A Colleague's Wife


At first glance, all I noticed was that the waitresses were all wearing red felt hats. It was due to a management requiring an enforced Christmas spirit. Other than the hat, Ann was wearing the same outfit she always wore. She wore a low-cut blouse showing off her cleavage, and a miniskirt which showed off her legs. I was puzzled. Well, anyway, I was there, so I decided to have my usual drink and to enjoy myself.

I got lucky, and Ann was my waitress, and I tried mightily not to look down her blouse, but I'm human, and very much a man, so my effort not to look was only partially successful. "Take a look, Jason. I know men like to do that. Everyone else here tonight has enjoyed the view," and then she began to cry. She quickly got a grip, straightened up, and asked me if I wanted my usual, a Balvenie Doublewood Scotch, on the rocks. I nodded, and off she went, her lovely hips wiggling a bit as she walked away.

I had to admit, the down-look that night was special. For reasons that went beyond me, Ann was not wearing a bra. Her blouse was such that when she leaned forward, I, or any other guy, could see her entire boobs, nipples and all. It was my first time seeing her boobs, and I was kicking myself for having tried to be subtle. Her boobs were magnificent.

I called her over. I needed another look. Ann knew what was going on, and she said, "What'll it be, sweetheart? More Scotch, A Long Island Ice Tea, or me?" and while she was saying it, she leaned forward in an exaggerated way, saying sotto voce, "Enjoy the view, Jason. I was hoping you would come in tonight and see my boobs. Take as long a look as you want." Boy, did I. It was all I could do to keep from reaching out and touching them. She's Murray's wife, I kept telling myself. That helped me to keep my hands where they belonged. Ann blew me a kiss.

I had called her over, so I felt that I had to order something. I ordered something to munch on with the Scotch. This of course had an intangible benefit. It meant Ann came back to me twice. First with the Scotch, and she gave me, and I enjoyed, another spectacular view. The second time, with the munchies, while looking straight at her boobs, no longer with any shame, I asked her why she was not wearing a bra?

"I'm practicing being an exhibitionist. It's for the play I'm to star in. I've got to get into the role. I need to understand my character," she said, and she smiled at me, and walked away. This time her hips had an exaggerated wiggle, I'm fairly sure.

I felt like asking her if it wasn't the case that all actresses were exhibitionists, at least to some extent, but thank goodness I managed to hold my tongue, for once.

The Balvenie Doublewood Scotch I always order was the usual $20 (we're talking New York prices, here) and I left my usual $30 (when the waitress is Ann). I added this time $10 for the munchies. I drank my Scotch, and I left. I went home.

The doorman at my building called around midnight to tell me a 'Miss Ann' was here to see me. Should he send her up?

Luckily, I was still dressed, and so of course was Ann, still in her cocktail waitress outfit and with her eyes all red. She was sent up to my apartment on the 12th floor. I wondered if the doorman thought I had ordered a hooker? I hoped not. I opened the door, and she walked in. "I thought you might like a private show. Want to look up my skirt, or down my blouse? What you would like, Jason?" and then she began to cry. She began to sob, actually.

"What's wrong, Ann?" I asked, bracing myself for an answer.

"The big thing, or the little thing, or both?" Ann asked.

"I don't know what either thing is. Whatever you want to tell me is fine. I'm here for you, Ann," I said.

That got Ann crying again, but when she pulled herself together, she blurted it out. "Murray and I flew to Las Vegas last weekend. I won $50 at the slots. We got a divorce."

"What??!??" I exclaimed, in pure shock. Ann is a sweetheart, and a babe, and I don't know if she's good in bed, but she is so wonderful in every way that I can personally verify, that who cares, anyway? Why would Murray not want to keep her forever?

"That's my Christmas present. I got a divorce for Christmas," Ann said, the bitterness dripping from her voice. It was three weeks until Christmas. "Hug me, Jason. I need a hug. I need your love. Hug me, hug me tight," she said. I complied. She was sobbing on my shoulder as I, to my everlasting shame, was enjoying that she was still not wearing a bra as we hugged. After about ten minutes of hugging, her sobs dwindled down to little whimpers, and she pulled away from me.

Maybe she had cheated on him? Hard to believe, actually. She loves him too much. Even so, Murray is a good man, and he should be able to forgive a transgression. Ann is young, after all. She's only 23, and she is as hot as a firecracker. Doubtless men come onto her all the time.

Maybe it was not that? Maybe Murray had cheated on her? No, that could not be. He's not the type. He is pure nebbish. I gave up. It did not matter that I had given up guessing, because Ann told me.

"Murray said it was him or the play. If I refused to turn down the part, which is my big breakthrough role, the role that will make me a star, our marriage is over," Ann said, keeping it together. "He never liked my acting career, anyway." She was channeling anger now, and that was holding back the tears.

"This makes no sense," I said. "What about his 12 inch cock? You could give that up?"

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Ann asked. She shrugged, probably thinking I had lost my mind.

"You would understand everything if you knew what I do in the play," she said. "This role will make me the talk of the town. It will give me notoriety. If I do it well, it's my ticket to stardom. A girl rarely gets the chance at a role like this one!"

"What do you do? What role is that good?" I innocently asked. I knew from earlier that she was probably playing the part of an exhibitionist.

"At one point, there's a sex scene. It has to be there, the play would not work without it," she said.

"Lots of the theater has sex scenes," I hopefully said. "Blade Runner 2049, The Counselor, Gone Girl, Superbad, Caligula,..."

"Caligula is just porn, you moron," Ann said, almost spitting as she said it. "And those are movies, where things are faked, with stunt doubles, and not in front of a live audience, night after night. There's no comparison. You know that, Jason. You're an actor, for God's sake!"

It's true. I had tried acting, but I never got beyond the extras rubric. I was part of the mob in Julius Caesar one time. I'm a good dancer, so most of the time I was one of those anonymous dancers you see in some stage productions.

I did get a few speaking parts, but they were always minor, and they were few and far between. I thought I did my few roles well. Apparently however, it was not enough to get me success. I gave up my acting career to become a boring junior executive. And I am boring, par excellence. I am both boring, and I am bored. Nevertheless, it pays well. It's a career. It was the mature thing to do. Maturity is often boring, it seems to me. I do boring well.

I had also tried writing plays. I was better at that than at acting, and some of my plays were even performed commercially. That was nice for my ego, but it's not a way to earn a living.

I thought of an example. "Okay. On stage, there is Hair. The entire cast goes nude!" I offered.

"Yeah, that has nudity. Name one with more than nudity, Jason," Ann said, almost accusingly, and certainly aggressively. I could not name one. Suddenly I understood. I understood everything.

"What about Les Liaisons Dangereuses? An underage girl is seduced, or even raped, I was never quite sure?" I offered, never knowing just when to give up.

"There's no nudity in that play," Ann said. I was beginning to have some idea about her new starring role and what it might require of her.

"There could be, with the right director? Anyway, your new role, where you're a star, involves some onstage nudity?" I tentatively asked. This play I had to see!

Ann nodded. "Go on," she said.

"Go on?" I asked. Ann nodded. I was flummoxed. I guessed, "Simulated sex, too?" I offered. Ann shook her head no and she began to cry.

"Jason, if you were married, and your wife, your true love, were an actress, and she had this breakthrough role, truly the chance of a lifetime, would you stand in her way?" Ann asked.

"No, of course not," I said.

"What if that same breakthrough role involved sex, and I mean real, actual sex, on stage, night after night in front of live audiences, would you let her do it?" Ann asked. "Or would you feel it humiliated and debased her, and it would embarrass you?"

I was not prepared for this question. I did not answer it, but I now knew exactly what was going on. I decided to answer her question with a question.

"The theater portrays life," I said. "Sex is part of life. It's an important part. It's one of our life forces. Why not portray sex on stage? It makes sense." I thought for a minute. I decided to take a gamble.

"What exactly do you mean by 'real sex?'" I asked.

"Well, I'm nude, first of all," Ann said. She was surprisingly calm, now that she was describing the play.

"Okay," I said. "That's part of acting sometimes, these days. Nudity is everywhere; it's not so shocking anymore. I guess it's especially the case for women, right? Times have changed. Hell, girls send nude selfies to their boyfriends, and sometimes even worse than nude. Nudity is not the big deal it used to be."

"Yes, I suppose so," Ann said. "The play is about exhibitionism and voyeurs, at least in part, and there's a scene with a man watching me, through the window. I don't know that he's watching. He leaves the window. He knocks on my door. I put on a robe, answer the door, and, well it's complicated, but the upshot is that he comes inside."

"The two of us get to talking," Ann continued, "And I learn that he saw me, and he asks for a private show. After a long, and brilliantly written I might add, discussion, I give him one. As I'm pleasuring myself, he undresses, and here is where it gets a bit dicey."

Ann paused. I was on the edge of my seat. She knew it, too. She really is an actress. She had me eating out of her hand, and she was making me wait just long enough for it to be totally tantalizing. I kept my cool, and waited for her to continue, but I could not hide the lump in my pants, and Ann was staring right at it. She knew what she was doing, all right.

"I'm too embarrassed to continue," Ann said.

"Ann, I'm going to come to see the play. Sooner or later I'll know what's going on. It's okay; we're friends," I said.

"No, I can't put it in words. I can't say it aloud. I just can't. Not for you, Jason. You're my best friend, and my only male friend," she said. "Worse, you're hopelessly heterosexual."

Hopelessly heterosexual? What was Ann getting at, I wondered.

"Let's act it out," I said. "No talking required. If you have a script, I can read my lines, and we can act it out," I said.

"You just want to see me naked," Ann said, and she giggled.

"Stay dressed. I can imagine," I said.

"I'll bet you can!" she said. "You treated yourself to enough good looks down my blouse at the bar. That's why you go to it, isn't it? It's surely not for the rocky wood you always order." Seeing my confusion, Ann said, "That's what I tell the bartender. 'One rocky wood.' It means a horribly overpriced glass of Balvenie Doublewood Scotch on the rocks."

I did not answer, but I blushed, which in Ann's mind (and in mine) amounted to an answer. "At least you never put your hands on my legs. That's so gross. And before you ask, Jason, I let men do it for the tips. I know you saw men doing it to me earlier tonight," Ann said.

Suddenly Ann blurted out, "I just got a text. They totaled my tips tonight. I doubled my previous record! It's all because, you know, I waitressed commando. I went without a bra and without panties. And, of course, because I let men take a few liberties, you might say."

"You were without panties, too?" I asked. I was incredulous. Now I definitely knew where the hands of those men who felt her up under her skirt had actually gone. Jesus, Ann had calmly let a man finger her in the bar while I was watching. She had shown no reaction. What an actress! Holy shit!

"Yes. As I said, I'm doing a crash course on being an exhibitionist. But it goes beyond exhibitionism. In the play, I am also a woman with loose morals. A woman who's easy; you know, a slut. Such traits do not come naturally to me. I have to work on it," Ann said.

"Anyway, yes, let's act the sleazy parts of the play out. You play the voyeur and I'll be the woman in my role. I'll be the star of the play," Ann said, displaying just a bit of pride as she relished the word 'star.' "We'll use your screen as my bedroom wall and window, and you can look around it to watch me," Ann said.

Since my studio apartment consists of only one large room, I have a three-panel tall screen that artificially (and only symbolically) divides it into two rooms. Ann got on the bed, and I stood behind the screen. "Let's start on page 78," Ann said. "I need one of your largest T shirts, please." I gave her one.

I stood behind the screen and I flipped through to page 78. I peeked around the screen and the room was empty. Ann used the bathroom door for her entrance. She came into the room and slowly began to undress. She had put on underwear (a bra and panties) in the bathroom, I guess, presumably for this scene.

Ann removed her blouse, standing there in her miniskirt and bra. Then with her boobs bouncing slightly within her flimsy, 'barely there' bra, she bent over and removed her high heels. Next, she took off her skirt, and there she was, standing before me in her underwear. What a gorgeous site!

Ann turned around so that her backside was facing me, and she removed her bra. Even looking at her backside, I could see the sides of her boobs, sticking out from beyond the edges of her back. God, her boobs are gorgeous.

Then she slowly, and hyper sexily, peeled off her panties. Now Ann was in my apartment, stark naked, only a few feet from me with her back to me. I glanced at the script and she was following the stage directions perfectly. I was as hard as a rock.

Ann's legs were slightly apart. She bent over at the waist, keeping her legs straight, showing off her ass and also, unavoidably, her anus and her pussy. My eyes went straight to her pussy. You know how it is. Jesus, I thought.

She picked up the T shirt from the floor, and she slipped it on. The stage directions called for me to stroke my cock through my pants, and I was already doing it before I had even read the stage directions.

That was the end of the scene. "What do you think?" Ann said.

"I don't know what to say," I said. Ann was now facing me, naked under my T shirt. My T shirt was just barely long enough to cover her privates, and she was looking straight at my erection under my pants. "Are you okay with doing that on stage? Exposing yourself to an audience?"

Ann ignored my question. "I think you thought it was sexy, didn't you?" Ann said, smiling sweetly, relentlessly staring at the lump in my pants.

"Damn straight," I said.

"Did I look pretty? I was trying to smile. Did you ever even look at my face?" Ann said.

I blushed, looking at my feet. "It's okay," Ann said. "When you see the next scene that we're going to rehearse, you'll be flabbergasted, I assure you. Also, you have a speaking part in this one."

"Christ, Ann, every single man watching the play is going to be hard after that last scene. It's the sexiest scene I've ever seen on stage!"

"Oh, Jason, that's just because you know me, and you've always lusted after me. Don't think I don't know. I know it very well. I've enjoyed your lustful attentions, by the way. Girls like it when men they like lust after them. Well, I should not speak for all girls. This girl likes it. I can assure you, however, that the jaded New York audience won't be nearly as excited as you are. You know that. As for the next scene, well...." Ann said.

Ann continued, "Jason, turn to page 182. This scene takes place much later in the play. Quite a bit has happened in the interim. You're again outside my window, but now you've arranged to meet me, and we have even become casual friends. Now get behind the screen."

I meekly complied. I turned to page 182. I was peeking through the window, just like I was doing in the other scene we acted out.

"Okay," Ann said. "This scene begins when you peek around the screen. Let your mouth fall open," she said.

I saw the stage instructions told my character to do exactly that in the script, and I complied. It was easy to let my mouth fall open, given what I saw! Ann was sitting up on the bed, pillows propped up behind her back for comfort, her legs were spread wide, and she was stark naked. She was completely nude. I was in shock.

The shock got worse, as she slowly began to caress her own boobs. God her boobs were gorgeous. They were beautifully shaped, slightly too big to be pert, but still she had upturned nipples. Ann's boobs hung down a bit on her chest, each one leaning a bit to the side of her body. She squeezed them together with her hands, and played with her nipples, making them stand erect. After a while, her hands left her boobs. She stroked her torso as her hands slowly, very slowly, crept south.

"Ann!" I exclaimed.

"No, Jason, follow the script! You silently watch, in rapt attention. Now watch and be silent. You are the voyeur, okay?"

I shut up, and stood there, hidden behind my screen, with my head peeking around the edge watching Ann looking like a seductive goddess, sitting on my bed, her boobs prominently sticking out from her chest, her shapely legs spread wide apart. Her fingers had completed their slow journey down her body, and now they were caressing the edges of her sex.

She continued to tease herself. She was in no hurry. Her breathing was beginning to change when suddenly she said," Ring! Ring!" I looked at the script and sure enough, her phone was supposed to ring. It was right there in the script. Ann brought her phone to her ear, and she said, "Hello?"

Ann kept right on playing with herself, teasing herself mercilessly. It surprised me when she said, "Hello, Dad," and she chose that exact moment to stick a finger in her pussy. She silently gasped as she did it. "No, Dad, I'm just resting in bed. Yes, I'm being careful with the New York dating scene." Ann paused, then she spoke again into the phone.

"Dad, that was in college! I was drunk, and anyway it was for charity! I was only 19 then. It seems like ages ago. I'm 23 now and I know better....Yes, I know much better. I will never do anything like that again. (Ann paused the dialog, as the script instructed, while her fingers were going a mile a minute in and out of her pussy), No Dad, it was only four men. Yes, plus one woman, and it was only for 24 hours. Remember, the price for my sexual slavery was $900 and it all went to the soup kitchen! It's time for you to get over it. And stop watching the videos, please! Put Mom on, please."

At this point, Ann's fingers were traveling so fast they seemed to be a blur. When her mom got on the phone, they slowed down, gradually stopping. "Yes, Mom, I'm eating well, don't worry..... Well there is one man, his name is James, and he hasn't yet asked me out, but he will." (When Ann told her Mom about James, her fingers got busy again) ".... Because girls can tell when a man is interested. You know that, Mom. Use your memory!.......I know you're trying to forget, I'm sorry.....Yes, thanks for calling, I love you, too. Oh....okay, put him on then."

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