by J. L. Sharp
(04/29/09)

I giggle involuntarily, being taken by three men.

One of them is in my mouth; another has his tongue at my clit; the third is caressing his cock between my toes. On the tube, a few people look my way but nothing more. This is because the scene is only in my head -- that's what makes me giggle, knowing what they don't know.

Considering, though, this is London, would anyone bat an eye if the scene was real?

I glance at the faces around me and wonder what thoughts might be running through their minds. Is that middle-aged business suit thinking about his family, his share price...or being spanked by his headmaster?

My wandering thoughts: They're reflective of the way my sex drive has recently been through the roof. Ever since I recovered from the latest illness, my body has been crying out to make up for lost time. Being so sick made me lose sense of who I was; as a dancer, but as a woman too. Unable to work or go out much, my confidence had dipped in tandem with my sex-drive.

"I've seen you looking, you know," Jack whispers.

"Looking at what?" I enquire.

"Oh, come off it, Jess. You can't keep your eyes off him."

"Maybe it's because he's the only guy in the show who isn't gay."

"Ouch."

Jack is talking about Caleb Keller. If you're a TV watcher or simply have a fondness for B-list US imports (oo, what a cow I am!), you'll probably recognise the face if not the name. To give him his due, Caleb -- Lieutenant Miller -- happens to be one chunk of a hunk.

"He doesn't know I exist," I say to Jack.

"Probably just playing hard to get." Jack nudges me playfully, a lascivious glint in his eyes. "I fully understand why you fancy him, though. I'd happily chew his chap, too."

"What do you mean, "too"? What makes you think I want to do that?"

"Gay men get the gossip on all the things you chicks dig to swig."

I look at my watch: almost 9.30 PM. Tired after the rehearsal, I make a dash for the theatre exit, to go home and grab some beauty sleep.

"Shit," I whisper under my breath, accidentally dropping some of the change I am trying to count out for the tube. It's only when I straighten back up after picking up my money that I realise I am outside Caleb's dressing room, and his door is slightly ajar. I reach to close it before leaving...and then freeze when I see movement from within. I see a slither of Caleb, texting someone, naked but for the towel around his middle, his black skin glistening wet. Done with his phone, he stands with his back to me. I watch him remove the towel and start to rub himself dry. I see him lean forward to retrieve his pants, the muscles in his legs and buttocks tensing, a flash of his cock and balls between his legs.

I stand here slightly mesmerised, scared that he is about to turn and see me watching. Approaching footsteps break me from my fog. I gather myself and stalk away.

On the way home, I'm wired. I feel a mixture of guilt and excitement at my little spying game with Caleb, reckless but confident. I start flirting with two students sitting opposite me on the tube, not adjusting the skirt that has ridden up my thighs, leaving my legs ever so slightly apart.

As soon as I get back to my flat, I go to my bedroom and pull out my vibrator. I start on a low speed, gently vibrating him against my clit through the silky smoothness of my underwear, my spare hand stroking my thigh, pretending it's Caleb's hand. I rip a hole through my tights and allow my toy slowly inside of me, parting me, his ears caressing my clit.

Friday. I am alone in a shared dressing room, make-up off, hair scraped back, in my jeans and T-shirt, rubbing my aching feet with moisturiser.

"Oh! Hi, Jess." The voice makes me jump. I turn to see Caleb in the open doorway. "Sorry -- I didn't mean to startle you."

My face probably resembles a startled stoat; I guess I'm a little surprised that he knows my name. I pull myself together, tell myself that I'm an attractive young woman with her own hair and teeth and worthy of having her name known, even by gorgeous American actors.

"I was wondering if I could briefly borrow your cell phone. My battery's as dead as Detroit. I just need to make a very brief phone call to my mom -- who's in London, by the way, so it won't cost..."

"You don't have to explain yourself," I say, pulling my phone from my bag and unlocking it.

"I am eternally grateful."

"I'm sure I can think of a way for you to pay me back."

"By all means," he says with a hint of smile at the corner of his mouth.

He makes the call, pacing the room, arranging a time to meet his mother. He shrugs almost apologetically when he's done, handing me the phone back. "Such a momma's boy, right?"

"Can't knock a man for loving his mother," I say, pulling my socks on.

"Oh, that's a shame."

"What's that?"

"The socks, I mean. Some feet are just too pretty to be covered up."

"Just looking after my assets."

"Well, I commend you on your assets." He instantly winces. "God -- that sounded cheesy, didn't it. Painful. Forgive me, Jess." Oh, how I like him saying my name. "I wasn't meaning to come onto you."

"I'm not offended by people coming onto me."

The two of us suddenly realise what has been said. Simultaneously, we roll our eyes and burst out laughing.

It is the last day of rehearsals. I am in a rush to leave the theatre: A lot of the cast and crew are going out for a meal.

Heading towards Caleb's room, I involuntarily slow down. I am thinking about the dream he starred in last night. It has always fascinated me, the things that people do in my dreams; I often wonder what exciting (or X-rated) activities I've carried out in the dreams of others. I will never know.

I see that Caleb's door is again slightly ajar. I feel exhilarated but slightly embarrassed

I move slowly past his door. And there he is, doing warm-down exercises. He stretches upright -- and sees me standing there. He doesn't look away; nor do I, which surprises me. I feel locked to his gaze; unless he does something to break it; I will be locked into it for the rest of the evening.

Thankfully, he does break the moment. He steps forward and pushes the door wider in invitation. I step inside but don't close the door behind me, still unsure of myself. I open my mouth to say something but he simply reaches out and places a finger tenderly across my mouth.

"No need for words. What is there to say?"

He leans over me, his body brushing mine, reaching out to close the door. I glance down his sleek, toned body. He is wearing nothing but tights. On most men, it would look ridiculous; on him, though, it seems right -- it looks masculine, the fine material accentuating the muscles in his legs and delicately cupping his genitals.

I find myself slipping to my knees, stretching my arms up across his chest, my fingers trailing the contours of his sculptured stomach. My hands reach round to his strong back and slide down across his buttocks. I trace my tongue across his lower abdomen then bite his hip. He winces slightly, arching his back without complaint.

My hand brushes his cock through the fabric. It twitches into life. I flick it upwards slightly, helping it towards the vertical, scraping a fingernail across the tip. It makes him shudder.

"Nice," he breathes.

"You said no talking," I tell him firmly.

Abruptly he pulls me upright, my face in his hands, staring down into my eyes. I feel his penis pulsing against my belly. He places his fingers around my neck like he's about to strangle me. Then his fingers glide across my shoulders, brushing away one of my straps.

"I want you inside me," I whisper.

His right hand moves beneath my skirt, caressing me through my knickers. I feel myself getting wet. He slowly squats until his mouth is adjacent to my vagina. He lifts the skirt and darts his tongue across the cotton above my vulva, breathing in my aroma.

My left ankle is taken into the grip of his right hand. Then he slowly raises my leg like we're ballet dancing, resting my foot on his shoulder, his crotch against mine.

I swing my leg back down and greedily tear the tights away from his skin, his cock springing free. I take it in my hand and start to trace my fingers along the shaft, dropping again to my knees, my breath on his balls. "Protection," I whisper.

He pulls me toward the far wall, towards his dresser. Kissing me passionately, he fumbles through a drawer and finds a condom. Ripping it open and putting the tip in his mouth, he does something I have never seen before. He leans forward, his powerful body so subtle, bending almost double, rolling the condom onto the tip of his own penis!

Hands rip my knickers to my knees. His fingers go to my vulva, parting me, sliding inside, taking the wetness to lubricate my clit. He starts to masturbate me.

Caleb lifts me up and places me on his dresser, parting my legs, his fingers kneading the flesh of my thighs, his teeth biting my right nipple through the material of my top. His cock disappears under my skirt and touches my opening. Then he starts to caress the shaft against my clit.

He pauses, his cock held at the opening of my vagina. I gasp when it thrusts deep inside me.

Caleb starts a slow, rhythmic thrust, his hands buried in my hair, his gaze intensely fixed on mine. I grab his neck and pull his mouth to mine, kissing him fiercely.

In a controlled frenzy, he rips open my top. I feel safe, but excited at the suggested danger. He buries his face in my chest, licking my cleavage, his tongue flicking my nipples through my bra.

His fingers slip underneath my skirt to clasp my buttocks. I feel one finger enter my vagina so he can feel his own cock moving. Another finger loiters at my anus, toying with the entrance. It feels erotic; dirty and taboo. It's a 'will he or won't he?' moment.

Suddenly out of me, Caleb lifts me from the dresser and puts me up against the wall, parting my legs as if I'm about to be frisked. He lifts my skirt...then gently pulls me back until my entrance is at his tip. Then he starts to pound into me, his right hand at my clit.

Still inside of me, he moves me away from the wall and back towards the dresser, pushing my hands across it for support. Whilst he fucks and fingers me, we catch one another's gaze in the mirror. I can feel an orgasm rising within me. Every so often, as if reading me, he ceases all motion, letting the journey to orgasm plateau, higher each time.

And then it comes, a joyous, wracking shudder through my body. Caleb stops penetrating me, caressing my spine and kissing my neck, my body relaxing across the dresser.

I let him know I want him to start again, turning to face him from the edge of the desk, easing him back into me. As he starts to pump, I pull him in as deeply as possible. How much sweeter it is, I think, to be penetrated post-orgasm.

Caleb continues, harder and quicker, breathing intensifying. And then it happens: a tensing, followed by guttural noises of ecstasy. He finally pulls away, allowing his cock to ease out of me. He slumps back into his chair.

I am relaxed but empowered.

Part of me wants to simply lie in his arms. But I have places to be. I don't want him to see his power over me. Seeing him so satiated gives me power.

I stride over and kiss him on the mouth. "See you around."

"You can't go yet," he says breathlessly. "Not dressed like that, anyway."

"I'll throw my coat over it. The only person who'll know is me." I grab my things and leave.

I wonder what will happen the next time I see his beautiful face. Outside, it is a bracing spring evening. After months of illness, I feel confident. I never anticipated getting back to this.

A corporate fifty-something heading my way gives me a fleeting glance, looking away as soon as I meet his gaze.

He stumbles and almost chokes on his tongue when I tell him: "I've just had the most amazing shag."

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