Electric Roses

by Aaron Willis

It was the night of the performance. For weeks we had rehearsed a small scene as part of a Valentine’s Day showcase. Dessert Theater; an evening of intimate theater followed by dessert with the cast. I didn’t know how “intimate” it would prove to be.

Several sketches examining all things romantic, ours was Electric Roses, described as a “sobering view of love.” I played a convict named Russ and she played Sara, the ex-girlfriend. It’s implied that the reason my character was in lockup was because the relationship had become toxic and I had gotten jealous and physically abusive. The scene had both of us giving our own monologues interspersed with some secondary characters weighing in, but five minutes before we took the stage, she suggested, “At the midpoint when Darrell is describing the flashback, we should move towards each other, kiss, and then break away for dramatic effect. I think it would heighten the impact.” She stared at me as she said it, less a suggestion than declaring how the scene would go. She was in charge of the theater group, and thus knew best. I calculated how many steps it would take to reach her, draw her close. Would a strand of her curly brown hair be in her face? Would I have to brush it away? Would that help or hurt the scene? All these thoughts rushed through my head as a voice called out “30 seconds to curtain!”

The lights went out backstage, the burgundy curtain parted, pulled by two high school volunteers, and the applause began. She strode out, confident and appreciative, bowing a few times, and then holding up her arms for silence. She gave a rundown of the evening in a lilting enunciated fireball of syllables, while the rest of us paced, went over our lines mentally, and flapped our hands vigorously to get out the jitters.

After the first few scenes, I was finding my stride, getting energized by the vibe of the crowd. As the night continued, smiling and observing replaced the pacing backstage. The scene before Electric Roses had almost concluded and I went downstairs to the green room below the stage and changed into the orange prisoner garb. In the mirror I saw the lines from my boxers were showing through the pants in an awkward way. I tried arranging and pulling but the effect was bad. I made a split second decision: the boxers had to go. With a quick glance I dropped the pants, slid off my boxers and stuffed them in my backpack, then pulled the pants back on. I looked in the mirror. Much better, smooth lines. Problem was, now there was sensation. I never go commando, but now nerve endings started to crackle. Or maybe it was the nervous energy. Either way, it was time. The applause subsided, I remembered my blocking, got into my Kentucky accent, and chewed some scenery.

My lines were well-rehearsed, well memorized. I played off the energy of the audience, as did she.The time came where we were supposed to move toward each other. “Darrell” jabbered on and we locked eyes, stepped closer. With no dialogue for us, it was easier to just be in the physical moment. After all, we hadn’t done blocking for this, but it made the hesitation and joining that much more natural. The speaking stopped and that was the cue for the kiss. I was nervous but wanted to show I was a pro. Our faces met, our lips touched, the scene was working, and then something odd happened. During the kiss, she slid her tongue into my mouth and a micro explosion sparkled to life in my nervous system. Was she testing me? Did she fancy me? Was she just method acting in the scene? No idea. It felt so good, so exciting and it was a secret we shared in plain view of the whole town. A hot pink explosion clouded my brain.

However, my cock had ideas, thought it had been summoned, beeper gone off and now it had to come to work. The feel of the thin fabric combined with getting a surprise tongue started a chain reaction below the equator, but with practically the whole town in attendance, I could not let that happen. Somehow I focused on my lines and feeling my character’s loss and through sheer defiant will power, I cowed my budding erection back into hibernating standby. It is the singlemost impressive feat I have ever managed, because I was incredibly turned on. The fabric of those orange prison pants were barely a whisper, and having no boxers as a barrier, every step and shift i took was like a lover’s gentle stroke.

The weeks rehearsing the scene I had developed a crush on my director and fellow thespian, and as she was the head of the theater group, I felt it would be inappropriate to try and pursue anything. But this kiss, this maddening ambiguity, this alluring and delicious tongue, warm and wet inside my mouth, I had to know. After I changed out of the prison garb and back into restrictive plainclothes, I went topside to mingle and sample the desserts. I made small talk with some people and moved around in different groups, but I was always tracking her, wanted to see if she was looking for me too, but every time I saw her she was engrossed in conversation, or throwing her head back for a hearty peal of laughter. I drew a conclusion, and disappointed, threw my paper plate in the trash. Solemnly, I trudged downstairs to get my things. I started up the stairs, then turned and remembered the plastic bag with the prison outfit. as I grabbed it, her voice sounded behind me. “Great job, tonight.”

“Thanks. You too.” She stood with weight on one foot, one hand clutching a plastic cup of prosecco, the other hand wrapped around her opposite hip. She was smiling in that euphoric relief of a show concluded where nothing had gone awry. She struck such an image of intelligence, confidence, powerful beauty. I held up the plastic bag, “Here’s the jail uniform.”

She held her position, took a long sip from her cup but kept her eyes on me over the rim. Studying something in my eyes and body language perhaps? Was she as shy as I was? Could the all-business persona be a calculated act? “I wanted to give you some notes while they were fresh in my mind,” she said and moved towards me. “I still think you’re speaking too fast. The audience hasn’t rehearsed it a bunch of times. They’re hearing it once and never again, so you have to make every syllable land.” I hung my head. “I know.”

“Your body language didn’t seem to change even though you played three different characters tonight.” She set the cup down on a folding chair. “The blind date creep, how does he stand?” I set my spine in a creeper lurch. “And how does Oberon stand?” I stood as regally as I could while she circled and nodded. “And Russ, how would he stand?” I thought about it, and just sort of hung my arms as if my shoulders were a clothes hanger and the weight of my actions pulled everything else down. “Good!’ she said, and moved behind me. I could still hear people shuffling in the building above, some clearing out, some checking out the dregs of the desserts, some collecting trays and plastic containers. She continued, “I feel though…” and while still behind me, propped up my arms and shoved my spine forward. She kept her hand there at the base of my spine, then with a movement deliberate yet ambiguous, her hand slid off, traced my left buttock, and she stepped back observing. I held still and swallowed, excited and uncertain. Wanting to please her but also wanting to know for sure.

I still held the plastic bag and uniform dangled out. “Walk with me to return that,” she said and turned up the stairs. I followed and gazed at her lovely form from behind. I loved her serpentine motion onstage, now watching her legs and hips and supple ass before me was a delicious torture. I wondered if she was accentuating the motion for my benefit or if that was simply her everyday gait. Whatever the case, it was driving me crazy.

We reached the back of the jail and dropped it through a late night mail chute. Then she turned to me and said, “I’m out of prosecco. You should walk me home.” At this time, all the townspeople had gone home, and the few from Castle Valley who had come by car had driven off. We strolled the streets. A couple times, she balance beamed along the curb like a teenager. She’d even turned around completely, walked backwards on the curb and never broke eye contact. The dark seemed to bring something out of me. Courage, confidence, whatever you want to call it. I started to strut a little, smile more. I fed off her energy and what she was putting out there was flirtatious and addictive. Three blocks east, four blocks south. We reached her bungalow, but before she opened the front door, she stopped, tilted her head skyward. “Ohhhh wow,” she cooed. The night sky was deep desert black, and the stars were bountiful pinholes. This was a night you could see the milky way, a magical dusty streak, both calm and dazzling. She led me around to her back deck and I planted myself in a reclining lawn chair, taken with the celestial view. I heard her patio door slide open and shut. I tried counting stars and lost count at 45. A dog or possibly coyote yelped its echo back towards the river. A meteorite streaked across the sky and I dumbly shouted “Ha!”

The patio door slid open and shut again. Flop. Flop. Flop-flop. Four giant flat pillows formed a square on the deck. She shook a thin tartan blanket and it descended parachute-like over the new soft pad. I noticed she had changed into a green silk robe and had a wine bottle. Stepping lightly, she perched and reclined onto the blanketed pillow dais. Casting a glance over her shoulder and with a wry smile, patted the blanket twice to beckon me over.

I kicked off my shoes and slid next too her onto the pillows and she handed me the open bottle. I tipped it to my lips. Not prosecco. Something white. Too tart for pinot grigio, too dry for riesling. “Sauvignon blanc?” I asked. She lifted her brows. “New Zealand?”

“Go on,” she smiled.

I shrugged. “Marlborough region?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she laughed. “I didn’t know you were such a wine buff.”

“Actually, that’s the extent of it. I used to be a server. I know I liked that one.”

She rotated on her side, held her head up with one arm. “What else do you like?”

Though it was dark, a little light from her house bled onto the deck. The robe had come loose near the neck and I could see a swell and curve of breast. My heart leapt into my throat and began to thump. I could hear the pulse in my ears. The thought of her wearing only that robe was palpable and tremendously exciting. Her shapely leg swung out and she tapped me in the thigh with her toe. “Are you going to pass that bottle back?”

“Oh, right” I croaked and took another swig, handed it back. As she grabbed it, her fingers traced mine and for a second she stroked my thumb. My cock shifted, like a hose uncoiling or an elephant trunk waving. This time I didn’t try to subdue its progress, its inflation. The darkness, the stars, the warm breeze, all were intoxicating. And I still wasn’t certain if I had a green light.

She pulled another swallow of wine, then set the bottle to the side, laid down to face the heavens. “Do you know you constellations?” I laid back. “Only Orion. Which I don’t see right now.”

“Mmmph. Wrong time of year. It’s southern hemisphere now.”

“Ah.”

We laid there, stargazing in silence for what seemed like ten minutes. My breathing had become quite fast and heavy. I tried to listen for hers to get a clue, but couldn’t hear past my own body and that yelping dog. Then she elbowed me gently and in a near whisper, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Orion,” I said.

“No. My question before.”

“New Zealand?”

She giggled and sighed. “What. Else. Do you like?”

I swallowed hard. Inevitability flooded me. The tantalizing possibility. But I also didn’t want to show my hand too fast. This could be an innocuous question. Asked by someone in a flimsy piece of cloth keeping them  from being totally nude. On pillows outside. Gahhhhh.

“I like….”

I heard the click of liplicking from her side of the pillows and a sharp intake of breath.

I exhaled, “…..mint chocolate chip.”

She exploded in laughter and a clonk sounded. “Oh no!”

I propped up on my elbow. She had the wine bottle aloft, dripping. “Only lost a little bit.”

“Good job.”

“Might have to take this robe to get dry cleaned.”

I volunteered, “I’ll suck it out.”

For a second, silence. I thought I’d blown it. Then she erupted into giggles again. “It’s wine, not….snake venom!”

Then began a back and forth of improv about snakes from the Marlborough region of New Zealand having wine venom. We both tried kiwi accents but we both decided they were just Australian and we cracked up until we were both on our sides panting, laughter subsiding, eyes locked. She looked down at my lips, licked her own, met my eyes again. I moved my head closer, daring her to make the first move. Parting my lips, I slowly tucked my bottom lip in and dragged my teeth as it emerged wet and ready. Her ripe, kissable mouth looked like a bee stung cherry and I longed to taste that tongue again. The tips of our noses touched and that set things into motion. With a soft groan, she crashed into my lips, sucking my bottom lip into her mouth, running her tongue over it and into my awaiting tongue. More of a mouth dance than kissing, she held my head in her hands, sucked my tongue and rotated her head first one way, than the other. The sensation of that locking and turning thrilled me.

Then she broke the kiss, turned me flat on my back and straddled me. With a fluidly sexy shoulder motion, the robe blossomed open and cascaded onto the deck. I was right. She was nude underneath. The darkness made all other feelings amplified. I traced her neck with my fingers, glided down to her beautiful cupcake breasts, traced circles around her nipples. She arched her back and let out a low moan. I lifted up, kissed and licked her neck, planted pecks down to the center of her breasts, gave each nipple a lick and swirling suck, dotted kisses down to her navel. She shuddered and exhaled and gasped all at once, then her mouth found mine again. As she sucked on my tongue, her free hand was undoing my belt buckle, unbuttoning, unzipping, and rooting for a lunging and grateful obelisk. Her hand squeezed me in excitement. Then both her hands were tugging at my waistbands. I wriggled  under her to help out as I got rid of a useless T shirt. The night air felt amazing on my skin, as did her hands and mouth. At last, no cloth barriers were between us. She pushed my shudders down with one hand and grabbed my cock with the other. With delicious ease she rubbed the tip back and forth against fuzzy wet flower petal folds, then took me completely in. I was enveloped in pleasure. I felt a pulsing clenching from within as she rose and descended. Her hands had my shudders pinned to the deck. All I could do was enjoy as she took control and created the motion. Her body had that serpentine essence again. She was going up and down but it felt and looked like an S curve ballet. The noises emanating from her were like an “unghh unghh unghh” as her rhythm increased.

I felt close to finishing but didn’t let myself. I wanted to experience her climax, see the ecstasy written on her face. Her rhythm was no longer accelerating but was steady. She let one of my arms free and I reached up and grabbed left breast, squeezed it in time to her strokes. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open. She was nearing the finish line. Her breaths were short puffs and moans. Her body now did a motion with more pubic bone rubbing, more clitoral stimulation. A back and forth rather than up and down. She took my hand and led it to around back of her. I felt into that lovely moving wetness, and when my fingers were lubed enough, I began gently rubbing circles and taps around her ass. Her body started tremoring and I tried to make my fingers vibrate the same way when suddenly she clenched and buckled and let out a long and satisfied “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

I still hadn’t cum when she collapsed onto me, exhaling wildly, her chest clammy with sweat. I hugged her close as she wilted from orgasm to contentment. I felt her kegel muscles tensing on my shaft and they became fainter and fainter. I was happy for her, I didn’t need to cum. This was far far better. I held her as her breathing became slower and steadier. Another meteorite streaked by. I kissed the top of her head and soon she was asleep. I was thirsty and tried to reach the wine bottle but couldn’t stretch far enough. Oh well. My eyes drank the milky way and then I joined her in slumber.