The Rehearsal Ch. 1


It was fall in Idaho, and the leaves had abandoned the trees, congregating in big piles on the ground. Not winter yet, nevertheless the scent of snow was in the air. The days felt brisk and crackly, and everything seemed new and sharp. I had been back in school for a month or so, and was deeply in rehearsal for our college production of “Bus Stop,” in which I played “Bo,” the male lead. I knew most of the cast already, having been in many productions with them previously, and I was mostly comfortable with what I was called upon to do. I say “mostly” because the girl that was playing “Cherie,” Vivian, was one I had never met before, and I couldn’t figure her out at all.

Consistently after rehearsals, most of us went out or to one another’s apartments and spent time together. Not Vivian, though. regardless of how often we would invite her or how much it appeared as though she would like to come along, she never did. She would leave after we were done every night, and we never saw her again until she came back to start again the next night.

Things were going well, though. Since we had all started rehearsals off book, which rarely happens in my experience with local and college productions, the show was quickly coming together. Several of us had come in hours before we were needed to work on the sets, and consequently they were nearly completed. The show itself is a simple one, and we were all pretty certain that we would be ready and sharp for opening night. In fact, there was only one little, niggling doubt in my mind, and that had to do with my ingénue.

There was a point in the play where Vivian and I were supposed to kiss, and we had been putting it off. For some reason, it just never seemed to be the right thing to do, and, apparently, we were both very uncomfortable with each other. While the director had been pushing at us for the better part of a week to just kiss and get beyond it, neither of us seemed to feel that we could go ahead. At least, that’s how it played out in my head. I was wrong, of course, but I only found that out later. For my part, I only knew that I was not comfortable, and her ambivalence made me very willing to let it pass.

Late one evening about a week before opening, though, the director yelled at us when we ducked, and insisted that we sit down somewhere comfortable and neck. He shooed the rest of the cast out and sent them home to work on their lines, while Vivian and I remained there by ourselves on the set. The director sat in the house, center and about halfway back, and started the scene. We got to the kiss, and kind of dodged it. We tried again, and an actual kiss ensued, but from his groans, I’m sure that we looked about as passionate as Donald Trump kissing a trout. Over and over we tried until he finally yelled at us, told us to fix the fucking problem ourselves, and stomped out.

So there we were, thoroughly embarrassed, staring at each other as the door slammed in the back Kartal Escort of the theatre. She looked at me, then stepped over to a barstool and sat down. I sat at a table, and we stared at each other. Finally, I just cracked, I guess. “What is it with you, huh? Do I suck that badly, or do you just think I look like shit?”

She looked very puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Look,” I said, “We’ve been trying to do this forever, and I have never had a problem onstage like this before, so I have to proceed from the assumption that you find me personally as attractive as raw meat on a hot day.”

She looked at the floor, then shook her head. “That’s not true. I think you’re terrific, and I love the way you’re playing “Bo.” I’m just feeling really confused, and it’s bothering me a lot.” She suddenly seemed sad and miserable.

“What are you confused about? What’s so tough about this?”

“There’s nothing particularly tough in the show. Cheri’s pretty straight forward. It’s just things…other stuff..” She shook her head and toyed with a ring on her hand.

“Lokk, if it isn’t the show itself, it is damn sure becoming a part of the process here. Maybe I can help, I don’t know.”

She looked me in the eyes, and sat up straight. “Why should you care? I mean, really? What’s in this for you?”

“Well, for starters, if we get this sorted out, neither of us look like an idiot on opening night. Does that work for you?”

“It’s just the show and just about you? I can’t believe this. You don’t know anything about me, and probably don’t want to know anything, and the only reason we’re sitting here talking is because we have this show we share, and we don’t want to look stupid. God no, we can’t have that.” She suddenly looked a little older and a lot more tired.

“This is all such bullshit,” I said, getting a little steamed. “I have tried to be a good partner for you in this show, and I have never succeeded in getting you to show even a little genuine, off-stage friendliness. Cordial? Yeah, you are that, but friendly, even nice, not too damn much. I can’t figure you out, and I can’t say I care about that too much, but I do care that the show goes well. I’m an actor, damnit, and a pretty good one. I don’t want to look like shit out there, and I’m guessing you’d rather not look stupid, either. So we have to work together and that means we have to look like we enjoy each other’s company.”

She seemed forlorn, frighteningly unhappy all of a sudden. She stared at the table in front of her, eyes shifting and tearing up, then she stood up, walked over to where I was sitting, and kissed me almost desperately, pressing her body up against mine. We kissed for several long moments, and it picked up steam, leaving her moaning slightly and pushing her breasts up against my chest. Finally, we stopped, and she stepped back several feet and stared at me, eyes shiny and wide awake.

I cleared my throat. Pendik Escort “Shame you never learned how to kiss properly, but that will have to do. How do you think it looked?”

She was watching me with a slight smile, her breathing slowing. “I’m sure it looked pretty hot.”

“Did it feel pretty hot?”

She shook her head. “Men are pretty stupid, really. Yes, it felt hot, but that’s probably because I’ve wanted to do that for weeks now, and I was afraid I’d scare you off.” She sat down on a bar stool. “I’m still kind of afraid of that.”

“You wanted to do that?” She nodded solumnly. “Why didn’t you say so?”

She looked down at the table. “You ever wonder why I never go out with you guys after rehearsal?”

I shrugged. “I just thought you had other things to do. I thought you might live out of town, might be married, something like that.”

She seemed sadly amused. ” Not married, not busy, really. Do you want to know why?” I looked at her, then nodded. “Fine,” she said, “But it isn’t pretty. The fact is, I live in a halfway house, and I have to be back before eleven. There, now you know.” She slumped over the table, miserable.

I stared for a moment. “Why do you live in a halfway house?” She looked at me, almost angry, and then the anger faded from her eyes. “I knew you’d ask that.” She ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her skirt. “My dad got me thrown in juvie a whole bunch of times because I would run away and stuff. I couldn’t stand it at home after mom died. He would watch me all the time, and he would walk in on me after I took a shower or while I was getting dressed. He never touched me or anything, but it just felt bad, so I would leave and he’d report me as a runaway.”

I listened carefully, nodding and encouraging her to talk. “So the cops would bring me back home and it would start all over again. Then I’d leave and get dragged back. Finally, they started to throw me in juvie instead of sending me home.” She pulled a cigarette out of her purse, lit it and puffed deeply. “After I was of age, the cops wouldn’t lock me up anymore and dad had no hold on me. So then he reported me as a prostitute. I got caught one night in a motel with a boyfriend who was married, and after they threatened him, he told the cops what they wanted to hear. When I got out on bail, I went to his house and met him in the yard with an old shotgun my dad had. I threatened him with the gun, which wasn’t loaded, and the prosecutor got me locked up for 6 months, with another six in halfway, which brings us up to now.” She looked up at me almost defiantly.

“I just have one question. Did his wife find out?”

She smile wryly. “Yes, but she’s sticking it out. She should have castrated him.” She looked at me carefully, trying to read something in my eyes. “So, what do you think now? Am I some kind of lunatic? Do you still want to work with me?” She started to pace. “If you don’t, Göztepe Escort that’s ok, I guess. I can quit, find a reason. I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell the others. Is that ok?”

She turned and looked at me with some residual pain in her eyes, but she looked strikingly beautiful in spite of her fragility. I smiled at her, then stepped over to her, and tilted her chin up with my fingers. “Tell them what? That you are a gorgeous girl who’s had some shitty breaks, or that you are a gorgeous girl with a mysterious past ,” I said, and then I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. For a moment, nothing much happened, and then I felt her lips began to stir. They opened slightly, and a tiny little moan escaped from the back of her throat. She pressed back against my lips, then put her hands on my shoulders and brought me in closer. Her legs spread, and she pulled me down to where she sat, kissing me strongly and putting her fingers through the hair on the nape of my neck. We were like that for quite some time, and then she stopped and pulled away far enough to look me in the eyes. “Will that work for the play?” she smiled brightly, and her eyes sparkled.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her again, more tenderly this time. I pulled away, looked her over. “Well, that was only incredible! I doubt I’ll ever get the kinks out of the lower half of my anatomy, but I can live with that if you can.”

“Let me help you with those kinks,” she said with a wicked little smile. She unbuttoned my pants with her little fingers, and freed me from my briefs. My cock sprang out like a coil spring, ready for action. She ran her fingers over it lightly, watching it pulsate. Without a word, she reached down and pulled up the hem of her dress. Her panties were frilly and gossamer, almost non-existent. It was very apparent that her pussy was as bare as a baby’s bottom, swollen and very wet. She grabbed my ass, and pulled me towards her. I moved the wisp of fabric aside, then pushed towards her until I struck home. She almost purred. “Oh God, this is so good! Please do me…do me nice and slow…”

We fell into a rhythm slow and careful. She was incredibly tight and she was sopping wet. I found her pert little breasts with the palm of my hand, moving over them through her shirt, and then I unbuttoned her top and brushed it back over her shoulders. I reached under her, grasped her bottom in both of my hands, and lifted her up and onto the table with her back to the door. It had suddenly occurred to me that we might not be alone very long. I started to stroke deeper and faster, kissing her neck and chest. I moved up to her face in time to see her eyes suddenly open very wide while her pussy clamped down very tightly.

She whimpered and tossed her hair from side to side and then came explosively. She pulled on me, trying to get me deeper inside her and make me cum, too. I was getting very close when I began to hear noises out by the box office. I pulled out, told her what I heard, and we quickly got ourselves together. A moment or so later, the director stumped back in and asked us if we had our problem solved yet. Yes, we replied, we did. He half-smiled, looked suspicious, and then gave it up.

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