I’d thought it would be a mistake but I was wrong. With her eyes locked on mine she slid her hands behind my neck and slowly drew me to her. It was just as things went out of focus that I felt our lips touch and the warm moistness of her mouth on mine. I had been sort of frozen but as her tongue pushed into my mouth I knew it was going to be okay and I let her in, encouraged her in, wanted her in,
We were sitting on my sofa and I slid my hand into her wrapover dress and found one of those beautiful tits to cup. It was in one of those soft bras that hardly seem to be there at all and I could feel the hard nipple. Her hand moved from my neck and cupped one of my breasts, her thumb rolling over my nipple.
She pulled away from me then. “Is this okay, Faye?” I nodded.
Her hand was on my knee and she moved it to lift the camisole and started sucking my nipples, moving from one to the other. I stroked her hair and relaxed back into the comfortable sofa and reveled in the sensations. Her hand pushed my long skirt up my legs until she could slip under it and stroke my bare thighs. My thighs have a mind of their own sometimes and so it was then that they spread wide and I think she got the message because first she cupped my cunt and then slid a finger into me. That was like she had pulled a trigger and I wanted her, all of her and there and then. I pulled her face up from my nipple and kissed her, hard. I untied the fabric belt that held her dress together and pushed it away from her. Her tits were truly gorgeous, heavy in the soft bra that was almost transparent and her dark nipples were all too obvious. I moved so that I could kiss her cleavage and reached to unclip her bra. I felt them fall just a little as I undid it and then I was down on them and biting them gently. It all got a bit frantic then. I don’t really recall how I got naked but I did and so did she. I was stretched out on the sofa and she was between my legs, then over my face and then I was transported so I was on my knees and she was spread open before me and my face was buried in her.
It all came to an end with her leaning back in the chair and me astride her leg, humping it as she humped mine. She held me away and watched my eyes.
“I want to see your eyes when you cum.”
“Can you cum with me?”
She must have known how close I was. She didn’t have time to answer, but she held my head because I wanted to throw it back and watched me as it flooded out of me figuratively as a scream and, on her thigh, literally. I had to keep moving because her orgasm didn’t coincide exactly with mine but it wasn’t long after and with her it was a sort of muted groaning that seemed to go on and on and I felt her cunt leaking onto my thigh.. I leant forward and held her, my arms around her neck and licked her face and mouth.
We stayed like that for a while and then I rolled off her and sat beside her, my arm across her shoulders.
*
Felicity Caterham, friend to my best friend, Lilly, and also my agent called me. She had, she said, a bit of potentially good news and would I drop into her office when I had time. Flick worked from an unpretentious office in a chic part of the city, assisted by a couple of girls who, like me, had gone to one of those fine British girls’ boarding schools and had the cut glass accent that I had worked so hard to lose. When I wandered into the office later that week, a Thursday, Hattie Forsyth, one of Flick’s handmaidens, was bent over a filing cabinet, a tight black skirt riding up a little over a splendid bottom.
“Christ, Hattie, you’re timing is impeccable”
“God, you made me jump.” She lurched upright clutching a wad of paper files to her lovely chest. “Honestly, you’re worse than some of the men!”
“Flick in?”
“Inner sanctum. Coffee is on the side.”
I wandered into Flick’s office without knocking. Since I last wrote to you I had moved up in the world of acting, having had a relatively minor role in a tv drama series that had been filmed in and around our fair city and which had made me a minor celeb. It had coincided with my then girlfriend, the delicious Indian doctor, Anita, deciding she needed to return to her sub-continent and pursue her dream of improving health care for the poorest of that country’s children and women. I had not wanted her to go but I loved her and I knew she’d never be happy until she had done or attempted her lifelong ambition. I had waved tearfully as she went through to departures at Heathrow and gone home. I then did what all sane people do in the face of adversity. I got drunk and stayed drunk for a week.
“Doesn’t anybody knock?”
“Doing something you didn’t ought to be?”
“Grab a coffee and I’ll tell you a story. Heard from the Indian?”
“Tell me a story.”
“Right.” Flick loved me in a sisterly way as did her sister, Lilly. “The story is that the City Theatre is doing a repertoire series. It’s three months long and each month they are producing two plays which will play on Wednesdays and Saturdays. They want a fixed company and they have asked if you’ll audition for the female lead. It means a lot of bloody work. Six plays to learn, rehearsals during the days you’re not performing. Just like the old days. Fancy it?”
“Is Chesty Morgan directing it all?” Chesty’s real name was Melissa but she’d always been known as Chesty after a porn star and because she had a rack like a porn star.
“Yep. She’s doing the whole bit. It’s a mix: Victorian melodrama, modern comedy, bit of Shakespeare et cet. It’s not TV or Hollywood but it’ll be high profile and who knows where it might lead?”
“Are you telling me to do it?”
“I, darling, am your agent, not your mother. S’up to you but you’d be a complete tit not to.”
“Money?”
“Yes.” She stuck her tongue out.
“I meant, how much?”
“Leave that to Aunty Flick. Say yes and fuck off.”
So I said yes and fucked off. Two weeks later I got the call and went to audition. I did a bit of comedy, Ayckbourn, a bit Shakespeare, Portia (who else) and a bit of Ibsen. All stuff I’d done in the past and I have that sort of mind that can’t forget lines. Chesty applauded at the end and said she’d be speaking to Flick. That could have meant anything of course but, happily, it meant I got the job.
Rehearsals started in the June and we were going to do the plays through August to October. The City Theatre’s rehearsal rooms are either cold as butcher’s cupboard or as hot as hell. That summer was hot and the room was an oven. I look great in a long skirt, sandals, and a t shirt with sweat stains under my arms and between my tits by 11 am. The male lead was a rather well known actor called Tom Kelly. He’d come up the hard way like me; dreadful adverts and such but his had been worse because he’d done children’s TV as well. Fuck that! There were two other women in the company. A middle aged actress called Sandy Leonard who was still beautiful and was always popular in provincial theatre. The other was an ingénue called Pippa Sorensen who had a fabulous voice, like honey, and a body to die for. The other members were Chris Thomas, a type cast gentleman who played retired colonels and Stanley Westcombe who was the juvenile male.
Chesty is old style. Not for her the method acting and political correctness. She drives and drives hard but likes a company to play hard as well. The first time we all got together was for a drink in a local pub. I say ‘a’ drink but with Chesty that meant ‘a lot’ of drink. She slipped an arm across my shoulders. Don’t get me wrong, Chesty does not swim in the ladies’ pool but she’s friendly.
“A little bird tells me you are single again.” I nodded. “Over it?”
“No.”
“Good.” I looked at her questioningly. “Oh, God, you actresses can be so fucking dim.” We were actors or actresses to Chesty.