The Lesson Plan -- Part Four (Episode Two: The Rehearsal) free porn video

The Lesson Plan -- Part Four Episode Two: The Rehearsal Chapter 8 Rule one of rehearsal etiquette is to be on time. I like being early so that I can find unfamiliar places, or so that I'm not flustered. Mainly, I like to watch other people arrive. It's good to be the first one so you can watch the dynamic of the room, feel it change as personalities arrive, get a sense of what it's going to be like. I like to be early because I'm anxious and I need all the help I can get. New York City was not on my side today. The taxi I booked didn't show and so I'd been forced into the streets to try and hail one, reaching the limits of the volume of my Ellen voice. When I did manage to attract a taxi it was going the wrong way, and so had to double back around. I'd sat in the back, my leg bouncing up and down impatiently, gazing out the window and wishing traffic to move. I'd arrived with five minutes to spare, flustered and almost the opposite of what I'd imagined my first professional acting table read entrance to be. Considering I was disguised as a curvaceous forty-three year old woman, almost none of this was going to be what I'd imagined my first table-read to be like. My weekend had been spent shopping. Since I was deprived of Ellen's amazing wardrobe I'd had to start my own. For the third time in two days I woke up early and transformed into Ellen, this time just putting her into everyday light makeup. I'd worn the more demure of the two dresses I owned and left early: I needed one week's worth of everyday outfits that weren't too school teacher chic, that were a little bit in character -- so I was thinking as much of what Joan would wear -- and that, maybe, Scott would also like. And, in addition to that, I need a week's worth of activewear. Because rule two is dress for rehearsal, which means a lot of clothes that Ellen would never wear in public: leggings, tights, bodysuits, loose-fitting sweaters and dance shoes. The first thing I thought about doing was buying something to wear while I was shopping. The dress was a little over the top for Bloomingdales. But as I tried on various things I quickly realised the beauty of it -- with only two buttons it was easy to get into and out of. I'd inadvertently worn the perfect shopping dress. Of course I knew my sizes, but my life as a woman so far had prepared me for the fact that these numbers were essentially meaningless. I could be a size 8, or 6, or 10, or medium, or large depending on the brand, the store, the style. My exaggerated hourglass figure meant that things that fit me around the rear didn't fit my waist, or that a blouse that didn't strain to pop at my bust might have too loose sleeves. I basically had to try on everything that I liked, and take three sizes of each to the fitting room with me. Shayna and I had gone shopping a few times and it had always been fun. It was good to bounce ideas of each other, and to maybe wear things outside our comfort zones. I missed her now more than ever. This didn't feel like a sexy shopping trip. I was a woman on a mission: I was trying to build a wardrobe in a day. My need for activewear took me to Capezio and their racks and racks of leotards, leggings, tights and dance shoes. I wandered the store for a good while before an assistant took pity on me and asked if I needed help, and I almost hugged her. I explained what I needed and found myself bundled into a changing room moments later, pulling on a pair of black, high-waisted, compression leggings and wriggling into a teal racerback bra top. I've never worn anything so comfortable in my life. I could move any way I wanted to and not feel like I was bouncing or jiggling: My ass looked amazing; my boobs were held firmly in place. I looked hot. I'd bought five. Rule three is be prepared. I'd spend the time I wasn't shopping highlighting my script, and scribbling various ideas in the margins. I didn't know every line -- Hell, I could barely remember the audition lines from last week -- but at least I knew when I was supposed to be speaking. I'd packed my script, some pencils and a bottle of water in my new gym bag the night before, like a good schoolgirl. I quickly dash into the ladies bathroom before the rehearsal and check my appearance. I look every inch a theatre brat: Hair tied back in a messy bun, light makeup, loose grey sweater, tight black leggings, a gym bag slung over my shoulder. "Don't make me look like a teenager in denial," I'd begged the sales assistant. For over-forty I could pass for mid-thirties. I look like a woman who knows her own body, who's comfortable in her own skin. Even if that skin isn't really her own. I take a deep breath and walk into the rehearsal room. Chapter 9 "Ellen!" The room is like any other rehearsal space I've ever known. I've spent countless hours in big, empty, slightly scuzzy rooms like this all through college. Until I dropped out, that is. There are three different colors and patterns of carpet on the floor, all overlapping. The walls are painted white, with the odd poster of old shows gone by, hung at a squint angle. In the middle of this big open space is a circle of 6 plastic chairs, four of them filled. I recognize Adam, the director, even though he has his back to the door. His hair, build and color of shirt are almost identical to the audition. He's deep in conversation with a young man, about my age. He has dark hair, big, thick glasses, is clean-shaven and is wearing a sleeveless band t-shirt. Clockwise next to him is an older guy, about Ellen's age. He's a little out of shape as much as I can tell given he's sitting down. A little bit of grey at his temple and a well- groomed beard. He's in blue jeans and a patterned shirt. A suit jacket hangs from the back of his blue plastic chair. Next to him is a young woman, younger than anyone in here. She's slender, in pink patterned leggings and a white oversized t-shirt. Her blonde hair is tied back in a ponytail. She's in conversation with Scott, who's standing next to her. Or she was, until I opened the door and came in and he stopped to call my name. I smile and wave, stepping towards the circle and everyone looks up. It's like being back at school and I have to fight the urge to wish the class "Good morning!" Shit. School. I haven't thought about the kids since I stormed out. I hope they're okay and coping with Ellen being back. Fuck. Andrew. I can't think about that right now. Can't think about the kids, the school, Chalmers and Ellen. Fucking Ellen. She's back and that's that. I push it to the back of my mind as I fix my best Ellen smile in place and shake everyone's hand. "Hi, I'm Dom," the young man says. He smiles sweetly, looking me in the eye but not getting up. His grip is gentle, not really a handshake as much as a hand hold. His bare arms are nicely muscled, with strong forearms that I can't help but be distracted by. He's in great shape, and he knows it. "Hello. Ellen right? I'm Vincent," the older man says, standing to give my hand a proper shake. He beams at me, making sure to take the time to look me up and down in the most obvious way possible. Unbidden he then leans in to kiss my cheek and I feel his hands lightly upon my waist. "I'm looking forward to working with you," he adds, stepping back and sitting down. "Hi," the young woman says, standing and ignoring my hand to give me a squeezing hug. "I'm Aim?e," she says, releasing me. "You're all Scott can talk about. It's great to meet you." "It's so good to meet all of you," I say, meaning it. I've been waiting for this moment since I dropped out of college. I'm in a real play. WIth real actors. "I can't wait to get to know you all." "Hi," Scott says, leaning in to kiss me on both cheeks. "You look great," he whispers in my ear before pulling away. "Let's get started everyone," he adds, louder this time, as I step towards the empty chair next to Aim?e and sit down. "Shall we go round the room and just say who we are, who our characters are and something interesting about ourselves?" "I'll go first," Adam says, his deep voice resonating in this empty space. "I'm Adam. I'm the director. I've directed a dozen plays and last year won the Lucille Lortel Award for my play Damaged." "I'm Scott. I'm the writer. I can hold my breath for two minutes." Everyone laughs. "I'm Ellen," I say. "I'm playing Joan. Something interesting..." I'm a twenty-something year old man trapped in the skin of a forty-three year old woman? I've spent the last few months disguised as my aunt? I've been having disturbing sexual thoughts about the writer of this play? "I'm also a drama teacher." "I'm Aim?e, and I'm playing Megan," she says smiling. "And my favourite dinosaur is the triceratops." "I'm Vincent and I'm an alcoholic," he says. Everyone laughs politely. "And I'm playing Roger." "I'm Dom, playing Pete. And I'm in a band." "Oh, I've thought of another one," I say, sitting up straight. "I'm going to have to kiss everyone in this room." Everyone laughs, and I look around, hoping to keep everyone on side. "I didn't know you were a drama teacher," Aim?e says, turning a little to face me. "I'm so nervous now." "Me too," Vincent adds with a glint in his eye. Dom watches. "Oh, a teacher of children," I say good naturedly. "Don't worry." "Right, now we all know each other let's start with a read through and then this afternoon I thought we could start on some blocking," Adam starts and everyone fishes in bags for scripts and pencils. Chapter 10 "You weren't kidding," Aim?e says, walking over to me during our break. "You really do have to kiss everyone." "Everyone but Adam," I say laughing. "And Scott," she says. "And Scott," I agree. "Okay, maybe not everyone. I really liked your reading," I add, changing the subject. "Thank you, you too," she grins, tilting her head. "I'm serious though, if you have any tips for me I'd love to hear them. You've so much experience and just ... as an older woman, I'd really appreciate it." "Not Vincent?" I ask, lowering my voice to a playful conspiratorial whisper. "Oh God," she says, wide-eyed,"he's such a sleeze isn't he? I'm keeping my t-shirt on this afternoon. You'd think he'd never been around women before." "I think he thinks he's being charming," I say, trying not to think too much about Aim?e taking her t-shirt off myself. It's difficult to get any real sense of her figure under the shapeless top she's wearing, but occasionally she twists and shifts position so much that you can see the outline of her bra outlined against the flimsy fabric. "Older guys.. You know." "I guess," she says. "You must have had this all your life." "No," I say, shaking my head. "Sometimes they're gay." Aim?e laughs, and that lights me up inside. I like her. She's exactly the sort of girl at drama school that I loved to hang around with. Playful, approachable and interested in acting, not just who she knew and what contacts she had. "Here he comes," she whispers, putting on a fake smile and standing straight. "Ellen," Vincent says, walking towards us both. "I enjoyed that. Didn't you? I love experiencing our co-stars for the first time." "I did," I admit. "I enjoyed your reading too. I think this is going to be fun." "Oh I hope so," he says, coming even closer to me. "It's such a difficult role for you to play I think. Sexy, dangerous, exciting. And for you to embody that without being a cartoon. You really are just... the embodiment of sex aren't you?" His lips curl up into a slight smile. "Well that's very kind of you to say, Vincent," I reply, trying not to see Aim?e rolling her eyes. "You know what I mean, of course," he says, just as Aim?e walks away. I shoot her a look and she shrugs, leaving me alone with Vincent. "We're all different forces. You're sex. She's chastity. I'm paralysis and he's action." I look over at Dom, still sitting on his chair alone in the room. He is very much not action. "I hadn't thought of it like that," I say, crossing my arms, and hugging myself. "Oh well it's just my idea, you know. If you want to explore it further, I'd happily talk about it over a drink?" Smooth. "What are you two talking about?" Scott. My hero. "How I'm sex and Vincent is paralysis," I say, lightly touching Vincent on the arm. Scott honest-to-God winks at me. "I think you can get pills for that," Scott says, lightly. "It was interesting!" I say enthusiastically, looking at Vincent and smiling. I don't want any enemies here. "Tell him!" "Oh I wouldn't dare tell the writer. I'm just a humble actor," Vincent says, flattered. "Maybe over a drink?" "Definitely," Scott says. "If you don't mind I need to go over a couple of changes with Ellen. Do you mind if I grab her?" "Not at all," Vincent says, backing off and taking the opportunity to glance at my hips and legs in my skin-tight leggings. "We've got all week to get to know each other." "Looking forward to it," I say as he walks away and Scott steps closer. "So, where are you grabbing me?" I ask, mischievously. "I enjoyed your reading," he says, ignoring me. "I'm really happy you're here." "I'm really happy I'm here too," I reply. "Everyone's really nice." "You look fucking amazing," he says, lowering his voice a little. "I can't stop thinking about you." I feel a flush of excitement, the thrill of his desire transferring onto me. "That photo..." "Yours too," I say, my voice taking on a sultry tone. "I liked it a lot." I realise that I"m not even lying. I did. I felt thrilled and excited to get it. Not even because he was fooled: that he thought I was a desirable woman. That I'm his college best friend in disguise isn't even part of it any more. I was excited because he wanted me. And I wanted him to want me. His desire made me feel like a woman. "I want to see more," he says, almost growling. "Photos or in the flesh?" I reply, my hands heavy by my sides, my fingers just an inch from his. I could reach out and touch him. His lips are so close I could lean in and kiss him. I know he feels it too. He wants to grab my ass; to pull off my top and squeeze my tits. He wants to. I want him to. "Hey! Stop sexually harassing my co-star," Aim?e calls, playfully. Scott moves away a millimeter, but it might as well be a mile. "To be continued," Scott says, walking away and leaving me on my own. Chapter 11 "He actually called you the embodiment of sex?" Iain asks over dinner. Their kitchen table is laid for two, with half-empty bowls of pasta, salad and garlic bread in the center. It's delicious, but the thought of so many carbs in one meal has me going heavy on the salad and light on the pasta. If I'm spending the week in leggings and leotards then I need to watch my weight. After rehearsal was over, we all said our stilted goodbyes and went our separate ways. No first day drinks, no cast dinner on the first night. Aim?e did give me a hug before going, and we swapped numbers. Vincent had hung back and said he was going my way if I wanted to walk for a bit. I suspected he'd have been going my way whatever way I was going. "He actually did," I confirm, taking a drink of wine. Since Iain cooked, I'd bought a few bottles -- it seemed only polite. My wig and makeup is off. After removing my mask and prosthetics, I took a long shower and changed into shorts and one of Kevin's t-shirts. The only slight incongruity are my painted nails and smooth legs. "Straight guys are weird," Iain remarks, and I can only agree. "So what happened next?" Vincent and I had walked together towards the subway station, chatting about the script and how the workshop had gone. It had been nice, actually, to just talk about acting with someone for a change. I think he'd gotten the message about being a little too full on too, as he kept his innuendo to a minimum. So when it came time to part at the station and he'd asked if I'd like to get a coffee, I'd weighed up how tired I was feeling against how under-caffeinated I was and decided it couldn't hurt. We'd ducked into a little coffee shop and found a table right at the back. He did most of the talking. He loves the sound of his own voice, and telling stories, and I was only too happy to sit and let him. It had been a tiring afternoon, just blocking some scenes and figuring out what props and set stuff we'd need to make them work. It doesn't feel like a play yet, not really. It's more a puzzle to be solved, like a polyamourous first date. It was a physical afternoon too -- lots of standing and moving around -- and we hadn't even gotten into the meat of any of my sex scenes yet. "I think we older actors have to stick together," he said. "Show them how it's done. You're a drama teacher for goodness sake. You should be showing us all up." "Well, it's a process isn't it?" I'd replied. "A dance. A conversation. We'll get there eventually." For all that I'd taught some drama at school, it was English that was my main focus. Kevin hadn't even finished college. So I was more than happy to wriggle out of being shown up for a fraud. "You're so refreshing Ellen," he'd said. "Not at all jaded. It's like this is your first gig. Just, I mean, that you're obviously very giving. I'm really looking forward to this week now." "Thank you," I'd replied. "You weren't before?" "Well, you know. First time playwright. College director. No money. It's not exactly broadway. Or Off broadway." "Some of the best things are off, off broadway," I'd said, finishing my coffee. "This has been lovely Vincent but I really have to go. I need a shower." "Same time tomorrow?" he'd asked, standing. "It's a date," I'd said. I'd reached in for a hug before leaving but he'd surprised me, kissing me full on the mouth, his hands rounding my hips to hold me firmly. His lips were soft, and lingered longer than a quick peck between friends. "It's a date," he'd said after our lips parted, a broad grin on his face. "He kissed you?" Iain asks. "Just, kissed you. Straight out." "Yup," I confirm. "Does this happen a lot?" "More than I'd like," I admit. "At first it was difficult to know how to react. I was always second guessing myself. What would a real woman do? I was so preoccupied with the disguise." "And now?" He asks, interested. "I think I'm less worried about being read. So I go with my instinct." "Which was?" "I slapped him." "That's hilarious," Iain laughs, leaning back on his chair. "I mean, as much as sexual harassment is hillarious." He added, after a moment's reflection. Just then, Ellen's phone starts to buzz, a rasping grinding sound on the wooden table. I check the screen: Aim?e. I close my eyes, thinking about the placement of my voice and forcing it up into my cheekbones before I answer. "Hi Aim?e," I say, using Ellen's voice. I try not to look at Iain. "Everything okay?" "Hi," she says. "I'm good thanks. Just wanted to see if everything's okay with you? You know. With Vincent." I swivel sideways on the chair, crossing my legs at the thigh and changing my posture -- straightening my back, lengthening my neck, loosening my limbs. I feel this is going to be a long call. "Oh, well. So we walked together for a little while," I say, starting to recount the tale. I tell her everything, in pretty much the same detail I told Iain. All the while he sits there, watching, with a little smile on his face. "Oh my God, Ellen! I'm sorry. I should have warned you some more," she says finally. "Warned me?" I ask. "You weren't to know." "We were in another show together. Last year? We used to call him 'The Tongue'. He'd keep trying to kiss the other girls." "Oh," I say, wondering why she'd kept this to herself earlier. "Wow. Well, thankfully, no tongue." I laugh. "Good for you for slapping him though. I think I'd have been too stunned." "Oh I was stunned," I say. We talk some more, so much so that Iain quietly stands up and leaves me to it, picking up plates and tidying away our meal. I stand up and walk through to my bedroom while we talk, just discussing the day, the workshop and the other cast members. As we talk my phone gives a little beep - the sign that I've also received a text message. "Ellen, I was wondering," she says eventually, "if you'd maybe want to come along to my yoga class tomorrow morning before rehearsal? The teacher's really good. I think you'd love it." I have never done yoga in my life. "I'd love to," I say, smiling. "What time and where?" "Great!" she sounds so happy. "It's at eight, in the same building we rehearse in, just two floors up. I'll book you in." "Looking forward to it. I'm ... between yoga teachers just now," I lie. I feel that New-York-acting-Ellen would do yoga. Eight AM though: That's a four-thirty start for me, considering my current state. I try not to sigh. "Me too," she says. "See you tomorrow. Good night." She hangs up and I take a minute to reflect on the call. What happened? Just girl talk, I guess. Trying to make friends with the only other woman in the show. I shrug and look down at my phone to see the notification of a text message from Scott. No picture this time, just a question: "What are you wearing?" I had to send him something. I want to send him something. I have an idea this time for a picture. I take off my shorts and pick up the wobbling lump of my fake pussy, lie on the bed and carefully balance the prosthetic between my thighs. I pick up the phone camera with my left hand and lay my right over the seam of my pussy, my glossy red fingernails burrowing into the soft curls of the fake merkin. I experiment with different positions and pictures until I have one that shows my naked pussy on display whilst hiding its true nature. Satisfied with the deception I send the picture, hoping that he'll like it. I lie there for a moment, breathing and stroking the comforting curls of my pussy. My phone buzzes, puncturing the silence with an urgent ring. Scott. "Hi," I whisper into the phone in Ellen's voice. "That's some picture," he says, confidently. His voice is deeper than usual. I think he's been drinking. "You like it?" I say. "You're incredible. You know? You're not like other women." "Tell me," I say. My hand slides under the silicone prosthetic covering my crotch, and my fingers find my own swelling cock underneath. Something about this feels wrong, and forbidden and sexy. I feel it throb and grow as my hand touches it, my fingers encircling it, the hardness of it pushing my fake pussy to one side. I look down to see my cock stiff in my hand and Ellen's red nails. "Are you hard for me?" "So hard. Your picture was so hot. Wish I was between your thighs right now." "Are you stroking yourself?" I ask as I move my hand faster and faster. "Thinking about my pussy." I say breathlessly. "What about you? Where's your hand?" "I'm touching myself too. Thinking of your hard cock. It's so beautiful." "Are you wet?" he asks, his breath catching. "I wish I was there to help." "I wish we had done this after rehearsal. I wish it were my hands on your cock right now. Stroking you. Or my lips ... sucking you." I close my eyes and keep masturbating thinking of him thinking of me. Thinking of having Ellen's body: her curvaceous hips, her round backside, her large, soft breasts. Thinking of the beautiful face I've worn and seen reflected back at me so many times. Thinking of all the men who've wanted to fuck me. Thinking of Scott's cock, stiff and throbbing for the woman I can become. "I want you Ellen. I want you so badly," he says. "Oh fuck." "That's right, cum for me ... darling," I say, my own cock spasming and spurting. I twitch and the fake pussy falls off me and onto the bed. We breathe together on the phone for a second, panting like sprinters after a race. "Wow," I say. "I haven't done that for a while." I try to make my voice light and carefree. What the fuck have I just done? "I can come over, we can do it together," he says, still controlling his breathing. "I really can't," I say, watching the dribble of cum coating my nails. "Soon, I promise." "God you're hot. I can't wait." He hangs up and I lay still, letting the phone fall onto the bed. Chapter 12 My alarm clock rings and I sit bolt upright, hoping to shock myself awake. It's dark, quiet and early. I turn off the alarm, cancel the other three I'd set, turn on the table light, step out of the boxers I slept in and run my hands over my legs. It's been four days since I last shaved them and, annoyingly, I feel and see a little bit of stubble. I should have done this yesterday, I think, as I run the shower and sit on the side of the bath, letting my legs get wet. After my phone call with Scott I passed straight out. I feel guilty for not saying good night to Iain and just leaving him to tidy up. I lather up women's shaving gel over my legs. Shaving doesn't take long, and I make quick work of both legs and thighs. I really should go get them waxed though, I think, whilst rubbing scented moisturizer over them and then my arms. I check my armpits, but they're still smooth. I spray some women's deodorant and bring the canister through with me into the bedroom, throwing it onto my unmade bed. I'll need it for later. I decide to get my body ready first this time, since I'm naked anyway. I start with my breasts, picking up a jiggling lump, adding glue to the underside and lining up the concave silicon inside with my chest and my nipple in the middle. I press down and hold it, counting to twenty, my hand supporting the full weight of the fake flesh. I tentatively let it go, still not trusting the process after all these months. One day it won't stick, I'm sure of it. But I feel the familiar, delightful tug and weight on my chest and look down to see my convincing breast, with its permanently puffy nipple. I repeat the process for the other breast, same glue, same position, same gentle cupping and pressure while I wait for the large soft mass to stick. While I wait, my mind wanders back to last night, and the photo I sent. It feels good to have my breasts again. I tentatively let go, and feel the pleasant weight on my chest, before cupping both my boobs and squeezing them together, lifting them and letting them fall. And then I feel it. The warmth and tingle between my legs. My cock is getting hard. "What the fuck?" I whisper, staring down at it through the valley of my tits. This isn't a thing that happens. I ignore it, confident it'll go away. I quickly work to blend away the seams of the feathered silicone prosthetics and slip my arms into the thick straps of a new sports bra, pulling the front tight and zipping it up. Front closing. What an amazing invention! From inside the apartment I hear a creak. There's no light on. I must be imagining things. My hips are next, and I continue to try to ignore my stiffening cock as I apply glue and stick the long prosthetic into place. Fuck it. As I count to twenty I give my cock a stroke, slowly tugging at it and pulling the skin at the head back with my free hand. I can see it's already glistening. I should stop. I don't. I keep stroking as I attach my other hip and my ass, only pausing to switch hands or to run both my hands over my new delicious curves and enjoy the feeling of my soft yielding flesh. I should take care of this so I can finish up and glue on my pussy, but I don't. I sit down and snap on my wig cap, then pick up the mask and start painting on the glue on the inside. I don't touch myself, but squeeze my new, rounder thighs together, feeling my cock pulsing as I press the mask into place on my nose. I carefully stick the mask into place, around my eyes, forehead, cheeks, lips and chin. Ellen's bare face looks back at me, turning this way and that to check for wrinkles or mistakes. It looks good. It feels good. I feel horny as hell, and stand up to look at my feminized body in the mirror, my hand snaking back to grab my dick and start to masturbate furiously. I watch the gorgeous, bald, woman in the mirror stroking her cock, her lips parted, her breasts jiggling. I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't feel this. I love being a woman. I cum with a shudder, a thick spurt coating my hand and filling my nose with it's musky scent. What. The. Fuck? The shame and embarrassment overwhelms me and I rush to the bathroom to wash my hands, letting the soap and water wash away what just happened. I don't have time for self-reflection. I need to focus on getting ready, getting across town and getting into character. The conversation I had with Iain last week plays in my mind as I dry myself off. "I don't want to be a woman," I say to myself, but it feels wrong to use Kevin's voice in the mask. "I don't want to be a woman," I repeat, this time in Ellen's higher register. Close. I take advantage of my now-shrunken cock and glue my fake pussy into place, complete with labia, neatly trimmed pubic hair and the little roundness that women of Ellen's age will have on their mons. Out of sight, out of mind. I have to put on some makeup. Ellen's bare face is passable, but it does look like she's a little unwell. I mix some liquid foundation with some highlighter and spread it over her face, instantly giving her some more colour and a fresh-faced glow that'll work well in yoga class. Just a little bronzer and powder to set. No need for eye makeup, but I can't help but draw on my usual red lipstick. I pack my bag for the day, adding some makeup, my deodorant, a towel, a black leotard and nude thick tights to my script, water bottle and jazz shoes. Finally, I pull on a new pair of pink compression leggings that fit me snugly everywhere, and especially support and lift my rear. They leave nothing to the imagination. I pull on my loose sweater from yesterday, a spray of perfume and, slightly incongruously, a pair of heels. I'm as ready as I'll ever be. ---- "That was fun, right?" Aim?e says as we walk into the locker room together. I'm not sure fun would describe it. I feel sore and stiff, but also more relaxed than I've felt for weeks. The yoga studio was bright, clean and about the same size as our rehearsal space, which makes sense as it's in the space in the building, just a few floors up. I'd arrived early and looked around lost to see where I should go or what I should do, noticing a few young women chatting in a group, all of them slim, attractive and in the same uniform of skin-tight pants and leggings and sports bras in various lurid shades. I was in the right place. I'd dumped my stuff in the locker room, taken off my sweater and shoes and helped myself to a yoga mat. There was no sign of Aim?e, so I'd picked a spot near the back of the room and sat down, copying the lotus position of a woman wearing a blue unitard a few feet away. I'm not all that flexible, and it took me a little bit of effort to get into the pose and hold it. "Morning!" Aim?e had said, rolling out her own mat next to me and sitting down with one leg out front and one underneath her. Her hair was tied back into a simple ponytail and her skin glowed with no makeup. She wore a coral-colored tank top and matching yoga pants and looked sensational. If yesterday left me wondering about her figure, today her outfit left me in no doubt. She was slim and athletic with gentle curves, a flat, toned stomach and a perky bust. "Hi!" I'd said, trying not to let on I was checking her out. "I'm looking forward to this." "Oh good! It's great. I really need to feel connected to my body, you know?" she'd said. "Me too," I'd agreed. I was hoping whatever we did didn't cause my body to become unconnected. The session was forty-five minutes, and the instructor was a young man called Adrian, who gently and slowly took the class of a dozen women through 26 poses, all of which I could manage to a greater or lesser degree with some effort. Aim?e took it all in her stride, her supple body doing everything she asked of it, and I admit to sneaking more than one peek at her perfectly displayed ass during a downward-facing dog. Adrian would instruct us, demonstrate the pose and then walk among us between our mats, talking gently, and offering advice. More than once he came to my mat and gently laid a hand on my back or leg to fix a pose I wasn't quite nailing. "So much fun," I agree, setting my bag down next to hers in the locker room. Most of the other women in the class have left, presumably to change or shower at their office or home, so it's just Aim?e and I. "Although am I bad for liking Dead Body pose the most?" Aim?e laughs, grabbing the bottom of her tank top with crossed arms and pulling it up, over her chest and head. I watch her bare breasts barely bounce with unnatural perkiness before looking away, hopefully before she sees me. "I can never stay in Tree for very long," she says, folding her top and carrying on the conversation. I copy her and pull down the thick zip of my sports bra, peeling it back off my larger and heavier boobs and shrugging off the wide straps. Is she watching me too? "Oh God," I say, reaching out with a typical Ellen gesture and touching her on the arm, "I thought I was going to topple onto you." She smiles and hooks her thumbs into her yoga pants and quickly tugs downward, pulling the tight fabric over her slightly-curving hips and peachy butt, and down her smooth legs. She's not wearing any panties like me, I notice at once, although unlike me she's completely hairless between her thighs. The puffy, symmetrical lips on her pussy look perfect. "Have you ever done bikram?" she asks, tugging the yoga pants off her legs. I follow her lead, working my snug compression leggings over my more considerable curves and sitting down next to her to take them off my ankles. "Is that hot yoga?" I ask, finding my towel in my bag while she stands up with a towel of her own. Experience has taught me that, when naked with other women, you should just carry on and not acknowledge it. Never give out compliments or comments unless about clothes. Ellen had been going swimming these past few months, and I'd experienced quite a lot of women's locker room etiquette -- enough to improvise on the topic anyway. "Yeah," she says. "Showers are this way," she adds, and I watch her beautiful derriere swing as she walks naked across the gleaming tiles. I'm grateful for my fake pussy right now, not just for selling the disguise but for hiding just how turned on I am. I follow, catching sight of my naked body in the mirror just after Aim?e's. God Ellen is hot. "It's real sweaty," she says and my heart soars to see it's a communal shower area. She turns on the tap, tests and then steps under the water, just letting it soak her skin from the neck down. "But Ellen," she reaches out and touches me on the arm, just like I did earlier. Her fingers are cold and wet. "I can't believe how fresh you look though, I'm so sweaty after that!" I turn on my own tap and test the water. It's cold, but I could do with that right now. I'm careful to step under just enough to soak my body, leaving my hair and face free of the stream. I turn to face her, ready to return the compliment but freeze. She's looking at me, staring really, at my body. Not with alarm, or in a way that makes me worried that my disguise has failed me. She's looking at me the way someone would look at a piece of sculpture. "You have such a great body," she says, breaking the spell and squeezing some shower gel onto her hand. "I mean shit Ellen. You're a goddess. Your tits! Fuck!" She lathers up the soap and massages it onto her shoulders, and down over her breasts. This is not how this usually goes. "Uh," I scrabble for something to say. I've clearly not been around theatre people enough. "You're kidding right?" When in doubt, self- deprecate. "You look amazing." "I had my boobs done," she says confessionally, her hands roaming over her perky pair. "They look fake, right?" "They look... " I'm not sure what to say. I'm aware that all I'm doing is staring, so I mentally shake myself and make a half-hearted attempt at spreading shower gel over my body. "Yeah, I know. I think I'll get them taken out and replaced when I have the money. They feel kinda weird." "Really?" I ask, watching this girl I barely know squeeze her tits in front of me. "Totally. They're like... not a part of me or something. Feel!" she commands, taking my hand and placing it on top of her perfectly round, unnaturally pneumatic breast. "Don't be such a teenage boy, give it a squeeze. You can feel it moving around." I do as I'm told, although I'm worried I'm going to burst through my fake pussy. She's right, I feel the hard lump inside moving. I also feel her nipple hardening beneath my palm. "They look okay under tops and stuff, but not nude. I saw you looking so I thought I'd explain." She smiles, rinsing off the soap from her body while I withdraw my hand. "I wasn't..." I start to say. "Okay yeah I was totally looking." "It's okay. Girls notice that sort of thing. Guys are usually too busy thinking about their cocks." I smile, not thinking about my cock. "I wish I had nice natural boobs like you though. You've got this whole hourglass vixen thing going on. When Scott told me about you I was like, 'yup, she's Joan.'" "Scott, told you about me?" I asked, changing the subject. Trying to keep it light. "Sure he did," she says, turning her water off. "He couldn't stop talking about you. How you nailed your audition." "Oh, that's nice of him," I say, turning off my own water just as it was heating up. I feel the droplets running over my body. I'm acutely aware of our nakedness, that we're two women naked together, only inches apart. I imagine I can feel the heat radiating from Aim?e's body, pulling at me with celestial force, entreating me to touch her. "What do you think of him?" I ask. "Scott?" she asks, reaching for her towel and patting her flawless skin dry. "I think he'll be a good writer some day, but he's not there yet. And I'd say that to his face," she adds with a smirk. "You don't like the play?" I ask, drying myself off too before wrapping the towel around my body. Aim?e just starts walking back to the locker room, carrying hers, comfortably naked around me. "I think it's an adolescent fantasy, a lot of it anyway. It's therapy for him. He's never really gotten over what happened, I don't think," she says, fishing in her bag for a new set of clothes for the day. "I don't think this is getting over it either," I say, dropping my towel and fishing out my rehearsal outfit of nude tights and a black leotard. "I think it's a way to relive it. It's a male fantasy." "I know you get that. When he told me about the audition and the button pop I was like, yup. This gal gets it. You just want to get him hard." "Uh," I start to object, rolling up my tights and slipping one foot into the toe before drawing the thick nylon up my freshly-shaved leg. "I'm not judging! That's your role. I'm loving it, Ellen. It's a masterclass in playing a woman written by a horny man. All the boys yesterday, guaranteed they went home and beat off." I laugh, pulling up the other leg and standing as I wriggle the tights over my hips. The shade of nude is more orange than my skin tone, and the thickness of the dancers tights have a slight sheen to them. "Thanks, I think," I say, laughing uncertainly and stepping into the leotard. "You're welcome. Your part is a total gift though. I'm just not sure who Megan is yet. God, it's so good to talk about this stuff with someone who isn't Scott!" She smiles, working her leggings up her body and wriggling into another tank top of a different color. "You spend a lot of time with Scott huh?" I ask, slipping my arms through the straps and fussing with the round neck of my outfit. "Well sure. He's my boyfriend," she says. Chapter 13 I slowly squat down in front of him, my hands running down his body while he watches, mouth open, eyes bright. His ass feels tense under my fingers through his jeans, so I look up at him, our eyes meeting as I smile to reassure him -- this is okay. It's okay. I lean forward and plant a kiss on the waistband of his pants, taking my time. I want him, this young man, because he wants me. "My dad," Dom says, a nervous catch in his voice. "What about my dad?" I reach around his hips and draw down the zipper of his jeans with exaggerated precision. "And scene!" Adam says from across the room. We have more furniture today: a table and three chairs for Scott and Adam; a bed, tilted at a thirty degree angle; a dining room table and chairs. The "stage" has been marked out with tape, the yellow and black chevron's usually used to indicate danger. Within the stage area, white tape marks where walls will be if we had more budget. On either side -- in the "wings" of this virtual theatre -- the rest of the cast sit and watch, or sit and read their own script, waiting for their entrances. Everyone is watching now though; everyone's eyes glued to Dom and me as we figure out how to sell this escalation in the story. "What do you think?" Dom asks, while I get up out of my squat. I feel surprisingly limber today, which I'm one-hundred-percent putting down to the yoga this morning. I'm also one-hundred-percent sure I'll suffer for it later. "Yeah, looked okay from here," Adam says as we walk down-stage towards their table. "I'm not sure about the squat," I say. "He's so passive during it. Should he give a little sign of encouragement? Lay his hand on my shoulder or something. It feels creepy." "That's what it says in the script," Adam says with a sigh. "You happy Dom?" "Yeah, whatever," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "Scott?" he asks. "Yeah," he says, staring at me in my skin-tight rehearsal outfit. "Looks great." "That's not..." I start to say, but Adam shouts over me. "Let's move on then. Next setup." I open my mouth to say something but Adam has already moved on, so I give it up, walking back over to the wings and my seat next to Vincent. I take a drink of water and set the bottle down on the floor. This whole morning has been like this: Adam just wanting to move on before we get a change to explore different ideas. His directing so far has been really basic, barely giving us anything beyond the blocking we worked out yesterday. Even in my loose sweater, I'm sure that my outfit is a mistake. I'm acutely aware of the gender balance in the room and how much more sexualized Aim?e and I are. The guys are in regular clothes, Jeans and t-shirts -- something I'd been pulled up on in college theatre class - - whereas the girls are dressed for dance. Both Vince and Scott can barely keep their eyes off us both, and Adam seems to have lost any respect he had for either of us. Dom seems to be on another planet. "I think you're right," Vincent says to me. "He needs to be complicit. In The Graduate, he still kisses her first even though he's a virgin." "I've always loved that movie," I say, crossing my legs. "This is supposed to be about masculinity. Arrested development. Sexual awakening. Action!" "I'm not getting much action." On the other side of Vincent, Aim?e giggles. "I guess Scott knows what he wants," I say. "Oh, he definitely knows what he wants," Vincent replies, glancing down at my legs. ---- "Do you think we could, I don't know, talk?" Dom says, lying next to me, reading from the loose pages of his script. "If you want," I reply, turning on the bed to face him, my body outline in profile. "Good. Good," he says, reading. "I mean, we haven't said ten words to each other. All we do is jump into bed when the coast is clear." "Is that so bad?" I say, reaching out with my finger to draw a squiggly line down his arm with my nail. "I just think... we could talk?" "What about?" I say, mouth twitching. "I don't know. What do you like to do?" "You," I say, giving his nose a boop. There's a pause. "That's not right!" Adam calls. "The line is 'You tell me.' Jesus Ellen if you're going to show off by working off script know your fucking lines." "Okay, thank you," I say sweetly, swallowing my anger. Ellen doesn't get angry. "Sorry," I say to Dom. "Start over?" "Sure," he says, flicking back a page. ---- "I should be on top," Vincent says, straddling me as I lie on the bed. He works his way up my legs until he's sitting on my thighs. "Are you comfortable?" "Yup," I say, fixing my hair, so it doesn't catch under me. "Okay, just when you're ready." "I've missed you," he says, leaning forward, filling my view. "We haven't done this for weeks, it feels like." "I've missed you too darling," I reply, lying still. Not reacting. "Is it Pete?" he says, climbing off me. "I know you two aren't..." "It's okay," I say. "I can talk to him. Explain to him. He can't keep treating you like this. I see how he talks to you and how you let him." He scooches up next to me, his face inches from mine. He lays his hand on my stomach. "It's okay," I say. "I see you making the effort," he says. "He's a good kid Joany." "It's okay." He leans over and kisses me, his hand moving up the lycra leotard and over the swell of my breasts. The kiss lingers, and I feel his tongue pushing against my resolutely closed lips. "Alright, knock it off Ellen," Adam shouts. "Get a room!" "I'd like to run that again," Vincent says, breaking the kiss and looking up. "Yeah, from the top. Less slutty, if you please." Chapter 14 The bathroom is empty when I go in. All three stalls are vacant. I pick the furthest away and close the door, reach out to lock it and see no lock. Just three holes where screws used to be and bare wood in the shape of a snib. "Well fuck," I say, sitting down on the toilet, the lid still down. "Fucking. Fuck." I'm furious. I'm upset. I'm shaking. I'm proud that I kept it together through today, never once talking back, being a good girl while I got the brunt of Adam's constant criticism. Never giving him the satisfaction of making me cry. I'm crying now though, hot wet sobbing tears that won't stop coming now they've started. I pull my legs up under me and hug myself as a cry at the unfairness of it all. This was my dream. To be an actor. To be cast in a play. But not like this, not being shouted at and belittled and made to feel like a stupid little girl. I'm a good actor! If only he knew how good! "Ellen?" Scott's voice echoes in the bathroom, outside the wooden door that doesn't close. "Ellen, you in here?" "This is the ladies," I say, sniffing and drying my eyes with the back of my hand. "No men allowed." "Are you decent?" "Apparently not," I say, wadding up some toilet paper and blotting my eyes. I let my feet drop to the floor and step out of the cubicle. "Are you having a good day Scott?" "Adam's got a style, you know?" he says, leaning against a sink. "Don't take it personally." "Don't be nice to me," I say, faking a smile. "I'll be better tomorrow." "It's a process. He'll be a dick to someone else tomorrow." "I told you," I say, still smiling. "I'm fine." "Daaaaamn fine," he says, making me laugh. "Scott..." "Last night," he says, standing up and closing the distance between us. "Was so hot." "Scott..." "You look so fucking amazing," he says, his fingers moving to my chin, tilting it upward. "You know you do." I know I should shut this down. I know I should take my self-pity home and deal with it like a grown up. I know he has a girlfriend. "You think so?" I ask. He takes another step towards me and kisses me, his fingers pulling my face into his. His lips are soft and hungry, pressing against mine with sweet urgency. My hand finds his shoulder, my eyes close, and I lean into it. The first kiss is short, our lips part and we're both smiling. The second is longer, the third longer still. Our tongues dance, our hands roam over each other. His travels to my ass and squeezes so hard I can feel it though my padding. Mine snakes up under his t-shirt, finding comfort in the warmth of his bare flesh. This isn't like other men I've kissed. I don't feel the facade, the second-guessing of what to do. It feels good. It feels raw and unfiltered. I don't want Ellen to kiss him. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I feel desired and desirable. I don't want this feeling to stop, but it has to. We can't do this. I have to be an adult. "Scott," I say breathily between kisses. It sounds more like a come-on than a reproaching word. "We can't," I say. "Everyone's gone," he says. As if that was the barrier. We're still holding on to each other, our bodies pressed together, his hands on my ass. "I know..." I start to say. I know about Aim?e, I want to finish. I know she's your girlfriend, I want to say. "Come with me," he smiles, releasing my ass and taking my hand. He leads me back into the studio, holding my hand all the way. It's empty, as promised. No bags. No bored actors. No asshole directors. Just some chairs, a table and a bed. Scott moves around behind me, kissing my neck. I start to make little happy moans as he does, grinding my ass back into him. His hand rests on my shoulder and slides the straps on my leotard down, down my arm, pushing the top of the tight garment with it. He reaches inside the black lycra and pushes his hand over my bare breast, forcing the top down to my stomach and freeing my tits with a flourish. "Fuck," he says, grabbing my boobs with both hands, and squeezing them hard. "Braless. I love it. I've been staring at your nipples all day." He pinches my nipple between thumb and forefinger and pulls. I fake a gasp, fake some heavy breathing. "You like that?" he asks, his voice loud in my ear. I reward him with another little grind of my ass and I feel the tell- tale warmth and tingle of my cock waking up. He kisses my neck one last time and slides his hands down to my sides, grabbing my waist and tugging downward, pulling my leotard over my hips and down my legs, over my tights. "No panties either," he says, running his hands over the round fullness of my ass through my tights. His hand snakes around to my front and down over my mound, rubbing my fake pussy lips through the nylon. His other hand grabs the soft flesh of my breast, squeezing hard while I gasp and moan theatrically. "My turn," I say, as he peppers my neck and shoulders with kisses. I wrench myself free and turn around to face him, forcing my hands up and under his t-shirt. He lifts his arms and I pull it off him, making a show of admiring his naked chest. He's completely hairless, broad and with muscular pecs. I run my hands all over his skin, enjoying the feeling of hardness and warmth, before moving down to undo his belt, and pull down his zipper. I go to tug down his jeans but he beats me to it, pushing them down to his knees and his boxer shorts with them. His cock looks larger than the photo, stiff and growing in a way that's exciting. For me? "Do you have..." he starts to say, but I kiss him and shut him down. His hands find my waist, the only real part of my body for several inches in either direction. It feels good to be held. I reward him by forcing my tongue into his mouth and deepening the kiss. He pulls me close and moves his hands all over me, exploring my curves now with inquisitive fingers. I force my hand between our bodies and find his cock, giving it a loose, gentle stroke. "... protection?" he finishes with a grin. "I'm on the pill," I lie, taking one, two, three steps back and falling back onto the angled bed with a squeal. While he watches I wriggle the tights over my hips and down my thighs, kicking them off to leave me naked and waiting. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he says, stepping out of his jeans and advancing towards me. He climbs on top of me, reassuringly heavy, and forces my legs apart with his own. We kiss, grope, fondle, squeeze and discover each other as the sun goes down outside, moaning, gasping and giggling as we tease each other in a tangle of limbs. His hands roam all over me, sometimes touching my skin, sometimes touching Ellen's. I do the same, enjoying the hardness of his body, the manliness of him. I feel him pushing his cock inside me, slowly, gently at first. I move my hips and push against him, helping him while I moan theatrically. I feel it, against my own, the head and thickness of it causing me to genuinely mew with pleasure. This isn't like before, my last time with a man. This isn't about the show, weighing the disguise and the performance for an audience of one. This is about lust. "Fuck me," I command, Ellen's voice ringing out in the empty studio. Scott rises to the challenge, kissing me and thrusting against me, faster and faster. I widen my thighs ever-further, meeting his rhythm and gasping out feminine moans of delight. Soon I'm screaming, faking an orgasm with shuddering delight that coincides with him cumming, spasming inside me. He grabs my curvy hips, his fingers digging into my ass and pushes hard while he cums, letting out a single grunt of happiness. I think of last night, of this morning, of this moment. I'm no longer Ellen Bennet. I'm something else. I cum hard and hold my moans.