Page 1 of Opening Night in the Sound Booth

Opening Night in the Sound Booth

“Ladies and Gentlemen, that concludes act one of Midsummer Nights Dream: A Musical. Please enjoy a fifteen-minute intermission.” My voice is deeper as I make the announcement. I might not be an actor, but I enjoy doing voices and this one’s my favorite.

After turning on the lights in the main house, I lean back and stretch out my neck. Half-way there. I’ve never had such a hard time focusing during an opening night. Sure, I’ve seen the show a zillion times already, but normally opening night is special. There’s an energy to it. There’s also a hundred things that always go wrong.

But nothing has gone wrong tonight, and rather than feeling the magic of a first performance, I just feel… horny. Have been since the beginning of the show, when Heather first stepped outon that stage and started singing. I’ve been in love with her for years, but she barely notices me. She’s quiet, a real loner type. We have that in common.

But she’s gorgeous and curvy with the grace of a goddess. And I’m scrawny and uncoordinated. Which is why I’m back here in the sound booth rather than up there on that stage.

I’ve always been told I’ve got a nice voice. Perfect pitch even. But I can’t act. I can’t dance. And I ‘have a face for radio,’ which is just a nice way of saying I never outgrew my teenage acne.

There’s a crackle on my headset. A mic is still on. This is more like what I expect from an opening night. The sound board tells me exactly who left her mic on. Little miss prima ballerina. She’s arguing with someone. Her boyfriend, I think.

Flipping a switch, I call the stage manager. “Georgie, you there? Katie left her mic on again. Georgie?”

No answer. Georgie is supposed to stay on headset the whole show, but she probably stepped out to use the restroom during intermission or something.

I rip off my headset and throw open the door to the sound booth, ready to make a run for backstage, but then I realize I can’t hear Katie anymore. She must have switched channels on the mic rather than just leaving it on. I wait another minute out in the house to make sure, and then go back to the sound booth.

Maybe she figured it out and switched it off. Putting my headset back on eliminates that option. Katie’s boyfriend is coming in loud and clear.

“You looked so good up on that stage, kitty cat. So fucking good.”

She scolds him for being backstage and asks how he got in. I’m curious about that too. We’ve got pretty good security measures. Apparently, someone let him in. I probably shouldn’t listen, but I love a bit of drama. Why else would I work in a theatre?

“I need you, Katie. Need you so goddamn bad.”

Oh. Now, I really shouldn’t be listening. But I can’t seem to make myself stop. Their arguing turns into heavy panting, and it’s clear what’s happening backstage.

Jealous, and still horny as hell, I palm my cock through my pants. This is so wrong, so inappropriate, but no one needs to know. No one ever comes up here during intermission. And I can't seem to stop myself.

I haven’t had a date since high school and sex is pretty much a pipe dream. So maybe it’s creepy to be listening in, but this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to real action and I’m fascinated.

The sounds coming through my headphones grow more urgent, no longer words, just panting gasps and groans.

I’m being a total creeper and I know it, but I can’t stop listening. After having a raging boner for the whole first act, can anyone blame me for listening? How much self-control can one man have?

I glance at the clock, then the door, swallow, get up, and click the lock. If anyone needs me, they can get me on the headset. The one window in the room faces the stage, and we’re high enough that no one in the house can see what’s going on under the soundboard.

No longer thinking straight, I unzip my jeans and take my cock in my hand. The erotic moans coming through the headset are unlike anything I’ve heard before. I imagine it’s Heather making those sounds. Heather squeezing my dick, sucking it, fondling my balls, straddling my lap as she takes my cock in her—

The door swings open.

“Hey, Van, Puck said you needed me to—”

I’m so stunned, I don’t jump or cover myself or anything. I just sit there with my dick in my hand as Heather stands frozen in the doorway, gawking at me.

“I’m… I should have… I mean… wow.” Her gaze zeroes in on my cock. My skin heats under her attention. Heather Benoa is staring at my dick!

She takes a step inside the room and closes the door behind her, flipping the deadbolt with a twist of her delicate fingers. Wait, didn't I already lock the door? How did she get in here?

“Puck said...” She pauses, eyes lifting to meet mine.

It takes my addled brain a second to remember who the hell Puck is—the new guy, playing the part of his namesake in our musical rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

“You needed me?” Heather asks.

Why isn’t she yelling at me for being a disgusting pig?

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