Backstage Pass

by K T Morrison

  Libby’s face showed the interior dilemma. It was something she couldn’t do. She couldn’t go off with another man to a show. She wanted to. She wanted to see Dorchester, had been told she was going to see Dorchester, and gosh, darn it, she really, really wanted to. And then maybe something a little more base... Maybe something inside her head a little more feminine and primal. I want to go... I want to go with Finn... I want temptation... I want to feel that challenge inside me... I want to feel like a woman…

  Fear burned in Ben’s chest and he rubbed at his shirt. He said, “You could do that if you want, Lib.”

  “I can’t... that’s so nice, but you...”

  “You’re absolutely going to come with me,” Finn said, engaging her, pumping her up, saying, “Dorchester, come on now, Dorchester...”

  It got her smiling, but it still looked as if there was no way she was going to go, it showed in her face. She turned back to Ben, raising her eyebrows with the hope of the possibility, she said, “I can’t go...” Then darting back to look at Finn, she added, “You’re working, anyway... I’d be alone...”

  Chelsea said, “Really wish I could go, but I’m away in Ottawa that weekend. I’d chum with you, Lib...”

  “Let’s totally do this,” Finn said. “My work will be done already. I don’t work the show, I got guys that do that, and, shoot, the venue has their own team, too. I do the set up, and then I hang out for consultation. I’ll be on call, but mostly just hanging out, watching the show. I was going to hang with you guys...” He gestured towards Ben now too.

  “What do you say, Lib,” Ben said, not believing the words were even coming out of his mouth.

  Libby looked on the verge of laughing, and her eyes went up and to the right as she considered it. She said, “I don’t know,” then hummed as she pondered.

  It was going to happen.

  Finn said, “This is a great idea,—we’ll have fun... Ben, it’s a good idea, right?”

  “Yeah, Lib, you really wanted to go, I don’t want to be the jerk that means you have to miss out on your favorite band.”

  “I wanted to see them with you,” she said.

  “It’s not going to work out, though, baby—but you should go.”

  “That’s crazy,” she said, looking to Finn.

  Ben said, “I already booked a room,” then realized he’d booked it with Finn through email, Finn saying to get the room that adjoined his suite. Had this been planned all along without him?

  She said, “You can still cancel it...”

  “But it’s there,” he said. “Just go with Finn, go hang out with him and go see Dorchester, you’ll have fun.”

  Finn said, “You don’t want to go with me?”

  “Hey,” she laughed and collapsed against him, bumping him with her shoulder before sitting up again. “It’s not that at all.”

  “Don’t be shy, Lib,” Ben said, and it made her flash him a sort of mean look.

  She said, “I’m not shy...”

  “I don’t mean shy,” he said, backpedaling, and now the moment hung strange in the air.

  Finn said, “Hey, it’ll be fun. Seriously, you’ll be backstage with me. You want to meet the band? I’ll be in and out of the dressing rooms and everything, come meet them, don’t you want to do that?”

  Libby nodded. “That’d be cool.”

  Finn said, “And our hotel rooms are side-by-side. So I’ll be right there. You won’t be alone…”

  9

  From the closet doorway, Ben watched his wife. At first he thought she hadn’t heard him coming because she didn’t acknowledge him. When her shirt came off, she paused to look over her shoulder and asked, “Are you watching me again?”

  “Busted,” he admitted, giving a brief snort.

  “Don’t watch me, Ben,” she said, and despite her protest, he detected a certain purr in her voice; a tiny signal from his wife that in his long time with her he’d become sensitively attuned to because it could mean his wife was in the mood. Libby wasn’t into broad pronouncements, her indicators were small, contracted, and only the most well-versed could decipher her sometimes.

  In an unhurried tone, he said, “Then hurry up and get dressed because I have to change, too, you know.”

  She paused to answer, giving him a sidelong glance over her bare shoulder. She only wore her pajama shorts, had taken off her tank top and that pretty-in-pink bra. He’d never seen her more beautiful. And now she turned to face him. A bold move from timid Lib, but held in check by crossing her forearms over her bare breasts—but she’d revealed to him the flesh of her bosom as it was squashed. It flabbergasted him, because Libby would never do that. His eyebrows raised, and he made a croaking sound that made her smile.

  Soft as a distant babbling brook, he murmured, “Show me…”

  But now she hugged herself, swiveling at the hips and giving him a funny smile. She popped back around, snatched her pajama shirt, said, “Can you turn around now, please?”

  “Sorry,” he whispered, internally shouting Show me more! He turned his head away and listened as she shimmied the soft cotton over her bare skin.

  When he turned back, she was facing him, still hugging her arms across her chest though she wore her shirt now. She said, “It was a good night.”

  “It was,” he agreed, unbuttoning his shirt.

  “I’m still so surprised. I thought Chelsea hated me…”

  “Sometimes you can make up things in your head.”

  Libby said, “Oh, no, I was pretty sure she hated me because she made it clear...” She shook her head, looking away and down at the floor. “Pretty clear indeed.”

  “We all seem to be getting along now.”

  “The dinner was really good,” she said.

  “It was,” he agreed, slipping his shirt off and throwing it in the hamper.

  “Finn can really cook.”

  His stomach tightened and a feverish burn rippled over his heart. He bit his lip, said, “On the dance floor, too.”

  Libby nodded, looking away and to the side still, leaving him unsure whether it was to give him privacy while he changed, or so she wouldn’t have to look in his eyes when they talked about Finn.

  He put on pajamas in silence, Libby not leaving, leaning against a dresser with her arms folded. When he’d changed, she said, “It’s okay if I go with Finn?”

  He took a pause, gathering his thoughts, doing his best to keep his expression plain and unmoved. He said, “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because you’re not going to be there.”

  “Finn’s going to be there,” he said.

  Her mouth moved around, her brow creased. “But Finn’s not my husband.”

  “So?” He shrugged, acting like he waited for more of the story.

  “A married woman like me shouldn’t…” She hunched her shoulders and grimaced, then didn’t continue. She said, “Don’t you think?”

  “It’s his job to be at the concert. You’re friends with him. You guys have separate rooms, you’re not staying together. You can hang at a concert…”

  “Okay,” she said, keeping her arms folded but wagging her hands at him. “It feels weird, but I do want to go. If you don’t think it’s a big deal...”

  He scoffed, darted his head back, said, “A big deal? Not at all, Lib. I’m so happy that I’m not going to ruin your Dorchester concert.”

  “It won’t be the same without you,” she said purposefully meeting his gaze and showing him sad eyes, wanting him to know she meant it.

  “Aw, I know, baby, I really wish I could go. But I don’t want you to miss out, I mean it. I’m so happy that Finn is going because it means you can go. It would be worse if you couldn’t go at all. I’m grateful for Finn, you should be too...”

  “I think I’m going to go,” she said, and gave a curt nod to herself.

  “You should, Lib, you should. You totally should,” he said as his phone vibrated on the dresser. He snatched it and looked at the face, saw it w
as a text from Finn. He said, “Go on to bed, I’ll just be a second with this...”

  Now she came very near him, a braless breast brushing past his arm, a whisper close to his ear. “Hurry, because I think I want to get frisky...”

  “You do?” He startled at her unusual immodesty, and as she passed, she gave an attempted sly look before she darted from the doorway. His hand clutched into a fist over his sternum and he slumped against the dresser. It really was happening. Finn brought something out of her, and while he hated it to the highest degree, something about it was so damn arousing.

  And what would it matter? If it absolves him of his guilt and also improved their sex life at the same time?... And what if it would maybe open doorways to new sexual dimensions?

  He swiped his screen, read the text from Finn.

  Finn: what a night! Libby is such a doll. Things look good. Let me know…

  He chewed his lip as his thumbs hovered over the text keys. He closed the phone down instead, set it on his dresser.

  10

  Libby was curled up in bed with her back toward him, and he slipped in behind her, pulling the sheets over to cover himself. He squirmed his way next to her so the fronts of his thighs touched the back of hers. He put his hand on her hip over the blanket. And even though Finn was the last thing he should be talking about right now, he heard himself ask her: “Why do you feel weird about going with Finn?”

  She flinched, whispered over her shoulder to him, “I don’t know. I don’t feel weird, Ben. It’s just… I’m going away without my husband...”

  “And with another man…”

  “Right,” she said.

  He asked her, “Do you think it’s wrong?”

  “Do you?” She glanced over her shoulder.

  “I said I didn’t. But why do you worry? Is there a big deal? Aren’t you two just friends?”

  “Yeah,” she said, brow scowling. “I know. We’re just friends...”

  “So if you’re just friends…?...”

  She nodded vigorously. “You’re right,” she said. “No, I know you’re right. I told you I’m going to go. I’m going to do it.”

  “I’m proud of you,” he said, “that’s a pretty bold move.”

  The scowl returned though she smiled thinly. “Don’t make me worry about it...”

  His hand drifted down, found his erection raging as hard as it could be. Finn was right—Libby had a crush on him. Why else would she worry about going away? He said, “I think it’s awesome. I’m so glad you have someone like him you can do a thing like this with.”

  “He’s so nice.”

  “You guys dance well together.”

  “I’d rather dance with you,” she said, “but you reject me.”

  He said, “Trust me, as a bystander, you and Finn put on a much better show...”

  She giggled, and he watched her shoulder shake.

  He whispered, “Frisky?”

  She whispered back: “Maybe…”

  He pushed the front of his pajama pants down, got them to his knees. He poked her bottom with his erection and she giggled again, squirmed her hips on the bed.

  “You are frisky,” he said.

  “No, I’m not,” she laughed, “Ben…”

  “Spoons?”

  She stilled, asked over her shoulder: “Did you like that?”

  “I liked it a lot, Lib,” he said, then hooked a thumb into the side of her pajama shorts. He slipped them down a little, and Libby’s hand went over his to assist. They worked her shorts down to her knees; she wasn’t wearing any panties.

  “We had a lot of fun tonight,” he whispered, gripped the base of his erection, and ran it along the back of her thigh and across her buttock.

  She sighed, said, “We did...”

  “We’re the cool kids now, Lib...”

  “We can go anywhere in the caf, sit anywhere…”

  He laughed and watched her lips part in anticipation of having sex with him. She turned her chin up to the ceiling, but folded her forearm across her eyes, hiding herself.

  He whispered, “Are you going to go on his motorcycle?”

  Libby gave a breathy gasp, said, “Oh, I don’t know, I’ve never...”

  “You can take my truck. I’ll rent a car...”

  Libby’s eyes moved from left to right as she considered it. She sucked her lower lip a moment. “I want to go on his motorcycle...”

  He smiled and groaned at her innocence, her sweetness, her obliviousness to the deviousness of her husband and the people she wanted as friends. He ached for her; ached to be inside her. “Are you ready? Is it okay?”

  Lib’s breaths came quicker, her eyes closed, and she furrowed her brow. “You should probably wear a condom, I think...”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, maybe…”

  “I can go get one...”

  “I don’t want to wait...”

  That made his heart jump in his chest. He’d never seen Libby this eager before. Or at least prepared to vocalize it. His cock was like steel in his hand. She’d never turned him on more in his entire life. He studied those pouting lips, saw their wetness, saw the perfect flare of her nostrils, wondered what those eyes would tell him if she would reveal them.

  He wanted to see into her, wanted to know what she thought…

  As he nestled his tip into the tight membranes of her opening, her juices squished around him. She was teeming wetness. She said, “Just pull out…”

  “I will,” he assured her, his heart beating even faster. This was practically dirty talk—at least for Libby—and hearing it come from her pretty mouth was driving him wild. What was inside her?

  He pushed himself deep, and she squeezed around him like a tight seal. She was so slick, the sound of his plunging crackled with the sticky sound of oil. He whispered, “You’re so wet…”

  “Be-enn,” she chastised.

  “You are...”

  “Don’t…”

  Then as he pulled out and plunged in again, she made a whimpering sound. She uttered the dirtiest words she’d ever said to him: “You’re so, so hard…”

  “You make me so hard...”

  “Be-enn,” she chastised him again, but her hand scrambled for his, pulled it to her chest. He grabbed her breast and felt the hump of her nipple hard against his palm. He pushed in and out again, watching Libby’s face. She was closed off, her eyes hidden, and he knew she was thinking about Finn.

  He withdrew, plunged all the way in now, making the headboard rattle. Libby squawked, then panted. He watched her bite her lower lip then let it plop loose.

  He built a rhythm with her, and she squirmed along against his movements. He looked at those pouting lips connected by a thin silver wire of her sweet saliva. Those eyes were closed off so she could shut the outside world. Because in her mind the man she’s with right now isn’t her husband… She’s in a hotel room in Barrie having sex with another man...

  “So, so hard,” she gasped again, and it had him jumping on the bed. His hips shot back, and he ejaculated into the bedding. He cursed and growled, made long dragging hisses as his body was wracked with an enormous orgasm. He kept the sheet to his hands, gripped it around his throbbing erection. The whole time he’d ejaculated, Libby squirmed on the bed next to him. And he could tell now that she had a finger on her button. She pulled the sheets over to cover, but he could see her hips rolling in circles and knew her hand was down there.

  “Holy crap,” he said, watching her do something he never imagined he would witness. His mouth went instantly dry, and he stared at the sexy lusty hump under the bed sheet twiddle pleasure from itself. Slowly, eventually, she slowed, her pants not building to ecstasy, but at least providing herself some much-needed relief. He held two handfuls of bedding between his legs, sitting on his hip now and watching the shape of her.

  Libby labored for breath, a rapid rising and falling of her chest under the sheet. She moaned a little and sucked on her lower lip, gradually composin
g herself.

  He watched in awe. When the room was quiet, he whispered, “I’m going to need this bedsheet,” and tugged gently on it to prove it was her clutch on it that prevented him.

  She sighed, turned her head on the pillow, eyes sleepy and happy. She whispered, “Did you get any on the top sheet?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay,” she said, releasing her hold on the sheet, “there is clean bedding in the dresser in the closet.”

  “I know,” he said, backing up to get off the bed, a bedsheet full of his semen clutched between his legs, watching the cotton slowly drift off his wife’s curves and her bare back revealed to him. As the sheet came off, she put a spread open palm across her bare ass cheeks to block his view. She said, “Bedsheets, please, quick, I don’t want to be cold...”

  “Got them, got them,” he said, backing away and looking at the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his marriage. His wife, on her side, her toes curling, knees drawn up, at the cusp of a broad sexual awakening, her eyes cast out on the horizon. She was primed, she might accept adventure...

  He ducked into the closet, squeezed his cock out into the sheet, tossed it into the hamper, pulled up his pajama shorts. He slid open the drawer, but put his elbows on the top and grabbed his phone. He batted out a text to Finn with his thumbs moving quick.

  Ben: I want to do it

  Part 2

  Ragna-Rock

  Friday, July 12

  11

  Friday night, not long after six o’clock, Libby got home from her shift at the bookstore, practically skipped in the doorway giving him a breathy Hey, hey, hey, then sprinted up the steps two at a time. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched her shadow move and disappear into their bedroom, listened then as she ran the shower and got in for a quick rinse before Finn arrived.

  Fifteen minutes later she came thumping down the steps bringing him out of the kitchen to watch her.

  “Who’s excited?” he asked into the hallway.