by Dee, Bonnie
During the second act her sense of unease didn’t dissipate. She delivered her lines on cue, but her mind raced and she felt nearly paralyzed with anxiety about all the eyes watching her. After muddling through her performance, including a less than stellar rendition of her solo number, the tepid applause during her curtain call let her know she hadn’t done her best work. She wanted to escape the disapproving looks of the other cast members, whether real or imagined, crawl into Jake’s bed and never come out from under the covers.
“Want to go out for a drink?” he asked when she met him after the show.
“Yes! I need to unwind. Thank God we don’t have another performance this evening.”
At the bar, Jake ordered a pitcher of beer, which the waitress brought to their table. Gretchen chugged half of hers before Jake had finished pouring his. “It’s so unfair. I mess up one time and people are all over me. I’ve never been late before.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let it go.”
“It’s not like no one else ever makes mistakes. Everybody has fucked up or come in late at one time or another.” She finished her beer and poured another.
“Forget it. You can’t let shit like this get to you.”
“You know what?” Gretchen was suddenly too hyper to sit still. “Let’s dance.”
“Uh. I don’t really…”
“Come on.” She jumped up, grabbed his hand and tugged.
He refused to budge from his seat. “There’s no one dancing.” He looked over at the small, empty floor near the jukebox.
“Come on. You’re not shy, are you?”
“I don’t dance.”
“How can you be a musician and not dance?” Gretchen dragged him to his feet then onto the dance floor. She popped some quarters in the jukebox and picked her tunes. A slow, sexy song filled the air, and she put her arms around Jake, who stood at the edge of the dance floor stiff as a post. She swayed against him, feeling sultry and sexy. “Come on. It’s not hard. It’s just a slow dance. Hold me.”
His arms slid around her and Jake shuffled back and forth, guiding her slowly around in a small circle, his hand warm at the small of her back.
“Liar. You can dance.” Gretchen settled her head against his chest and swayed with him, her body melting into his warmth. “Mm, this is nice.”
When the song was over, another began, but Jake took her hand and led her back to the table.
Gretchen ordered shots of tequila and they downed them. “Whew!” She blew out a breath as she slammed the shot glass on the table. The fiery alcohol burned down her throat and settled in a molten glow in her belly and lower.
“You know what? We can find something more fun to do than hang out in a bar. Let’s get out of here. Go somewhere and get wild.”
His head cocked to the side, and he smiled. “What’d you have in mind?”
“We’ve got Rashid’s car for the evening. Let’s just drive!” She leaped up, leaving him no choice but to follow.
They swung by a liquor store and picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels. Jake pulled onto the highway and let the engine out. The car zipped in and out of traffic as they headed out of the city. Gretchen opened her window wide and let the wind whip her hair around her face. She opened the bottle and took a swig. Another trail of fire blazed down her throat. She watched city turn to suburbs then country as Jake steered a course that led them off the highway and into a more rural area.
A steady glow pulsed in Gretchen’s belly and in her sex as the alcohol hit her bloodstream. She pressed her thighs together, trying to soothe the aching need between her legs. She glanced at Jake, his eyes on the road before him, one hand negligently on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh.
Gretchen slid across the seat toward him. She replaced his hand with hers and slid it slowly up his thigh toward his crotch. Jake cut a sideways look at her as she rubbed the bulge in his jeans and played with the tab of his zipper. He shifted in his seat.
She unfastened his fly and released his stiffening cock.
“Whoa!” Jake grabbed her wrist with his free hand. “I’m driving. I love what you’re doing, but can you wait until we pull over?”
Smiling, she kissed the side of his jaw and fingered the soft hair on the back of his neck. She took his earlobe between her teeth and tugged, before whispering, “I could, but this is more exciting.”
Feeling wild and uninhibited, a world away from straight-laced Gretchen, she reached for his cock again. She pumped it until Jake moaned and thrust into her hand.
“Like that?” she teased, kissing the corner of his mouth. She moved her head down to his lap and sucked the head of his erection into her mouth. Heated by alcohol and by the forbidden nature of the situation, her pussy throbbed and ached.
“Gretchen,” he protested with a gasp. “Wait.”
She continued stroking and sucking. Despite his protests, his dick grew even harder. She bobbed her head up and down, his groans increasing her own arousal. She reached her free hand beneath her skirt to touch herself through the damp fabric of her panties.
“Jesus, Gretchen!” Jake thrust into her mouth. The car slowed as his foot eased off the gas pedal and the car swerved to the right as he attempted to pull to the curb.
In the same instant, a flashing red light shone into the interior of the car and the whoop of a siren came from behind them.
“Aw, fuck!” Jake pushed Gretchen away and pulled the car to a stop. Gretchen jammed the bottle beneath the seat, sat up and fastened her safety belt. Her heart hammered and her head whirled from the alcohol. The strobing red light made her even dizzier.
Cursing under his breath, Jake rolled down the window. A policeman shone a flashlight into the car, at the floor and then at Gretchen.
“License and registration, please.”
She blinked and shielded her eyes. Her euphoric high evaporated and she hit the ground with a thud. Dread seized her. How fast had they been going? Had Jake drunk enough that it would register on the breathalyzer?
Why the hell had she thought going down on him while he was driving was a fun idea?
Scene Six: Prop Room
The week in Connecticut felt like months. Michael helped his mother make funeral arrangements and accept condolences. He played the part of dutiful son almost as well as she played the grieving widow. His mother was graceful and stylish in her black dress as she stood greeting the many business associates and relatives at the visitation. Her somber face expressed resigned acceptance of her new status as a widow. A very wealthy widow.
Michael believed she’d honestly been attached to her husband, but with emotion based on financial security and status rather than love. He wondered if he would ever be able to get past his cynicism and truly love a woman, given the cold-blooded template of his parents’ relationship.
When he stood by the coffin and stared at his father’s still face, he expected to feel something: guilt for staying away so long, anger at never receiving any positive recognition, sadness at the relationship they might have had. Instead he felt nothing at all, just a great, big, blank wall of nothing.
His mother asked him to remain an extra day after the burial to meet with the lawyer, but Michael used his work as an excuse to escape. She promised to come see the show some time then let him go with a polite brush of lips on his cheek.
Arriving in Philadelphia in early evening, Michael felt like he’d come home. The dingy, run-down, cinderblock apartment building looked like heaven. The shabby rooms of the apartment were at least lived in, unlike his parents’ immaculate house.
He dropped his bag on the floor and checked his watch. The second act of the show would just be starting.
In the kitchenette he took a beer from the tiny fridge, popped the top and drank deeply. He wandered back out to the living room, carried his suitcase into his bedroom, unpacked it, then checked his watch again. They were probably through the first scene by now.
Returning to the living room, he flopped down on the cou
ch. Without cable, the television only received a few fuzzy local channels. The CSI episode was halfway over and he couldn’t figure out what was going on.
He looked at his watch again. If he left right now, he’d be able to catch the end of the show. Michael gave in to the call of the theater.
It was odd standing in the wings watching Chris play Aaron. Michael felt like a kid forced into a time-out from the playground. He noted the nuances that made the role different from the way he performed it.
Chris did the breakdown well, choking up but still making the words clear. It was hard to do. Michael had once been in a death scene where his character gasped out information vital to the plot with his dying breath. Projecting volume while fading into the grave was tough.
When Chris and Elena kissed, Michael felt a flare of annoyance. The couple broke apart and began their duet, voices blending nicely. The song was all right, but it was better when he and Elena sang it.
The audience applauded. Elena and Chris exited. Michael knew they had to change quickly before the final scene so he stayed out of the way. Like a ghost, he watched the show play out and the cast take a final bow. Then everyone broke and hurried off stage.
Laughing and talking to Chris, Elena walked toward where Michael stood. When she saw him in the wings, her eyes widened and she smiled. “You’re back!” She rushed toward him and threw her arms around his neck.
Michael felt a swell of warmth as he hugged her tight. This felt even more like home than his crappy apartment. This was where he belonged.
When she lifted her face, he bent to kiss her. It was the most natural thing in the world to cover her mouth with his and brush her lips with his tongue. She tasted like lipstick and the lemon juice she sipped between scenes to keep her voice clear.
Her taut, little body was hot and sweaty. She smelled of perspiration, powdery deodorant and stage make-up. He slid his hand up her back beneath the curtain of her hair. Supporting her neck, he angled his head to kiss her more deeply.
Elena’s lips parted and her tongue swirled around his. Her fingers grasped his hair, tugging him even closer. She made a small whimpering sound.
This isn’t really happening, Michael assured himself. We’re just acting. Sliding his hands down her back, he cupped her ass and lifted her without breaking the kiss. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Her breasts snuggled firmly against his chest and her crotch pressed into his erection.
Michael gave a low groan of satisfaction. He squeezed her ass and pushed into her softness. Behind them someone whistled, and there was a smattering of spontaneous applause. A voice called out, “It’s about time.”
Elena broke the fierce kiss, gasping for air. Her face was only inches away and her big, brown eyes became a single Cyclops eye blinking at him.
Michael turned to see one of the tech guys walking by, grinning at them. “Niiice.” The man flashed a thumbs-up. Actors and crew members milled around in the usual post-show organized chaos. Most eyes were on them, and everyone seemed highly entertained.
Michael released his death grip on Elena’s ass and let her slide down his body until she stood on her feet again. “Sorry. Guess I got carried away.”
“Or I did. I missed you. How was the funeral?”
“Strange. Surreal. I’m glad to be back.”
“Yeah, I felt that.” She smiled.
Michael brushed a few sweat-damp curls from her forehead. He looked down into her velvety dark eyes and bent toward her again. He couldn’t remember anymore why he kept fighting his attraction to Elena.
“Oh screw it!” She reached up and pulled his head down again, attacking his mouth like she was a scuba diver and he a fresh oxygen tank.
Michael’s hands roamed up and down her back. He wanted to touch her everywhere at once, but finally settled on her round butt again. He pulled his mouth from hers and kissed her jaw and neck, nibbling down toward her collarbone, tasting salt and the chalky flavor of her base make-up.
“I’m all sweaty and gross.” She tilted her head back so he could reach her throat better. “Mmm. Let me wash up and change, and I’ll meet you after.”
“Nu-uh.” He didn’t want to stop, afraid they’d come to their senses if they took a break. “Now.”
“Where?”
Despite the size of the theater, there was no place private to go. “Come on.” He grabbed her hand, leading her away from the stage and the curious eyes and toward a staircase that led to basement set storage.
Miraculously, the prop room door was unlocked. Big area flats and set pieces representing years of productions cluttered the inside. There were light fixtures and furniture from various time periods and props of all kinds.
Elena closed the door behind them.
Michael pulled a heavy trunk in front of it since there was no interior lock, then turned and faced her. His hands clenched at his sides, his pulse raced and he felt short of breath. After all the months of touching and kissing onstage, he suddenly felt anxious about doing it for real.
Elena evidently didn’t. She launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist so he had to lift her in his arms. Her personality was so strong and passionate, it always surprised him how light she was. Their mouths fused together in a steaming hot kiss.
He pressed her back against the door, bracing a hand on either side of her, and thrust his erection against her, but instead of relieving his ache, the friction only made him want more. Elena’s legs grappled him to her. Her hands tugged at his hair hard enough to hurt, and her kisses were so hot he thought he’d come just from them…and from humping through layers of clothes. She pushed against his chest and pulled away from his mouth.
“Too many clothes,” she gasped.
Michael reached between them and fumbled with his fly, fighting to get his erection free of his boxers. Elena unzipped and struggled to pull her jeans down her hips far enough that he could enter her. It wasn’t working.
Reluctantly he set her on her feet and skimmed off all his clothes except his boxers. Elena did the same. Unselfconsciously, she shed her Kathleen costume, until she stood in only her bikini underwear, shivering a little in the cool room. Her arms crossed beneath her breasts, lifting the small, perky mounds higher.
Michael’s gaze riveted on them. He’d felt them pressed against him often enough, but it was something else to see the pointed, brown nipples in her small breasts. He rested his hands on the curve of her hips and bent to suck one into his mouth. Her nipple was hard, yet soft as butter as he swirled his tongue around it. He caressed her other breast, pulling on her peaked nipple and rolling it between his fingers.
Elena moaned and arched toward him. Her hands slid through his hair, holding him to her chest.
Michael let one nipple go with a wet pop and turned his attention to the other. He glanced up at her face as he drew it into his mouth. Her eyes were half-closed, watching him. Her full lips were parted and her face flushed.
The taste and feeling of her tits in his mouth was fantastic, but his dick twitched, wanting more. Michael straightened and gazed into her eyes for a moment with his hands poised at the waistband of his underwear. “You’re sure?”
“Oh yeah. I’m absolutely sure.” She reached for his boxers and tugged them past his hips. His cock sprang free, thrusting arrogantly toward her as though demanding her attention. She slid her hands down his quivering stomach toward it.
Michael held his breath as she made a loose ring of her fingers around his shaft and slowly stroked upward, ending with her thumb brushing across the head. She gripped him tighter and pumped him with her fist.
Michael gritted his teeth, fighting the growing tension in his cock. Just the sight of her small hand wrapped around it was almost enough to set him off. After all their verbal and physical foreplay, it was incredible to finally feel her touch.
“Please tell me you have a condom.”
“In my wallet.” He stooped to get his jeans.
> “Men! Ever hopeful of getting laid.”
Michael pulled a foil square from his wallet. “Hey, you should be glad I’m prepared. I sure as hell didn’t come to the theater tonight with this in mind.”
He rolled the condom on and grabbed her waist again, drawing her close and kissing her deeply. He rubbed his dick against her crotch, so desperate to plunge inside it was painful. Scanning the room for a better place to screw than up against the door, he noticed a bed mixed in with the rest of the set furniture. Michael scooped Elena up in his arms, as he’d done so many times onstage, and carried her to the bed.
Dust rose from the mattress as he laid her on it. She sneezed and laughed, holding out her arms to him. “Hope you don’t have allergies.”
Michael crawled over her. Gazing down into her sparkling eyes, he thought there was no place he’d rather be than in this dirty basement on the mildewed mattress with her. He lowered his body until his chest rubbed against her erect nipples, his hairy stomach against her soft, smooth one, and his cock nudged insistently into her damp cleft.
The moment was as inevitable as the sun rising. They’d both felt it coming for so long, but to finally be here was amazing. His cock pressed inside her, stretching and filling her, and he nearly sighed in relief.
Elena inhaled sharply and he paused, afraid he’d gone too deep, too fast. But she grabbed his ass and pulled, encouraging him to plunge the rest of the way in.
Buried to the hilt, he paused, enjoying the sensation of being deep within her, then withdrew, reveling in the warm friction. He eased his cock back in. Out… And in.
Elena raised her hips to meet his thrusts. She stroked her hands down his flanks as far as she could reach, then up his back to his shoulders again. Wrapping her legs around the small of his back, she clung to him like a climbing vine.
“Ah, there,” she murmured. “Right there.”