At the Theater

 I've had a crush on her since before COVID, when I met her at a theater retreat.

Tall, thin, pale, shocking red hair, the prettiest blue eyes, lips made for kissing, and legs made for marathons and wrapping around a lover.

She was perfect.

She was also married, or so I thought.

Not married, but together forever with her loser boyfriend, a wanna-be actor with no talent, an ugly face, and breath that could peel paint.  I have NO idea why they are together.

Flash forward several years, to last Friday

Closing night for a revival of "The Dresser" in a small theater near home.  I know she's coming, I know several friends are coming, so we meet in the lobby, long hugs are shared, compliments offered. After closing, everyone scatters to do summer stock and vacation gigs.

She's in a short blue tennis skirt.  I wait until he's gone (the jealous prick but a total cuck) and compliment her directly, bluntly, and in detail..

She blushes a bit, giggles, and says thank you.  

Last minute purchases mean we are not sitting together, but I find a row with 5 seats together, so I grab her by the hand, lift her out of her seat, and pull her along with me.

Me, Her, Him, a sweet little flirty actress friend, a stranger on the aisle. We get seated. I sent him a text. He read it and slumped in his seat.

Before the lights go out, I text her, feeling gutsy before the summer break

"Have you ever had two men touch you at one time?"

 As she was putting her phone in her jacket pocket, she felt it vibrate, she paused, saw it from me, and gave me a quizzical look.

"Read it."

She did, and her head snapped up and she stared at me as the lights when down. Silence.

The announcement warned about phones and photos, and the curtain opened.

Like a teenager, I spread my legs until my knee touched hers. At first, she flinched away, but then, her knee rested on mine, our fingers touching.

Her BF, the sniveling cuck that he was, followed instructions to the letter. As the first monologue started, I placed my hand on her knee and pulled her leg to me.  By her gasp, he did the same.

My fingers massaged her skin, just above her knee, not too high, but a new touch from me. He did the same.  Doing almost nothing, just holding her open, spread, the short skirt riding up in her faded red velvet seat.

 Every 2-3 minutes, painfully slow to my hardening cock, our hands moved higher, then stopped.

I leaned over to her, as the stage lights lit a new scene, I saw his hand under her skirt, as mine was.

"Touch yourself." I whispered.

She tried to close her legs, but both of us held firm. I took her hand in mine, kissed her fingertips, and repeated myself, "Touch."

Her left arm draped over her BF's arm, her right arm, dropped into her lap and made its way under her skirt.

She was tentative at first, but as the laugher on stage got louder, she got bolder.  I felt her wrist begin to move in little circles, then bigger, then up and down.

I looked over at her and gripped her high inner thigh gently, but firmly, she knew my fingers were an inch from her clit, my hand a breath away from her pussy, yet I held firm. 

Here we were, a suitor, a woman, her boyfriend, pulling her open, spreading her sweet strong legs, sharing the moment, but not touching. We simply held her, spread her, gave her access to her own sweet body, two hands, two men, one woman, and, as the audience cheered before intermission, one massive orgasm.

I let my hand drift out from under the short blue skirt, and I clapped for the wonderful performers.

She grabbed my hand and wiped her fingertips across my palm.  It was sticky, wet, fragrant and flavorful.

I stood and exited, turning her direction, facing her, putting my pulsing hard cock inches from her mouth. I passed him and then extended my hand to allow our friend to leave first, she declined, but as passed in front of her, she touched me.

Her hand gently brushed against my cock through my jeans. I flinched. She smiled.

As we left our seats my redhead was holding on to her boyfriend, catching her breath, perhaps crying a little.

My attention was pulled away to my new friend.

"I saw what you two were doing, now it's my turn."

What are you doing for lunch?

The caller ID on my phone surprised me.

Everyone who needed to know knew that Deb was out of town for the week.

“Hello” I said

“Hi,” with one syllable she sounded nervous.

“Hi”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Do you want the honest answer or one you can share with Deb?”

“Be honest.”

I paused because the honest answer might make her hang-up.

Honest?

Honest.

Well, I’m about to strip down and work on my tan while I read during lunch

How long do you have?

An hour.

OK.

OK? I asked, what does that mean?

It means I’m coming over.

“Are you sure that's a ….” She hung up, “good Idea?” I finished

Now bewildered, curious, and more than a little horny, I stayed on course.

I laid out my biggest beach blanket, stripped down to my boxers, and laid on my stomach and started to “read.”  I really couldn’t read, not with the thoughts that were running through my head and the blood that was rushing to my cock.

I adjusted myself as I grew hard and then had to roll on my back. Relieving the pressure on my erection.

I like my cock, it still gets hard on command after all these years, and a shiny bit of pre-cum was soaking through the thin stretchy material, catching the sun and bobbing up and down as I flexed my pelvic muscles.

Unsure of what might, or might not, happen, I tried to focus on Mitchner, Hawaii, and the ravages of smallpox, all the while lightly stroking myself through the Lycra.

I tried not to react when I heard the squeak of my side gate and the click of the latch when she closed it behind her. A moment later, her shadow covered me.

“Mitchner?” she laughed, “Seriously?”

“It was my mom’s favorite,” I didn’t look at her face yet, but I could see that she was in a short summer skirt and a white t-shirt.

“Well,” she said, taking the book from my hand, “reading rainbow is over.”

She kneeled beside me and kissed me gently, then more passionately.

I held up my hand, asking for a pause.

“Why today?” I asked with a serious tone.

“He’s cheating on me again.”

“He’s always cheating on you.”

She reached up under her skirt and pulled her panties off and tossed them on the blanket beside me. 

“True,” she said, as she swung her knee over me and straddled my face, “but he’s in Colorado again.”

She smelled fresh and clean and wet and sexy.  I gave her a long deep lick from clit to ass.

“OH FUCK.” She moaned.

“Colorado sucks!” I said as I licked her again, tasting the sweet, wonderful tang of her body.

She stripped off her shirt and wrapped her arms around my legs and started biting me through my shorts.

I sucked hard on her clit and she spread her legs, pressing down, forcing my mouth deeper between her swollen lips.

I shifted so I could breathe and talk.

“How long do we have?”

She pulled her mouth off my cock just enough to answer.

“I have to call him from the car in 9 minutes.”

“9?” I asked

“And it’s on video,” she deep throated my cock and came back up for air, “so you have 5 minutes.

“Enough said.”

I pulled her ass open and finger-walked my hands deep between her cheeks while I devoured her pussy. She bobbed up and down on my swollen cock. I felt her tongue swirling around the head of my shaft, swallowing my pre-cum, licking me clean, then forcing herself down on my shaft again.

Her clit was tight and wet and swollen, I got in as deep as I could, knowing what would make her cum, I knew exactly what to do.

I thought of my wife as I ate out her friend, seeing the two of them laughing at soccer, the park, church, and theater, wishing I could take them side by side, longing for the day when my wife could taste another woman’s pussy on my cock.  For now, it was a fantasy, but not for much longer.

My tongue wrapped around her clit as she shifted her body upward, allowing me full access for long deep licks. A drunken confession to my wife during ‘girls night’ gave me the key to the castle, “just eat me” was the key phrase, so I did.

As my orgasm got closer, I tapped her on the ass, a gentle pat to give her the option.

Her choice as clear as she kept me deep inside her mouth

Her orgasm hit first, gushing, wet, quivering and long. I didn’t stop.  I drank her in, licking, tasting, penetrating her with my tongue.

And then, I burst into her mouth, and I could feel her throat massage my cock, pulling out every drop, every spurt.

Panting, she lay on top of me. Spread, wet, pink with pleasure, her swollen pussy hovered over her face. I kissed her gently and she flinched then pushed back again for another.

On her end, she licked me clean, swallowed the last few drops, then crawled off me and checked her phone.

"On time, every time." she laughed and straightened her clothes.

Standing above me, she put out her hand and pulled me up to stand next to her, I kissed her gently.

“He’s a bastard for going to Colorado again,” I said.

I placed her panties in her hand, “but there is an upside too.”

She kissed me again and turned to go.

But then she stopped, turned around, walked back and put her crumpled up panties back in my hand.

“Why?” I asked.

“Give them to Deb,” she kissed me again, “And tell her that I’m ready.”

Theater Meeting (Part 1)

One show finished to great success, if you can count "selling out" a success when you only set-up 24 chairs per show.  But that's OK, it was a small cast, small show, and the actors were all very talented.  The goal was putting on the production, learning the ropes, testing out a new theater, not making money.

Making money in small local theater is never, can't ever be the main goal, because you never make money.

Ever.

My goal, was to flex my set design muscles, get a credit on my resume, and be around her.

Always around her.  That's always the goal.

Sure, at the end she'll give me a $50 gift card and a long hug, but that's just a bonus.

She texted and asked when I wanted to start planning our next show, her next show really.  She was the producer, backer, director, and lead actress. 

"When do you want to meet?" she texted?

"Thursday at lunch," I replied, "or Friday after work. Will Dave be coming?"

Dave was her long-time boyfriend, 10 years her senior, a replacement father figure for a lonely woman who lost her dad to a drunk driver at 11 years old.  Her mom was great, but never fully recovered.  Dave was a nice guy, too old for her, another theater groupie who knew what to say when she was lonely.

"Dave's in Colorado with his brother on their annual fishing trip."

I laughed as I thought about my response.  Dave had never fished a day in his life.  He went to Colorado, smoked pot, talked shit, and went to strip clubs and blew what little money he had for "fishing." I think she knew he didn't fish much, he never brought back pictures from the boat, just the dock at the lack, that looked staged AF.

"I can't do Friday," I wrote, "Thursday works for me.  Carol's downtown all this week, so we can work on the patio while I grill your asparagus"  

As a vegan, she brought her own food everywhere and I learned not to put my chicken on her side of the grill.

She didn't write back for a bit, her job at the amusement park kept her busy.

At midnight, her text came through.  "Thursday is fine."

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday dragged on.  I could have met all week, but I knew that she got lonely without David, and it paid off.

I dropped her a note Wednesday after dinner, "Still on for tomorrow?"

"Yes" she replied, "What should I wear?"

"Of your own free will?" I asked. Consent was her kink.

"Of my own free will."

"Sun dress, no bra, thin white panties, the blue sandals I like."  I hit SEND.

"As you wish." she said, quoting her favorite movie.

"No" I wrote back, "Answer correctly."

I could see the dots blink, stop, then blink again, until her message lit up my phone.

"As I wish."

"12:30," I wrote back, "Don't knock, go through the gate, sit at the patio table."

I turned off my phone, went into the bedroom, and made love to my wife.  She appreciated my extra passion.

"That was nice," she said, "now I have something to think about at work tomorrow."

I slid out of her, warmed up a washcloth, and cleaned her up.  Kissing softly, we said our goodnights and fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~

I woke up, kissed my wife goodbye, logged in to work, pretended to be productive, and logged off at noon.  25 minutes later, the patio was clean, the table washed, the clean water of the fountain bubbled quietly next to the fence. I stepped into the house, poured some ice water, and waited.

Precisely at 12:30, I heard her car pull up, the gate opened, closed, and she came into view through the sliding patio doors. She laid out her production notebook, laid out some fabric swatches, her design sketches, and waited patiently.  She was as talented as she was beautiful, and always came prepared.

I adjusted myself, not hiding, but minimizing the growing shaft in my shorts, and opened the door.  

She stood up, opened her arms, and I gave her a long hug.  Ten seconds into our embrace, she adjusted her arms and pulled me closer, pressing her chest to mine, and I did the same.  No longer a hub, but a true embrace, I held her close, buried my head in her beautiful red hair, and kissed her skin.

We stepped back, held hands, and smiled at each other.

"I like your outfit." I said.

"That makes me happy." she replied, "shall we?"  She sat down and bent toward the table and her notebooks, knowing full well that I would look down the neckline of her dress, confirming her obedience to my request.

Her small breasts, bare, tight, were mostly nipple, an A-cup on a good day, she was the sexy girl you tried to keep up with during a 10K race.  You couldn't ever keep up, but the view from behind was just as good until she pulled away and decimated the men and the women in her age group.

I sat next to her and we got to work.

Her designs were beautiful, but impractical to build on her budget, so was always met in the middle.  Fewer trap doors, more moving walls, a window that would drop in from the ceiling instead of stage left, a movable gauze curtain that defined the rift between the husband and wife in the story.  she found wonderful, personal, very human scripts.  She had no interest in lasers or car crashes or murder.  She preferred the quiet killing of broken hearts and frozen relationships.  

When she put down her pen and closed her notebook, I knew she was done with work.

"A drink," she said, "Please."

I stepped into the kitchen, poured a tall glass of water. When I returned, a pair of thin cotton panties were laid out perfectly smooth on the table, the bright white sparkled against the dark wood grain of the table.

I looked down at her and she avoided my gaze.

"Look at me." I whispered.

She looked up, her green eyes had the shine of tears unshed.

I wiped away the tears with the pad of my thumbs.

"Stand." I said.

She obeyed.

I took the panties from the table, kneeled before her, and slipped them up over her strong thin legs.  She lifted her skirt and I saw her freshly waxed labia for a moment until she moved her thighs wider, allowing her panties back into place.

I smoothed out the waistband, pulled gently on the fabric, and settle the thong deep between her cheeks, and let her skirt fall back into place.

"Look at me." I said again.

At 5'8" our eyes met, our bodies aligned, and I could feel her breathing on my chest.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

"Because you have tears in your eyes." I whispered in her ear, inhaling her scent.

"That's not your fault," she said, lifting her face to match mine, "I want this."

"Go inside, wash up, take a drink, pause for a moment, then return with dry eyes and a clear head."

She lifted herself on to her toes and kissed me.  I returned the kiss and released her.

She walked past me, dragging her hand across the front of my shorts, and stepped into the house.  

I put her notebooks, sketches, pens, and swatches into her bag, ensured the side gate was closed, and sat in my chair and waited.

End Part One

 

Your delivery is on the way! The delivery driver is scheduled to arrive by 9:32 am and will leave your delivery at the door. Please keep your lights on, any driveway or porch areas clear and pets safely secured. Thanks for helping us keep everyone safe! I'm sitting at my desk, naked, doing email and occasionally cleaning part of the house. It is 9:30, my delivery arrives in 2 minutes. Do I get dressed? What if it's the cute Japanese girl from last week? What if it's Phillip, the wannabe comedian who tips the scale at 300+? What if it's Franki, the hot goth girl who was very nice next week? What should I do?

Old Friends

 I'm home alone this weekend.  Wife is off visiting family.

Last time she left, I rubbed myself raw watching all sorts of porn.  4 orgasms the 1st day, 3 the next, and 2 the morning before she got home.  It was awesome, and awful.  Awesome, because, well, 7 orgasms, awful, because they were all alone.

I'm not in a position to find a mistress. That's not in the cards right now, and all my on-line friends have moved on, and good for them.

This isn't a new topic for me, so my apologies for being redundant.

With guaranteed privacy, I've been going through my old photos, pictures sent to me by women, who, at the time, were wonderfully intimate friends.

Hours spent laughing and playing together, the thrill of meeting a couple of terrific friends in person, a lost opportunity for a kiss, and a bullet dodged (perhaps) when a threesome invitation fell through, and a shared orgasm in a hotel room with one of my longest and dearest friends.

I don't have all the picture I collected over the years.  One friend specifically asked me to delete them, so I did.  I regret that now.  I miss her. 

And that's the nature of online life, a moment of resolve deletes hundreds of emails, dozens of pictures, and they are gone.

I found a whole series of chat texts with a friend from work.  I think I know who they were with, but the texts don't narrow it down.  I had two very close friends at this job, and I've obviously used a code name for her in the texts, so, which one was it?  AL or my boss's secretary?  Perhaps a full reading will help figure it out.

I also have several fantastic audio files, orgasmic masturbation recordings of intense pleasure, the eroticism lost because I can't remember who sent them.  Tragic and disrespectful, I know, but I never dared tag them with real names as to maintain some sense of privacy. Without knowing who is behind the voice, they are sexy, but not powerful, a strange revelation.

A few are perfectly identifiable, at least to me.  I have pictures and video and wonderful memories.  She left years ago, stopped blogging and resolved to "never be someone's #2 again."  I probably had a hand in her leaving.  She was my #2. I have a wife, kids, like many of us here.  She and I were long and involved friends, voice mail, shared orgasms across the miles, tears and laughter, but never #1 for each other.  I miss her too.

I did delete a set of pictures last night, I forgot I even had them.  A funny and cute girls who turned out, after she sent me a picture of her on her high school volleyball team, to be underage.  17, yes, but still not legal.  Those got deleted right away, though today, she's easily 25-26 and I wonder how she is doing.

One set I cannot delete, my beautiful Canadian will always be with me.  Pictures, videos, travel photos, music she composed and music she sang.  I cannot lose her.  That would be too much.

I love my old friends.  I miss that life.  I miss you all.