BLUE MOVIE, part three

After that, more blow jobs followed. The men who frequented the porno theatre openly invited her to perform on them, some were annoyingly persistent. Some of the offers she accepted, even from some of the annoying ones, her consent dictated as much by her mood at a particular moment, as by the invitations and wares on offer.

Of those she declined, a few responded rudely, but typically no more than a bitter comment. There was something about the inside of the theatre, the dark illuminated space, that kept them on their better behavior, something sacrosanct about the space.

Once or twice, it was intimidating, but she pushed back and they would fold. The other men clearly on her side.

But this flurry of interest and invitation, of expectation, all subsided, and the mood shifted back to the way she liked it, where they focused on the movie and she could quietly watch and choose. It seemed to be understood that she did as she wished, and that was enough.

Faith began to swallow, which was simpler and easier than fumbling with tissues. She had to like the cock, to feel comfortable with the person, before committing. Often she began with masturbation, gauging the qualities of the erection and her own whims, and finished with her lips. Sometimes if she didn’t like the taste, or the feel of it in her mouth, or they whispered something or tried to force her head, she’d stop and simply finish with her hand.

Or if they were rude, she would just walk away. If they complained or swore, she’d push back, they inevitably backed down.

Faith was surprised to find she enjoyed doing them, for the reasons articulated, but also for the feeling of power, for the intensity of their reaction, their pleading desire.

She enjoyed masturbating men too, the reaction not as strong, but on the other hand, she could watch the movie as she did it, which she often preferred. It made it all that much more abstract.

It was entirely the product of her impulse. Sometimes she didn’t do anything, she might attend the gay theatre, watch boys consorting with each other, or sit in one of the straight theatres doing nothing and allowing no one near until she was bored, and go home.

On another night she might do one, or two, or even three or four encounters.

On one particular randy night, there had been seven - two blow jobs, three episodes of masturbation, twice allowing her breasts to be felt up including one of those she’d masturbated, and fingered to orgasm by the Christian Slater look-alike, she’d counted them up in her head after she got home that night, oddly thrilled.

She saw the Slater look-alike once in a while, and sometimes made point to avoid him. Faith didn't want a relationship in here that defeated the whole point of coming here. After a while, inevitably, you’d get to notice the recurring visitors and get a sense of their habits and frequency.

She supposed she was a regular now. Regulars respected each other’s privacy, this was not the place to make friends or form relationships. Typically, if she played with someone, she would avoid them for the next few visits, or entirely after that. But of course, there were, over the nights, repeats. If anyone tried to tell her their name, or if they asked for hers, she’d shut them down immediately.

The Slater was one of those, notable for good hands, he was the only one who could masturbate her to orgasm, so she allowed that once or twice, or more. She could tell he was always aware of her presence, but never intrusive.

&&&

Fucking was the next threshold. Or perhaps the original threshold, since she’d been fucked on her first visit. But as exciting as it had been, she refused to allow things to get that out of control again, even though she fantasized constantly and masturbated at home to exactly that.

Again, she was well aware of the contradiction, but didn’t care.

But fucking happened at the porno theatre, if not usually in the seats. Early on, she’d come to realize, that the boys in the gay theatre would leave together and return fifteen or twenty minutes later. They were sneaking out to fuck or have drugs in the toilets upstairs.

This intrigued her. They always departed so excited, two boys thrilled to be on an adventure, and always returned elated. Watching the departures and returns, she found herself intensely curious. She wanted to follow, to listen in, in her mind, she’d seen gay sex on the screen, but in her mind, up in the bathrooms, there was a livelier, bubblier, more intimate real life version.

But she felt intimidated and unsafe. The women’s washroom was on the main floor, a single toilet stall and sink, and a door with a lock. She used it only when she had to. But upstairs... she couldn’t quite nerve herself to go on her own.

So it wasn’t surprising that sometime after her first blow job, she’d allowed herself to be coaxed and cajoled by an attractive slender man she’d sat next to. He’d been almost aggressive, feeling her thigh, moving it as high as she allowed. She’d unbuttoned her blouse for him to play with her breasts, as he leaned towards her, releasing his cock into her hands. In hurried whispers, he asked and invited her upstairs to the men’s rooms for a real fuck, made promises, begged and wheedled.

In the end, excited by frantic mutual groping, far more like making out in the back seat of a car, than her usual, more impersonal, hand-jobs, she’d agreed.

He lead her by the hand, she’d felt weightless and buoyant going up the stairs, so excited her panties had soaked, breathless with anticipation, and feeling like she’d stepped into one of the movies she watched.

The fantasy started crashing almost immediately. The men’s washroom was much too bright and much too large. Paint was peeling from the walls, the ceramic tiles were cheap and broken, it all looked decrepit and decayed, the place stank of stale urine and bleach. She knew it was a mistake. He led her by the hand to a toilet stall, but the minute the door opened, she was disgusted by the unflushed stained toilet.

They went to the next one. Faith was bent over a toilet, bracing herself on the tank at the back, while he pulled her skirt up and panties down. He wanted to enter without a condom, but she argued, he protested. Eventually with poor grace, he bought one from a scratched vending machine and slipped it on while she watched.

She was still wet when he thrust into her, so he went in easily, the sudden penetration bringing a grunt from her. He fucked hard and fast, their hips slapping, the motion forcing a series of gasps. He slapped her ass, and mumbled obscenities nonstop, but the longer it went on, the less into it she was, until finally she was just waiting for him to finish.

Afterwards, she left and went home and made supper, consciously putting the sour experience out of her mind. She did not visit the theatre for a few days, and never ever went up to the men’s room again. A lot of her adventures at the theatre would fuel her late night sessions with the vibrator. But she never ever masturbated to that one.

There were times when she was willing to have sex in the theatre. To have a repeat of that experience when she’d sat way low in her seat and the man had tried to mount her, never getting his cock deeper than half way in.

The memory of the experience had improved in her fantasies and burnished in hindsight, so sometimes there was a willingness to try it again if the conditions were right. But they were never quite right, it never came off.

The closest it came was a man who, in a particularly passionate session, climbed on top of her and between her spread legs, and thrust into the space between them as she tried to decide whether to have him in her. But before she could choose, he ejaculated, spurting on her skirt and blouse.

Not one of the better moments, she decided ruefully.

In other moments, she tended to dismiss the whole thing as impractical and near physically impossible. The rows of seating simply weren’t made for fucking, the armrests were in the way, there wasn’t enough room. To get even half way there you had to contort like a pretzel, and no other position seemed feasible.

&&&

The man was sinfully good looking, she noticed him the minute he walked in. He looked like a younger Travolta with a porn star mustache, and a loose hipped way of walking that made her think of some of the patrons of the gay theatre, but also made her clit tingle. He was slender like a dancer, and wore a denim outfit with a cowboy hat, which he doffed as soon as he found a seat.

She watched him watch the movie for ten minutes, utterly distracted from the acts performed onscreen, before she made her move.

Faith got up, walked down eight rows and sat beside him.

He acknowledged her presence, but didn’t otherwise respond. She waited a few minutes, and then let her hand rest on his thigh.

“Are you a tranny?” he whispered. “I don’t mind.”

Transvestites and transsexuals did come in now and then, mostly they were obviously masculine forms in female clothes, obvious to her. Astonishingly, some of the men couldn’t seem to tell the difference.

In answer, she took his hand and guided it across to her breast. Her heart was racing. He unbuttoned her blouse, baring her breasts and groping her with more than the usual finesse. She stroked his pants, feeling the shape of his erection in his tight jeans.

Faith had one major rule when she played, it was no kissing. But she wanted to kiss this man, she wanted to lick him, he looked so delicious. They twisted in their seats, half facing each other, separated only by the armrest, and she could almost press her face to his neck. He even smelled good.

She played with his pants until he freed his cock for her, letting it fall into her hands. She stroked it between her fingers. In turn, he opened her blouse fully, sucking on a nipple, while reaching under her skirt, between her legs, probing at her panties.

They played like that, sometimes fondling each other together. Sometimes, Faith just sat back, and let the Cowboy explore her body, enjoying the growing wetness in her panties as he fumbled there, loving his hands on her breasts, the way he teased her nipples.

In turn, he sat back and let her play with his cock, running both hands up and down, cupping the head in a cage of exploring fingers. A bead of pre-cum appeared on the head, he smelled of male arousal, and boldly she dipped her head to take him briefly, wetly in her mouth.

She thought of doing more, of blowing him. But she didn’t like to suck cocks that curved sharply upwards like a bow, they had a knack for stroking the soft spot at the back of her throat and making her gag a little.

Maybe just the head though, no deeper? She considered it. Not now though, later, she decided, if she did it at all. Maybe she’d only jerk him off, but that would be later. She was having way too much fun right now, playing and being played with.

“Let’s do it,” he said. “Right here.”

The men’s room upstairs, her skin crawled at the thought. She didn’t want to go up there.

“We can’t.”

“Yes we can, right here, take off your panties.”

Having her panties off, giving him access to her bare pussy was insanely exciting at that moment. She lifted her hips, working them down, but continued to protest.

“We can’t, there’s no place...”

“Right here.”

His fingers were on her, touching, teasing, before the panties were half way to her knees.

“Out in the open?”

“Sure.”

“People will see.”

“No one’s looking.”

“We’ll get arrested.”

“No we won’t.”

Faith’s hands wrapped tightly around his cock, his fingers playing at her labia. She was panting, she wanted him badly, half ready to be convinced.

“We can’t.” Maybe the bathroom wouldn’t be so bad? No, it was gross. Could she bring him home? That could be risky. She didn’t want to bring anyone home. “Do you have a place close?”

“No,” he whispered, breath on her neck, sending shivers through her body. “Look, we’ll do it here.”

“How.”

“I’ll get really low, so no one can see me, you just hop on. It will just look like you’re watching the movie. No one will see. It’s dark in here.”

It was stupid and ludicrous, but just barely feasible enough that in her excitement, she decided to go for it. The idea of blowing him flashed through her mind, but his cock was the wrong shape.

She decided to fuck him instead, it was much better for a cock like that between her legs than in her mouth.

“Okay.”

He slid down in his seat until his shoulders were level with the arm rests, peeling down his tight jeans. His erection stood out proudly from the thatch of ungroomed pubic hair, and the pale expanse of his belly and thighs. She scrambled for one of the condoms that she always carried and never used, and rolled it on him, her hands almost shaking.

Faith could hardly believe she was doing this, she felt this freewheeling breathless excitement, the sense of wild possibility, and this sense of rushing headlong, as if on a roller coaster. As soon as the condom was on, she straddled him, bending over his hips as they maneuvered his cock back and forth until it entered her.

She grabbed the seat in front of her as she slowly sank onto him, she could feel him curving up and back as he slid inside, touching her deliciously, shaping her to him, and grinned with the pleasure of it. She felt his hands on her hips and reached back to adjust her skirt to cover them, hoping that at least it wouldn’t be obviously visible that their bodies were joined. Her blouse was wide open and her breasts swayed with motion, nipples rigid, but she didn’t care.

Faith rocked back and forth and side to side in small motions, loving the way he felt inside her, the way with each motion, his cock head would rub against the back of her pussy in an utterly amazing way. At first, they fucked with small motions, and she tried to hold her weight off him. But as the thrusts became more intense, he pushed back until his ass was on the edge of his seat. She leaned forward strongly, hands on the seat in front of her, as he guided her up and down.

After a few minutes, she needed to stop, the position was difficult, straining her thighs. She shifted to squirming back and forth on him, and then leaned back towards him, laying into him so that he could fondle her breasts. She loved the feel of his big hands covering and clutching her breasts as she squirmed on the cock moving in her.

Recovering, Faith leaned forward, again bracing herself with hands on the seat in front of her, as her lover moved his ass back. In this new position, Faith could ride him more easily, sliding up and down, sometimes leaning forward, sometimes upright. In the reflected light of the movie screen her bare breasts shone.

No one was watching the movie. As she looked out, all the men in the rows in front of them had turned in their seats and were watching her. Some were standing. She turned to look, everyone was watching. Some were moving to sit closer. There was a cluster by the door.

In her excitement, riding the cowboy’s cock, feeling his hands on her, she didn’t mind. It added to the excitement, all these men watching her. She’d taken them away from the movie. There was an exhilaration to it. It was thrilling.

“We have an audience, Baby,” she whispered, not sure if he could see them from his position.

“Fuck em,” came the response.

She laughed.

“Just you, Baby.”

She rode and rested, leaning back. He cupped her breasts and licked the back of her neck, making her giggle and squirm with pleasure. There were men standing in the aisle down from them. More than she thought there should be, and after a moment realized that word must have gotten out to the adjacent screening rooms, that there was live fucking going on. She wondered, vaguely, if some of the men watching were from the gay theatre. She was an attraction.

Faith wondered if she should worry. But while some were openly masturbating, no one came closer than a few seats from her. Although they were slowly encroaching, they kept their distances from each other. They seemed more transfixed, more interesting in watching than anything more overt.

He moved under her, raising his hips and lifting her.

“Let me do some of the work, Babe,” he told her.

The cowboy pushed to a standing position, bending her forward, as he rose up, his cock staying in her. She was bent over, legs widening, to take him in this new contour of saddle, steadying herself again on the back of the seat in front of her, breasts swaying under her. His hands were tight on her ass, guiding and controlling.

The cowboy rolled his hips experimentally, his cock sliding back and forth, up and down inside her. He flipped Faith’s skirt over, exposing her bare ass, and slapped it, shocking her with the stinging pins and needles sensation.

He leaned forward over her back, and whispered in her ear, as his cock slid back.

“Hold on tight,” he said. “I’m going to ride you hard.”

The excitement, the exhilaration, the arousal was overwhelming. She’d never been so wet, so aroused. She couldn’t think about anything but his cock moving like a live thing inside her, about being fucked, and being fucked in front of everyone. Conscious thought was lost in this sense of wild, delirious free fall.

“Do it,” she whispered back. “Do it hard.”

He rammed into her so hard and fast, that her body lurched and she squealed almost losing her grip on the back of the seat ahead. He waited a moment, pulled back quickly, and rammed again, bringing another lurch and squeal. He slapped her ass, pulled, rammed.

Faith found herself slammed back and forth, crying out. Every thrust was ecstasy, like a car crash, sudden and impactful, sending a wave of pleasure through her. She’d heard the phrase ‘hard fucking’ but had never truly appreciated it until now.

The interval between thrusts shortened, the thrusts became shorter and less bruising. The surges of pleasure smoothed out, becoming more continuous, more of a rhythm as he pounded into her from behind. His cock became a piston instead of a battering ram, it’s curve arcing upward in a smooth motion inside her, stroking her g-spot with each thrust.

The watchers, and there were a lot of them, were gathered around. Some sitting, many standing. Further back, some were standing on the seats. She looked up, and met the eyes of a nondescript balding man, just a few feet from her. For a second, there was a weird deja vu sensation, watching a man watching her getting fucked.

“Go ahead,” she grunted defiantly, thrusting her hips back, and rearing up, “watch me.”

Faith liked it, she liked them watching her, she liked the fact that she’d emptied the other theatres, that she’d taken them away from the movies, that she was the center of attention. She was acutely conscious of her bare breasts swaying beneath her, her rigid nipples, the way her body swayed for them with each thrust, the sight of the man behind her, hands on hips, jeans around his knees, pounding bare-assed into her. It was exciting and transgressive, and it fed her arousal.

Some of them were talking, to each other or just calling out encouragement or admiration. But there were also words like ‘bitch’ and ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, phrases like ‘fuck her.’ The words, crude as they were, just rolled off her. Beneath shitty contemptuous comments was jealousy and desire. She felt defiant, larger and more forceful. She didn’t care, they could bark, but they still focused on her.

The random notion popped into her head that any one of them would have traded places to be in her position, not the Cowboy’s position, but hers, to be bent over and receiving pleasure, to be the center and the star.

Fucking watch me, she thought. Bear witness to me, worship in my presence.

The tempo increased, the cock inside her pistoning back and forth like an engine, punctuated by slaps on her ass and catcalls from the watcher. There was a smell of semen in the air. In front of her, beyond the crowd of watchers, a dark haired woman was performing exactly the same act that she was. The scene shifted to a gigantic cock plunging between cheeks. The woman’s cries echoed her own.

Faith came, the orgasm building and building up relentlessly until she was screaming, arching her back, her whole body tensing. She reared up like a stallion, clutching at her breasts, and the Cowboy had to hold her in place. And then she was left breathless, all her muscles turned to water, and only the Cowboy holding her up. It was too much.

“Stop! Stop! Okay,” she cried, “okay, stop. Give me a minute.”

“Are you all right,” Cowboy asked, his thrusting slowing and stopping.

“Oh yeah,” she gasped. “Great. Just... I need a minute, okay. Just to catch my breath.”

“Should I pull out?”

“No, no. Stay right there, I love it. I just need a break. We can go again in a minute.

Faith waited, trying to catch her breath. Tremors ran through her thighs, her knees shook. She could feel the sweat pooling down her spine, dripping from her breasts. Her heart jack-hammered against her ribs. She took deep breaths, stretched, arched her back, shifted her weight, careful not to dislodge him from inside her.

Faith nodded.

“Ready for round two?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, and just started pounding her even more ferociously than before. Her back arched and bucked, and she tossed her head crying out.

His pace if anything, became even more intense, the fucking rougher, bouncing her like a rag doll. It was good, the sensations incredible, leaving her gasping and breathless. But despite the intensity of her passion, she found it hard to climb higher to orgasm. He’d needed to start slower, to let her build. But instead he just rode hard.

The Cowboy’s thrusts became brutal and convulsive, swinging her back and forth so that she could barely maintain her grip on the seat in front of her, then he stopped, froze, and from his bear-like rasp, she knew he was coming in her. Faith accepted it, panting, nowhere near her orgasm, but somehow relieved it was over.

Faith felt the Cowboy’s cock drop out of her. As the roaring in her ears faded, she could hear the Cowboy’s panting. His hands were still holding her hips. She felt wet drops on her ass and realized he must be sweating. He pulled her back, and they fell into their seats. The Cowboy lifted his hips to pull up his pants but didn’t bother to zip up or button.

Instead, he felt around in his jacket pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. He glanced at her and held out the pack.

“Want one?”

She waved it away.

“No thanks.”

He glanced at her breasts.

“Suit yourself.”

The Cowboy put his heels up on the seat in front of him and took another drag, letting it out slowly. He seemed to notice the watchers for the first time, all standing patiently.

“Show’s over folks,” he announced loudly. “Thank you for coming, now go back where you came from. Nothing more to see.”

As if that was the signal, most of the watchers started to drift away. A few remained, standing at a distance, or taking seats but leaning to watch.

Faith noticed the back of her hand was slick, and realized that at some point, someone had ejaculated on it. She wiped it against her skirt, too tired to care, and did up a couple of buttons on her blouse.

“That,” the Cowboy said, “was a good ride. You’re a hell of a piece of ass.”

Faith wasn’t sure she liked the way he said it. It seemed indifferent, impersonal, like she was an object. But she was too exhausted to read deeply into it, or to be offended.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t have much else to say, and truthfully, neither did she. Given what they shared, it was almost awkward. He finished his cigarette, smoked another one and finally stood up to zip up his fly and button his pants. He definitely had a nice ass, she thought.

The Cowboy fished in his back pocket, and handed her a card.

“Call me sometime,” he told her. “We’ll do it again.”

Nodded and accepted it. She watched him saunter off.

When he was out of her frame of sight, another man came forward, his erection in his hands. She held out her arm, palm up.

“No.”

The man stopped.

“Can I be next?”

“No. I’m done.”

“How about you jerk me off?”

“No.”

“How about you watch me? It won’t take long.”

She almost rolled her eyes, but sighed.

“Okay.”

“Can I sit down next to you?”

“No!” She paused a bit. “Not next to me. One seat over.”

Patiently she watched him sit the required distance and play with himself. It was not interesting or arousing in any way. It was like watching hamsters mate. As promised, he finished quickly, tucked himself away. Another man moved to take the seat. Again she held up a hand.

“No. No more. It’s done. Save it for another time.”

The one who looked like Slater approached.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, just tired.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Fuck off.”

They got the message and left her alone. After a moment, she got herself together, and moved to the back row, away from everyone to allow herself to unwind. She felt safer in the back row, no one could come up behind her, there was no one in nearby rows, and she had a clear view of the theatre.

Slowly the excitement faded, the place returned to normal.

When she was ready, she went home.

She threw Cowboy’s card away without even looking at it.

&&&

Faith avoided the theater for a couple of days after that, just in case Cowboy came back looking for her. Or the police were waiting for her. When she returned, the regulars were much more excited, waiting to see what she would do next, but she didn’t feel like engaging them. She hung at the back and watched, dividing her time between the gay and straight theaters, touched no one, and allowed no one near her.

On the fourth evening, a heavy set man in the suit walked into the theatre. He looked around deliberately until he spotted her, and then made a beeline for her row.

Faith wasn’t thrilled, she preferred to sit back, watch and choose. She didn’t like pushy guys who homed in on her. She glared at him, but that didn’t slow him down.

“I don’t want company,” she said loudly. “Sit somewhere else.”

Usually that ran them off. If they persisted, she’d get up and move. Either way, they got the message.

“I’m not here for that,” he said brusquely, sitting next to her.

Her alarm bells were going off.

“Are you a cop?” she asked suspiciously.

“Cop?” he laughed at that. “No. My name is Alberto Roscemi, call me Gus. I heard about your little show, thought I’d come over and talk to you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You like to ... show off? Perform? I’m good with that.”

“Strip club is down the street.”

“I run a little club myself,” he said. “Private shows sometime. Invitation only. Very classy. I’m always looking for talent. I like what I heard about you. I’m thinking you could do a show like that for me. Live sex show?”

Faith stared. Suddenly, her heart was pounding.

“The money’s good,” Roscemi said, mistaking her silence for consideration. “We pay top dollar.”

He hesitated.

“You got a partner you like to work with?” he asked. “Bring them in. Or I can supply talent, trust me, you’ll be satisfied.”

“Why not just get a stripper?” she asked.

She couldn’t keep track of her emotions. Tension, nervousness, yes that was overwhelming. The man was a great black void of pregnant questions, an abyss of possibilities. More than anything, she was astonished.

The world had become neatly divided for her, there was real life, mundane and comfortable, and then there was the theater, her personal playground, a womb of carnality, a world of its own where she came and went as she willed, and picked and chose at her leisure.

This man and his proposition didn’t fit into either of her worlds. She stared at him as if he was a Martian. He seemed almost as if he belonged on the screen, one of the shallow characters in the porno, spouting ridiculous lines, an awkward, out of place figure there to move the story along.

He shrugged.

“I get strippers,” he said. “A few. But most don’t do this kind of performance. Not everyone can handle it. Not everyone is good at it. I hear you are.”

He glanced at his watch and looked around.

“Look,” he said, “this isn’t my kind of place. Not enough life here. I heard about you.”

“How did you hear about me?”

Roscemi jerked a thumb towards the back of the theatre, towards the source of light.

“The projectionist?”

He shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter. I heard about you, I wanted to see you. I’ve seen you. I figure, you’re interested, or you’re not interested, think it over. Up to you.”

He handed her a card.

“If you’re interested, give me a call.”

She took it. It seemed like a deja vu moment, Cowboy had given her a card, and she’d thrown it away. Now here was another card. She couldn’t make it out in the light, but she could feel the embossed lettering, it felt expensive.

She sat there for another hour, trying to think of what to do. Ignore it? Pretend it never happened? Go on like before?

Walk out, walk away, and never ever come back? She’d thought she was anonymous. But now that was shattered. She thought this was a world away from the world, a playground. But that was shattered too.

Call the number?

An abyss opened up, terrors and possibilities. She absolutely should not call. No good outcome there.

&&&

The next day was a Thursday. She attended late in the evening.

Faith had some idea of the schedules of some of the regulars, the preferences for showing up early evenings or late evenings, particular days, such as when the wife was at bridge, or after poker night. She didn’t know the reasons, just a feel for their tendencies.

The Christian Slater look-alike was there. He was watching the movie, a girl was being roughly fucked on a pool table by what looked like a young gardener, and didn’t notice her come in. It looked vaguely familiar. Had she seen it before?

He jumped when she sat down beside him, not having noticed her approach.

“Let’s go for a drink,” she said. She stood up and walked away.

For a second, he was astonished.

Then he got up and hurried after her.

&&&

“Live sex show?” the Slater asked, looking at the card. He hadn’t touched his beer.

She shrugged and sipped her wine.

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t know. Probably not. I mean, its crazy right. What if this guy is a rapist or something? A crazy serial killer? I don’t want to be cut up in someone’s basement. Or a gangster, or a pimp? Or kidnaped and shipped down to Mexico?”

“I could see your point.”

“There are bad people out there. Drugs, guns, violence. I don’t want to be near any of that.”

“You don’t want to take risks,” he said. “You don’t want to get hurt or killed.”

“Exactly.”

She was thankful he didn’t mention that she regularly visited a porno theater where she occasionally jerked men off, or sucked their cocks, or even allowed total strangers into her, and that might seem like taking a risk. He himself was a denizen of that space, but she still appreciated him not throwing it in her face. The theatre was a completely different thing, even if she would have been hard pressed to explain why. But she knew he understood.

“So...” he drew it out. “If it was safe, would you do it?”

She regarded him levelly.

“Honestly?” she said. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. No? Maybe? Probably not? Depends? But I have to know if this guy is dangerous?”

“So why come to me?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I needed to talk to someone about this. I can’t talk to anyone in my real life. It has to be someone from the theater.”

“So why me?”

She stared at him and shrugged.

“Because I see you around. You seem nice. You have good hands.”

He blushed at the mention of hands. Faith didn’t mention she’d found him easy to remember because of his resemblance to a celebrity.

“Okay,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose. We have a name, and the information on the card. That’s a start. I can go there and check the place out in person, maybe talk to some people...”

He looked up at her.

“What is your name anyway? I feel we should at least be on a first name basis.”

For a moment, she thought about refusing. Then she thought about lying. Giving him her real name would be a tear in that careful wall she’d built between her life and the theatre, perhaps the beginning of the end. But she’d asked him for his help.

“Faith,” she said.

“Chris,” he told her. He extended his hand to shake. “I’m pleased to meet you, Faith.”

“Christopher?”

“Christian.”

He had no idea why she found that funny. She refused to tell him, because she thought it might hurt his feelings.

&&&

“Legitimate,” Chris told her. “I talked to some guys at the news desk, and they talked to some cops. I had the secretaries in the financial section run...”

“You’re a reporter?”

“Entertainment,” he said. “But you get to know people.”

“Oh.”

“As far as we know, he’s not mobbed up. No more than most of these nightclub and restaurant types. Drugs floating around, but that’s typical. High end, does a lot of legitimate acts. Some stories about ‘private shows’ for select audiences.”

“So not dangerous?”

Chris shrugged.

“Doesn’t seem to be. I mean, it’s a fucked up proposition by definition. But he doesn’t seem to connect to the really dangerous people.”

Chris paused and drank his beer.

“You’ve talked to him?” he asked.

“A couple of times,” she said. “On the phone.”

“What about?”

“His pitch, the money, he talked money a lot. The venue, safety, Co-star.”

“I’ve been to the club,” Chris said.

“And?”

“Fifties style. Vegas chic. There’s a stage. He had some legitimate names on the wall.”

“I see.”

Chris took another drink.

“So what are you thinking? Do it? Or walk away?”

“I don’t know,” Faith replied. “I still don’t know. But...”

“But?”

“If I do it,” she asked, “would you come with me?”

&&&

She said yes, of course.

Chris had looked confused and uncertain, but he’d said yes. That decided it for her.

Afterwards, she could never quite put her finger on how or why she made the decision. It was insanely, breathtakingly reckless, that she knew. There was so much that could go wrong, including getting arrested. It would be so much safer to remain in the theatre, in her own room with its velvet curtains and silver screen. It was safe, it was her space.

But the idea of it called to her. There was an allure. In a sense, it felt like crossing over, from the dark room to the silver screen, it felt powerful, or joyous, or alive. Not furtively scurrying in the darkness, but stepping up onto that screen, being the center, the performance, the show.

In high school, she’d sat bored and distracted one evening, as the English teacher droned on about Plato’s cave. It had been stupid, a group of people stuck in a cave, watching shadows on a wall, and thinking it was real life, until one day, one of them ventured outdoors into light and color and shapes.

It felt like she was one of those shadow people, but if she did this, she’d graduate into light, to be real, the way those women up on the screen were real and vivid. In her mind, she remembered fucking the cowboy, everyone looking at her and not the screen for a change.

It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once, so much it made her dizzy. She felt like she was at the top of a very tall building, and the view was breathtaking, but when she dared to look down vertigo took hold

Chris going there with her decided her. In a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on, he was a thread from the world she knew and ruled, from her normal kinkiness. Would he make her feel safe? She wasn’t sure. But having him there, gave her comfort.

&&&

To Faith’s surprise and disappointment, it didn’t happen right away. Roscemi was thrilled, but his after-hours shows were special occasions. They needed to be arranged, a select audience recruited, reservations taken, bribes made, a co-star recruited. It would take a week.

He offered a down payment. Faith, sensing a trap, declined politely. He cautioned her about changing her mind, but she’d already committed. The conversation was pleasant, even professional.

In the week that followed, she was often distracted, caught by flights of nerves. Sometimes this translated to arousal late at night, and furious masturbation. Mostly it amounted to nervousness and distraction.

She went back to the theatre a few times, but found it only half satisfying.

Faith wondered if, in having said yes, she’d suddenly outgrown the place. What she was about to do was so much bigger than simply sitting in the dark, watching a movie, a stranger’s erection in her hand.

She saw Chris there one night, and avoided him. The next day she called and apologized. The day after, she called him again, to confirm his attendance, suddenly lonely for him, but once he was on the phone, she didn’t want to talk to him.

She wondered what to wear, or not wear, tried on all her clothes over and over, debated going out and buying something. What sort of clothes do you wear to have them taken off so you could get fucked on stage? Something elaborate, to undress slowly? Or would it be better to wear something to pull off quickly and get down to action? Tight? But that might get in the way. Loose? But she didn’t want to look frumpy. What would look best on stage?

And wait, whatever she wore, she could never wear it again. Any outfit, a dress or a slip, a skirt or a blouse, it would be marked with the experience. Faith knew she’d never be able to put it on again, without thinking of what she had done.

Once, later on in the week, her co-star phoned her up, surprising her. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, Roscemi had asked. His name was Chuck. He sounded average, a little hesitant. They passed a few minutes pleasant conversation, as he reassured her he wasn’t a creep, and she declined to meet for coffee. The conversation floundered as apart from the act they were going to engage in, there wasn’t much in common. They exchanged polite goodbyes.

The week passed eventfully. But long after, when she looked back on the experience, there was one thing she noticed that surprised her.

Not once did she ever think about changing her mind.