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
