The Lesson Plan -- Part Four (Episode Three: The Performance) free porn video

The Lesson Plan -- Part Four Episode Three: The Performance Chapter 15 I was feeling conflicted. I'd made it as an actor; I was in a show. I wanted to do this more than I'd wanted to be a school teacher, even though it was upsetting and hard work and I felt like I wasn't getting a fair chance. So, on the second-last day of our workshop I was really in two minds. I was sad that my first professional theatre experience was going to be over; I was going to miss Scott. On the other hand, I wasn't going to miss Adam, and I knew that stopping what was happening with Scott would only be a good thing. For Aim?e's sake and mine. The rest of the week had continued like that: Long days rehearsing, being shouted at by Adam and feeling like shit about it; stolen moments with Scott, kissing in the stairwell when no-one was watching and sexy text messages; night phone calls from Aim?e talking about the awful rehearsals and not mentioning that I was fucking her boyfriend. The life of an actor. I'd made up my mind that Adam was an awful director: his direction veered wildly between making snide comments and saying nothing at all. He didn't seem to know what he wanted, except that what he wanted was the opposite of what I wanted, all the time. Even when I tried to sweetly agree to everything I was still wrong. I was too compliant, too submissive, too feminine. When I pushed and tried to up the lady MacBeth I was too dominant, too forceful, too sexy. He seemed to spend all day pissed off or bored, or both. Scott, on the other hand, was still giddy and excited every day. He'd have new lines and even new pages inspired by the workshopping, and he sat there watching his magnum opus come to life before him with a huge grin on his face. He was enjoying himself immensely. Vincent too was enjoying himself. Any chance he got to kiss me he took with relish, playing up the character decision he'd made that he was oblivious to his wife's infidelity with his son, and was under-sexed himself. He'd earned another slap for massaging my boobs all the way through one particular scene -- which earned me another telling off from Adam. So much for paralysis. Aim?e and I sat and giggled and bitched and laughed our way through all of this, often in conspiratorial whispers in the wings. I felt terrible about what I was doing with Scott behind her back, but not terrible enough to stop or tell her. Theatre workshop rehearsals can take weeks. Sometimes months. Plays and musicals change almost completely in the process. Hell, even the shitty Streetcar Named Desire we put on in college we rehearsed for eight weeks. Something Aim?e had let slip in our many chats was that Scott was also producing this with some cash from his father. I guess he only had enough to pay us and rent the space for a week. As we packed up at the end of the day, Scott got to his feet. "We've got some really exciting news!" "What is it?" I ask, looking between Scott and Aim?e. "So, tomorrow and Saturday we're rehearing in a real theatre!" "Really?" I ask "And," Scott continues, "we're going to do a full run to an audience on Saturday night." "We're what?!" I exclaim. "Don't get too excited Margo Channing, " Adam says to me. "It's for potential investors, word of mouth. It's not the final play." "We've got some big guns coming though," Scott says excitedly. He's practically vibrating. "And you can invite family and friends if you want to. And if it goes well, we can fund more weeks of this!" "That's great!" Vincent was saying. "Awesome," Dom joined in. Like me they were seeing the possibilities. More employment. Maybe an actual theatrical run. "Isn't it exciting?" Aim?e says to me as we leave the studio for the last time. "I know we only get two days in the theatre but... I've never done a play that wasn't in college before!" "It really is!" I agree. "Ellen, I know you must be sick of this play but do you think you could come over tonight, help me run some lines for tomorrow. I want to have more of it off -book." "Sure honey, I'd love to," I say. ---- "Iain!" I call from my bedroom. "Help!" "What is it?" he asks, concern in his voice as he walks into my bedroom. I'm in my underwear -- a matching bra and panties set of virginal white -- standing in front of the wardrobe that's now half- filled with Ellen's outfits. I've redone my makeup, swapping my yoga glow look that's been my staple at rehearsals for something a little more evening: black eyeliner, bronze eye shadow, some blush and a darker lipstick. I've also styled my hair a little, adding some sweeping curls to give it some bounce and body. "I don't have anything to wear," I say. "You can't be serious." "I bought rehearsal clothes. I don't have anything for a casual coffee date. God I miss Ellen's wardrobe." "What about... " he walks past me and flicks through the slim array of options. "This blouse is nice?" "I don't have anything to go with it apart from that black skirt and she's seen me in that." "She?! I thought this was you meeting whats-his-name? Also, can't you put on a robe or something. Your tits are distracting me." "I thought they weren't your thing?" I say, grinning. "What about your audition dress?" he suggests, ignoring me. "Which one? The white or the leopard-print?" He gives me a 'really?' look. Chapter 16 "Hi! Wow I love your dress," Aim?e says opening the door to her apartment. "You too!" I say in return, handing her a bottle of wine as I step inside. "Thanks for having me over." I've been here before. The wooden floors. The small hallway. The last time I was here it was Scott's place. But I pretend like it's a new experience for me and look around admiringly. "What a lovely apartment," I say enthusiastically. "Do you want me to take off my shoes?" I went with the white dress paired with my new dressy black pointed- toe t-strap shoes. Aim?e has changed too, into a short floral shift dress. Her hair is down, loose around her shoulders and her feet are bare. She looks 5 years younger, and much more relaxed than I've seen her all week. "They're cute, but they look like they'd kill me. I never got the hang of heels," she says, waiting for me to unclasp the straps and leave my shoes at the door. "I'm the opposite. Wearing flats is so strange for me," I confess, following her into her apartment, past the only room I know -- the spare bedroom. Now I know that Aim?e lives here I can see that this place is unmistakably hers: The colors, the artworks, the style. I thought Scott lived with her, but I can see that he brought me here because it was probably nicer than his place. He was never the tidiest guy in college. "You taught in heels?" she says, fetching two wine glasses and filling them both. "You're some woman Ellen." "It was just English and Drama," I say, gratefully taking a very full glass of wine. "It wasn't Gym!" "Even so," she laughs. "Did you like being a teacher?" "I did," I say, and I mean it. "I really did. I wasn't sure it was for me at first, and I was way over my head when I started but.... Yeah. I did. I liked the kids, on the whole. There was a group of theatre kids that were really into it and it was great fun teaching them." "Oh God that was totally me in high school," she says, taking a drink. "Oh me too," I say laughing. "I lived in the drama department. I was a real nerd." "I don't believe that," she says. "You're glamorous even in yoga pants." "You're sweet. I hide it well," I say, taking a drink. I do miss teaching. I miss the kids and the other teachers. I miss preparing their lessons and their questions. I even miss the sporty kids who asked dumb questions. I still haven't called Andrew. I still haven't talked to Ellen. "Are you married Ellen?" she asks, changing the subject abruptly. "No, never have been. I'm not the marrying kind." I think of Ellen and my dad, and the other men she dated briefly that never came to anything. Always running, never committing. "No kids of your own?" "No, that's never happened for me either," I say. Did Ellen ever want kids? I'm not sure. "Can I ask you something?" she says. "As an older woman, do you think there's a boat?" "A boat?" "Like, there's a moment, when you're young and if it's going to happen to you then that's when it's going to happen. And then, if it doesn't, then you've missed it." "Oh, that kind of boat. I don't know. Maybe. I think maybe I missed my chance." "Scott and I aren't married," she says, taking another drink. It occurs to me that we're talking about two different things. I'm not sure where this is heading and I'm not sure I want to go there. "How long have you two been together?" I ask. "I'm not sure we're even together," she says. "It's complicated." "Complicated?" I ask, talking into my glass and not trusting myself to make eye contact. I think of his strong hands on me, his lips kissing me, his cock inside me. ---- "Okay now, 'Megan, I don't know how I feel.' Your line?" I say, switching into a sort-of impression of Dom. We're sitting on the couch, scripts in hand and on our second bottle of wine. Aim?e sits with her legs tucked under her, pencil tucked behind her ear. "You're so good at all those voices!" she says, reacting to my Dom impression. "Quit stalling, what's your line?" I say, smiling and reaching out to tap her lightly on her bare arm. "I know how I feel. I feel like you don't love me. I feel like you don't want to touch me. I feel lonely Pete. I miss you!" "Okay, maybe try it again but more that you're thinking out loud. That you're surprised by your own thoughts," I say. "What do you mean?" she asks, playing with her hair. "What do you mean your relationship is complicated?" "'I know how I feel. I feel like ... you don't love me. I feel like ... you don't want to touch me. I feel lonely. Pete, I ... I miss you.' Oh that's better! Thanks Ellen." She looks over to me and smiles, then there's that look again. Like in the showers. The appraisal. "I'm sleeping with him," I say softly. "I know," she says, with a soft smile. "But I appreciate you telling me. It's okay." "Really?" I say, standing. "It's not okay. I don't know what..." "It is," she says, standing too. "It's an open thing. We're not exclusive. He told me, it's not that I caught you or anything." "I should have said before." "I told you," she says, reaching out her hand and resting it on my hip. "It's complicated." "How complicated?" I ask softly, my eyes meeting hers. She responds by moving her hand up to my hair, tucking it behind my ear and stroking it down the side of my face before moving her hand down over my bare shoulder and arm. We stand in silence for a moment and she does it again, and I feel my heart pounding in my chest. The third time she touches my face with both hands, gently stroking me with delicate fingers and tilting her head before leaning towards me and touching her face against mine. Her hand moves round to the back of my head and touches my hair while she kisses my forehead, our bodies brushing against each other. I move to wrap my arm around her middle, finding her warm and soft through the thin fabric of her dress. Her fingers slide into my hair, playing with the loose curls as we stand holding each other, breathing together. She pulls her head back, smiling, and I feel her move to kiss me. I tilt my head to match, waiting for her lips, but she brushes against them once, twice, three times teasing me, nuzzling against my mask. Finally, I push forward, knowing the game already and my lips meet hers. It's a quick kiss, both our lips parted, brushing together, barely making contact. Her hands moving through my hair, mine moving down to the curve of her hips. We brush lips again, always moving, almost dancing. Finally she leads with her tongue and we connect. She tastes of sweet wine and smells like spring flowers. The kiss, now established, takes hold. We stay locked together, kissing and touching, her hands now caressing my shoulders, my bare arms. I move from her hips to her ass, squeezing her with splayed fingers through her dress. She responds by kissing my neck, the top of my chest, and back to my waiting lips while her hands roam across my back. I pull up on the bottom of her dress, gathering the fabric in my hands, bunching it up around her hips and exposing her panties. Her ass is warm and yielding, her panties cut across her cheeks with a lace trim that tickles my fingers as I touch her. I feel her fingers moving between our bodies and I let her dress fall back, pulling apart as I look down to see what she's up to. She finds the two buttons on my wrap dress and pops them, then gently, reverentially, peels back the falling fabric, exposing the underwired roundness of my breasts in their white full-cup brassiere. Her hand slides over my bra, up the straps of my chest and back down again, her fingers covering every contour as she adds more and more pressure on my breast. I lean in to kiss her again and there's no coyness now. No playfulness. We are all tongues and lips and want. I push the flimsy straps of her dress off her shoulders, copying her stroking of my arm while we kiss. She reaches behind my back and unclips my bra with her other hand. When we part lips again I untangle myself from her and cast off my bra while she unzips her dress at the side and lets the top fall down. We hold each other close again, bare breasts touching, nipples jousting and kiss again and again and again until we're breathless. Wordlessly, we kiss and paw at each other, pressing our bodies together, kneading and touching. Her dress bunched up around her waist now, my fingers finding their way to the front of her panties and stroking her slit through the fabric. She parts her thighs for me and I feel the warm wetness on my fingers. My cock is painfully hard. As we kiss I start to gently encourage her to move backwards, back to the couch. She gets the idea soon enough, shrugging off her dress and sitting down in her teal lacy panties, thighs spread wide. I lean over her, my heavy breasts hanging, and kiss her lips, her neck, and suck on her small nipples. She strokes my hair as I work down her smooth skin, as I move to kneel in front of her between her thighs. I stroke her sex through her panties, a single digit teasing her from the waistband to the gusset. Then again with the flat of my hand. Again and again enjoying her squirming warm wetness. I bend down and plant a single kiss on her labia through the panties, then reach in with my fingers and pull them to one side. "Let me," she says in a whisper. The first words we've said to each other in forever. She pulls her legs up and wriggles her underwear over her hips, throwing them across the room with a giggle. I kiss her again, and then back to her thighs, around her slit. I lick her, lapping at her and tasting her. My tongue flicks against the hard nub of her clit. My lips softly murmuring against her quivering lips. She wriggles, pants, gasps and moans. I push a finger inside her and suckle on her clit, then add another, caressing her from the inside. Her legs are as far apart as she can go and she leans into me, pushing down on my fingers, squirming under my lips. My lapping and licking get faster and faster, encouraged by her moans and gasps. Soon it's just my fingers, thrusting inside her faster and faster. She grabs my wrist and uses me as her own personal dildo, screaming now until she orgasms with a shudder. I stretch up her prone body and brush my fingers over her mouth. She licks her juices from them, then opens her lips and sucks my fingers, her hands limply pawing at my sides and breasts. I collapse on top of her, feeling her hand moving down to my panties, her hand sliding inside to grab my ass. She breathes and I kiss her neck. "Jesus that was fucking hot," Scott says from behind us. I honest-to-god give a little surprised yelp, turning my head to see Scott standing there in the doorway. He's wearing a t-shirt and nothing else, his cock stiff as a rod and glistening in the lamplight. His hand is wrapped around it, stroking it rhythmically as he stares at the two naked, glowing women in front of him. "Told you it was complicated," Aim?e says. Chapter 17 "What's going on?" I ask, climbing off the still-prone Aim?e. My voice is rough, not quite Ellen. I'm not graceful. I'm shaken, and scrambling. It's the feeling of my mask, of my amazing prosthetics on my body that keeps me in character, but only barely. If you were watching you'd see my posture change a split second too late into Ellen's; you'd hear my voice dip a little beyond her usual register. I rally. "Hey, it's okay," Aim?e says, sitting up and stroking my leg. Her voice is far away, still in a post-orgasmic bliss. "It's really really okay," Scott agrees, walking towards us both, his cock leading the way. "Did you plan this?" I ask, more firmly in character. "We thought we'd see what happened," Scott replies, walking straight up to me and laying his hands on my waist. His cock pressed against my white panties, the head sticking to the soft cotton. "Come on, this is amazing. No one's cheating on anyone. We're all adults." His hand snakes around to my ass, and I feel him massaging my fake butt at the same time Aim?e is reaching between my thighs. Holy shit. This is happening. Scott leans in to kiss me, hard and deep and I submit to him without a moment's hesitation. The kiss feels good, his hands feel amazing. I push my fingers up under his t-shirt and roll it up his chest. From behind me I hear Aim?e stand and press her body into mine as she wraps her arms around me. "Oh God," I say, sandwiched between these two naked people. "Oh fuck I have to tell you something." "What's that?" Scott says, his hands forcing my panties down over my hips and ass. Aim?e kisses the back of my neck, her hands cupping my breasts from behind. "I'm... " I have to tell them the truth. I want to tell them. But at the same time, this feels amazing. "Don't say anything," Scott says, his hand rounding my ass, his finger circling my asshole. I close my eyes, and he takes advantage of me in that instant to kiss me again, his stiff cock pressing painfully into me. "Let's just have some fun," he says as our lips part. They both take me by the hand and lead me into their bedroom, everything a blur of little kisses, caresses and tender touches. We lie together, the three of us, kissing and stroking, fondling and playing with our bare bodies. My fingers find Scott's cock, Aim?e's find my fake pussy, Scott's my asshole. "Get on all fours," he says to me. I turn over, my ass in the air. Aim?e slides underneath me, her head level with my tits. Scott's fingers are cold, slick with lube as he pushes them inside my ass. Aim?e plays with my boobs, peppering them with little kisses and I feel Scott's cock tickling my asshole. He grabs my hips and pushes, and it's all I can do to keep my grunting in pitch. His cock feels impossibly large, impossibly big. There's no way that he can... "Just relax," Aim?e says to me, stroking my hair. I close my eyes and try to relax, and I feel him pushing more inside. Every inch causes me to shudder and check myself. Aim?e slides a little more towards Scott, her head now at my stomach. I can feel her small fingers scratching at my fake pussy, tangling up in my merkin. My hard cock hidden just underneath. Scott pushes again, pulling me towards him and grunting. I gasp again, my voice breathy and failing. I feel Aim?e running her fingers over my fake labia. Scott pushes again, and his cock slides in further, filling my asshole. It feels so strange, so unlike anything I've ever experienced. It feels amazing. I almost buckle, but Aim?e's body keeps me up. I feel.. Fuck.. what? I feel her finger stroking my cock. She's inside me, stroking me. "That must hurt," she says. I'm about to protest, to lie, to try and pretend that everyone doesn't know what's happening when Scott pulls his cock back out of my ass and Aim?e fishes my hard, throbbing cock out from my vagina. "Isn't that better?" she asks, stroking my dick with her hand. "Oh god," I say, Ellen's voice wobbling as Scott pushes inside me again. Faster this time, faster and harder and deeper. I hear his skin slapping against my fake ass as he fucks me. Aim?e scoots down further and I feel her lips wrap around my cock, warm and wet and perfect. "Fuck me," I say, my voice faltering further. It's neither Kevin nor Ellen, but somewhere in between. "You're so fucking hot," Scott says, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. His hands grab my tits, squeezing them hard as he quickens his rhythm. "In your tight dresses," he snarls. "Your tight pants. Your heels." His cock plunging deeper and deeper into my ass; faster and faster. "With your big tits and your amazing ass," he adds as Aim?e sucks me, sloppily. I'm barely holding it together -- I can't speak, or think, or react. All I can do is grunt, and cum into Aim?e's warm mouth as Scott pulls out and cums on my ass. ---- "When did you know?" I ask, lying naked on the bed between the two of them. Aim?e's hand is laying on my stomach, her head on my shoulder. My hand is on Scott's chest. "I said to you, didn't I Aim?e?" Scott says, "After your audition. It was fifty fifty that this convenient unknown yet amazing actress existed. I wanted to see what you'd do." "That's why you met me first?" I say, my voice still neither Kevin nor Ellen. "In case it was embarrassing?" "Yeah kind of. It was Aim?e's idea. Auditioning you before auditioning you. And when I told her how far you'd gone she had to see for herself." "Oh my god, that first picture was for you?" I say incredulously, turning to face Aim?e. She grins. "I mean, it's one hell of an act dude," Scott says. "But I know you. And your eyes, they give you away. But fuck, you nailed that audition. You're a hell of an actress." "I thought I was fooling you all," I say, disappointment in my voice. "Noone else knows," Aim?e says comfortingly, giving my arm a stroke. "You're really good." "The shower. You wanted to see how good the disguise was?" "Guilty," she says giggling. "And then, well, we just had to do this. We've been talking about nothing else all week." "We had to, man. You know... " he starts to say. "I've always had a thing for you. In college," he says. "I didn't think you'd remember. And then you came on to me like some sex kitten. I didn't know you were into... this!" "I love ... this," I admit, to them, to myself. "It's taken a while for me to figure that out." "I love this too," Aim?e says, her hand stroking me languidly. "This isn't your first time though, obviously," Scott says, turning to face me and resting his hand on my hip. "You used to do the voices, remember? But I didn't think you were dressing up on the weekends?" So I tell them the story of Ellen Bennet. Chapter 18 The New World stages are probably not anyone's first idea of a theatre. With its shared lobby, multiple stages and beige carpets it's more like a multiplex cinema. There's no baroque glitz, no red velvet seats, no chandeliers and no cocktail bar. Backstage it's even less glamorous still -- sharing more in common with an office complex with small, basic rooms and identikit layouts. Stage five, where we were to call home for the next two days, was the smallest of them all, with a capacity of just under two hundred. It did have three things going for it: Firstly, the audience were seated on three sides all around, meaning that they felt more involved in the show. Secondly, because it was small and non-traditionally laid out it was often available, and often for not much money which meant that, thirdly, it was ours for two days. "Oh my God I'm on a real stage!" Aim?e cries, her head thrown back and arms out wide. She was beaming with excitement. Even the unflappable Dom seems giddy at the prospect, and is saying more to anyone than he has for days. Vincent hangs back, stalking the perimeter of the stage and looking over at me, his head nodding in approval. "It's good to get out of the studio," I say, trying to act all cool and chill when inside I'm dancing. I want to join Aim?e on stage, grab her and start bouncing up and down. We've made it. We're real actors. "What do you think Ellen?" Scott asks me. "I know it's not the biggest stage you'll have played in your career, but still..." He winks at me. Bastard. I'd left their apartment well after midnight, sad to leave the warmth of their bed but resigned to the fact that I needed to change before rehearsal. I'd put myself together as best I could, and taken a taxi home. Iain and James were fast asleep -- as best I could figure as I crept down the corridor to my bedroom, like some naughty schoolkid past curfew. I'd undressed in low lamplight, taken off my makeup and hung my wig up on its stand for the night, the curls I'd set into it falling out. Taking off my panties I discovered what I'd feared might have happened in the heat of passion: My fake pussy had been torn. Damn. I didn't have a spare, and Vicki -- my source for all my prosthetics -- was miles away. I'd figure something out in the morning, and so sleepily I applied solvent all around it and peeled it off. My outfit today took no chances. Panties, Spanx, dark pantyhose with a tight control top and a white bodysuit all snuggly forced my cock into place, coupled with a checked pleated miniskirt that meant no bulges would hopefully be seen. "Okay gather round people," Adam claps his hands and walks to the middle of the stage. I look down, seeing the tape marks of previous shows peeling off. A lighting mark here, a prop mark there. "We've not got long in here and we need to use the time. So no fucking around," he looks pointedly in my direction. "Rather than run the whole play Scott and I have decided we're going to do three scenes. "I thought we were doing a full run?" I say, unable to keep my mouth shut. "Well, we're not," Adam replies, exasperated. "Just three scenes. That means we can get them fucking good for tomorrow night, and hopefully get some money. That sound okay to you?" "Sounds perfect," I reply, sweetly. "Which scenes?" Vincent asks, coming to my aid. "Act one, scene one, act two, scene seven and act three scene five," Adam replies, reading off his ipad. It's quiet for a moment while we all translate this into scenes we know, and figure out if we're in them. "Wait so I'm just in one scene?" Aim?e asks angrily, turning to look at Scott. "Me too," says Vincent. "Me too," I say. Dom stays characteristically quiet. "Calm down, we felt they were the best ones to show the shape of the story. And the story is about Pete, not Megan or Roger or even Joan, despite how much you might think it is." "Sorry guys," Scott says, and it actually sounds better coming from him. "You know how it is." "So, we're going to rehearse all three now, break for lunch, fix what needs fixed and rehearse them again. Same process tomorrow and then it's showtime." "What about ... props? Costume? Lighting?" I ask. "Well Ellen it looks like you're already in a cute little costume, so you're fine aren't you?" Adam replies, exasperated. "Adam," Scott warns. My hero. "You guys know your characters so figure out your own costumes and props. The tech guys will be here this afternoon to work out the lighting and they'll do it again at the dress rehearsal tomorrow, okay? We're all trying to make this work. Let's just get focused and get through it." "Sorry you're just in one scene," I say to Aim?e as Scott and Adam walk away to their table in the stalls. "That sucks." "You too," she says. "You three," she smiles, including Vincent. "That's great for you though Dom, you really get to show some range." I hold back a giggle. ---- My one scene -- act two, scene seven for those keeping score -- is, of course, a sex scene. The sex scene, I think. It closes the first half, and is potentially the climax, no pun intended, of the work. The moment Pete gives in to temptation, and, more than that, acts on his desires. It's obvious to the audience long before this point that he's been lying to himself. This is the moment where he realises it himself. The moment he stops acting and starts reacting. It's also a twenty minute scene with a shit-ton of dialogue for me, some of which I have to give whilst undressing. Which is a problem for me as the outfit I'm wearing today isn't great for that sort of thing: the poppers are fiddly, there's a lot of layers, and it's not really something Joan would wear. If only Adam had sent out the call sheet last night then I could have figured out something else to wear. And the last thing I want to do is explain to Adam why getting undressed on stage in a bodysuit is maybe not what he has in his vision. Adam starts rehearsals with the first scene -- Dom and Vincent take to the stage -- and so after I explain my predicament to Aim?e we decide to sneak out and see if we can find something more appropriate for me to wear. We grab our bags and sneak out towards the door just as the boys are starting their scene for the second time. "Hey, where do you think you girls are going?" Adam demands, stopping everything. I weigh up the prospect of telling Adam the truth and decide against it. "Coffee," I say before Aim?e can say anything. "Want one?" "Jesus Ellen, can't you just ... for once... just stay put okay?" "Sure, sorry Adam," I say, sitting back down alongside an equally deflated Aim?e. "Worth a try," she whispers, her hand moving to rest on my thigh. "Although I think this outfit is cute." "Thank you," I whisper back, my lips brushing against her ear. "I think you look great too." Aim?e, like me, has ditched the workshop dancewear and has come in a loose knee-length patterned skirt and round-necked top. "Thanks, sweetie," she says, facing forward. We watch the boys for a moment, sitting together in silence, and I feel her inching her hand up my thigh under my skirt. I decide to copy her, laying my hand on her bare thigh and forcing her flimsy skirt to ride up a little over creamy flesh. She starts to giggle, her hand moving further and further up my thigh, past the control top, the spanx and then onto the very unfeminine bulge that's growing underneath it all. Aim?e lets out a little gasp of surprise that causes Adam to turn around again. "God damnit, will you two girls show some respect! We're working." "Sorry Adam," Aim?e says in a singsong voice, her hand not moving. "Sorry Adam," I say, trying to look contrite. My hand moves swiftly to catch up, my fingers finding the soft, warm cotton of her panties. "Aren't you worried you'll get caught," she whispers, her breath catching. Her fingers trace an outline of my stiffening cock through the bodysuit. "A little," I whisper in reply, stroking the heat of her labia through her panties. "Last night was amazing," I add, leaning in close enough that I can kiss her neck. "So good," she says. Scott turns to look at us, as if in a pre-warning, and his face breaks out into a grin. Can he tell what we're doing? "Okay, next scene," Adam calls out. The boys have finished. It's my turn. "Ellen, you're up." I swallow, stalling for time while Aim?e withdraws her hand and me mine. I try to think of unsexy thoughts. "Ellen! Jesus, we don't have all day." "She's coming Adam, give her a second," Aim?e says, stifling a giggle. "Not yet she's not," I say quietly, fixing my skirt and hoping that my bulge isn't too visible. ---- "Let's stop playing games," Dom says. His lips are close, his hand on my waist. I want him. He wants me. "Who's playing?" I say, tilting my head and letting him kiss me. "Again," Adam calls from the stalls. "Actually, can we go back? Ellen you're supposed to be topless by now." "I can't with... this outfit," I say. "You getting all shy on us now Ellen? Doesn't seem like you." "Hey!" "Come on Ellen, everyone's moving towards a dress rehearsal. Join in the team will you?" I sigh, frustrated that I can't explain what's going on. Frustrated at Adam never listening to me, never paying any attention to my ideas. Frustrated that Scott or Aim?e aren't backing me up. Fine. "Okay, let's go back to the top," I say, walking away from Dom and back to the tape on the floor that signifies the bedroom door. I wait for a beat and then walk in, shoulders back, hips swinging, tits out. I'm Joan, forty-something step-mother and the embodiment of sex. "Honey, can you help me with this?" I say to Dom, turning my back and showing him the imaginary zipper that has gotten imagererily stuck. "Sure mom, what's up?" "I just need a little tug. You can manage that okay?" "Isn't dad home?" He says, worry in his voice. "No honey, he's at work. It's just you and me here. Please help, I need to get a wiggle on so I can get changed and out to show a house by noon." "Okay," he says, and I feel him drawing a line down my back. "Well, that was easy." I say. Fuck, surely he can see I'm not in a dress. Surely he can tell that this isn't the same. God damn him. I reach down under my skirt and as quick as I can pop the fasteners of the bodysuit and tug it up over the waistband of my skirt. "What the fuck is going on?" Adam asks. "Topless. Ellen. Not ... whatever this is." "I tried to," I say, feeling angry and upset all at the same time. "I tried to explain Adam. What I'm wearing isn't... I can't just magically be topless for you." "Christ Ellen, everything's such a problem for you isn't it," he says. "Stupid bitch," he mutters not quite under his breath. "What did you say?!" I demand. "Hey!" Vince says from his seat in the stalls. "Adam!" Aim?e says, shocked. "Dude," Scott says, next to him. "Don't fucking 'dude' me. She's awful. She's the worst actress I've ever worked with. She can't take direction, she's always improvising, her attitude sucks. You said yourself we were going to recast her after this." I stand there, rooted to the spot. I can't speak, can't say anything. I just feel the tears, wet and hot, falling. "Oh here comes the waterworks. Brilliant. Go fix your face and sort your shit out." Everyone is too stunned to speak. Too shocked to say anything. I don't move, but I'm trembling. "I'm a good actor," I say, quietly. "You have no idea how..." "Sweetheart, you're a pair of tits. I haven't seen you act all week." "Fuck you," I say, walking off stage, grabbing my bag and leaving, my heels clicking heavily in the silence. I burst out the doors and made it twenty steps in the lobby before stopping to hug myself and give in to the crying. Chapter 19 I walk home, not making eye contact with anyone and feeling stupid. I am stupid. I can't believe I thought this was going to work, that I was any good, that Scott gave a shit about me. That any of them gave a shit about me. Just another failure of Kevin Daly to add to the list: College dropout, failed actor, failed boyfriend crap schoolteacher, failed actor again. It all feels so pointless, so silly now. No matter how hard I tried no one was fooled anyway, not really. Or I wasn't given a chance. Fuck Ellen for asking me to do this, and fuck her for telling Chalmers I was a fake. Fuck her for not having any confidence in me. Fuck her for coming home and ruining everything. I don't feel any better by the time I get home. I just brush past Iain, ignoring his questions, take off my shoes and sit on my bed and cry some more. What the fuck do I do now? "Ellen!" I hear the voice faintly. Is it my imagination? "Ellen!" It sounds like it's coming from outside. I get up off the bed and open the window, looking down the three floors to the sidewalk. Vincent stands in front of the building, looking up. "Ellen!" he calls again, not seeing me. "Vincent?!" I call back, as loud as Ellen's voice will let me. "Let me in!" God damnit. He's followed me home. I check my face in the mirror and go to the door, buzzing him in. "Third floor," I say through the intercom. I open the door and wait for him in the lobby, watching the elevator rising. "Ellen, I can't believe what happened," he says as the doors ping open. "That was ... in all my years..." "Vincent, you didn't have to come," I say. "Of course I did," he says. "Besides, I've made up my mind about something." "You have?" "Ellen. I know I'm an old untalented has-been." "Vincent." "But I'm in love with you Ellen. I want you." "You want me?" I say, backing away. "You're not like other women. You're a goddess. You make me inflamed," he says, quickly closing the distance and grabbing me by the shoulders. I've run out of space, and slam against the door. "Vincent. Please." "Let's make love," he says, holding me tightly and pressing his puckered lips against me. "Stop!" I cry as his hand grabs my ass and he tries to kiss me again. Oh Jesus. The door opens suddenly, catching me unawares and I almost fall backwards. Iain stands there, taking in the scene as I back off into the apartment. "Vincent, this is Iain," I say, shakily. "Hey man," Iain says, his voice deep. Steady. "Hello," he says, fixing his hair. "Well, I'll be seeing you Ellen. Sorry to have... Yes. Well. Goodbye." he backs off into the elevator, but Iain closes the door before we can watch him go. "Who's that, guy number three?" Iain asks as he bolts the door. "I'm regretting extending your lease." "Thank you," I say, wearily, in Kevin's voice. My shoulders slump, my posture falls. "Jesus, I thought he was going to ..." "You're welcome honey," he says, giving me a hug. ---- I take off my wig, laying it on the stand and pull off the wig cap, giving my matted hair a ruffle to bring it back to life. Ten fake nails are pulled off, one at a time, and tossed onto the vanity. False eyelashes are torn off and tossed in the trash. I unzip my skirt and step out of it, pop the buttons on my bodysuit and pull down my pantyhose, my spanx and my panties all together. I cross my arms and pull up the bodysuit over my boobs and my head and drop it on the floor with all my other clothes. I get the solvent, working around my hips and ass first, carelessly applying it and pulling at the prosthetics until they come away. I take off my bra, and do the same with my boobs. I dump all the lumps of silicone in the bath. I sit at the vanity and lethargically work a q-tip around my eyes, my chin, my forehead. The mask comes away and I peel it from my face. Well, that's it. That's it over. Chapter 20 "Hi," Iain says to me the next morning. I'm packed up, wheeling my case through the hallway over their wooden floor. "Want some breakfast?" "I'm heading off," I say, ignoring his question. "Thanks for everything." "There's coffee. Come on, where do you have to be?" I consider this for a moment. He's right. I've nowhere to be. Nothing to do. No job, no friends, no one who cares about me at all. "Okay, thanks," I say with a half smile joining him at the table. "Thanks again." I don't know what else to say. "No worries," he says, pouring me a cup of coffee. "I'll be honest, you're not who I was expecting to see this morning." "Yeah, I... think I'm done with that. It wasn't working out." "Because of that guy?" he asks. "No. Not really. Because of... it doesn't matter. I'm just not as good as I thought I was." "But isn't tonight the show? It's tonight right?" he asks, offering me some toast. "James and I are going to come." "I guess. I ... I'm done with it." "You're done with it?" he asks, putting down his breakfast and looking me in the eye. "You're just done with it? Just like that." "Well, it's not just like that..." "So, what happened?" I take a bite of toast and consider my answer. What happened? Where to start? How can I explain? "My friend let me down," I say simply. "He didn't stand up for me. He used me for sex, I think. And I'm a shitty actor, and I'm ruining the play. The director called me out in front of everyone. So I'm done. I can't act, I can't teach, I can't do anything." "This is the friend who you dressed up all sexy for? The one you tried to seduce into giving you an audition?" "That's different," I say, hesitantly. "And this is the play that you've been fooling everyone, all week, into thinking you're a woman. Acting your socks off." "It's not the same," I reply. "So, what," Iain says, leaning forward. "Your director's an asshole? That's it? Honey if I had a nickel for every asshole..." "He's right," I say, interrupting. "That's the problem. He's right. I'm too obsessed with pretending to be a woman to even think about acting against anyone. I know the lines but he's right. He called me a pair of tits. He's more right than he knows. Even Scott said he was going to recast me. This is," I struggle to search for the words, "paying off a debt to a friend. That's it. " "A friend," Iain says. "You got in pretty late last night for a friend." "Well, I thought," The words hang in the air. "It doesn't matter." "Do you know how James and I met?" Iain asks, changing the subject. "Well of course you don't. He's a lawyer. He works so hard, that's why he's never here. Lots of late nights, long hours. Don't let anyone tell you it's an easy job. Anyway, sometimes you have to do these patron performance things, where people who donate a shitload of money can come and prod you while you warm up. James came to one of them. His firm pays for, I don't know, a box. Two boxes. Anyway, he came and I saw him while I was dancing. I felt him staring at me. Later on, at the drinks reception -- I normally try to skip those things but that night I stayed -- I went looking for him, and we chatted. He used to be a dancer, he told me. He did ballet all through school, and loved it, and wanted to dance professionally. Smart kid, the only boy in his teachers class. He applied to a few conservatoires, had some auditions, and they all said no. He was good, they said, but just not good enough. There was something there, sure, but... come back in a year. Two years. Maybe. So he'd given up. Studied harder, got into law school, and came to see the ballet every chance he got." "Does he regret it?" I ask. "I think every day," Iain answers honestly, draining his coffee mug. "And I think of him every time I go on stage because I'm sure he's proud of me, and that he loves me, but I know he's jealous and I know he'd give up his job and his money and this apartment for another chance to do what he always wanted to do." I'm silent for a moment. "I started all this as a favour," I say. "For some money and a job and a chance to gain some self worth. And because I was excited about it, if I'm honest. And the money, and the job, and the self worth have all gone and I'm still excited about it. I said to you I don't get off on it, well, I do. I really do Iain. I said to you I wasn't gay and I don't know what I am anymore. All I do know is that I wear that mask and I transform. And I love it. I love being Ellen." "Give a man a mask and he'll show you the truth," Iain says. "Or something. No shit, by the way." I smile. "Go do your play. Either suck it up or call him an asshole, but go and do it, because if you don't you'll regret it forever. Who cares if your boyfriend just wanted to fuck you. You wanted him to fuck you! So you get a fuck and to be on stage." "Okay," I say. "Okay. You're right. Shit I have to get changed. Thank you." I drain my coffee, grab my bags and wheel them back to my room, flinging open the case and pulling out anything I need -- makeup, lingerie, wig, mask, prosthetics. I start to strip sitting on the floor, pulling off my t-shirt and taking off my jeans and boxers. "What time is it?" I yell out into the hallway through the open door. "You don't have your phone?" Iain calls back, walking down the hall and into my bedroom. If he's surprised by me stripped naked and surrounded by lady parts, he doesn't show it. "I haven't looked at it since yesterday," I say. I was so preoccupied. "It's in my purse." "It's just after seven thirty," he says. "Thanks!" I stand up, gathering all I need in my arms and laying it on the dressing table. "Can you help me?" I ask. "It's faster with two people." "Oh I would love to!" He says, rushing into my bedroom excitedly. I start with my hips, and show him how to apply the adhesive and how to hold them in place. While he does my left hip I work on the right, and the same with my ass. He's careful, and diligent, and everything goes much quicker. I show him the nipple trick with my boobs too, and let him attach the left while I prepare the right. In record time I have Ellen's curves again. "What about this?" Iain asks, glancing down at my semi-hard cock and looking around for my pussy. "It got damaged," I start to say. "Don't tell me any more. Save it for your memoirs." I laugh, stepping into a pair of black bikini panties and pulling them up my legs. They don't fit as well as they should, but that's a problem for later. I slip my arms through the straps of the matching balconette bra and scoop and swoop my new boobs into place, the cups just covering my nipples and no more. "What else can I do?" He asks. "I need to put on my face, fix my hair and nails and find something to wear. Can you brush my hair while I do my face?" "I used to brush my sister's hair," he says, setting the wig onto the stand and turning it towards him. He starts to tell me about her, about how close they were, but I tune him out. I have work to do. I snap on my wig cap and start adding glue to Ellen's mask. Even just the feeling of my ass spreading, my boobs tugging at my chest, my sexy, feminine underwear is having an effect. My cock stiffens, catching against the lace waistband of my panties, begging to be touched. I can't, not with Iain here. I lift the mask to my face and press it against my nose, feeling it stick. I'm careful, my breathing measured, my cock pulsing as I gently press the mask into place. I feel it changing my face, transforming me into her as I gain her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her lips. I open my eyes and she stares back at me. Foundation first, then some eye makeup -- a smokey eye shadow, black mascara, fake lashes and eyeliner. A little blush, a little bronzer, a lot of powder and some fixer and bright red movie star lips. This is war paint. I realise Iain has stopped talking, he's just watching the transformation, hair brush in hand. "That looks perfect darling," I say, Ellen's voice coming to my lips without any effort. "Could you be a sweetheart and bring it over here?" Iain grins and brings me the wig, which I tug into place and fix with pins. He stands behind me, beaming. "I can help with your nails too," he offers. I pick up the discarded falsies from yesterday and we glue them into place -- him on my left hand and me on my right. "Thank you so much," I say while we wait for the glue to set. "Honestly, I think you're my only friend right now." "Hey, no crying," Iain smiles. "You just finished that eyeliner: It'd be a shame." "You need to help me find something to wear. I don't have that much, and it needs to be something I can take off on stage." "What sort of play is this?" "Don't ask. I need a dress with a zip in the back but I don't have anything. Shit!" "I know exactly what you should wear," he says, getting up and rummaging through my case. "I've found your phone," he says and then "ah, this is it." He holds up the leopard-print dress and grins. "You've got to." I smile and stand up, running my fingers under the seams of my panties on autopilot. My still-hard cock tents the front of the skimpy underwear. "I can see one big problem," Iain says, smirking. "Is it the thought of wearing the pretty dress?" He asks. "Shh," I say. "Or the pretty underwear?" "Iain." "I noticed it when I was doing your hips. Is it the curves?" He lays down the dress on my bed. "Or is it just all of it?" "It's all of it," I say. "Let me help you," he says, his hand pulling the waistband of my panties and letting my cock spring free. My breathing slows, and I close my eyes. Iain flicks the end of my cock with his finger and it instantly starts to wilt. "Ow!" I cry out in Kevin's tenor. "What the fuck?" "Old dancer's trick. I've an unworn belt you can have too. One second." I watch him scurry out the room and return in a moment holding a tiny, nude, thong with a reinforced front panel. "Put these on under your panties, they'll keep you tucked away." I do as he says and tuck myself away, followed by the black bikinis. "Here, you're a forty-year-old woman," he says, tossing me my discarded spanx. I grin, and work them up my thighs too. "If I'm wearing that, I'll need hosiery. Oh, I've an idea. There's a packet of unworn holdups in there, can you find them?" Iain shoots me a look. "I'll get them," I say, rummaging in the case until I find the right plastic package. I sit on the bed, feed the toe of the smokey-black stocking onto my foot and draw the gossamer thin fabric up my legs, extending my foot out as I go. At the thigh I draw the lacy band up into place, just an inch from the bottom of my spanx. I do the same with the other leg, running my hand over the nylon to check for wrinkles before standing to check them don't fall down. "I see my belt's working," Iain says, watching this performance. "It's a lucky guy who's going to see all this." "Shh," I say, admiring Ellen in her lingerie. "I'm wearing this for me." I step into the leopard-print dress and thread my arms into the sleeves. "Darling, could you zip me up?" I ask, turning my back to him. I afford myself a little smile as he tries to do it one handed, and finds it almost impossible to pull it over my womanly derriere. His hand rests on my hip as he tries again, this time aware of how tight the dress is, and how precarious the fastening. I feel his hand moving up my bare back, the dress conforming to my proportions until I'm sealed in at the neck. "You got into that on your own before? I'm impressed," he says. I fuss with it, as before, pinching and swiveling it until it sits right. It's tight everywhere, there's nowhere to hide. The smooth spanx hides my pantyline, but the seams and straps of the bra are extremely obvious. I look hot. "Okay, I have to go," I say, giving Iain a kiss on the cheek. "See you tonight." "Break a leg," he says, as I pick up my purse and my phone. It's still on silent since yesterday, when I turned it off for rehearsal like a good girl. There are thirty-seven messages and sixteen missed calls. Holy shit. I scroll through them: Aim?e checking to see if I'm ok, with increasing levels of hysteria; Scott apologising, asking where I am, begging me to call and then just ending a with a single word. "Sorry." But there, in the middle of all that, a single message sticks out like a sore thumb: "I'm coming to see you. Aunt Ellen."