I’m not sure in the course of the play when his presence filtered into my awareness. He sat front row, stage left, opposite my front center-stage, end-row seat. It was a three-sided audience. I’m not sure what I noticed first about him? Was it his dark wavy hair, longish, with a matching two-day scruff beard? Or was it the blue, dress shirt that highlighted his eyes with tails that peeked out from his navy blazer? Perhaps it was his hiking boots that he propped on his denim-clad knee when he changed positions in the seat? Director, actor, or lover? He eased himself into his chair like he belonged. He was a man who knew what he liked. The essence of his movements called to me like specific stage directions.
Who knew on this evening I would enjoy the interaction of the play and him. He observed the actors with a discerning eye. Was it the same way he looked at a partner during sex? He reached down and picked up his beer bottle and sipped several times then placed it back on the floor. His movements were elegant. I scrutinized his hands, hands that might wander over my body.
At that moment, in the scene, an actress ripped off her blouse to change clothes and unexpectedly her left breast escaped from her bra. A mere three feet from her, I straightened in my seat to survey his response. His eyes dilated and his chest rose and fell quickly. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. When he licked his lips, I lost it. He turned my body’s switch on. My sex hummed. The need of it pushed me out of my seat. I exited my row and headed to find a private space.
The dark hallway and thick black drapes hid me. I fumbled, pulling my dress up, while in my mind, his lips and tongue played on my body. Plastered against the wall, one hand squeezed my breast and pinched my nipple. My other hand pushed aside my panties and my fingers became his tongue licking across my vulva lips. Drenched. I imagined how he looked at the actress’s breast. Aroused, he had to have me. I punished my clit with pinching and slapping. I held in the gasp that attempted to escape me. My ass rammed the wall hard from my back and forth body motion. Fingers delved inside or was it his tongue or his cock? My body reeled. Never had I been so bold, so wanton. I wanted him and I had him. All the air and energy heaved out of me as the orgasm took over. Soaring out to all parts of my body, I accepted the intensity and the explosion with his face etched across my mind.
Voices from the play flitted back into my awareness. I smoothed down my dress and wiped my hand on the inside hem. How far along was the play? Should I go back in?
Deciding to check, I eased the drapes back and a big, male body met mine. I moved from fantasy to reality. Heat flushed up my chest and neck. The intensity of his eyes mixed with the aroma of my hallway efforts filtered through my perceptions and I swooned. When he looked me up and down, I couldn’t breathe. His nostrils flared and then he licked his lips.
“It smells like sex.” He grabbed my hand. “Come with me.”
“I already did.”
“Perfect, you are warmed up. I need to know if reality is as good as my fantasy.”
In the dark hallway, thick black drapes hid us. He fumbled, pulling my dress up while his lips and tongue played on my body. Plastered against the wall, reality conquered fantasy.
Notes: Writing ideas emerge in everyday life. Saturday night I attended a play. There was indeed an intriguing man who sparked my imagination. This story is for him.
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