Little Theatre Nude Scene

I am a fan and active member of little theater in the New England town where I live. Even though I am a retired English teacher, I have acted in a number of the plays that have been produced by our local little theatre company and even have directed a number of them.

I had auditioned for—and got—the main role of a nearly-retired businessman in the play "Middle of the Night." This is a little-known and seldom produced play about the May-December interaction of two people. Basically, it is about a widower business owner coming to the end of what he feels will be his active life but suddenly encountering a young and troubled woman—who happens to be one of his employees.

The young lady who auditioned for and got the other main role was named Cathy Dawson, a pretty blonde of about twenty-five who looked like a young Jessica Lange.

The director of the play, Raf Mecca (his "stage" name), was someone who liked to shock the audience, so at the first meeting after the auditions, he announced that this would be the British and French version of the play. In other words, it would include a nude scene. The nude scene would fall at the beginning of the second act.

Miss Dawson did not look too crazy about this announcement, but it was obvious that she wanted the part.

"Could I talk to you for a minute?" she said later during a break.

"Sure."

"I didn't know the play was going to involve a nude scene. I've never done anything like that before, and I'm not sure I can do it."

"I'm sure you can do it—if you really want the part. And it's a good part in a good play."

"I do want the part....Do you think I might be able to rehearse the nude scene privately with you before we go into rehearsals on Sunday?"

"Sure. Where?"

She looked around. "Here, I guess. Rehearsal starts at two, but Raf said the theatre would be open from noon."

"Okay, why don't I meet you here at noon."

"That would be great. I really appreciate it."

"No problem." Actually, I was looking forward to it VERY much—and appreciated the director for inserting it. The scene was not in the original script, and I wondered if he had inserted it just for fun.

II

I arrive4d at the theatre at noon, and she was already there waiting.

"Let's do it," I said.

We both went up to the stage.

The scenario of the play was this: The young woman, named Lisa Meyers, was not feeling well that day and had stayed home from work. But she had brought home from work some important papers to work on that the president of the business needed. So he/me stopped around to her modest apartment on the way home to retrieve them. The apartment was one of those New York places where everything is in one room: living room, bedroom, and kitchen.

The businessman, Donald Wells, realized that there was something wrong, something was troubling this young woman. He tried to inquire what was bothering her when she broke down in tears. In trying to comfort her, he learned that she had been married only two years but no longer ever saw her husband, since he was always away on "business trips" with his secretary.

"I know he's unfaithful to me...and I think I've been drinking too much," she said apologetically. "Would you like a drink?"

"I guess so."

She walked to the kitchen counter, on which was a bottle of vodka. "Is vodka and orange juice all right?" she asked.

"Yes, of course."

She took the orange juice from the refrigerator and poured the vodka and juice into the glasses, not bothering to measure.

"Here." She handed me the glass...and then she started crying again.

I put his glass down and pulled her to me.

Fade out, as they say in Hollywood. End of Act One.

At the beginning of the second act, the focus was on the bed, which was on stage right against the wall. The only person lying there was the businessman. He got up and walked over to what served as the kitchen. He wore a pair of pajamas that appeared to be a little too large for him, and he was bare from the waist up. The diminished vodka and orange juice was still on the counter. He filled the two glasses with the orange juice—as the door to the bathroom opened and Cathy/Lisa stepped out. She was wearing the top half of the pajamas.

"Orange juice?" I asked, extending the glass to her.

She walked over and took it. "I have to apologize about last night," she said.

"You don't have to apologize for anything."

"I shouldn't have brought you into my problem."

"I just wish there was something I could do about it."

"You already have. I really needed last night. And I know you're not married, so you haven't been unfaithful to anyone."

"I think I got carried away too," I said.

"Okay," Cathy Dawson said interrupting the play. "This is where Raf wants the nude scene. My back is to the audience. I'm supposed to unbutton the pajama top and let it fall to the floor. Then you're supposed to pick me up and carry me over to the bed. I turn a little to the back wall, so my back is still to the audience. Then, as you climb on the other side of the bed, the lights fade."

"Sounds good to me."

"I asked Raf if I could wear panties under the pajama top, and he said no."

Good, I thought. "Raf wants what he wants."

"The pervert."

"Do you think you can do it?"

"Yes, the only one who will really see me nude will be you."

"Lucky me."

"Do you think you can handle that?"

"As long as I don't have a heart attack. I'm not as young as you."

She smiled. "Then let's rehearse."

"Okay."

When she unfastened her pajama top, I could see that she had beautiful small breasts with penny-sized nipples that were already getting hard because of the chill on the stage. Her small tuft of pubic hair indicated that she was a real blonde.

"Beautiful," I said.

"Thank you. I wish my husband felt the same."

"What's the deal with your husband? This is the second time you've mentioned him."

"You know the plot of the girl in this play?"

"Of course."

"That's my plot—exactly. I've been married two years. My husband goes away on business trips every weekend with his secretary. I know he's being unfaithful to me—but I'm afraid to bring it up."

"He must be insane to leave someone as beautiful as you."

She smiled.

I picked her up in my arms and carried her to the bed. I deposited her on the coverlet, and she turned away from what would have been the audience. I walked to the other side of the bed and knelt on it.

"You have the prettiest little bush I have ever seen," I said.

She smiled. "Now I really do wish you were my husband—at least temporarily," she said.

"Is that meant to be an invitation?"

"I don't know....Maybe."

I leaned over and embraced her, sliding my thigh between her legs. Then I kissed her deep and long.

"What happens if the stagehand forgets to dim the lights?" I asked.

"Then we have to continue," she replied. "I sure hope that doesn't happen."

"You mean like this?" I slid my hand up her thigh to her little blonde tuft, then gently inserted my finger. To my surprise, she was already wet.

"You're very moist," I said.

"What would you expect? I'm lying here naked with a man I hardly know in front of two hundred and fifty virtual people, and that man has his finger up my you-know-what."

"Actually two fingers now."

"Two fingers. I wish my husband was here—in the audience."

I looked into the wings. "It looks like the electrician has fallen asleep," I said.

"So we have to keep going."

She pushed me over on my back, unfastened the pajama bottoms, and grasping my already engorged penis, took it into her mouth. The she sucked me as if it was her last meal. Unable to restrain myself, I exploded into her mouth.

"That was good," she said, sliding up my chest and licking her lips.

"The audience loved it," I responded.

I slid down between her thighs and pushed my tongue into her slit. She was delicious, and she began to moan softly.

I knelt up between her thighs, amazed that I was still hard. I had not had sex like this in years—and the publicness of it was a real turn-on. "Are you willing to be fucked in front of two hundred and fifty people?" I asked.

"Of course," she whispered.

"Then you have to ask me."

"Please fuck me."

I gently inserted it in her slit. But I needn't have been so gentle, since she was already very wet. I pushed it all the way in to the hilt.

"Oh God," she moaned.

I kept sliding it in and out of her until I came again deep inside her—and felt that she had come at about the same time.

"That was the best orgasm I have ever had in my life," she said later, as we lay there naked. "....Except for one."

"And what one is that?"

"We're going to need more pre-rehearsals of this, aren't we?" she asked.

"Every Sunday."

"But then in the five live performances, it will be simulated, right?"

"Right."

"Except for the last one. I'm going to try and get my husband to come to that one because I want you to fuck me for real—in front of a live audience of two hundred and fifty, including my husband. Do you think you would be up for that?"

"What do you think?" I asked, looking down at my member.

And amazingly enough, that's what we did on the last night of the show. Her husband had to go "out of town", but still we were able to do it in front of a live audience of 250, many of whom suspected that this was "the real thing." All of the people backstage could see that this was the real thing

"You guys ought to get a Tony for that," one of the stagehands said as we walked off, wrapping our robes about us.

The End