On the outside, the aging brick was covered with ivy
clinging so closely to the surface that it would never be pried
loose. As I opened a brown, painted door beneath a small
marquee, an unexpected feeling of emptiness hit my face like a
gust of wind. I was in a narrow hallway, propelled down the
length of it as though a poker was prodding me at my back. The
walls around me were black, the air was black, and the ceiling
seemed to stretch above me to a black forever. When I reached
the end of the corridor and turned to my left, the blackness
only expanded swallowing up an entire room. My eyes adjusted to
the vast vacancy, soon making out the details of the space in
front of me. It looked more like a warehouse than a theatre.
There were chairs stacked in a far corner, and what looked like
risers. And on the opposite walls more risers and
platforms—these painted black—and a few oddball items I
believe were props. My eyes drifted to the ceiling, knowing that
it would never end; yet I found some definition to these upper
reaches in a spidery web of metal beams and scaffolding where
dozens of lights hung, pointed in all directions.
… Suddenly KC appeared out
of the gloom looking just as I remembered him…
“So, you’re here?” He
seemed to question my presence, though not to make me
uncomfortable. I suppose he was surprised that I showed up, but
likely not as much as I was astonished by my own unplanned act.
“Want me to show you around?” he asked.
“Sure.” That did seem
reasonable and took some pressure off me, as though I were just
an invited guest and KC was playing the gracious host.
I learned a good deal about
his black box theatre that afternoon, how this shapeless void
transformed itself a hundreds ways depending on the requirements
of the play. They would be doing Shakespeare soon—a farce in
20th century garb. And after that, One Acts about
sexual dysfunction. They could base one on my life, I
immediately thought, but I wasn’t ready to say that sort of
thing aloud.
After the tour was complete,
we then stood in the center of the presidium stage he was about
to tear apart, with the focus of our conversation now
transferred to me. He asked no questions, but my appearance that
afternoon was so unexpected that it required some explanation. I
wasn’t sure what to say. But the energy driving my body felt
as though the weight, speed and force of a freight train were
barreling through my own empty cavern. It picked up speed the
closer it got to its destination—the destination was my need.
“I stumbled here today,”
I finally said.
“As in sprawled on the
concrete like when we met?” he asked amusedly.
I attempted to look amused
as well, and I’m sure I blushed. “No, more as turning into
this neighborhood and finding myself looking at your theatre
marquee.”
“You believe in psychic
influences?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You think
some hand outside guided me here?”
“I don’t know,” he
replied. “But I do think you have something to say.” There
was a gentle edge in his voice.
“I know,” I answered
with a sheepish grin—there was that schoolgirl thing again.
Couldn’t I just act my age! “It’s just not that easy.”
“I’m an easy person,”
he offered trying to commiserate with my dilemma.
“I know. And that’s
probably why I’m here. You’re safe, and you don’t run in
my circle of friends—I’d even be disappointed if you did.
And this seems like the most anonymous place I could go.” All
this said, I wasn’t sure KC was easy at all. There was too
much underlying intensity in his spirit to call him easy or
safe. I imagine his voice could cut like a knife. But looking
around at his four black walls, having been inside them for
nearly a half-hour, I was comforted by their anonymity. I was
much more uncomfortable being in my tedious business suit than
in KC’s black box.
“All that’s true,” he
agreed with my assessment.
“You mentioned something
when we were having coffee at McGill’s.” I was struggling
here but I would get it out. I had to, or I’d look foolish.
“I mentioned quite a few
things when we talked.”
“This was about sex,
quirky sex I think you said. And you were right.” I paused
waiting for him to do anything that would stop me from
proceeding, but he remained so openly benign—even gentle, as
though his acceptance had the power to nurture me through my
difficult confession. I would say his attitude was persuasively
fatherly, although I could not relate this feeling to any
experience with my own father. “You even mentioned spanking
and discipline,” I almost choked on the
words.
KC saw me start to stammer
and he didn’t waver in his constancy. But he did ask, “Do
you want to sit down, and we’ll talk?”
Yes, I did. It would easier
on my jelly-filled thighs. Either that or I’d be running from
the room, and then I’d look really stupid. “Why not?” I
replied.
We were already at the side
of the room. His arm at the back of my waist had gently guided
me there, while the other pulled a chair from the cluttered
stack. I sat on the chair; he sat on one end of a riser a foot
above me, his legs dangling down, his mood as friendly and
casual as it had been. I was still feeling like a confessing a
child to this younger man’s fatherly calm.
I didn’t find this any
easier sitting on my ass, but I no longer felt as though I might
panic, or, without warning, my legs would buckle under my
weight.
“Whether it was an
accident or your powers of intuition were particularly acute
that day, you managed to hit squarely on two sort of sexually
charged desires that have been with me for some time. If
anything drove me here, KC, it was the desire to feel a man’s
hand spanking my bottom. Am I a total fool to bring this up to
you, or can you…” Suddenly feeling so foolish confessing
this deep, dark secret to a near stranger, I couldn’t go on.
Let him say something.
I held my breath, hoping he
wouldn’t blurt out something totally, inanely juvenile, which
would destroy the fantasy mood that was operating in my body
right now. KC didn’t fail me.
“Can I, and will I spank
you?” he asked. And then, without making me reply, he went on,
“I’m sure I can. We have an amazing erotic thing going on
here, Gail. I haven’t had anything like this happen in a long
time.”
Just his saying this made me
shudder more, so profoundly, I wasn’t sure I could speak.
“It frightens you,
doesn’t it?” His eyes seemed to clutch at mine as he spoke.
“The desire has to be pretty powerful for a woman who never
does anything inappropriate in her life to walk into a bizarre
theatre and broach this subject with a stranger.”
“Then, you don’t think
I’m some sort of wacko?” It was a relief that he understood,
but maybe even scarier to suddenly stumble into this unrequited
desire after so many years.
“Maybe, but I’m use to
wackos. I already told you that.”
“When you gave me your
card, did you think I’d come to see you?”
“Truthfully, no. I did
bait you—like one of my ongoing people experiments.”
“Why me?”
“Because I like the way
you look, and I’m always curious about people who don’t run
in my circle. Your world is about as strange to me as my world
is to you. Whether the two find a way to fit together, I don’t
know. But I do know when I’m aroused.”
“And I arouse you?”
“Oh, yes.”
He was certain enough that I could feel the impact of his
desire clawing at my crotch. My eyes were drawn to his thighs,
the muscles, and the pouch of maleness that seemed to tent his
pants even more as the conversation went on. I looked up almost
embarrassed to have noticed.
“And, it was just a regular sort of attraction? You
didn’t psychically see me getting spanked or something like
that?”
“Not really, maybe it was
an intuitive guess, maybe just an accident. Does it matter?”
“No, I guess not.”
“But if getting spanked is
what drew you to me, I have no problem with that. It excites me
controlling women. Makes me a dangerous man, and I like that
too.” There was something devious in his expression that made
my body flutter even more. “I like living
incorrectly—outside the bounds of politics and feminism and
anything that puts people in pigeonholes. People die that way,
and I’m not planning to do that. I figure if it’s in your
guts you need to live it out. That’s why I do theater. It
gives the human animal a way to express what’s not sanctioned.
Though sometimes, as long as no one gets hurt, real life is even
better.”
I was following his logic
moving to my own conclusion, “That’s why murder’s good on
stage, and sexual things are better in the bedroom.”
He was impressed by my
understanding and so was I. I knew exactly where this was
headed. The door was open and I was walking inside a dream that
might look like my past, though I stayed clear of that other
entrance, and stuck to the now, to KC and me. We were occupying
one single space, by then, knowing our minds were fused to the
same picture, eroticism leaping on ahead of us, fantasy racing
towards an end.
He pushed himself from the
riser, and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. Exchanging
places, his ass went down on the hardwood chair, while mine went
over his lap. Every nerve in me jarred loose and my skin tingled
as though he were blowing his breath across the surface. KC
reached for the hem of my skirt—this one was not as short as
the one I’d embarrassed myself in two weeks before. It was
tight, though, and took some gentle tugging for him to raise it
over my hips. That didn’t faze him. Each inch raised, my body
fired again as though little rockets were going off inside me.
With KC’s body fused to mine, and the heat from his crotch
flooding my sex, I thought I’d get off before my ass was
bared. He wouldn’t need to touch me more. But he did.
Having my skirt over my
thighs, I waited at the ends of anticipation. I couldn’t have
been baited more by any sexual scene. When his fingers caught
the edge of my panties, and he jerked the fabric down my ass, I
groaned caressing my pubis against his thigh. How obscene could
I get? KC didn’t care. He didn’t stop either. When I would
have been just as happy to have him screw me as spank my ass, he
proceeded to the main event of our staged drama. Drawing back
his hand, he whacked my behind with a firmness that brought back
the past, and carved out new sexual territory for me. His slaps
were steady. His unrelenting toughness unmatched. The sting was
focused on the center of my cheeks, and though I couldn’t see,
I felt the surface turning red, and wondered if he could blister
me with just his hand.
Agony mounting, I struggled;
but KC’s arm around my waist kept me still enough so that
he’d strike again in the same burning places—one more time,
then one more time… then again, and one more time—until even
he couldn’t stand another whack at my ass.
“You want more?” he
asked when he stopped. His palm massaged the warmth while I
writhed against him. When his fingers slipped between my
slightly-parted thighs, I opened them as far as they would go
with my ankles half-bound by my panties. “More, Gail?”
“Your hand, yes,” I
managed to say.
He understood. Without
really knowing how he maneuvered me into position, I soon found
myself on my feet, my panties tossed aside, and my torso draped
over the back of the chair. He was fucking me. The long stalk of
an erection I’d managed to picture with some surprising
accuracy was thrusting happily inside my cunt while I groaned
and he responded with a throaty hum—all until his voice and
body seemed to roar as he spewed thick cream into my clenched
insides.
He was coming down from the
wildest spasms of his climax, taking the time to reach around to
my clit. He fingered the hard little bud, and when his cock
finally slipped out of my hole, he fingered that, too, while his
other hand slapped my ass. I orgasmed on the sensations of pain
and being controlled. I orgasmed because my ass was hot and my
pussy molten and grabbing for release. I have no idea how much I
might have embarrassed myself with the nonsense screaming from
my throat. But it didn’t bother KC, and he was the only one
around to hear.
“You okay?” he finally
asked.
I heard his voice. My mind
had been other than this room and it took some moments to find
reality again.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“My, you are pent-up,
Gail. How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
“Two years since I’ve
been with a man.”
He looked shocked, and shook
his head. “Good gawd, you need an orgy.”
I couldn’t have agreed
more, though I was embarrassed to admit my current sexual
deficiency.
I give KC credit, he was as kind coming out of the scene
as he was going in. “You’re awfully wet, maybe you want to
clean up?” he suggested as he stroked my face with the back of
his hand.
“Yeah, sure,” I said
rather dreamily.
“There’s going to be
people coming soon, how about you slip into my apartment?”
I nodded.
He led me to the hall behind
the far black wall, and into the tiny room and his private
bathroom. “There are clean cloths and towels in the
cabinet.”
I wasn’t sure whether to
be embarrassed or happy. I desperately wanted to know what he
was feeling, but he was right, I was a mess.
By the time I put myself
back together, there were two more women in the theatre, each
dressed in the same deathly sort of attire that Loni had worn.
KC was busy explaining something and I felt like an odd fifth
wheel, the alien woman from that other planet.
I thought I should slip out,
but KC intercepted me at the front door.
“Why are you leaving
without saying goodbye?” he leveled his objection tersely.
“You looked busy.”
“So, this is just fuck and
run?”
“No, no, no, I thought
that’s all you…”
“You thought wrong, Gail.
I don’t screw every woman who walks in the theatre. I don’t
do groupies, and I’m not the kind of man to fuck and run. Is
that all you wanted?”
“I don’t know what I
want, but this was just so…” my words ran dry,
“astounding.”
“And being astounded is
probably good for you. I want you to come back.” He looked
sincerely worried.
“I don’t know if I
can,” I said as if I were drifting. A sea of sensation swelled
around me.
“You’re sure you’re
all right?”
“Yes, and I have to
go—so do you.” I smiled and retreated to my Mercedes,
feeling a tiny trickle of KC’s cum wet on the insides of my
panties as my sore behind wiggled against the seat.
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