The Village Underground Sex Show

When Bobby saw Stacy again after almost ten years, he didn't have much trouble recognizing her. She still had the same girlish face and wore her brown hair in braided ponytails just as before. He felt a thrill shoot through him as he remembered her days in the old neighborhood. She had lived just down the street from him and could always be seen in front of her house playing kick ball or chasing after her little brother. She had loads of energy and he would always be amazed to watch her do her little performances of Olivia Newton-John or Cher on the retaining wall in front of her house. He recalled that some people even considered her to be a little strange because she seemed so desperate for attention.

The incident that came back immediately to him was the time she carried her seven-year old brother around the neighborhood in just his tightie whities. The poor kid was screaming bloody murder and kicking the whole time, but she just kept holding him up and teasing him with baby talk as they went. Everyone on the block witnessed this and Stacy seemed to love that. She just kept walking him back and forth as she chided him.

"Is the little baby happy now?" she said, "Are you ready to go and get your poopy diaper changed?"

After that she carried the little brat back into the house and he remembered standing there imagining her laying him out like a baby on the floor and changing him. He recalled being filled with a certain excitement he wasn't sure he knew how to deal with at the time. He soon realized that he wished it was he himself she was giving this treatment to. He understood this was a strange wish to have and he wondered if that made him abnormal in some way. But perhaps Stacy was abnormal, too? Perhaps she had the same feelings about it? But he was never able to approach her with that subject back then because just the thought of it made his face flush with hot blood and embarrassment.

And now here she was, a full-fledged woman standing just ten feet away! He wondered if she'd remember him. He approached her cautiously, waited for her to make eye contact, and then extended his hand.

"Hi, you're Stacy Haberstein, aren't you!" he said.

Her eyes searched his face quickly and then widened with recognition.

"Oh my god! Bobby Flannigan!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here!"

"Waiting here for the latest nerdy product just like the rest of us tech slaves!" he replied.

"Wow! I never see anybody from the neighborhood anymore!" she chimed.

"Me neither!"

"So how are you? Married with kids?" she inquired.

"Nah, never got around to it. You?"

She proudly held up her left hand which was adorned with a gold band.

"One year this October!" she announced.

"Wow! Congratulations!"

"Thanks."

Bobby felt a wave of disappointment move over him and he was suddenly overcome with a sense of awkwardness.

"We sure did have some fun back then!" Stacy continued after a short silence.

"Yeah, I remember you singing Half Breed for us with that long, black wig on!"

"Oh god! Do you know my family still makes me perform that song every Thanksgiving! It's crazy!"

Bobby laughed and was glad to hear this. It was a sign she hadn't changed all that much.

"And I remember you used to always have to chase your little brother around!" he continued.

"Oh, I used to beat his backside day and night...!" she replied, grinning.

Bobby imagined this quite clearly as a surge of adrenaline coursed through him. It lingered in his stomach and tickled for a while.

"...but now little Stevie is six foot two so I can't do that anymore!" she said with mock disappointment.

After this the conversation devolved into small talk and they exchanged phone numbers before parting ways. For days afterward Bobby tried to think of an excuse to call her that wouldn't sound like a move. But in the end he decided to let it go and entertain himself with the new fantasies she had inspired in him. That is, until the day some six months later when he got a call from her.

"Hey Bobby, we're having a party this Saturday and we were wondering if you'd like to come by?"

"Sure!" he replied in happy surprise.

Her address turned out to be in New Jersey, but he didn't mind the commute from the city. When he arrived he saw that she lived in a cute little split level home in a nice little suburb of North Bergen. Her husband however turned out to be a "not so little" working class type who had hands like sandpaper sausages.

"Hey pal! Come on in!" the husband greeted as he applied his grip firmly.

"Hey Bobby!" Stacy gushed when she saw him, "Where's your date?"

He suddenly felt somewhat stupid. Why had he come alone?

"She's got school." Was the only lie he could come up with.

"Aww, and you came anyway!" she exclaimed sympathetically, "That's sweet!"

She put her arm around him and walked him into the kitchen. Then she took a beer out of the fridge and handed it to him.

"Here's something to start you off!"

He followed her into the backyard next and noticed she had filled out nicely since high school. Her hips were wider and two distinct dimples showed between her shorts and her tank top. Her mother and father and Stevie were out there eating barbecue and some other couples he didn't know.

"Mom, you remember Bobby Flannigan, don't you?" Stacy queried.

"Oh yeah! Hi Bobby! How's your mom?" Mrs. Haberstein asked.

"She's fine."

"Oh good! Tell her I said 'Hi'!"

Stacy kindly steered him over to the other guests after this and made the introductions. The people seemed like mostly artsy city types. One woman had a nose piercing and another guy had purple hair. Yes, this made sense, he thought. Stacy had always wanted to be an entertainer. These would be her people.

"So what do you do now, Stacy?" he asked to ease his curiosity.

"I work for an insurance company, but I do theater on the weekends, in the village."

"Oh wow! Like what?"

"Performance art, mostly improv stuff."

"That's so cool!"

He mentioned then that he was a writer, though what he wrote was mostly ad copy. He thought that would give him an excuse to go see her show in the village. She talked intensely after that about her performance troupe and their plays which sounded pretty pretentious to him. Their shows were full of strange metaphors and weird costumes, like a guy dressed as a condom to symbolize male chauvinism. But then it struck him that this too made perfect sense. That was what she had done as a kid out on the stage in front of her house all those years ago! It was all performance art! That's when he got an idea.

"Do you remember the time you paraded your brother around the neighborhood in his underwear?" he asked, as if the thought had just popped into his mind.

Her face was blank for a moment. Then it slowly returned to her.

"Oh right! Wow! You remember that?!" she said incredulously.

"Sure. How many times do you see a sight like that!" he replied laughing.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She said with a sly look.

"Do you remember how everyone in the neighborhood went crazy?!"

"Of course, they all knew about my wild shenanigans!"

"It's funny the things we never forget. But I thought that was so creative!" He continued.

"Really? How?"

"Well. I know you were only trying to teach him a lesson, but it seemed like you were putting on a show for us all."

"Oh really? Like a domination show...?" she wondered.

He saw her face go into happy deep thought.

"...you mean, do that to someone on stage?"

"Yes! It can be a sort of lampoon of all that psychology stuff!"

She continued to mull it around in her head for a moment.

"I like it!" she suddenly blurted, "It can be about the woman taking back the power!"

"Sure!" Bobby replied, as he saw he had guided her right to the idea behind all his fantasies.

They made a plan then and there to meet the following weekend at the theater to hash out this new performance idea. As Bobby left the party Stacy kissed him on the cheek.

"See you in a week, Dr. Freud!" she called out as he walked toward the street.

A week later, at the theater in Greenwich Village, he met all her actor friends and watched their improvisation act. Much of it was quite risqué. There was simulated sex and hints of sado-masochism throughout. Afterwards, when the lights were down and most of the others had left, Stacy appeared and sat next to him.

"Do you have anything written down yet?" she asked.

"You bet!" He replied, producing a typed sheet from his breast pocket. "Hope it meets your standards."

She unfolded it and looked it over and saw that it was a replay of what she had done to her brother years earlier.

"Hmmm, let's give this a dry run." she said as she looked around the theater and spied a man chatting with a woman in the wings.

"Hey Chris! Let's do a quick scene!" she called.

As Chris emerged Bobby saw that he was a slightly built guy with feminine features. He and Stacy met at center stage and talked briefly. Then she took his hand and led him forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we wish to ask your indulgence. We will now explore a side of the theater never before attempted." She began.

They turned and faced one another.

"I am a woman and therefore I am stronger!" she stated to the guy, "I raise the children and carry them on my hip."

With this she grabbed the actor and hoisted him up, amazingly, onto her hip. She turned and faced front again with the guy slung from her body somewhat limply. Then the guy spoke.

"I am man and therefore I suck from nipples!" He stated before putting his thumb in his mouth.

Bobby looked on dumbstruck. None of this was what he had written. The actor was far too pleased with his situation. Then Stacy spoke again.

"I only let him down when I decide!" she asserted before walking around in a big circle.

The guy started to fuss and cry, but it was in a badly acted, mocking way. Bobby firmly believed at that point they were making fun of him. He got up red-faced and stormed out.

"Bobby! Wait!" Stacy called out after him, "Where are you going?!"

By the time he got home that night he saw Stacy had left three or four messages on his phone, but he couldn't shake his feelings of embarrassment and anger. In one of the messages she apologized, but explained that improvisation was a big part of their act. She went on to say how much his idea had inspired her.

"Call me, Bobby! We need to work on this!" was how the message ended.

With this Bobby fell back onto his couch and closed his eyes.

"What a fuck up I am!" he said to himself.

He sat there thinking of the scene after that. How she had so easily picked that actor up and carried him around! He rubbed his scrotum as this thought ruminated in his mind. The next day he called her and they met at a restaurant in Manhattan.

"I think the problem is that actors always want to act and that kills the reality and immediacy of the scene." She admitted to him.

"Exactly!" He agreed.

"What we need are volunteers!"

"Volunteers? From the audience?" he posited.

"No, the people in the audience would be too guarded. We need honesty. Complete honesty." She insisted.

"So where do we find honest volunteers?"

"I was thinking... maybe college students, preferably Psych or Social Science majors! Something like that!"

"Hmm, so they would be given just a general idea of the scene before coming in?"

"Right! We can start with women."

"But what about the male/female dynamic?"

"I don't think it's necessary because this is really a study in maternal power." She continued.

"Okay."

Bobby realized then that Stacy understood the central idea. She was the omnipotent mother in this scenario with her full hips and commanding demeanor and the people who came on stage would all be transformed by her into her "little ones".

By the following week they had enlisted two college students from NYU. One was a Goth girl with a very subdued personality and the other was a long-haired hippie chic who they suspected was high when she came in. They decided the two volunteers would be brought up from the audience to draw the others into the realism.

The show was staged just days later. Bobby was in the audience when Stacy walked out that night and stopped in front of a banner that read: Mommy Issues. She was dressed like a 1950's housewife with the compliment of yellow Playtex gloves. She assumed an open stance with her hands on her hips when she reached center stage.

"It has come to my attention that there are some people in this theater who need training! Am I correct?! "Stacy announced as she scanned the audience.

The audience members all gave each other nervous looks and Bobby's heart palpitated.

"Can I get a volunteer for training?" she asked.

The hippie girl reluctantly raised her hand and smiled goofily.

"Come up here, my girl!" Stacy instructed.

The skinny girl made her way to the stage in cut-off jeans, a tube top and clogs. She stumbled slightly on her way up the stairs.

"Careful, Sweetheart." Stacy cautioned.

The girl walked to Stacy with her back to the audience and stopped. Stacy gripped her shoulder and turned her around.

"Please state your name for these fine people."

"Agatha." The girl announced with an awkward smile.

"Very well, Agatha. What are your mommy issues?"

The girl blushed deeply.

"I was never allowed to... touch myself." She confessed.

"I see. And what did your mother do when she caught you touching yourself?"

The young woman shifted nervously in place.

"She washed my hands until I cried."

"I see. Show me how you were touching yourself."

Agatha seemed surprised by this directive.

"Right here?!"

"Yes!"

The young woman haltingly let her right hand wonder to a place over the crotch of her shorts. Stacy looked on with stern disapproval.

"Show us what you were really touching!" she ordered as she reached around and unbuttoned the girl's jeans with her rubber encased hands.

The girl stood there stunned momentarily. Then she began to unzip her jeans and guide her hand down into them. A sickened expression came over her face as her hand delved into the humidity of her panties.

"Put the finger in!" Stacy ordered.

The girl was shaking and lost in shame now.

"Is it in?"

The girl managed a nod.

"Then keep going!"

Agatha's face became stranger now as the audience sat in rapt fascination. She angled her head up as old emotions broke over her.

"Ahhhhh!" she cried out suddenly in a sort of cathartic release.

"How does that dirty hand feel?!" Stacy continued.

"Good!" she blurted as a satisfied smile came over her face.

"Do you know how filthy you are, you nasty girl?!" Stacy interjected with all the condemnation of a 1950's television mom.

"Yes!"

Agatha was completely self-involved now with her eyes shut and the audience all but removed from her consciousness. Stacy walked to the forestage and pointed her finger back at her.

"So this is what you do in your room all day, you horrible creature!"

"Yes!" Agatha replied as tension stiffened her frame.

"You stick your finger in the hole I told you never to go near!"

"Yes!" she said again as she continued to work away on herself.

A quivering began in her.

"And this is why your panties have to be washed with extra soap!" Stacy badgered once again.

Agatha doubled over then in a rumbling climax.

"Ohhh!" she cried out.

She fell to her knees in a shaky mass and then leaned back onto her free hand, her face beaming. Stacy, to the audience's surprise, went to her and pulled the diddling hand out of her jeans. Then she held it aloft.

"Here is the filthy instrument!" she exclaimed, separating the glistening middle finger from the others.

Agatha only sat there and smiled and then began to laugh joyfully. The audience rose from their seats all at once and let out roars of approval and loud applause. The catharsis seemed to be theirs as well.

After the show however, Bobby was still dissatisfied. He sat in the front after everyone had gone and brooded. Something was missing. Stacy walked out from behind the stage and joined him.

"Great show." He told her.

"Thanks to you!"

"Did she actually cum?"

"Wet fingers don't lie."

"I guess not." He said sullenly.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." He replied, rubbing his neck.

Stacy sensed something then.

"Let's do a scene." She suggested.

"What kind of scene?"

"A lift scene."

"But I weigh one eighty!"

"I can do it." She stated in a matter of fact way.

Bobby felt that adrenaline surge again and the tickling in his stomach. Could she really lift him? He got up slowly and felt flushed and nervous. Stacy went onto the stage and started reading.

"Is my big boy happy he's got his diaper on?" she started in a pouty, almost mocking, voice.

Bobby instantly felt a weakness move through his legs as he climbed up the stage stairs. It took a while but he finally walked over to where she was standing. She stopped reading and looked him over quickly as if sizing him up, then she squatted down and lifted him, wrapping her arms around his upper legs. It seemed to catch him off guard.

"Wait!" he called out as he looked around nervously from his new elevated position.

"What's wrong?" she asked sarcastically, "Is the diaper boy shy?"

"No, it's just... I wasn't ready." He replied weakly.

It was clear from the redness of her face that she was straining to keep him up, but she only seemed concentrated on him.

"How do you feel now?" she asked him.

"Ah, a little embarrassed."

"Okay. What else?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do." She insisted.

"Okay... I feel... smaller."

"Yes. And..."

"I don't know! I'm not an actor!"

"Sure you are." She corrected, "But I'm not looking for an actor. Now, I want you to process your feelings."

He allowed his hands to come to rest on her shoulders as his face became flustered with shame.

"How?!" he asked as he continued to look around in discomfort.

"Just express your feelings." She told him, "Do you want to kick and scream? Or just let me carry you with no resistance? You decide."

"I don't know!"

"I'm hearing anger in your voice." She reported quite calmly.

"I'm not angry!"

"No? Okay then, do you want to try this with the diaper on?"

"God no!"

"Are you sure?" she asked him with a rising intonation as if he were a child.

"Yes! I'm sure! Now can you put me down!" he commanded.

"Not until you show me how you're really feeling!"

"Damn it! I don't want to do this anymore!" he yelled as he tried to push free of her arm lock.

"But this was your idea! You're the writer! How can you write anything honest if you don't feel it?"

"Okay, I get it."

"So do you know how my brother felt now?" she pressed.

"Yes!"

"Okay, so now imagine there's an audience out there and all you have on is a diaper."

"Come on!"

"Who knows, there may be people watching right now."

He looked toward the seats and saw they were mostly obscured in darkness.

"Would you just let me fucking down!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the empty theater.

She smiled up at him and slowly let him slip out of her grip until his feet reached the floor. His anger stayed with him as he made his way back to a seat. He sat there and looked at the ground with his hands folded in front of him.

"Now you know what we do here." She announced.

She went down the steps and then walked up to his seat. She put the script down on the chair next to him and put her hand on his head.

"Now go home and rewrite this scene with the emotions you have in you right here." She instructed.

Bobby didn't look up. He only sat there in silence as she left. He realized then that he was pouting. Stacy was different in this place. She was much more assertive, which was the trait he had imagined in her, but then why was he surprised that she had made a fool out of him? Perhaps he was a fool. Because he hadn't realized the basic difference between being humiliated and watching it happen to someone else! He had only seen this whole thing from the perspective of the onlooker. The person watching could get a voyeuristic thrill and even try to mentally project themselves into the victim's situation, but that's not the actual experience. He understood then that if Stacy had carried him down the street in a diaper today it would have been the most agonizing experience of his life! So it seemed the fantasy he had entertained all these years had fallen flat in the harsh light of reality. For a moment he regretted even trying to recreate this ridiculous wet dream of his, but then it dawned on him that as the writer, he could still script Stacy into doing anything he wanted. He pondered this for a while as his manly ego slowly regained its puffed up shape.