by Неизвестный
“The SM,” said the other volunteer.
“SM?” I figured that must either be an insult I’d never heard, or the big blonde was into sadomasochism.
“Stage Manager,” the volunteer clarified.
“Oh.” I felt stupid for not knowing, but just because I was volunteering in a theater didn’t mean I knew anything about the different jobs there.
I wanted to find out her name, which at that point, I didn’t know. She was so stunning, even dressed in simple black slacks and a turtleneck. Nothing fancy, except her black velvet scrunchie. I wanted to know everything about her, but I didn’t want to hear it from the mean dyke across the aisle.
In truth, I don’t remember how I learned Lisa’s name. I must have overheard somebody calling her before a show, or afterward when I stuck around to tidy the theater.
Like I said, I was always a quiet queer. It took a few weeks of watching and waiting before I finally worked up the courage to talk to her. To Lisa. I asked her something sensible. I asked, “Can I help you with anything?”
She was onstage at the time. It wasn’t a big stage and it wasn’t raised too high. Still, Lisa didn’t react. She had this look on her face like she was concentrating hard, and I wondered if she didn’t want to be interrupted or if she hadn’t heard me.
“Can I help you?” I asked again.
Lisa jumped, like she hadn’t realized anybody else was in the theater. Her shock made me smile. It was such an intense emotion that it sharpened her features, and when she looked at me, the glowing blue of her eyes pierced my very soul. I know that sounds corny, but it’s absolutely true. Cupid’s arrow found my heart. Lisa was the girl for me.
“Help with what?” Lisa asked.
Good question. “I don’t know. Whatever you’re doing.”
“Setting the stage for tomorrow’s matinee,” she said. Since I’d never heard Lisa talk much to anyone else, I figured she was as quiet as me. But maybe she was just waiting for an opening, waiting for someone to take interest. “Oh, you know what you could do, if you wanted? Collect the sherry glasses and we’ll take them backstage for a wash.”
I felt weird about going backstage, like the actors would yell at me. They didn’t have their own individual dressing rooms, just a partially closed-off space with a row of desks and mirrors along the wall. Lisa picked up their costumes off the floor while they chatted and took off their makeup. The two men had their shirts off, and one of the women was in her bra and panties. We were like ghosts to them. We didn’t even exist.
“Call time tomorrow is one o’clock,” Lisa said, and the actors looked at her in the mirror, nodding their assent.
“Oh, Lisa!” said the woman in the bra. “I almost forgot, the hem of my dress caught on my shoe…”
“I noticed,” Lisa said, ushering me and my dishes to the laundry tub in the corner. “Did it rip?”
The actress looked genuinely concerned. “Yeah, it did. Sorry. Can you sew it up before tomorrow?”
“That’s my job.”
Lisa seemed almost happy about the repair.
I was about to ask her where I could find some dish soap when one of the shirtless men asked, “Who’s your little friend?”
You can only stay invisible for so long, I guess.
“She’s FOH,” Lisa said.
More codes I didn’t understand. I told them, “I’m just a volunteer.”
The actors surprised me by saying, “That’s great,” and “Thank you,” and “Sisters couldn’t survive without people like you.” They really seemed to mean it, and that made me feel like a valuable contributor to the theater. I smiled the whole time I washed their sherry glasses.
After every shift, I stuck around and helped Lisa backstage. She started calling me her “official unofficial Assistant SM,” which had a nicer ring to it than “FOH.” I’d worked up the courage to ask what exactly that stood for, and it was “front of house”: ushers, program hander-outers, people who worked with the public.
I’d worked up the courage to ask Lisa a lot of questions, actually. Even some pretty personal stuff. By the time we’d known each other for three or four months, our lives were twining. After work was done, she’d drive me home so I wouldn’t have to take the streetcar at night. Around Christmas, I invited her up to see my tree. It was after midnight, but we sat together on my couch, drinking hot chocolate and eating ginger biscuits.
When she set her mug on my coffee table, I knew she wanted me to kiss her. Lisa was kind of transparent that way. I guess we both were. Love is hard to hide.
In that moment, I wasn’t thinking about the cruel jabs I’d overheard from other volunteers. I didn’t care what Lisa had between her legs. Sure I wondered if she was pre-op, or post-op, or non-op, or something else altogether, but it made no difference. I was totally besotted with her, and when her lips met mine it was as if I was drunk.
We didn’t go to bed together. Not that night. That night, we kissed by the magical fairy light of my Christmas tree. By one in the morning, Lisa walked dizzily out my door and called me the minute she stepped through hers. We talked until three, and fell asleep on our phones.
I didn’t want to strip her, and I didn’t want to ask. But I wanted to know. I wanted to know not only what lived between her thighs, but whether she liked sex, whether she liked me. I guess I should have known by then, but there’s something about love that makes a person self-conscious and totally neurotic.
When we finally found our way to nudity, we found it in the dark. I never expected it to happen the way it did. We’d just finished tidying the makeshift dressing room when Lisa snapped off the light. Everyone else had gone home by then. We were the last two people in the building. Lisa found me in the darkness and kissed me into submission, tearing into my pants. When she stroked me through my panties, my knees buckled the same way they had the first time I saw her.
I fell at her feet, and she obviously took that as a sign, because she unzipped her pants. The stretchy satin of her panties kissed my cheek. When she’d pushed those down too, I brushed my lips across her pubic hair. It tickled my nose, but I didn’t laugh. I didn’t even laugh when her erection whacked the underside of my chin.
I bowed to her hardness, finding her wet tip with my bottom lip. She hissed in a way that sounded surprised, and her cock pulsed against my face. When I opened my mouth, she found her way inside, and the darkness subsided. I knew how to do this. I knew she wanted it. We both did.
Lisa was the whole package, with a cherry on top.
Everyone at the theater must have known we were a couple, because the other volunteers stopped talking to me. If I liked Lisa, they didn’t like me. That sort of thing. But I was lost in love, and I didn’t care what they thought.
During performances, instead of sitting in the house with patrons, I’d sneak into Lisa’s booth and watch her work. Her job seemed complicated, but she said she’d been doing it long enough that it felt simple. She worked with a prompt script in front of her—a big binder with the play’s script in one column and her cues in another. The lighting and sound boards were huge panels with sliders that she often worked with both hands. I liked watching her fingers move.
The week Sisters in Sin played host to a traveling drag show, I worried Lisa would expel me from the booth. It wasn’t “her” show. It wasn’t an in-house production they’d rehearsed over the course of a month, where she knew the play inside out. For the traveling drag show, she was handed a playlist of karaoke tracks and lighting effects the performers wanted. I figured she’d have to focus.
That night, I stood at the back of the house instead of invading Lisa’s glass booth. I didn’t want to break her concentration. Instead, I inadvertently broke her heart.
At intermission, she came out in a huff. She saw me, but she didn’t smile. I followed her toward the stage, but I was supposed to help sell soft drinks in the lobby. It wasn’t until the tail end of intermission that I met her at the booth and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I could ask you the same question,” she said.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why are you mad at me?”
“Me? Mad at you?” She cackled.
When Lisa entered the booth, I followed. I had no idea what was going on. “Did I do something wrong?”
She looked at me like she didn’t know how to respond. Then she looked at her watch and said, “No time.” Falling into her chair, she lowered the houselights and got the mirror ball spinning before turning on the karaoke track and illuminating the duo on stage.
“Do you hate drag queens?” I asked. Maybe that was the issue.
Her expression changed from driven to perplexed. “No. Why?”
“I don’t know. Some people do, especially feminists and transwomen, and feminist transwomen.”
“Drag queens are fine. I’ve got nothing against them.” Lisa had her eyes on the show, but at least she was speaking to me. “I guess the only thing that bothers me is when the general population confuses people who identify as transgender with drag performers who are just putting on a show.”
“That makes sense.”
“It’s a spectacle, after all. It’s a music concert.” Lisa glanced back at me. “They’re nice guys, these two. But they are guys.”
“Oh.” I set my hand on her shoulder and felt the tension in her muscles relax. “I thought maybe that’s why you were in a bad mood.”
“I was in a bad mood because you’ve been avoiding me all night.”
“What? No!” I couldn’t believe she thought that. “I was staying out of your way so you could focus on your work.”
She laughed, shaking her head, and her blonde ponytail whipped side to side. “Focus on this show? It’s easy as pie.” She glanced at me and smirked. “Mmm…pie.”
I wasn’t standing far away. The booth was small enough that we could never be farther than an arm’s length from each other. But I’d never seen that look on her face during a show. She always concentrated so hard on her work, and I just watched. That night, she was concentrating on me.
Lisa’s fingers slipped from the lighting board. She cupped my pussy, out of the blue, and pulled me close. Nobody had ever touched me so forcefully. Until then, even Lisa had only petted me like a kitten. She’d build my arousal up before sinking down between my thighs, tossing me clear over that cliff.
This was different. She slid her hand inside my panties and squeezed my crotch. Squeezed it. Her palm pressed hot against my clit while her fingertips dabbed at my cunt.
“Wait a sec,” Lisa said, adjusting her sliders. “I need to do a few things here.”
She reached up to pause the audio system, then brought up a lighting wash, and she did it all one-handed, without tearing her fingers out of my pants.
“You’re crazy,” I whispered. The booth was somewhat soundproof, with audio from the stage coming in through speakers, but I still worried about talking too loudly. What if someone in the audience turned around and spotted Lisa’s hand in my pants? Anything was possible.
“Okay, we’re good for another three minutes,” Lisa said, rubbing her wet fingers over my clit. “How’s that?”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
My knees buckled and she raised an eyebrow. “So tell me to stop.”
I couldn’t. I didn’t say a word, only whimpered as she stroked my pussy. She was so self-assured that I wondered if her attitude might be turning me on even more than her powerful fingers rubbing my clit.
Onstage, the queens were singing a song I’d never heard. It was upbeat and playful, and they were dancing with sun umbrellas. But Lisa wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at me.
“You’re about to fall over,” Lisa said. “Don’t tell me you’re coming already?”
I nodded. I was panting. My heart raced in time with my throbbing clit. It felt huge when she toyed with it—huge and swollen and tender and hot.
“Can you come before this song is over?”
“Yeah,” I whimpered, rocking against her hand. It was so tight against my pussy, trapped inside my pants. I couldn’t believe I was getting off on her like this. It seemed almost impersonal, like rubbing against a washboard or some other inanimate surface.
“You really think you can come in a minute?” Her teeth gleamed as she grinned.
“Sooner,” I squealed, clutching her shoulder for support. She never stopped smiling as I fucked her hand.
“Do it,” she whispered. “Come for me.”
“I am!” I said, trying not to shriek. The lights in the booth were dim, but if someone in the audience turned around and really looked, they’d see us. They’d see my embarrassing orgasm face while my thighs clenched and my calves seized and my whole body shuddered relentlessly.
“Quiet,” Lisa hissed.
“I know!” I was being quiet, I thought, but I bit my lip to keep quieter.
“Quiet,” Lisa whispered, like a tease, as my knees quaked.
It was too much, too much raw sensation. Her hand slid out of my pants as I tumbled to the rough industrial carpet.
“What are you doing down there, hmm?” Lisa’s skin glowed bluish in the booth’s weird lighting. “Getting hungry?”
“Yes. Please.” It hadn’t occurred to me before then, but once she planted that seed I could almost taste her on my tongue. “Are you sure you can concentrate on work if I go down on you?”
“Let’s find out,” she said, guiding my head between her legs.
The way Lisa’s little booth was set up, the lighting board and all that stuff was set on a desk that ran from one wall to the other. And me? I was kneeling underneath that desk, with my chin on her chair, pawing into her pants.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” I unzipped her fly, but the rest was tricky. I left it to her. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”
“Not afraid enough, I guess.” Arching her ass off the chair, Lisa pulled down her pants. Her gaff was the tricky part—it was like a supertight, superstrong pair of panties that she wore over her actual underwear. To keep everything in place.
Her panties came down just in time to catch her next audio cue. “Shit! Almost missed that one.”
A queasy feeling came over me. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I don’t want to mess up the show.”
“You won’t,” Lisa assured me. “If anyone messes it up, it’ll be me.”
“What if someone comes up here to see what’s wrong? There’s no lock on the door, and even with me hiding under the desk, they’ll still know what’s going on.”
“Not if you keep quiet and stay between my legs,” Lisa countered. And maybe she was right. Maybe even with someone spying from the doorway we’d get away with it.
Lisa’s naughty parts weren’t shy around me. Her cock slid eagerly from the space in her pelvis where she’d tucked it away. Its glistening tip found my lips like we were magnetized. I kissed it sweetly, and she sighed.
“Is that what you want?” I whispered, before kissing all the way up her shaft. Lisa wasn’t especially hard yet, but I’d get her there. “Should I just kiss you all night?”
“No, no, no,” Lisa moaned, probably a little louder than she’d intended. “Suck it, sweetie.”
Her hand slipped off the lighting board and landed heavy on my head. There wasn’t much space down there. Good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic or afraid of the dark.
As Lisa worked her magic with light and sound, I wrapped my lips around her engorged cockhead. She moaned as her precome spilled across my tongue, salty and sweet.
“I’m not distracting you?” I asked with her tip sitting gently in my mouth.
Under the long desk, Lisa wrapped her big hand around the back of my head. She pulled me in tighter between her spread legs, driving her erection into my throat. I gagged and she released her hold on me, but I didn’t draw back. I whimpered, subjecting myself to the sweet pain until my eyes watered.
“Oh, honey,” Lisa groaned. “Yes, just like th
at.”
I couldn’t see her. I wanted to look up into Lisa’s face, see that look of lust in her brilliant blue eyes, her pouting pink lips parting the way they do when she’s truly aroused. But the damn desk was in the way. All I could do was imagine the sweet look on her face as I consumed her cock.
“I love it when you go crazy on me.” Her voice was keen and hoarse. “Do it, honey. Go crazy.”
Lisa always said that stage managers had a presence about them that was both understated and commanding. In that moment, the understated went out the window and all that was left was the commanding. If Lisa wanted crazy, that’s what she’d get.
Wrapping my fist around her firm shaft, I sucked the tip as it spilled precome all across my tongue. That sweet juice made me suck harder, faster, jerking her off with one hand while I fucked her with my face.
“Oh god, I can hardly hear the music.” Lisa’s thighs shook. Her balls pulled up tight to her body, so my thumb whacked them as I stroked her hot and fast.
“Come,” I said around her cock. “Come in my mouth, baby.”
“My hands are shaking. My fingers…” They landed in my hair, her short fingernails digging into my scalp, making me crazy. “You are distracting, honey. I’m going to lose my job. I’m going to lose my mind!”
“Come!” I squealed, working harder to get her there.
“In less than a minute, I’ve got three lighting cues, back to back to back.” Lisa gasped as I hit a sweet spot with my tongue. “Oh honey, I’m shaking all over.”
I drew back quickly. “Can’t do your job with shaking fingers.” God, I wished I could see her beautiful face. “Better come fast, baby.”
“You just try and stop me,” Lisa grunted, bucking so wildly her chair squealed. Her fingers clenched in my hair and she pulled it hard enough to hurt before she stopped moving altogether. Her cockhead pulsed against my tongue. She whimpered like a puppy as she flooded my mouth with hot cream. It slid down my tongue, and it was gone before I got a good taste.