Bec2 ThanksgivingChapter 3 Early Wednesday November 24th
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By the time the spring musical auditioned, the Pajama Game, Mel and I had become best friends. For a while we saw each other every weeknight when I got into the martial arts class. And after school with the play. Less once it was performed, and then just twice a week after the dance class ended with its own performances. Two nights: a couple full length dances, one choreographed by the teacher and the other by Connie Johns herself. The second night short pieces choreographed by some of the student in class, including Mel and me. Not the level of the professionals, but I enjoyed it.
Not every Friday, but several, Mel lured me into precarious situations like the homecoming dance had been. None included cheating. Mostly it involved drugs procured. Another night of ecstasy at an underground rave where we danced our asses off. Cocaine another night. She finagled a couple tabs of LSD, and we spent the evening wandering and exploring the local environs from our whacked out perspectives. She figured it was safer not driving. Another night was just the two of us again, another cocaine night with a bottle of champagne, and we went into places we probably shouldn’t have in downtown Minneapolis. Even wasted, I had to be persuaded, but Mel had a knack for that. That was the first night I saw her naked, and she saw me, when she somehow managed to sneak into an indoor pool which was closed and dark and we skinny-dipped. I obviously enjoyed the view, and she seemed to as well, but we never touched.
We had an agreement which followed that night of sex, side by side but separate. The following Monday, before rehearsal, she took me aside. “What we did Friday,” she started.
“We’re friends, Mel,” I interrupted.
“Exactly. Even if seeing what you have...”
“Me too.”
“It’s just...”
“I know. It would ruin it.”
“When sex is involved,” she explained. “It becomes what it’s all about. I don’t want that.”
“And I do have a girlfriend.”
We laughed.
Carol and I continued our relationship despite having less nights talking endlessly. We had weekends together, making out in her bedroom when her family went to their nudist camp or the backseat of my mom’s car when we had nowhere else. A friend’s bedroom when her parents went out of town.
I thought it best not to have Carol and Mel meet. Even though they saw each other when Carol attended the play and the dance performances, I never introduced them. It probably helped that Carol was a bit shy, and Mel having an intimidating presence intensified her shyness. And Mel never commented about the plainness and chubbiness of my girlfriend, which, as I said before, never bothered me. Although that would change.
In fact everything changed when we began rehearsing for the Pajama Game. Mel and I had the leads. The boy and the girl who eventually and inevitably come together despite the obstacles. In a way the roles were ours for the taking. I’d been acting in the school plays since I was a freshman. From chorus or small rolls to sidekick or character actor. It was my time to take the lead. And Mel basically usurped the school’s star thespian position from another girl. In fact the choice of doing Our Town was partly because of that other girl’s ability to act. And yet in the end, and despite Mel not seeming the type to play this homespun, small town girl, whether it was an audition that blew the other girl from consideration, or something less fair, something more conniving on Mel’s part, the role became hers. I wouldn’t put it past Mel conniving. But however it was done, she owned the role. This tall, proud, elegant beauty transformed into something altogether different. Mel somehow became Emily. It was a powerful performance.
Of course, Pajama Party being a musical, we both needed to be able to sing. I’m a natural baritone, and can sing strongly from that lower register. Mel was an alto, and limited in range, but she could hit the notes she needed to hit precisely, and even better, expressively. She was an actress who could sing.
There’s a reason actors who play lovers on stage or screen can often find themselves lovers offstage. Getting real with the characters can sometimes become real when not the characters. A continuation of feelings generated. The consequences of becoming the role.
It began with a question, more loaded than I thought it was. “Can we meet after rehearsal?” Mel asked me. Of course I could rarely say no to her, even if I wanted to, which I rarely if ever did.
“What do you want to meet about?” I asked.
“This whole boy finds girl, loses girl, gets girl thing. This sort of internal tug of war. Obviously they want each other right off the bat, love at first sight and all that. And yet there has to be the barrier, you know?”
“In order to have an hour and a half of musical,” I chuckled.
“Exactly.”
“You want to work on the dynamics.”
“What they really want despite themselves,” she nodded.
“Sure.”
“My house?”
“Okay.”
“And maybe you could have dinner there and we could just head straight out to training.”
“Sure. I can call home when we get to your place.”
She smiled and nodded.
Her house was larger and nicer in all ways than mine. More rooms, and all of them larger. And her mother was actually a highly regarded interior decorator so the rooms, especially the common ones, were elegantly and tastefully done. A much larger back yard which receded into some woods. The one thing the house didn’t have that mine did was a pond behind our neighbor’s house on which I’d skate when it froze, occasionally having pick up hockey games with whomever was there, or I’d go out late and skate peacefully by myself.
Past the roomy and well equipped kitchen and the dining room with its long oak table was the living room, where Annabella, a younger, cuter version of her big sister sat beside a boy. Both looked a bit disheveled, even though they seemed to be leaning over a coffee table with books on it.
“Don’t mind us, Belly,” Mel chuckled. “Do I look like Mom or Dad?”
“We’re studying, Mel! Honest.”
“I’m just saying. Since Mom and Dad are gone...”
Bella smirked. “We’re taking a break to study.”
Mel pulled a wallet from her large purse. “Why don’t you order us pizza?” She handed bills to her sister. “We’ll join you when it gets here.”
“Sounds good.”
“Let’s go to my room, Joe.”
“Sure.”
I followed Mel up the stairs to a bedroom at least twice the size of mine. A queen sized four poster bed. A substantial oak desk. Walls lined with bookshelves and filled with books where the vanity and the wide dresser weren’t taking up space. Posters on the walls advertising theater productions, either Broadway or regional Washington DC. None, I noticed, were musicals. Except for Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya, they appeared to be first run productions of contemporary playwrights. Albee. Shephard. Churchill.
“Hunh,” I commented, looking at them.
“Not what you expected? Some boy bands or something?”
“Have you seen all these?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“So you prefer modern plays?”
“From contemporary masters? Yes. I find it really exciting and inspiring.”
“You know the Guthrie is doing Genet’s the Maids?”
“I heard. I’ll get tickets.”
“Okay. So what scene do you want to work on?”
“Not so much a scene as an improvisation. They’re immediately attracted to each other, but things go awry.”
“Because they’re on opposite sides of the issue.”
“Exacerbated by her supposed sabotage and his seeming interest in another woman.”
I nodded. “How do you want to do this?”
“Face each other a few steps away. Then insult or accuse each other, taking a step forward for each accusation. The closer we get, the less the words affect us, and the more our true feelings do.”
Her room was big enough to have a significant amount of open space she used to practice movement. She had two large mirrors at the front and side, the one at the side even had a barre which she used to stretch. They’re purpose made it less narcissistic, though Mel did have a tendency to focus on herself. To admire herself.
We exchanged insults in character while stepping closer. She was a commie (the musical being from the fifties). I was a playboy. And so forth. More and more we worked against the words we spoke, letting our attraction overwhelm us. Until we came together and embraced and kissed. No longer in character.
It was as if a barrier had been lifted from between us. Or more exploded away as powerful as our passion and need became.
Once our tongues met, it became urgent to strip away each other’s clothing. Any necessary pauses from the kissing kept as brief as possible. Hands caressed parts made naked. Breasts and chest. Asses. Cock and cunt. Until she was naked on her back and I was between her thighs, my glans being guided to her moist sexual center.
“Condom?” I managed to say between kisses.
“Always before,” she said, and it was enough permission. I pushed myself into the warm, wet, lively place. Felt the press of it around my cock as I sank slowly deeper. Inch by inch. Thrust by thrust. It felt especially lively and especially warm. Each thrust aided by her upward thrust. Until, with a hint of her cervix grazing my tip, we crushed together, the pressure of pubic bone against pubic bone intensifying the moment of becoming so absolutely and amazingly conjoined.
The kiss, several kisses actually more than one continuous one, finally broke. Our eyes opened wide. Hers looked down. Mine followed her lead while I lifted my torso with my elbows, my hands turned in remaining containing her perfect handfuls of breasts, my thumbs continuing the careful crush of her nipples.
“At last,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” I admitted. I was cheating after all, but at the moment didn’t care.
We watched the glisten of my shaft when it retreated to near exiting before pushing slowly all the way back in. Continued to watch the strokes in wonderment while thrilling to the friction.
“I don’t know how long I can last,” I admitted.
“Just go for it,” she said, and pulled my head down for more kissing.
I began thrusting faster while my thumbs pressed harder into her nipples. Breaking the kiss to let myself pant from both exertion and pleasure, I again looked down between my again lifted torso and saw her finger her clit. “Go for it,” she repeated, lifting her legs up to frame her torso. So I went faster still, banging against her pelvis while my balls bounced against her butt cheeks.
When I came, I kept fucking her. Hard and fast. And she continued meeting the rapid thrusts with hers in near perfect synchronicity. I knew I was quick but I really wanted her to cum. And when seconds passed with my continued rapid thrusts, I realized somehow I had remained hard. So I kept going relentlessly until her greeting thrusts became undulations and arching. Her quiet, encouraging moans became a higher, tighter, elongated exclamation of my name. The acknowledgment thrilled me even more than I was already thrilled.
And I kept fucking her through two more of her orgasms, each closer in time than the next, both quieter in intensity and without me being acknowledged, until, even faster, she built towards a fourth. And this one seemed to rise to a higher peak, and she intoned my name again, “Oh fuck Joe!” and I greeted it with a last undulating press deeper than ever inside her so that my cock tip pressed against her cervix when it jetted out my jism with a powerful release, almost painful to my balls, but all the better for that hint of pain.
At last we relaxed, gazing at smiling faces, hers glowing with a reddish tint. “Jesus Joe,” she commented.
We laughed breathlessly.
She pulled me down for a kiss, much softer than before. During it, I held her to me and turned us over. Soon after, my penis finally slipped from her sodden pussy seeming to unplug all the juices, mostly mine, trapped inside her, and I felt the flood on my balls, which quickly cooled. The exit also ended the kiss, with her sighing and shivering a little.
“Maybe it was worth the wait,” she smirked.
I looked away and pouted. And felt my eyes tearing up. She pulled my face rather aggressively to meet her eyes. “You’re worried about that fat, mousy little girl?” she muttered.
“Her name is Carol and I love her,” I said.
“She’s just a convenient cunt to sate you. She’s proof of your lack of adventurousness. How much fun have we had when I pulled you out of your complacent little life? This being the best example. Or didn’t you enjoy it?”
“Of course I did,” I said.
“It was the best sex you’ve ever had.”
“It was.”
“Me too.”
“I just thought...”
“What did you think?”
“That sex is a deeper experience with someone you love.”
“But this was better.”
“It was,” I admitted. “Was this your intent? Your parents conveniently gone?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re a conniving bitch.”
“And that surprises you?”
“No. But...”
“But what?”
“You know why we waited.”
“Your girlfriend.”
“Conniving bitch?”
“Okay. So I probably could have had this happen sooner.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You did this for the play.”
“It could give us a bit more resonance.”
“And our friendship?”
“I hope it continues,” she replied earnestly. “Except...”
“Except?”
“I didn’t expect the sex to be so...”
“Yeah. Not to toot my horn, but you did have an inkling that I wasn’t one to just cum and go.”
“Sarah.”
“Yeah.”
“You should call her. You do like the chubby ones.”
“Fuck you.”
“You just did. Quite well I might add.”
“I just got started,” I said.
“Really?” she grinned, her pussy rubbing against my penis.
My stomach decided to rumble in complaint.
She laughed. “Act two after pizza.” Giving me a quick kiss, she moved off me. After rolling out of bed she went into her closet and came out wearing a long white terry cloth robe. “I have a cute pink one if you want.”
“No thanks,” I chuckled, and pulled on my jeans, commando style, and covered my torso with my flannel shirt.
Following her down the stairs, I saw the smirk of Bella. Two pizza boxes had half the slices awaiting us. One full of meat, the other of vegetables.
“I was going to knock, but you two were obviously busy,” Bella explained her smirk.
“Thanks for not knocking,” Mel smirked back. “Beer?” she asked me.
“Sure.”
We ate, drank and chatted. Mostly me with Bella having never really met her. Her boyfriend chimed in once. “I thought you were gay,” he said.
“I thought so too,” Mel laughed. “But he definitely is not.”
Everyone but me joined her laughter.
“Speaking of which,” I said. “Do you mind if I use the phone in your room, Mel?”
“Knock yourself out.”
I called my parents first, having forgotten to earlier, and apologized. “I was running lines with Mel,” I told my mom, “And lost track of time.”
“I can warm up dinner for you,” Mom said.
“I actually had pizza.”
“Okay. Just be more mindful, Joe.”
“Sorry.”
I called Carol next, a lot more reluctantly. She could hear it in my voice.
“Is this what I think it is?” she muttered.
“I cheated,” I told her.
“It was her, wasn’t it?”
“Her?”
“How long have you been fucking her?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“I never cheated before,” I sort of lied.
“What? Has she decided she wants you all to herself now?”
“I promise I never...”
“Fuck you, Joe!” she shouted and slammed down the phone. Or I imagined she did.
“Finally,” Mel smirked in the doorway.
“Fuck you,” I said, practically throwing her onto the bed.
It was weird for an angry fuck. Because I opened her robe and began kissing her. Not her mouth, but her tits. Then her pussy. I made sure she came on my tongue, and continued flicking her clit with it despite her protestations, holding her down with my hands to prevent her retreat until her sensitivity shifted to pleasure again, and one of my hands I used to finger her. The other roughly worked her breasts. I found out she liked it a bit rough.
So after another orgasm brought by mouth and fingers, I moved up and shoved deep and fucked hard. Following her next orgasm, I pulled out, urged her to flip over, and fucked her doggy style. This time it wasn’t her finger rubbing her clit, but mine, and rather aggressively. I traded fingers to switch nipples to pull down as if I were milking her, as if she were a cow. Another orgasm, and I moved my clit rubbing finger to her anus and fingered her there. It actually added intensity for her to the already intense fucking I was giving her. And it added more stimulus to my cock, felt through a thin membrane. And her final orgasm, the climactic climax, had me slamming deep as I came as well, even as I had to catch her falling hips to keep myself deep, since she seemed to have lost consciousness.
Midway through my ejaculations, I let go of her and slipped out, the remainder of my jism spurted or oozed onto the small of her back.
When she stirred, I asked, “You okay? I’m sorry...”
“Don’t ever be sorry for fucking me the way you fucked me.”
“But...”
“You just topped the best fuck of my life by several magnitudes.”
“But...”
She turned over and looked up at me. “I know,” she smiled gently. “If I had any objections, I would have let you know, forcibly if necessary. Believe me I loved every second of it.”
“Okay,” I smiled back.
“But I believe a long bath with some nice bath oils might be due. Join me?”
“I’d like that.”
Bathing with Mel turned out to be a highlight of my life. Immensely pleasing both sensually and aesthetically. I was as gentle washing her with a cloth as I had been aggressive and perhaps a bit brutal when I was fucking her. And in the light of the bathroom I studied every nuance of her beauty, her face and the particulars of her body. Even the flaws I saw, the moles and subtle scars, ghosts of a childhood injury or of a bout of acne, just made her more ... Mel. More real, and more pleasing to look at because of it. And not just visual aesthetics, but the feel of her flesh as well.
And Mel seemed just as appreciative of me. Of seeing me in detail and feeling me.
We took turns standing for the other to clean the lower areas. When I stood after her, turning away from her, she took most of her time on my butt flesh, as I had with hers. Facing her it was all about my cock, half hard, becoming ever harder with her attention. Until she took it into her mouth and it hardened fully. It became a tease of gentle pressure by her lips and her hand. I could see the mischievous glint in her eye, and if her mouth hadn’t been contorted around my fairly thick cock, I could imagine her smirk. Eventually she took pity on me, fisting my shaft and putting greater pressure with her lips when they slid up and down across the edges of my glans. Within her mouth, her tongue added to my excitement, sliding around the head and lapping at my pea hole similar to the way I had lapped at her clit within my lips when I made her cum earlier.
“Cumming,” I warned her.
It didn’t surprise me when she removed her mouth and fisted me to completion, letting my spurts decorate her chest before the ejaculation quieted and dripped into the cooling bath water. Carol made the sacrifice of swallowing my nasty substance, which I definitely appreciated. Mel wasn’t one to suffer the taste and texture of semen.
After a giggle, Mel reached past me to release the drain and turn on and measure the temperature of the water. Once she shifted the water to the shower head, she stood. While I rinsed off, and after a gentle kiss which surprised her but she accepted, I used the washcloth to remove my spend from her chest before letting her slide by me to rinse off her own body.
I stepped out first and dried off, soon followed by her. We draped the towels on the towel rack. She shared the bathroom with her sister, and had unlocked the door to her sister’s bedroom before we entered her bedroom naked.
I began to dress while she donned her robe and sat on her bed. “I’m not going to replace Carol as your girlfriend,” she said.
“I know you better than that,” I said.
“But the way you looked at me...”
“I saw you do the same.”
“You’re a handsome man, Joseph.”
“And you already know how gorgeous you are, Melinda. I think people tend to gloss over someone else’s appearance. Like maybe the first impression remains frozen, and the nuances, the things which deepen the view, making it more real, truer, and clearer of character, remains hidden. I think I just broke through that projected mask. And liked what I saw.”
Mel nodded in agreement. “Me too,” she added to make it clear. “I want to remain your friend, but we both made that difficult. Me because I basically broke up your relationship. You because you proved yourself to be someone I could become addicted to. It can’t be all about sex, and you’ve made that quite difficult.”
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