My Investor's Wife's Nude Audition

My name is Jim David. Yes, that Jim David. The guy who writes, produces and stars in those off off Broadway plays with all the female nudity that all the critics-- and all the males in the audience-- love, and which all other normal people passionately hate.

Would you believe I started posting those plays on a website just like this one? Fresh out of college with a degree in English Lit and my only chance to work was for free for my last professor. Uh huh.

Posting my most insane fantasies in play form was just my way of coping. Until an equally insane investor contacted me, insisted he was real, and offered to produce my works.

Within a year, my first play was out there. It was a strange story in which a young man (played by me) continuously fantasizes about what the women in his life look like nude. Naturally, every female in the play appears naked to me and to the audience, although they remain dressed in the play's reality.

Dismissed as "sexist bullshit" and "masturbatory material" by some, a major media outlet praised it, and they actually got my point: Jim is so lost in his fantasies, he can't see how good he really has it.

Then came a call from my favorite (and only) investor to come out to his estate in the Hamptons to talk about turning my plays into an erotic streaming series.

Dennis Caine was a bit of a Hollywood legend. He had produced two series that became cult favorites. One was science fiction and was cancelled after two seasons. Somehow he got a movie version of 'The Planet Thieves' out there and sci fi fans turned it into a surprise hit. That paid for the estate.

The second cult series? 'Candi Sweet, P. I.'

Believe it or not, that was all about the adventures of a sexy female detective named Candi Sweet. Candi was played by Carly Conners, who soon become the number one poster girl in teen boy bedrooms, including mine.

5' 8" and 38C - 25 - 36 if I recall (and of course I do. Her measurements I'm sure were memorialized as many a young man's locker combination.)

The series was of course dismissed as a ripoff of 'Charlies Angels.' Candi always was seen in mini skirts, bikinis, lingerie or just happening to be stepping out of the shower. She would go undercover as a call girl, a stripper, or at a nudist colony. The key was that she was secretly smart and played up the sexy part to distract the bad guys.

Dennis ended up a hero in my eyes when he married Carly. This was like Ringo marrying Barbara Bach. And fifteen years later, they were still together.

Then at the last possible minute, Dennis called and asked me to come over a little earlier for a pool party. I was about to protest that I didn't do pool parties when he added "Carly has actually snuck in to see your play; she's dying to meet you!"

Carly Conners at a pool party. I was twenty-nine at the time, a regular wunderkind, but I instantly flashed back fifteen years to the many times I had 'entertained myself' watching Candi Sweet partially undressed. I was probably about to see Carly poolside -- in the flesh-- how could I say no?

Traffic was awful and of course I was late. I never got to see much of the vast estate, which consisted of several buildings centered around a house out of 'The Great Gatsby.' No, being late, I was ushered out in back to a pool that was the size and shape of a small lake. The pool was next to its' own buildings: a changing room with showers and a boathouse.

My immediate concern was to look for sweet Carly-- and to help myself to drinks and hors d'oeuvres served on silver plates by smiling hostesses in matching white bikinis. Ah, how the other half lives!

Just my luck to be targeted by a failed playwright who always seemed to find me at parties. "Oh Jim! I have another dynamite idea!" was Walter's way of saying 'hi.'

So there I was, nodding occasionally, trying to stay awake by scanning the vast pool with my sensors on high and... she emerged.

I swear that the whole area went silent and a sunbeam picked her out. Well maybe not. There were ladders leading out of the pool at intervals and just across and to our right she started climbing. Long wet auburn hair that still looked fantastic, lightly tanned shoulders and back just cut by a half-inch strap. And then her bottom.

The lilac bikini was so tight and so wet that it looked like body paint. The cheeks of her perfect ass were globes unto themselves; each a world to explore. And then she had legs!

Always, even then, Carly made those silly internet lists of best celebrity legs. Climbing up that ladder, she had the strong, muscular legs of the world's sexiest long-distance runner. But when she reached the top and stretched out to dry, they were the luscious limbs of a cabaret dancer, lifting her skirts to show off legs and lace.

I had a sudden feeling that my immediate area had gotten quiet-- too quiet. I turned to see not only Walter (nearly drooling) but grinning just behind us, the lovely Mr. Carly... husband Dennis.

We instantly went stiff, and yes, I mean all of our other parts went stiff. But then he clapped us both on the backs a little too hard. "It's alright, it's alright," he assured us. "I understand. I might as well tell you two to stop watching the sunset."

And then he went off-- but not before inviting me to spend the night.

I spend the next hour or so stuffing mixed drinks and exotic food inside me when I'm tapped on the shoulder. "I've been looking for you" said Carly Conners, beaming at me in a diaphanous white coverup, all legs and curves, bikini quite visible underneath.

"Oh," I said, "Hi!" I continued, already the brilliant conversationalist. I got a quick hug and a peck on the cheek and was stumped as to where to put my hands on her fine form when I hugged her back.

"I loved your play and I don't understand the controversy. I mean, haven't we gotten used to tits and ass by now?"

I sent a mental message back in time to my younger self, like in a Stephen King movie. You will:

1) be standing next to a bikinied Carly Conners who will use the phrase "tits and ass;"

and

2) you WILL lose your virginity. Soon. One day.

We attempted to engage in more small talk. My small talk consisted of: "Oh!" and "Yes!" and "I see!". After a while she grinned.

"I'll see you at dinner and I promise I'll be dressed. Then maybe your tongue will be untied." Then she gave me a really warm hug, and a kiss that was equally warm and lingering, as she waved and moved her legs and her curves back into the crowd.

I would like to say that, that night, unable to sleep, there was a soft knock on my door. It was of course Carly wearing nothing but a flimsy negligee.

"You can't sleep either" she said, wrapping her arms around me. "I'm only here to see if that tongue of yours is still tied."

I would like to say that, except that nothing of the sort happened. Except that I was wide awake for a while with even naughtier thoughts of Carly filling my head.

Months later, play number one is losing ground; time to stir up some interest with play number two. The plot involves a young man in the future who orders a very realistic sex doll. She comes with an A.I. whose personality adapts to his. Soon, he's more interested in intense discussions with this female robot than in sex.

The big nude scene occurs after she's unwrapped. The actress will be totally nude on stage (although possibly with some kind of pussy cover) facing away from the audience.

The instruction manual is written in cutesy terms: "spin her dials" equals play with her nipples; "open the top cabinet and find the hidden button" means to spread her outer lips and check out her clitoris.

All the pussy handling is supposed to be faked, although the man (lucky me) is supposed to withdraw his fingers at the end of 'checking out her cubbyhole' and mutter "too much lubrication!"

We put out a casting call and crossed our fingers and everything else. We let it be known we were looking for a fairly well known actress who was willing to put up with such indignities.

That first day, we got:

1) a girl who had just done a memorable body lotion commercial; everyone was turned on by her mouth-watering shower scene. Turns out she was wearing a flesh-tone bikini then and was horrified about a nude scene now.

Talking her out of her clothes and auditioning this shaky little cutie nude... I wanted a cigarette afterwards, but I didn't smoke.

2) a sort of well known porn star who had made an X-rated movie that had gone mainstream. We really appreciated her showing up but, she had not only aged, she had artificially enhanced certain assets beyond belief.

She actually looked hurt that we didn't ask her to strip.

"We" was me and my number two, Becca. I had known her since college. She was a brilliant writer, and a natural theater director. She was a tiny blonde with glasses who always played down her looks and tried to act like a sarcastic tough guy. She was 5' 2" in heels and all muscle, as she apparently lived in the gym. We did attempt a brief physical relationship but I couldn't get over the fact that she talked nonstop during sex.

We were chowing down on a mostly inedible chain restaurant sandwich during our lunch break.

"Are you going to tell me who's next," I asked, "or do I have to guess?"

She stared at me. "Don't talk with your mouth full. Where did you learn your manners?"

I waited until I stopped chewing. "I just talked a sweet, blushing little brunette out of her clothes so I could tweak her nipples and make them hard. Manners, my dear, have long gone out the window."

She was preparing a smart-ass comeback and then the door buzzer sounded. Our next actress had entered the waiting room.

"She's here!" Becca said, almost sadly. "She's actually here!"

"Good god!" I exclaimed, getting up to open the inside door. "Is it Lucretia Borgia? Is it the Wicked Witch of Midtown Manhattan?!" No, it was worse. It was Carly Conners, wearing a big smile and a exceptionally mini mini dress.

"Hey, how are you!" she gushed. We both got her patented hug and peck. "Well, here I am. Do you want me to take off my clothes now?"

"Holy shit," I said, quite intently. "Holy shit."

"Yeah, it's been a while. But seriously, do I undress here or is there a ladies room?"

"James, may I speak with you privately in the anteroom? Right now, if you will?" Becca said, ignoring Carly, glaring at me and talking as if we were in a 1930s British murder mystery. This couldn't be good.

I smiled at Carly on the way out. She shrugged.

"What the hell are you thinking!" Becca hissed as soon as the door closed.

"Whoa, whoa," I held up my hands. "Remember? I didn't even know she was coming!"

Becca glared at the closed door like she was attacking Carly right through it with her heat vision. "We are going back in there, and you are telling her we can't do this. She is the wife of your one and only investor and we cannot screw that up. Okay?"

"Let me talk to her," I said, trying to calm her down. "I will see what's going on in that brain of hers."

We opened the door and Carly was still smiling. Only now, her little dress was on a hanger on the rack we had provided, and all she had on was a lilac bra and panty set. And white heels.

"I thought I would start the ball rolling..." she began.

Becca threw her hands up in the air. "That's it," she announced. "I'm leaving."

Carly looked confused. "Do you have another appointment?!"

"Yes," said Becca, grabbing her purse and heading for the door. "It's an appointment with reality, and it's anywhere outside of this room!"

As soon as the door slammed shut, Carly said "Wow; now she should be an actress!"

"That was no act," I groaned. I collapsed in my chair with my head in my hands. "She is seriously pissed."

"Oh," Carly said softly. She paused: "Is it-- it's not because I'm here?!"

I lifted up my head and I really looked at her. Her bra was lacy and had a cute little bow right at cleavage central. There were two more bows about halfway up on the front straps, just above armpit level.

Her matching panties were dangerously low-rise and undoubtedly required judicious grooming. There was another charming little bow on top. Said panties were just tight enough to reveal the bulge of her mound, and just the slightest hint of the creases formed by her vulva.

She knew I was looking her over, taking her in. She had such a big smile on her face that I also knew that she had me right where she wanted me.

"Umm... " I started, "with Becca gone, you obviously don't have to continue, if you're not comfortable..."

"Who said I wasn't comfortable?" she cooed. She walked up to me, slowly, and then turned around. "Do you want to take my bra off, or shall I do it?"

Yes she had me. She was giving me a moment with her, my special fantasy girl, that I would replay for the rest of my life.

I stood up without saying a word and went immediately to working on her bra clasps. When all was undone I even pushed the straps down and off her shoulders from behind. I pulled it down her arms as far as I could and then she surprised me by bending over and shaking her sumptuous tits until her pretty bra fell to the floor.

"Maybe-- " she started, her voice low, a little breathless: "maybe we should do that 'spinning the dials' scene now."

"Oh Carly," I sighed. "What are you doing to me?"

Nevertheless, I reached around her, took one beautiful breast in each hand, and began closing in on her rock-hard nipples with my fingers.

"Line?" she prompted, being absolutely silly and cute and making me love her even more

"Hmmm..." I breathed out. "Spinning the dials, everything looks solid and ready!"

She actually started giggling, and I mean really giggling. She collapsed back against me and I dropped my hands from her tits to her tummy.

When she calmed down, she said: "This isn't fair to you... we have to talk before my panties come off."

And she plopped herself down in what was Becca's chair. She crossed her legs and started swinging her right foot. She was wearing white heels and I tried to focus on that swinging foot and not her miraculous breasts.

Her breasts were in my peripheral vision (how could they not be!) and of course when I glanced up from swinging heel to sweet face, there they were.

They were totally, perfectly rounded. At her advanced age of 38 (?), they defied gravity. There was speculation that some work had been done. Whatever. I hoped that one day I would be able to thank the original Artist in person. (Hey: it could happen!)

"First of all, I'm not Mrs. Robinson, and I'm not trying to seduce you!"

Darn, I thought.

She continued. "But this is going to get... intimate, and personal. It's something I-- we-- have to get through."

"But Carly," I sighed. "Your husband. How is he going to react to you being nude on stage?!"

"He's going to be shocked for ten seconds, mad for five seconds... and then the idea of all the publicity and ticket sales will kick in. Don't worry about Dennis. He's out in Hollywood right now. He has scheduled 'cuddle time' with sweet young naked ladies, but technically he doesn't cheat. Sex is just a pastime to him-- making money, closing deals: that's his real passion.

"I... I have to do something. I can't keep playing the pretty little wife at parties. If I was Madame Curie I'd run out and discover another element and say 'F U Pierre.' But me? I have to go with what I got" she said, pointing towards her breasts.

"Now," she said, standing up and walking toward me. "Let's get these panties off or down and let's see if I can get through this."

I looked up at her and she looked down at me and nodded. She was trying to calm herself down by controlling her breathing but those breasts-- at my eye level-- still kept rising and falling. So I reached to just below her waist, put my thumbs inside the waistband, and started pulling down.

There was nothing else in my world to look at besides every new, exposed inch. She had a very narrow landing strip of light brown hair. It was also quite thinned out. At last the slit of her closed upper lips appeared and I nearly lost it.

"Are you alright?" she called down from above. 'Above' was anywhere above what was right in front of me: the gates of paradise.

"I'm okay." I squeaked out. "I just needed a pause."

"You probably need more than that" she muttered.

I ignored her. The panties were now lowered enough to show she was not a total 'innie:' her clitoral hood was just peeking out, creating a two-slit crease.

"You could just rip it down like a bandage" advised the voice from above, helpfully.

I ignored her. I was hurt. How could she be comparing the most beautiful pussy on Earth to an open wound?

"James?" said the persistent voice. "If you don't pull my panties down right now I'm pulling them up, stuffing my bra in my purse and getting dressed!"

Back to reality-- of sorts-- I finally listened to Carly and I yanked those panties down. By unspoken agreement I left them at the knees. Now, I really really tried not to stare, but she was mostly an innie all the way down, although there was a gap and a hint of a bulge about where her inner lips should be.

"Ahem!" she said. She actually said 'ahem.' "When you're through taking inventory, can we get on with the next lines?!"

"Sure, sure." I wasn't about to apologize for staring at something I had been imagining since I hit puberty.

"Opening the top cabinet and checking button status..."

"What are you doing?"

I looked up at her. "It's called 'acting.'"

"But you're not actually touching me; you're just making motions..."

I was flummoxed. Now that's a word I haven't used in a while.

"You... you... you want me to actually touch you?!"

"Yes, stutter boy. I'm not some fucking Method actress. I'm not doing this unless it's for real."

I looked down... at her pussy. My fantasy girl had her panties down and was demanding I touch her... down there. And I was hesitant.

I scooted forward and tentatively put one thumb each on each of her outer lips. I pulled them gently open.

"It's okay," she said. "I appreciate the tenderness, but I won't break."

Her hood was visible now and her clitoris was a glistening little nub peeking out.

"Go ahead," she said. "Touch it. Touch me."

I poked her love button with one finger at first, then rolled it between two fingers.

"Line?" she prompted and I had to control my laughter.

"Button is visible and... operational."

I licked my lips. Surely it wasn't going to go beyond this...

"Next," she said softly.

"Shit," I muttered.

I looked intently In between her legs as she parted her thighs even more. I can't even state the condition of my own 'lower equipment' except to say I was in a kind of constant state of arousal.

Her lips ended and parted at and around a soft opening. As I watched, her vagina seemed to acknowledge my interest and opened up even more.

I didn't go in right away. I pushed a finger on each side of her love hole, something I read about in Cosmo while I was waiting for a doctor's appointment.

"I don't know what you're doing," the Voice admonished me. "I was hoping you had at least some prior experience down there..."

I sighed. She was one tough cookie when it came to men masturbating her. I took the plunge and bravely inserted one finger.

"That's it," she sighed back. "But more, and deeper."

I took 'more' to mean more fingers, and 'deeper' to mean starting some thrusting. I put my standard three digits in and began pushing in and out. She was already sticky wet and getting stickier and wetter.

"That's it!" she breathed out. "That's it... oh god!"

I was lost now and moved faster and pressed my palm against her, feeling her clit hardening and responding.

"Just this once," she said breathlessly, "just for you," and I looked up to see she was leaning over me, breasts in my face.