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

The Lesson Plan -- Part Four Episode Four: The Curtain Chapter 21 New York City in rush hour. Traffic is at a standstill, with taxis and busses honking and road signs flashing. The sidewalks are full to bursting: everyone seems to know the direction they're going, and matches speed with the people around them. It's a throng of people, busy to get to where they're going in a hurry. Men in suits and women in skirts, students in jeans. No tourists yet. This is a migration. I walk in the middle of them, a leopard among the grey office-wear around me. The skin-tight dress clings to my body with every confident step, stretching and moving with me over my hips and ass. My glossy chestnut hair bounces and I stare straight ahead, a woman on a mission. ---- "Good morning," I say, walking into the theatre. Everyone is here already, chatting, checking scripts. Adam is on stage talking to a guy in board shorts dressed all in black, who I can only assume is our tech. Vincent stares resolutely at his script. "Ellen!" Aim?e turns around and beams as I walk up beside her. I give her a hug, squeezing her tight. "I'm glad you came back," she says. "And... holy shit that dress!" She grins. "I'm sorry I worried you," I say, pulling back from the hug but leaving my hands on her waist. "Thanks for all your messages." "Scott really stuck up for you after you left. He was furious with Adam. Don't think that he wasn't," she replies. "I shouldn't have walked out," I say, letting her go. "No you should have kicked him in the balls," she says, rolling her eyes. "That was totally out of line." "I need to go eat humble pie," I say, giving her a faint smile before walking down the stalls towards the stage. I catch Scott's eye and he gives me a wink that I don't return. I mouth the word "later" and he nods. "Adam, can I have a word?" I ask, stepping onto the stage just as the tech guy leaves. "Hi Ellen," he says, his whole body sighing. "Can we maybe go somewhere to talk?" I ask. "This is fine," he says. "After your performance yesterday I assume you're happier on stage." "Okay," I say. "You're an asshole. And you've been an asshole to me all week." I'm aware that everyone has stopped what they're doing to watch this. "Now hang on," he starts to say. "No, you hang on, you sexist asshole. We're all working hard for this, and all week you've given us nothing. Nothing I do is what you want, even if it's what you tell me you want! You're rude, you're uncommunicative, you're either bored or incompetant and I'm not going to put up with your shit any more. I'm fired anyway, according to you. But, you're also right." "Excuse me?" "You're right. You haven't seen me act all week. I haven't been listening to anyone, I haven't been reacting, I've been tripping over myself and I haven't been any good." "That's the first correct thing," he starts, but I interrupt him again. "I'm not finished. I've been like that because of you. You've made me nervous, you've made me second guess myself, you've made me bad because I knew you were pissed at me. What I never considered is that you're out of your depth too. We all are. So, I'm on the team Adam. I'm back and I want to go on tonight, and you're going to let me because you need me. And I'm going to try and listen to you and I'm going to stop trying to please you, like I try so hard to please every fucking man that I meet, because it's not a woman's job to please everyone. Okay?" He stands in front of me, lost for words. "Okay," he says eventually. "Fine. Nice dress," he adds, turning away from me and back to his ipad. "Dom, can we do the act 2 scene? That's okay with you Ellen?" "That's great, Adam," I say, looking out at Scott who gives me a big thumbs up sign. I walk back towards Aim?e and drop my purse in the seat next to her. "That was so good," she says, unable to keep the smile off her face. "I wish I'd had a drink, I'm shaking." "Have you ever spoken up to anyone before, Ellen?" she asks. No, I think. When Angie cheated on me I just left. When Chalmers took advantage of me I just let him for the sake of my job. When Ellen betrayed me I just left. I've never stood up for myself before. Before I can put that into words she hugs me again, her hands on my hair like the other night. "I have to go," I say, giving her a squeeze. I walk back down to the stage, heels clicking, to where a spotlight is waiting for me. ---- "Honey?" I walk into his room. This is his space. I hang back at the door. I'm nervous, playing with my hands. This is a gambit. I want it to work. I've fantasised about this working. He looks up from what he's doing. He's shirtless, just in shorts. His chest is hard, firm. A six pack from all the time he spends in the garage on his weights. He looks irritated that I'm bothering him. "Can you help me with this?" I continue, sounding apologetic. "Sure 'mom', what's up?" He sets down his book and climbs off the bed. I hear the inverted commas and it wounds me a little. I react with a tight little smile. "I just need a little ... tug?" I say, turning around to show him the back of my dress. "You can manage that okay?" He walks up behind me and surveys the dress. I sweep my hair back, exposing the nape of my neck and the almost invisible zip. He starts to tug the zip down, but stops after a few inches. "Isn't dad home?" He says, there's worry there, but something else. Excitement. A thrill. "No honey, he's at work." I say, turning around and smiling, looking desperate. Urgent. Reassuring. "Please help me," I say, turning back around, and moving my hair again. Showing my neck, my back. "I need to get a wiggle on so I can get changed and out to show a house by noon." It's matter of fact. Business. Nothing else going on here. "Okay," he says, sounding hesitant, but pulling down the zip slowly down my back, exposing the black lace band of my bra, my pale skin, and then finally the glossy spandex of my support wear. He struggles to unzip it over my ass, and his hand reaches out to touch my hip. It lingers there even after the zip has stopped moving. His breathing has changed: deeper; louder. "Well," I say, turning around, sliding my arms from the dress and letting it fall forward. The tops of my breasts are creamy and full, almost bursting from the balconette bra that was underneath, forcing them together and lifting them up invitingly. "That was easy," I say, like a proud mother. He's staring at my boobs, wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling. I reach down and push the dress down over my hips, wiggling left, right, left until it falls in a puddle around my stocking feet. He stares at me. Stockings. Panties. Bra. And all the creamy soft curves in between. I bend my knee, just a fraction, lift my heel, force my thighs together. "Fucking hell," I hear a voice from the stalls. "I saw you looking," I say, coyly, my gaze drifting down to his shorts. "The other day, when I was getting dressed. You were watching me, weren't you Pete?" "I don't know," he says, looking away. Blushing. Looking back. "You can look," I say, biting my lip, following his lead. "I ... like that you want to." I confess. "Tell me, do you think I'm pretty?" "I don't know," he says. "Yes, but..." On instinct I take a step towards him and start to reach out with my hand to touch his face. My fingers find his chin and tilt his head upwards, away from the floor to look me in the eyes. "You're my ..." he starts to say, but I cut him off with a kiss, a soft tender kiss on the lips that takes him by surprise, and that starts with a little push which he leans into. I take his hand and lay it on my breast, while my other hand travels obviously down his chest. My fingertips push down inside his shorts and he pulls away like he's been given an electric shock. "What are you doing?" He says, stuttering. I smile, unbutton his fly, and let his shorts fall to the ground. Blackout. Chapter 22 "Ellen, have you got a second?" Scott pokes his head around the door of my teeny tiny dressing room. I'm sitting at a makeup table that's built into the wall, a large mirror in front of me and lights all around. My stage-makeup bag is in front of me, along with my script. Otherwise, there's not much room for anything or anyone else -- it's not so much a room as a cupboard. We ran the scene a dozen times, making slight changes every time, but it was clear that either Adam was happier with my performance or had given up caring. The notes were as much for Dom as for me, and often more to the lighting technician. Then he moved on -- with no 'thanks' or anything else -- to the final scene and I'd slunk off to my dressing room to get dressed again and get ready. "Sure," I say, turning on my chair to face him and crossing my legs. "Are you recasting me now or are you going to wait until after tonight?" "You didn't listen to my messages," he says, not quite under his breath. He struggles to close the door behind him but manages heroically. "That was really good today. Different." "Thank you," I say. "Is different good?" "Maybe," he says, thinking. "It's changing from my life to a piece of theatre. Dom's not me. You're not my step-mother." I think back to our conversation last week in the caf? and our dissection of the character: that she is sexy and powerful; a predator; a woman who fed off the adoration of others. "The other night, was I your step-mother?" I ask. "She's not as sexy as you." he replies, ducking the question and casting his gaze over me. "You don't have to do the voice, not when it's just us," he says, lowering his voice a little. It would be so easy to touch him right now, to reach out and lay a hand on the thigh just in reach. I could kiss him, feel his arms around me, safe in this tiny cupboard. Does he want me to? Do I? The other night was so good, but feels like a distant memory. "So, are you and Adam happy with the scenes?" I ask, still using Ellen's voice. "Let's not talk about that," he says. "It's fine." "I'm confused, Scott," I say, still using Ellen's voice. "Is this just about sex? Do you actually want me in your play or just in your bed?" "Oh come on! You practically threw yourself at me, you were so desperate. You couldn't wait to squeeze that ass into a dress. Up on that stage, everyone watching you strip to your sexy bra and stockings and loving every minute of it. Don't pretend that this isn't about sex for you." "That's the character. That's who she is Scott." "No, It's who you are Kev." I shoot him a look that could stop a charging rhino. "Ellen," he corrects himself and sighs. "You're not my step-mother. On stage or off. You're unbelievably sexy, and I'm obsessed with you. I'll be honest it's taking all my willpower not to grab you and kiss you right now. But yes, I'm probably going to recast the role after tonight. Maybe you are a good actor, but I think the only part you can play is this." "Your pick up lines need work," I say, sniffing. "Well, thanks for the pep talk coach. I have to get ready." "Ellen." "I did all this for you, you know. All of it," I say, swiveling my chair back towards the mirror. "No you didn't," he says, opening the door to leave. "I thought you'd figured that out." ---- "Hey," Aim?e knocks on my door. "There's something for you." "There is?" I say, looking up from the mirror and setting down my makeup sponge. Maybe James sent a good luck note. "What?" "These came from your sister? She said she'd see you afterwards," she smiles, and hands me a bunch of flowers. "She looks so like you! Was that," she drops her voice to a whisper "the real Ellen?" I take the flowers from her -- a medium-sized bouquet with a good array of colors -- and hunt for a card. "Good luck Ellen x" "I thought the lack of period was playfully ambiguous," Aim?e says watching me read the card for a second time. "You're reading my fan mail?" I say with a smile, setting the flowers down on my already crowded makeup table. "At least you got fan mail," she says, leaning back against the wall. "Or anything. You should see Dom's room! It's like a florist in there. Not that I'm bitter." "Are you nervous?" I ask, putting my worries and thoughts about Ellen to one side. "About tonight?" "No, I'm excited! I know it's just a scene but I'm on broadway! It's great. Even if it is a shitty play," she adds with a stage whisper. "It is a shitty play isn't it?" I reply, breaking into a smile. "I'm glad you think so too because I thought it was just me." "No, everyone's been whispering about it all week. The dialogue sucks, it's not really about anything except a rehash of The Graduate for millennials I guess. Don't tell Scott I said that," she touches me on the arm. "Did he talk to you?" she asks. "Yeah he just came and told me I'm not working out," I say. "Oh. He could have waited until tomorrow. Asshole." "You knew?" "No, but, you know. I think we'll all get recast if they get any money. I'm pretty sure I'll be out too, so we can go to auditions together!" she grins, bumping her hip against me. "Aim?e, do you think I'm any good?" I ask her. "No, you suck. I'm embarrassed to be on stage with you. Of course you're good! I could never do what you're doing," her voice drops to a whisper. "Your disguise is so great. They're all fooled." "Vincent came to my apartment last night," I say. "For sex." "He did not! Oh wow. I mean he's been staring at you all week so I'm not surprised. He just said it like that? He just wanted sex?" "He did. He said he was in love with me, that he was inflamed and wanted to make love." "Wow," she says, taking a moment to consider this. "So did you?" "No!" "Why not?" "Why not?!" I exclaim, trying to keep my voice down. "Because... because... would you?" "Yeah! I mean, he's not really my type but it might be fun. Older guys really put their heart and soul into it. They're grateful." "You're amazing." "Thanks! Anyway, I've got to go get ready myself. See you at the after party!" I watch her leave, closing the door again and leaving me with my thoughts and my flowers. Ellen is here, in the audience, to watch me fail hard. Great. Chapter 23 I stand backstage, watching the first scene play out on a black and white monitor. There's a decent audience. Not two hundred, but enough that the theatre has some buzz about it. The house lights are down, so I can't make out faces. I don't know where James and Iain are. I don't know where Ellen is. Vincent and Dom aren't bad together. They've got this scene working pretty well I think. Dom as the quiet, confused, sullen teenager and Vincent as the cuckolded, confused, awkward dad. I can't make up my mind if I think Dom is a good actor or not. I suspect that might be his allure. Vincent is pretty good, but it feels like they're in different plays. Different acting styles, different levels of bigness. Should I have slept with Vincent? I didn't want to, but that doesn't seem to be important. I'm here to have sex with everyone. I'm surprised Dom hasn't made a move. That's my fault though, isn't it? Ellen's a sexy woman. I like being a sexy woman. But every time you flirt with someone they think you want more. Show a bit of ankle and they want more leg. I think back to what Aim?e said -- a masterclass in playing a woman written by a horny man. That's me all over, isn't it? A horny man puppeting this beautiful woman. There's a polite smattering of applause as the scene ends. I run my hands over my dress, down my front and round my rear. The lights change, and I see Dom going into position. Spotlight. Entrance. I feel the audience, their warmth, their eyes on me, even though I can't see them. "Honey?" I walk into the darkness. This room. In my mind I shade in the outlines. This isn't a black empty stage. There are posters on the wall. A rug on the floor. My step-son on the bed, shirtless, looking curious. "Can you help me with this?" I ask. "Sure, okay. What's up?" He sets down his book and stands up. He sounds guarded. "I just need a little tug?" I say, turning around to show the audience the back of my dress. I feel one hundred pairs of eyes on my ass. "You can manage that okay?" I sweep my hair back, exposing the nape of my neck while he walks up behind me. He rests his hand on my waist and starts to pull down my zipper. This is just a sex fantasy. It's not art. It doesn't say anything about the human condition. Scott masturbated about this a hundred times and decided to write a story about it. And now fifty guys in the audience will go home and think of my fake ass and do the same. "Isn't dad home?" He says, and the audience laughs. It changes the mood. What was tense is now something else. "No honey," I say, not turning around. "He's at work. Please help me Pete, I need to get a wiggle on so I can get changed and out to show a house by noon." I try to sound business like. Bored. Here's to you Mrs. Robinson. "Okay," he says, sounding unsure, but pulling down the zip slowly down my back, exposing the black lace band of my bra, my pale skin, and then finally the glossy spandex of my support wear. The zip gets stuck at my ass and so he pulls harder, and something tears, loudly. Scott lied to me, used me, fucked me. Chalmers lied to me, used me, fucked me. Ellen lied to me, used me... fuck it. "You tore it," I say, turning around, pulling my arms from the dress and pushing it down my body. I feel everyone looking. The audience. My co-actors. Scott. Adam. My school kids. Wayne. Shayna. Vicki. My dad. Ellen. Always looking. As Kevin no one looked at me. No one paid me any mind at all. Dom is staring at my boobs, full of adolescent lust. Why shouldn't he look? Everyone should look. "Do you like what you see Pete?" I ask, improvising and resting a hand on a curving hip. I look at Dom in his shorts, and spot it -- the telltale bulging erection that had been missing all this week. Is it me, or is it being on stage? I'm just a pair of tits. Maybe that's what I've always been. "Your father used to have a roommate at college," I start to say, reaching behind my back and unclasping my brassiere. "They were friends. Good friends. He doesn't talk about those days very much any more." I slip the straps from my shoulders, and take off the bra, to some mild murmurs in the audience. "Did you know that Pete?" "No," he says dumbly, transfixed by my erect nipples. "His roommate loved him," I say, stepping out of my heels. "Although he could never say it. It was a different time. Your father made it clear that he'd never have accepted it. So his roommate made a plan." I turn to see Scott and Adam in the wings. Adam looks furious, talking into his headset to the lighting tech. Scott's laughing to himself. "His roommate swore he'd do anything to be with your father. Can you guess what he did?" I ask, walking forward towards Dom and resting a feminine hand on his chest. I lean in and kiss him, whilst at the same time grabbing my wig and pulling it off my head and letting it drop to one side. The audience gasps, at the same time Dom grabs my ass through the spanx, the panties, and my amazing padding. I draw the kiss out, and pull back, letting him see the wig cap. "I'm not Joan," I say, reaching up with my glossy fingernails to the top of my mask. I sink my talons in and scratch downwards, drawing a little blood and feeling the mask tearing under my fingers. I drop my voice down to Kevin's tenor: "I'm Ted, your father's old roommate." The audience gasps again. "Fucking turn off the lights!" I hear Adam backstage. It goes black. And. Scene. Chapter 24 Mrs. Scheider, my acting teacher from before I dropped out of college, had lots of great sayings. She'd have a blackboard in rehearsals or tutorials, and write them up, sometimes underlining them two or three times. All her students would copy them down sagely, and think about them when we did scenes together. "Enjoy the collaboration," was one of hers, and something she'd say over and over again. "Trust your director, your other cast members. Enjoy the collaboration." "Find the truth," was one of the first things she said. It was at the top of one of my notebooks, circled in red pen as if it was the prime directive. Find the truth. The truth was staring back at me in the mirror right now. My mask is ruined: parts of it hanging off; parts of it stuck fast; Kevin's skin and stubble showing through. My wig is on the makeup table, balled into a sleeping stuffed animal, my wig cap in the trash. I put on my dress after I left the stage, but the zipper is busted. I'm a mess -- part woman, part man. The disguise is gone. Incredibly, Scott and Adam decided to carry on, ignoring my re-writing of their script and my reveal. My breakdown. I was pushed off back into the backstage and the next scene started -- Aim?e and Dom as Megan and Pete, moving past the sex, the lies, the dysfunction of his step-mother and leaving to start their new life together. Only Vincent was there to say anything as I walked past, my heels left on stage, fake breasts bouncing as I struggled back into my dress. He shook his head and smiled. "Crazy," he said, watching me go. I'm stuck. I didn't really think this through. My solvent is at the apartment. I don't have anything else to wear. I don't know who has my shoes. So I'm sitting in my dressing room, staring at the dissolving face of a woman on the edge, and trying to come up with a plan. Right now, more than ever, I miss teaching. "Follow what you love," Mrs. Scheider had said. I thought that meant acting. But it occurs to me right now that all her advice was also about not acting. It was about living. "Knock knock," a familiar voice at the door. I look up and see Ellen, the real Ellen, standing there. She looks different, and I realise it's because she's just dressed simply, her hair is brushed but not styled, she isn't wearing any makeup. I'm so used to looking at my Ellen in the mirror -- always dressed to the nines, always styled and glamorous -- that this is a shock. She looks so fresh, so relaxed. She looks like when she used to visit my family when I was a kid. "Hi," I say. "I got your flowers, thank you." "You're welcome. I said I'd come and see you." she says. "That was different." "Yeah," I smile. "It wasn't supposed to be that different." "I figured. You okay sunshine?" she perches her ass on the table facing me, and touches my hair, her hand on my scalp in absolution. I take a deep breath and sigh. No tears come, just a feeling of relief. "Yeah," I say, getting up off my chair and going in for a hug. "I'm good." I say, wrapping my arms around her. She squeezes back, and I rest my head against her. We stay like that, just breathing and holding each other. The sound of applause filters through the backstage corridors. It's over. "I was angry at you," I say, my voice slightly muffled by her clothes. "Like, really angry." "I know," she says, kissing my head. "I thought it was because I came back." "It was," I admit. "I liked your life." She strokes my head again and gives me another kiss. "I like it too," she says. "And ... " I continue, now or never. "And because of Wayne." "Because I told him about you?" she asks, pulling her head back to look at me. "I was trying to help you. From your messages he was getting way too close and I didn't want you getting found out." "It felt like you didn't trust me. I felt like I'd failed." She takes me by the waist and looks at me, her face softening. "No Kevin. You were too good. You were me dialed up to eleven all the time. I stayed away because... because you were making a better job of being me than I was! In a week you were teaching in a steady job, you were fixing my love life, you were put together and ... I'm not like that! You think I am but I'm not! I'm a mess. Everyone is." I think of all the objections I could make to this: that I was just doing the best I could; that I was scared of getting caught; that I wanted it to be perfect. But of course, she's right. "Vicki told me everything you were doing," she says, letting go of my waist and standing back, "and I just felt hopeless. I figured, since you were so good at it why did I even have to bother? But it had to be over some time. It wasn't going to be endless. And... I felt like you were going to get me back together with a guy I didn't like." I take a breath to start to speak, to tell her I know. To tell her that it all happened too fast, that I was too quick to try and please him; to please everyone. But she talks over me. "I didn't love him Kev, although we tried it just didn't work. He wasn't that big a deal to me, but I didn't think about what would happen. I'm sorry for not telling you and I'm sorry for putting you in that position. I'm sorry for a lot of things Kevin, but I'm not sorry for wanting my life back." I give Ellen a half-smile. "You don't need to apologise," I say. "I'm not the Ellen you are. I'm not glamorous and elegant and passive and feminine. I'm sometimes a mess, and I'm sometimes a clutz, and I'm sure as hell never going to back down from a fight. I want to be her again, in my life. You understand? I think you do. I mean, don't you want to be Kevin again? Don't you want your own life?" "I don't have a life, aunty," I say, picking at a scrap of latex on my face. "But, I think I know who I am now." We hug, and I kiss her on the cheek. "Hey Ellen, is everything okay?" Aim?e pops her head around the door and takes in the scene. "Weird. Too weird," she says, backing off back down the hall. ---- Iain, James, Ellen and I took a taxi back to the apartment. Iain's point was that this is New York. Everyone's seen everything before. We'd left through the stage door, right into the waiting arms of James and Iain, who applauded like I was famous. There were hugs, and introductions, and then a speedy ride home for me to get out of this outfit, and to celebrate my first and last theatre experience. I removed what was left of the mask with a combination of solvent and brute force and tossed it in the trash. "I'm done with acting," I say to James as we sit around their dining table while Iain and the real Ellen get along like a house on fire. "I know I might regret it but... I think it's not for me." "Good for you," James says. "For what it's worth I think that was also a shitty play." "It totally was," I agree. "But I wanted to ask you. Do you regret not dancing? Giving it up?" "Dancing?" he asks, shaking his head. "Yeah, when you were little? It was your dream?" "No man, I was a chess club kid. I just like looking at dancers," he adds with a grin and a wink over to Iain. Epilogue "Okay class, let's get started!" We settle down, find our seats and take out pads and pencils from bags and satchels. The classroom is dated, with big windows and plastic chairs. There's a dozen people here -- a mixture of men and women, older people and younger people. Black and white and indian. We don't know each other, not that well, not yet, but we will. We have all term. I watch as the teacher writes "Lesson Plans" onto her blackboard and underlines it with chalk. Her name is Miss. Galbraith, she's in her fifties, and she's seen it all. Chunky shoes, the same earrings every day, a wedding band she probably can't take off and lots of knitwear. I sort of love her a little bit. I look around and sneak a conspiratorial smile at the person to my left -- my new friend in PGCE. We talked on day one and since then I guess we're friends. He saved me a seat this morning, and maybe we'll go for lunch together. I don't know yet. I focus on my notebook and copy the words "Lesson Plan" onto a fresh page. "The most important thing," our teacher says. "When putting together your lesson plan, is to," she pauses. "What?" "Keep to the curriculum?" One girl suggests. The teacher writes on it on her board. "Have alternative things to do, in case you go under time?" A guy offers. It goes on the board. "Center it around the student," I say, my voice clear. "Good, yes Karen," the teacher says, writing it up on the board and circling it. I should maybe have said. Today I'm wearing black mary janes with a chunky heel, black pantyhose, a short, grey checked skirt and a white long-sleeved top. My hair is in a short pixie cut -- I'm growing it out -- and I'm wearing a little makeup: just lipstick, eye liner and some bronzer. Karen is a lot less curvy than her aunt Ellen, but thanks to Vicky no less convincing -- in or out of her underwear. I went back to connecticut with Ellen and made some decisions. Some things I wanted to do for real, and some things I wanted to experiment with more. I wanted to stop acting and start living. I wanted to keep dressing as a woman. I wanted to teach. I wanted to, maybe, fall in love. I wanted to stop wearing masks.