The Performance Ch. 02

This is the second chapter of a series. While the author hopes that this story can stand on its own, this story will make a lot more sense if you have read "The Performance" by this author. This story draws on some real experiences but is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any real person or entity is coincidental and unintentional. Thank you for reading this story.

*****

I had agreed to strip naked with the daughter of my good friends onstage in front of an audience. Penny was very beautiful clothed and, as I had learned, stunning in the nude. The idea of engaging in exhibitionism with her was, frankly, exciting, in part because I hoped that it would lead to sex. She seemed open to that idea. Better still, Helen and Jim, her parents and my good friends, approved enthusiastically.

I was disappointed. One obstacle after another arose. Finally, Penny was offered one of those "too good to turn down" jobs in Portland. I was sorry that she moved to the other side of the country. I told myself that my fantasies about Penny were only fantasies and would not have become real even if Penny had stayed in the D.C. area. Still, it hurt.

Penny had been gone for about a year when I was introduced to Megan Ward at a faculty cocktail party. Generally, those parties were a bore. However, those of us who had not yet made full professor religiously attended in order to schmooze the senior faculty who would decide our careers.

Megan was an associate professor of art history. While she was technically on the faculty in the Department of Fine Arts, she worked jointly with some of the history faculty and one of them had invited her to this party. Although she outranked me in the faculty pecking order, I guessed (rightly I later learned) that Megan was five or six years younger than me. She was about five foot five, had reddish-brown hair to her shoulders, and had an intelligent face that grew beautiful the longer you looked at it. She was not fat, but I could not tell anything else about her body because she was wearing one of those loose-fitting "peasant" style dresses that covered her from the base of her neck to her ankles.

Megan had spent some time with an artist's group on Vancouver Island which, she said "was how I learned that I was more qualified to be an art historian than an artist." Since I had taught in the City of Vancouver, a ferry-ride away from Vancouver Island, that provided enough common ground to maintain a conversation. I discovered that Megan was very observant and had a biting wit. She very softly made some comments about a couple of the senior profs that were hysterically funny and true. Something seemed to click between us.

I had been at the university for over two years and had never seen Megan Ward before that cocktail party. Afterwards, I seemed to run into her several times a week. Finally, having run into her in the History Department offices late on a Friday afternoon, I asked her if she'd like to get a drink. To my grateful surprise, she said yes and let me take her to a small pub a few blocks from campus.

We began by sharing the usual gripes that are probably shared among everyone who works in academe. That progressed into sharing a bit more of our respective life stories. It turned out that we'd both been in Heidelberg, Germany at the same time. That coincidence opened another line of conversation. Megan was easy to talk with. I hadn't paid attention to the time until I realized that it was getting dark outside.

"I'm really sorry," I told Megan. "I hadn't meant to keep you here so long. I hope that I'm not making you late for anything."

"Harry," Megan responded, "If I'd needed to be somewhere, I'd have left. No, I don't have any plans for the evening."

"In that case," I said, "May I buy you dinner? There's a good Thai place a block over."

"I know it," Megan responded. "I love that place. Sure, I'll join you for dinner, but I'm not letting you buy for me."

I was pleased at that, not because Megan wouldn't let me buy and not because I thought that I might get laid. I just enjoyed talking with Megan. Of course, I wouldn't have argued with getting laid. It had been a long time. However, it was very difficult for me to think of Megan as a sexual partner.

That first dinner turned into periodic dinners and drinks after work through the Fall and Winter. We became friends and started confiding in each other to an extent. I did get the sense that there were significant aspects of Megan's life that she didn't share with me. That was certainly her right. I hadn't shared with her that I frequently hung out nude with my friends Helen and Jim or that I had lusted after their daughter. I also got the sense that Megan was alone. She was often free for dinner or a trip at times when you would expect someone with a spouse or partner to be with them.

Spring had come to the D.C. area. It was a Friday afternoon and Megan and I were enjoying the first outdoor drinks of the year at a table outside a bar which she favored not too far from campus.

"Harry, do you go to art exhibits?" Megan asked.

"Not much, I'm embarrassed to confess," I replied.

"Some young artists whom I know are doing a show of their work Sunday," Megan said. "It's in a converted warehouse over near the Anacostia. It starts at 1:00 p.m. Do you want to go?"

That was the first time either of us had proposed doing anything together other than drinks or a casual dinner. It would be rude, I thought, to refuse. And, I wasn't doing anything that Sunday anyway. We agreed on a time and place for Megan to pick me up.

That Sunday afternoon, Megan showed up in the obligatory Subaru. I got in and she drove us across town. The warehouse, which had been rehabbed slightly and converted into artists' studios and an exhibition space, was in a marginal part of the city. "I hope my car will be ok," Megan said after she'd parked. Looking around, I thought that she had some legitimate reason for concern.

There were about a dozen artists exhibiting. The works were primarily paintings, sketches, or sculpture. A lot of it left me cold. Maybe I just didn't get it. However, Megan studied almost every work closely. It seemed that she knew most of the artists.

The artist whose works we viewed last was named Evan Macombe. He greeted Megan more warmly than the other artists had. At first glance, Macombe's works seemed very traditional: landscapes and portraits. However, if you looked more closely, each piece had some twist that made it edgy. After we had thoroughly examined the works Evan had displayed prominently, we started to leave. Evan stopped us. Speaking to Megan, he said, "Aren't you going to let your friend see our collaborations?"

I didn't realize that Megan still made art. I glanced at her. She bit her lower lip for a moment. Finally, she exhaled and said, "If we must."

"Wonderful!" Evan exclaimed. "Follow me." With an exaggerated swing of his hips that reinforced my initial impression that Evan was probably gay, he led us to the other side of the screen on which the works we'd already seen were hung. Another set of paintings hung on the back side. Visitors to the exhibition didn't see these pieces as they casually walked by. You had to seek them out.

Looking at the works, I quickly understood why they were not featured prominently. The first piece depicted a nude woman standing in front of a frame shaped like the letter "X." The woman's wrists and ankles were strapped to the arms of the frame. The woman appeared to be very beautiful, with full breasts, a flat stomach, and short but elegant legs. In the painting, the woman's hair had fallen over her face. Other pieces showed what I took to be the same model nude in the woods, spread-eagled with her arms and legs tied to tree branches. Another showed her nude in the surf on a beach. In each picture, the model's face was obscured somehow.

The last picture was almost photographic in its realism. The model was nude again, lying on her back on a white background. The perspective of the picture was from above the model. Her legs were spread and one of her hands was between her legs. One of her fingers was in her own vagina. This picture was unlike the others in that the model's face was clearly visible and bore an expression of pleasure. I turned to look at Megan standing next to me.

Megan was blushing. "Evan was nice enough to let me orgasm before he ended that pose," she said with some embarrassment.

Evan added, "I'm not really into women, but isn't Megan beautiful when she's naked?"

Looking at Megan, I said, "It is a very beautiful picture of a very beautiful woman. All of these pictures are wonderful." Megan looked at me for a moment. She started to say something but stopped herself. She turned and started walking away. I followed Megan out of the warehouse.

When we reached Megan's car, still with all four wheels, she stopped, turned to face me, and said, "Harry, it never crossed my mind that Evan would include those pieces in the exhibition. I'm very sorry that you saw those."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, those poses aren't the sort of thing a respectable university professor does," Megan replied. "Images of bondage and masturbation? You must think I'm a dirty slut."

"Megan, I know better than that," I replied. "Yes, I'm surprised to see you in those poses, but it makes me think more highly of you, not less. Not only are you intelligent and charming, you are also adventurous and extremely beautiful."

Megan just looked at me for a moment before getting into her car. I got in the passenger seat. In a small voice, Megan asked, "Do you want to get something to eat?"

"With you? I'd love to," I answered.

We went to an Italian place Megan knew in the northwest, near the Maryland line. Apart from ordering, Megan didn't say much. She did quickly down two glass of chianti. I had the sense that Megan had something she wanted to say, so I kept my mouth shut. Finally, Megan said tentatively, "I think that I ought to explain."

"No explanation is necessary," I interjected.

"Harry be quiet and listen to me," Megan said softly. "The artists' colony outside of Victoria that I told you about. They were into some other things besides art. It got kinky. I discovered that I enjoyed being tied up and exposed naked. Some of the men there assumed that I'd also enjoy pain, beatings and whippings. I don't enjoy pain. I got hurt, not permanently thank God, but that caused me to get out of there. Ever since, when I meet a man, part of me believes that he wants to beat me or whip me. That's why I dress the way I do and work at being unattractive. But, I'm also a very sexual person. Posing for Evan has been my sexual outlet. Evan's safe because he's gay. For him, I'm just an object to depict, not a woman to do things to."

I felt like I'd fallen into a pit and didn't know how to get out. I realized that I liked Megan very much. The pictures showed me her sexual side which was exciting, and she was painfully beautiful. I wanted to be around this woman. I didn't want to scare her off or contribute to whatever issues she had. At the same time, I didn't think that I could just ignore what she'd told me, obviously at some cost to herself. "Megan," I said looking her straight in the eyes, "when I first met you, I realized that you are a very special person. Those pictures simply showed me that you're also an exceptionally beautiful and sexy woman. That anyone would want to mar that beauty or cause you pain is incomprehensible to me."

Megan didn't say anything for a minute. Then, she reached out a hand and placed it gently on top of my hand on the table. "Thank you, Harry," she said. "I believe you." She removed her hand and dug her I-phone out of the small purse she carried. She looked at something on her phone and then asked, "Are you doing anything Saturday?"

"No, I'm not," I replied. "Why?"

Megan smiled for the first time since I'd seen Evan's pictures of her. "I want to take you on a picnic."

"Sure," I said.

I didn't see Megan all week, but she called me on Friday afternoon to confirm that we were still meeting the next morning for our picnic. "What can I bring?" I asked.

"Just yourself," Megan replied. "I'll take care of everything else."

Megan's Subaru appeared outside my apartment building at 8: 30 the next morning. I got in and she drove us into Maryland. It took a couple of hours to get clear of the city sprawl. Even so, as she drove us down a narrow two-lane road, I was surprised to be in such a bucolic setting that close to D.C.

Megan turned into a gravel driveway that led to a brick farmhouse which, I guessed, had been there during the Civil War. When Megan stopped the car, she told me, "Just stay in the car." She got out and the door to the house opened as Megan approached. I saw a heavyset, older woman standing in the doorframe. She and Megan talked for three or four minutes. Megan gave the woman a hug, turned, and came back to the car. She turned the car around and went back out onto the two-lane. We drove a half to three quarters of a mile before Megan pulled off the road and parked in the grass. The land sloped down gently from the road to a mowed field. Perhaps a quarter of a mile from the road was a stream and the start of the tree line. To my right, I could still see the farmhouse we'd stopped at.

Megan pulled a sheet out of the back seat and opened the trunk. "If you'll get the cooler," she said, "I'll carry the picnic basket." I picked up the cooler and followed Megan through the mowed field. She was wearing one of her long peasant dresses, which struck me as an odd choice for a picnic in a field. Megan stopped at the tree line and spread out the sheet. I could still see her car and the farmhouse clearly.

Megan directed me to set the cooler in the shade of a tree. She placed the picnic basket on the sheet. She stood still for a moment, looking at me. Then she took a deep breath, said "ok," bent down, and grabbed the hem of her dress. Megan straightened up and pulled the dress over her head. She was nude underneath. She rolled the dress into a ball and tossed it on the sheet. "Harry, please take your clothes off," she said.

We could be seen from the road and from the farmhouse. Nonetheless, I complied with Megan's request, kicking off my shoes, pulling my polo shirt over my head, and dropping my jeans and boxers. I stood naked, facing an equally naked Megan. "You have a nice body," Megan said.

"You are incredibly beautiful," I said.

Megan extended her hand and said, "Want to take a walk?" I took her hand and we splashed across the shallow stream into the woods.

It was turning into a hot day, but it was considerably cooler in the woods. We followed a path that was just wide enough for us to walk side-by-side. As we walked, Megan explained, "This land belongs to Robbie and Dave Pfeiffer. Robbie is the woman I spoke with at the farmhouse. I had their daughter Janell as a student a few years ago and got to know them. They let me come out here to go naked in their field and woods. Dave probably gets off on watching me, but he's a nice man and who cares?"

"That is very nice of them," I said.

We walked quite a way. As we came out of the woods, there was a fence and horses on the other side of the fence. "I don't know who owns that land or the horses," Megan said. "The horses are always here. I usually come over and pet them. They seem to like me naked." Indeed, three horses had their heads over the fence top vying for Megan's attention.

"I can understand the attraction," I said.

Megan laughed. "Do you like me naked?" she asked.

"Very much," I answered.

"Good," Megan said. "I like you naked too."

"I'm glad of that," I said and meant it.

As we walked back through the woods, Megan asked, "So, is this your first time running around naked outside?"

"Not exactly," I replied.

"Oh? Do tell," Megan said.

I explained about college, about the nude beach near where I'd worked in Vancouver, and about my friends Helen and Jim. "I heard about that beach but never got there," Megan said. "Helen? Would that be Helen Warner?" Megan asked. Helen was a full professor at the university.

"The same," I replied. "Do you know her?"

"Not really," Megan said. "I've met her. I wouldn't have guessed that she's a nudist."

"Pretty committed," I said. "She and Jim have an inground pool behind their house. Any sort of clothing is absolutely prohibited in the pool."

"That's a sensible policy," Megan said.

"We could visit them if you like," I said.

Megan smiled. "That'd be nice," she said.

We sat naked on the sheet eating cheese and sausage, drinking wine, and talking. Occasionally, a car would pass on the road, but no one stopped. It was a very, very nice day. It was probably approaching 6:00 p.m. when Megan said, "I guess it's time to fight the traffic back into the city." She reached for her dress and stood up. She started to put the dress on but stopped. I saw a smile grow on her face. "Do you want to drive back to town naked?" she asked. "I've never done that before."

I smiled. I really liked this woman. "Sure," I said, "Just don't get pulled over."

"I think I can handle that," Megan said with a grin. We gathered our clothes and the picnic things. I followed Megan's beautiful bare ass back across the field. We stood naked on the roadside as we put the things back into her car. The ride back into the city seemed shorter than the trip out. Perhaps that was because I spent the time looking at Megan's gorgeous bare body in profile.

Back in D.C., Megan was clearly not driving back to my apartment. I just went with it. Finally, she pulled up in front of a garage door in a row of relatively new townhomes not far from the university. Megan pushed on a garage door opener and pulled inside. "I live here," she said. "Come on up."

Taking only her purse, Megan got out of the car. I followed her up a short set of steps and through a door that led into a kitchen. Megan spread her bare arms out. "Welcome to my place," she said smiling. "Let me show you around."

It was a very nice, two level town home. There was a kitchen/dining room, small study, and living room on the first floor. On one wall of the living room were several framed photographs of a younger Megan outdoors in the nude. She saw me looking at them. "You understand why I don't invite many people over?" she asked rhetorically. "I realize that it's a bit narcissistic to have nude pictures of myself up, but those were taken during one of my happy times and they remind me of then."

"You've always been very beautiful," I said.

"With my clothes off? I guess so," Megan responded. She stepped over to me and put her hands on my bare shoulders. She stared into my eyes. Much more seriously, she said, "Harry, I'm taking a huge chance with you. I'm going to be a little scared. Can you accept that?"

I put my arms around Megan and gently pulled her to me. "I'll do everything I can so that you never regret it," I said.

Megan leaned her bare breasts into my chest. She tilted her head up and kissed me, once quickly. "Want to go upstairs and find out how well our bodies play with each other?" she asked.

"Very much," I said.

In her bedroom, we had a much longer kiss. Megan started stroking my dick. I put a hand between her legs to finger her. Megan tensed for a second before relaxing and allowing my finger to reach her clit. We played with each other for several minutes until I was very hard.

"On the bed on your back Stone," Megan said. "I like to be on top."

I lay on my back on the bed. Megan straddled me. She looked down at me and said, "If you're smart, about now you're wondering whether I'm on birth control or have an STD. I'm not telling you. You'll have to trust me on those."

I looked into Megan's bright eyes. "I trust you," I said.