice over the sound of rapidly tapping wingtips.
“Wait! Wait!” It was the accountant, who nearly bounded down the stairs to catch her; he was right to guess that she would leave as quickly as she did the last time. “You were incredible,” he panted. “You always have been. Please…when will you let me have you?”
“Baby,” Catherine responded, “you just had me. See ya around, sexy.” She took off her overcoat and tossed it to him. “In case you need to hide that cock again while you stroke it.”
Catherine rushed out the door and hailed a cab. She settled into the backseat and headed for home, happy that she had remembered to buy extra batteries.
THE END
Deep Exposure
Nope, I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do. Chris heard the words from the Bursar’s Assistant over and over again as he trudged home. It was his third attempt at requesting an extension on his tuition bill, and his third rejection. It was a financial miracle that he had made it to his sophomore year; back home his father was laid off at work, and savings dwindled. The youngest and the most studious of his five brothers and sisters, Chris put all his energy into his studies, never having to get a part-time job. But as the payment deadline drew closer, the twenty-year-old realized that the time had come to join the ranks of the Working Student.
This fucking sucks, Chris thought as he walked across the academic quad. If I have to start working after classes, I’ll never have time to do any real work. Chris’s dream was to become a writer. He was good enough at writing to help pay for college, thanks to a few scholarships from essay contests. Added to the money provided by his hardworking father, he was able to live and study at the university’s elite writer development program. But with his dad out of work, something had to be done to make up the difference. Now, as he sank onto a bench off the quad’s walkway, he knew there were only two options: find work, or leave school. Chris sighed and pulled out his tablet to search the town’s job listings.
“Hey Chris,” said the sweetest voice Chris had ever heard.
He looked up from his tablet. Standing in front of him was Kara. She was one of the few friends he made room for in his life. They had a mutual respect for the classics, and similar experiences living as teenaged book nerds. But Kara was stunning in spite of herself. She easily fell into the ‘tomboy’ category, but there was no pair of jeans or sweatshirt that could hide the seductive softness of her small curves and perfect breasts. She wore her brown hair in a sensible – but still sexy – ponytail. Her hazel eyes were friendly but intense; they seemed to dance when Chris spoke to her, and there was no denying the sexual tension between them. She touched his leg when they sat together in the dining hall, and when they walked side by side, she sometimes pressed her chest against his arm.
Chris just needed to work up the nerve to do something about it.
“Hey Kara,” Chris said, forgetting his depression as soon as he looked at her. “No luck again. It’s official. I am now a working stiff.”
Kara threw her head back and laughed. “Aww, poor baby,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Seriously, it’s not that hard. Everybody works and goes to school. Consider yourself lucky as hell to get to this point without working. Besides, you just need something for a few hours a week, right?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said without enthusiasm.
She came behind him and massaged his shoulders for a minute. Then she said, “I have to meet Cassie and James for coffee. See you later?”
Chris nodded glumly. She took off, her ass swaying. Over her shoulder, she blew him a sarcastic kiss.
Even though he knew she was right about working, Chris didn’t feel any better about it. Aside from class, Kara, and the occasional party, Chris spent nearly all of his time writing. He learned early on that the only thing a writer can do to get better is to write every day, for as long as possible. Despite his bookish nature, Chris took the little time needed to exercise, evident in the wiry, long muscles that decorated his tall frame. His short blond hair lay in that tousled mess that was popular with guys his age, and was complimented by a pair of deep blue eyes that were usually scanning the world around him, looking for the inspiration for his next story.
But today, Chris kept his eyes on the online copy of the town paper, searching the classified section for an answer to his money problems. He scrolled through listings for car wash attendants, fast food workers, bus boys, and retail clerks, until finally his eyes locked on a gig that piqued his interest:
PHOTOGRAPHER’S ASSISTANT WANTED – GREAT PAY FOR A RELIABLE HIRE!
LEARN ON THE JOB – NO EXPERIENCE NEEDED
E-MAIL [email protected] FOR MORE INFORMATION!
Chris recognized the name in the email address instantly: Simone Jensen was the professor of the Intro to Photography class that he was taking that semester. Although he had never had any real interest in pursuing photography as a career, Chris knew that there was some value in learning about it; it was important to his writing to be open to new experiences. Simone – she insi
sted on using first names in class – was the perfect guide. She was a renowned photographer and videographer who had traveled the world working on her craft. She was truly prolific: her images were attached to Pulitzer prize-winning stories, her daring portraits of celebrities were legendary, and she was a sought-after director for music videos and commercials. But after a decade in the world of fame and back-to-back projects, Simone wanted to slow things down. Claiming a need for simplicity in her life, she settled back into her hometown to teach a few classes at the college while running a boutique studio.
For all her notoriety and fortune, Simone was still the girl-next-door at heart – fun, loved by everyone, and a knockout by anyone’s standards. Her early thirties were treating her well; she had grown from the lanky, freckled-faced “ginger” girl into a red-haired beauty with long limbs and gorgeous green eyes.
This apprenticeship with Simone was Chris’s best chance at being happy while working. The ad only listed an email as a contact, but as soon as he clicked the link Chris remembered that all of his professors were required to leave a phone number on their staff bio page on the college website. Chris brought up the site and scrolled through the faculty page to find Simone. Once he did, he pulled out his phone and dialed. There’s no way she’s going to answer the phone, Chris thought as the line begin to ring. I’ll just leave a message to let her know I’m interested. She’s probably way too busy to even –
“Hello,” said a warm voice on the other end of the line.
“Oh, um – hi, uh, Simone,” Chris stammered. Even though he had been taking Simone’s class since the beginning of the semester, he had never had a conversation with her; he usually just listened intently and turned in his projects. “This is Chris Parker, from your Intro to Photography class.”