The lights in the theater are dimming. Those familiar plump red lips are fading onto the screen, and the audience has become enthralled with the action, calling responses back to those lips that have not changed in almost thirty years.
I'm not paying attention to the screen though, or the audience, not tonight. No, tonight my eyes are on you. I play absentmindedly with the very ends of my long hair. I run my fingers through it nervously as I subtly follow your movements across the stage, pulling the props away and putting the new ones into place.
Hardly anyone would notice you, but to me you stand out. Faded jeans and a plain grey t-shirt are a hard contrast to the black corsets and white make-up that are so common here. I think you've noticed me looking at you finally, because you stop for just one moment, and smile. It's a soft smile, no teeth, and it makes me go weak in the knees. Perhaps it wasn't even a smile, but I know I have caught your eye either way. That look is very familiarβ¦
I want very much to run backstage, pull you outside and rip your pants off right there, but I'm a good girl and good girl's do only what they are told. I must remind myself of this several times as the cult classic plays on. I occasionally run my fingers through my hair, or find myself licking my lips slowly as I'm doing my lines, all the time trying to catch another glimpse of you. I seem to have lost you in the fray however, as you are suddenly nowhere to be found.
Sighing softly, I grab my purse and head out of the theater, up the stairs to the rest room. When I come out into the seemingly empty hallway however, strong hands grab me from behind, spin me around and push me against the wall.
It's you! I try to conceal my excitement as you gaze into my eyes, boring holes into me. The look on your face is not one of romance or soft kisses, but a hungry stare of passion and lust, as you press your lips to mine, our mouths opening and tongues massaging each other firmly. Your hips are pushing into me, and I can feel stiffness behind the rough denim. We continue making out fiercely in the empty hallway for five minutes, before you finally reach over to the office door that's right next to me, open it and push me inside. My purse falls to the floor, flying open and spilling among other things, condoms and lube.
Now your hands are on my body, your fingers tracing the curve of my hips, slipping casually up my shirt, rubbing my tits firmly, pinching my nipples through the fabric of my bra. Soft moans are escaping my lips, despite my best efforts to quell them and stay quiet. An all too well known tingle is beginning between my legs, and I can feel the wetness accumulating. If you don't slow your assault on my breasts soon, I'm going to come, something you are obviously aware of because you are playing with my nipples enthusiastically. If for no other reason than to torture me more, I can feel your teeth on my neck biting⦠softly at first, then a little harder. Before I can stop myself I've let out a cry of ecstasy.