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WEEK NINE – ALLOWING SPONTANEITY
You are complete, yes, you are your own. We do not belong together…
I was off to a good start; and I knew it. I could feel it.
You are complete, just you all alone. I am unfinished, I am diminished…with or without you. We do not belong together…and we should have belonged together. What made it so right together is what made it all wrong…
I was completely at one with Stephen Sondheim’s “Move On” from SUNDAY IN THE PARK, even if I was singing the Barbra Streisand rendition. And the words so matched how I was feeling, Mr. B’s advice about using too much of the present in the work be damned. This couldn’t be wrong. It felt so deliciously sublime.
Always I had loved the song of “Move On”, even though until now I could never identify with it on a personal level. All of my break-ups had been nasty and bitter in some regard. But “Move On” was a sympathetic song, urging the best for your lover even though things did not work out. And it felt so mature and dignified. There was no need for hatred.
My mother would disagree. Maggie, where did you get such low self esteem? she would ask. But was it low self esteem to find what was beautiful, even out of something incredibly painful? Was it low self esteem not to give in to melodrama at every disappointment?
Besides, I could not bring myself to hate Mr. C, even though I felt like my guts were ripped out. He had given me so much. My inspiration. My muse. My sadistic taskmaster of a singing teacher. No, I could not hate him.
Settle for the glow. Time for letting go. Now the moment’s gone. Time for moving on…
The room was silent. And I did not want to let go of that song.
Then there was breakout of the most intense applause. Apparently, I had knocked their socks off when I had only meant to purge my soul in a sort of intense catharsis with this song.
As I sat down in the Hot Seat, I took a good look at Mr. C for the first time that morning. Before class, I had just kept my head buried in my sheet music because I just couldn’t deal. He looked weird. There was a strange expression in his eyes that I couldn’t decipher.
“Welcome back, Miss Spencer.”
Despite my depression, I couldn’t help but smirk in humor. I should have known that he would not let my absence pass without notice.
“You know you kicked ass up there. Go back to your seat.”
Everyone laughed uproariously. Even with the huge stamp of approval, I felt sort of deflated.
But I felt much better being in class again. It was a mystery how art always seemed to heal the soul somehow. Maybe you get so focused on a goal that you forget how bad reality sucks. I don’t know. But I was suddenly very happy to be back.
After class, I made my trip to the ladies room, checked out the schedule for the next term at the Admissions Office and then started on my way.
Well, now that I had no strings and was fancy free, what the hell would I do with myself on this Sunday afternoon? Shopping was out because I had no money. Eating was out because I was still on my diet. All I knew was that I did not want to go home. Maybe I would…
As I passed the side street past the corner of the school, I was suddenly grabbed and yanked back into a small fenced area just beyond. The street was deserted. No cops around, no people, nothing.
Jesus Christ, I moaned. Now I was finally going to become part of those statistics. A mugged victim, possibly raped and murdered in the bowels of Manhattan. It was just one of those things that I thought would never happen to me.
But once I was released a tad, I realized that it was no mugger who had attacked me.
It was Mr. C!
“Shut up!” he interrupted fiercely before grinding his mouth against mine, grasping at me and wrestling me back until I almost lost my balance. The hard metal of a dumpster was behind me, but I took no notice.
All I knew was him. The feel of his cashmere black coat. The ruffled red hair, which looked a little too 80’s to be fashionable. The smell of coffee and spicy cologne.
And his mouth tasted so good, so fucking good. I had been starving for him.
I wanted him so badly that I wrapped a leg around his hips, ready to fuck him right then and there. Hell, no one was around. Who would see?
“Come to my place,” he said between hot kisses. It was more of a command than a question.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He grabbed my hand leading me out to a yellow taxi, barking out an address on the Upper East Side that I am not at liberty to divulge.
I was going to Mr. C’s place, the starstruck fan in me enthused. How fucking cool is that? But I could only revel in the wonder for so long, especially when Mr. C’s hand crept to a very naughty place. I looked up nervously at the Armenian cab driver who seemed to be oblivious. Mr. C’s fingers were digging deeply against my panties, pressing hard against my clit, rubbing at it insistently. I shuddered, trying not to come in front of the cab driver, ankara escort even though my pussy was rippling in pleasure. And he would not stop. I bit my lip, trying to hold back, but it was impossible.
“Ah!” I cried out when the orgasm hit.
The cab driver looked at me through his front mirror.
“Everything all right, Ma’am?”
Oh, God, I was blushing down to my toes.
“Yes. Sorry. Must have been something I ate.”
I could swear that Mr. C was holding back a snicker. I didn’t know how, but somehow he was going to pay for that! I would see to it.
The cab took us to a small brownstone. Funny, I always sort of imagined Mr. C would live in a penthouse with a rooftop view, lounging about in a smoking jacket with cocktails. We even had to climb stairs to get to the front door. How my illusions were shattered…
Still, I was blown away when I saw the inside of the brownstone. He owned the whole frigging thing! All four floors!
Even as he was dashing me along various stairways and hallways in a hurry to get me in his bedroom, I could not help but notice a bit of the décor. All about, there were familiar posters and photographs I had seen and collected throughout the years! This was just too surreal, I mused, as I saw a picture of him hugging Carol Channing. And was that his Tony Award in the glass cabinet against the wood-paneled wall? And was that the…!
Oh, God, I am so out of my fucking league, I thought to myself, even as he hurled me onto his bed. When he pulled my sweater up over my head, yanked my bra down to my waist and began to attack my breasts, I lost my train of thought. He was swirling his tongue around my nipple, alternately sucking and biting at it.
“Take off your shirt,” I demanded.
He pulled away from me, peering at me over my nipple.
“Is that the proper way to address me, Miss Spencer?”
I almost purred with pleasure when he started to turn all dominating again. And it was weird. I really can’t explain it. But the Madonna lyric from EROTICA comes to mind: Only the one who hurts you can make you feel better. Only the one who inflicts the pain can take it away…
There was nothing else. No irritating mother on the other line of the phone, anxious to let me know about everything in my life I was doing wrong. No stalker ex-boyfriend, anxious to get back together with me so that he could make me feel like dirt. Not even any acting class with the usual performance anxiety. There was nothing but this…
“Please, sir, take off your shirt…” I begged. “I want to see you and touch you and taste you…”
He smiled lazily.
“You take it off.”
Without hesitation, I began to undo his buttons, kissing him along the chest as I did so.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, barely able to hide a sheepish expression. “I am afraid the reality of my body is not as firm and air-brushed as my publicist would have you believe.”
I was truly blind to all faults. Sure, his arms were a bit thin and saggy. Yes, there was a little extra flesh around the midriff. But I did not give a damn. In fact, I liked what I was seeing very much. Although I had all sorts of ideas of what he might look like bare chested, particularly when he was starring as the hero of one of my guilty-pleasure erotic novels, none of my daydreams lived up to the reality. His expansive chest was truly a sight to behold, lightly dusted with auburn hair that was graying. He was so large and strong and masculine with a build as primitive as a caveman’s. Deliriously, I worshipped his chest, licking his nipples and swirling my tongue along his collarbone, running my fingers through his chest hair.
“I think you’re very sexy…sir…” I murmured between kisses.
“I should spank you for being such a liar.”
Oh, please…my inner slut begged.
Once I had started tasting him with my mouth, I could not stop. I worked my way down, unbuttoning his pants and sucking on his cock. What can I say? I was so into the moment that my usual disgust of oral sex wasn’t kicking in. If he tasted bad, I didn’t notice. In fact, I was getting into it, feeling wetter and wetter at the sound of his deep moans of pleasure.
Suddenly, Mr. C let out a sound like a growl as he withdrew from my mouth. Frantically, he threw off of his clothes. Following suit, I also undressed until I was completely naked.
Mr. C pushed me down upon my back on the bed and leaned over me. Just the weight of him on top of me and between my thighs was driving my desire into a fever pitch. Not that I had not enjoyed all of our other times together, but feeling his naked skin on mine was so intimate and real. I was squirming and shaking. Oh, I was ready, I was soooo ready. And he kept teasing me, driving me crazy. Nibbling at my neck, stroking my breasts, rubbing at my pussy with his teasing fingers. I was already trembling with small little pre-orgasmic tremors from his games. For once in my life, I had had my fill of foreplay and just wanted to get it on!
“Please, sir, fuck elvankent escort me…fuck me now…fuck me hard…please…”
Cruelly, he held my thighs wide apart, teasing me with the tip of his penis.
“Please…” I kept begging, knowing no shame. “Please…”
Suddenly, he thrust in me to the hilt. I became very aware that he was larger than any other lover I had ever had. There was a sort of tight stretchy feeling, but I was so wet and ready that it did not really hurt. In fact, I started to tremble and come at once just from all that thickness inside of me. I came so hard that I was sure that I was done, that every ounce of pleasure in my body had been spent. But then he slowed his thrusts a bit as he slipped his hand between us, finding my clit and pinching it.
“Oh, sir, I don’t know if I can…”
“Ssshh, I’m not done with you, Miss Spencer…just relax…”
Helplessly, I let him have his way with me, rubbing and stroking at me until I was getting excited all over again. I couldn’t believe it. I never thought I was capable of being multi-orgasmic. I moaned and screamed and perspired, thrusting my hips wildly against him. Once he was satisfied that I was completely far gone, he began to fuck me hard and fast. Clutching onto his shoulders, I felt another orgasm come…and another…
When he finally came violently with a loud cry, I truly was dizzy from all of the exertion and pleasure. Closing my eyes, I just relaxed next to him, floating on a cloud. If I were struck dead right at this moment, that would be okay with me. Because how could life ever get better than this?
Unbelievably, I slept. We both did. When I finally came to again, the room was dark. Mr. C was naked and curled beside me, snoring lightly in my ear. We were both buried under some satin coverlet probably purchased from Bloomingdale’s or Saks Fifth Avenue. Some store beyond my means.
I wished it were still daylight so I could take in the sights of the bedroom. From what I recalled, the décor of the apartment was very nice, very English…I don’t know how else to describe it. There were a lot of antiques around. Paintings of artists that I had never heard of. Nice comfy looking leather furniture. A state-of-the-art entertainment center. There were pictures of him with family members, friends…and I realized that even with all of my study of his life, I did not really know the man at all. Not really. And I was humbled. He had been places and seen things that I could only dream of. Never had I felt more like a Nobody.
A Nobody who was in bed with a Somebody.
I should go home, I thought. Even while I was loath to tear myself away from him. I just wanted to cuddle up against that bearish chest and sleep the day and night away. Still, this whole encounter had been sheer impulse on both our parts. Maybe he didn’t want me to stay here. Better to leave than to bear the hurt of being made to feel unwelcome.
Gathering up the sort of resolve I had when I forced myself to do push-ups, I slipped out of the bed and began looking for my clothes in the dark. I had managed to find my underwear, but my sweater and skirt were still lost in pitch black somewhere.
So intent was I in my task that I nearly had a heart attack when Mr. C turned on the lamp next to the bed.
“What are you doing?” he asked sleepily.
“I should go home.”
Squinting his eyes, he looked at the clock on the nightstand.
“Maggie, it’s eleven o’clock at night.”
“You shouldn’t be out this late at night.”
I nearly laughed. My sadistic and erotic lover was starting to sound like my dad.
“I do it all the time.”
“Why don’t you come back to bed?” he offered, patting the bed beside him.
“No, really. I’m not sleepy anymore. Besides, I have to go to work tomorrow.”
“So watch some TV.”
He reached for the remote, turning the TV on.
“Do you like Turner Classic Movies?” he asked. “We could watch a movie.”
Did I like Turner Classic Movies? Could this man be any more perfect?
I tried not to notice that “Wuthering Heights” was on. One of my favorites…
No, I had to be strong. If I stayed here, I would fall even more in love with him than I already was. And I would get so sucked up in him that when the inevitable parting would happen, I wouldn’t be able to take it. I truly would meet a fate like Marilyn Monroe if my heart were to become so devastated. No…
“Are you hungry? You want to order a pizza?”
I held back a chuckle at the thought of having pizza and watching movies with Mr. C. It just seemed so normal.
“Pizza’s hardly on my diet.”
“You’re too thin.”
“Now who’s the liar?”
With a sigh, he rose up from the bed.
Everything had been so intense and rushed before that I never really took in the whole sight of Mr. C with all of his clothes off. Truly, he was a perfect creature. I did not mind any signs of aging or imperfections. I just thought that he was unspeakably hot. I otele gelen escort averted my eyes when I realized that I was staring at him. And he knew it too!
“What can I do to convince you?” he teased, reaching for me and covering my neck and shoulder with kisses.
“Nothing,” I insisted, even as my nipples hardened when he took off my bra.
“Nothing?” he asked, slipping a hand inside my panties.
God, I was melting like butter, melting like the Wicked Witch of the West, melting…
“You’re so sweet,” he crooned in my ear. “So damned sweet…”
A sharp ache of wanting stabbed between my thighs. Jeez, could I be any more of a nymphomaniac? I had already had more orgasms than I could count. And here I was, ready for more…
And he knew that too. Damn him.
“Well, maybe just for tonight…” I gasped out with a shiver.
“That’s a good girl.”
I was doomed. Completely and utterly doomed.
WEEK TEN – STAGE FRIGHT (Part One)
After the rest of the night passed with lovemaking and classic movies, Mr. C hired a cab to take me to work. He gave me a much larger amount of cash than was required for the ride to midtown. For a brief amount of time during the morning ride, I felt somewhat embarrassed at the money. Like I was being paid for services rendered. But when I thought of the alternative, of riding on a crowded smelly old subway car, I quickly got over my apprehension.
After all, if Mr. C wanted to spoil me, who was I to stop him?
I knew that reality would have to kick in eventually. And it finally did on Wednesday.
I was sitting at a local Chinese hole in the wall across from the street from where my temp job was. My diet was going well. Usually if I just had some wonton soup or a chicken dish, I wasn’t straying too far away from my goals. I had already lost ten pounds in the last few weeks and I was going for twenty more.
Also, my ambition wasgoing into overdrive. I was looking through various plays, trying to find that Perfect Monologue again. Finding a Perfect Monologue for an audition was just like finding a Perfect Song. It was like a search for the Holy Grail. Perhaps I was also using the quest as a way not to dwell on Mr. C. After all, I couldn’t spend all of my time in a state of heated anticipation with messy underwear. I had to compartmentalize…at least a little bit…
While I was mulling over a problematic speech, someone sat across from me at the small table. I was a bit annoyed because I knew that the place was not packed to capacity and I really wanted to study my monologues in piece.
To my surprise, I looked up to see Billy.
Good grief, not again!
This time, I was really unnerved. There was no way that this was a coincidence. Maybe, two weeks ago, he might have somehow gotten his ass in gear enough to get back into an acting class. But now, I knew that he was truly was following me around. And I didn’t like it.
“Hi, Maggie,” he said awkwardly. “I was just making a delivery downtown.”
Somehow, I doubted that he had any sort of job that paid any income, no matter how small.
With our last meeting, I had tried to be civil. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I had hoped that that meeting had just been an unfortunate and awkward coincidence. But now there just was no excuse for his behavior.
I glared at him, emitting a pained sigh.
“What do you want from me, Billy?”
Quietly, he reached for my hand, causing me to nearly drop my plastic fork.
“I think we should try again.”
If Billy’s oh-so-sincere plea had been put on film, I am sure that all of the audience members would be cheering for me to go back to him. But they didn’t know him like I did. Why did he want me back? He never appreciated me when I was there.
Besides, with Mr. C in the picture, I could not possibly have eyes for any other man right now. Skeptic that I was, even I had to admit that I had won a prize better than the lottery. God had rained good fortune down upon my head. Whether it be fate or kismet or whatever, I could not deny that I was one lucky bitch. Last weekend, I had spent the night with the man of my dreams. No way was I ever going to compromise that for anything.
“Look, Billy,” I said, pulling my hand away. “I’m seeing someone else now.”
True, Mr. C and I weren’t really seeing each other, I supposed. Not technically. At least, I didn’t guess that we were. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what we were to each other. But it was better than anything I had ever had before.
“Who is he?”
“You don’t know him,” I answered abruptly. Even if I did sound snippy, it was better than saying that it was none of his damned business…which is what I really wanted to say.
“It’s that teacher, isn’t it?” he asked. With the question, he could not hide the malice in the tone of his voice. His green eyes were cold and hostile as he glared at me.
Ah, the Real Billy is coming out of the shell now…where have you been, Billy, darling?
“I really don’t care to discuss my private life with you.”
“Well, I hope you’re not seeing him!” Billy started, getting that condescending whine in his voice which made me want to slap him. “Isn’t he a bit old for you?”
Before I even had a chance to respond, he kept on.
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