Page 1 of Opening Night on the Balcony

Opening Night on the Balcony

Anoise like a thud draws my attention to the sound booth. A hand on the glass. Bouncing breasts being groped from behind. Is that Heather and Van? No way!

Well, I guess it kind of makes sense. They’re both kind of awkwardly weird in their own way. Good for them.

"As long as you finish before intermission ends," I whisper, even though they can't hear me. "Get your freak on, little weirdos."

I’m already in place for act two, which for me means I’m in the house, up in the balcony. I sing the first song from here while surveying the commoners below. It’s one of my favorite songs in the show and I love the director’s choice to put me up here. I love seeing the audience’s confusion as they look for me whenthe song starts and then the excitement when they find me high above them.

The door to the balcony swings open, and a man steps in. “Oh, sorry, one of the actors told me—wow. You’re… incredible. That first song. Just wow!” He blows a breath through his dark, plump lips. “I’ve never heard a voice like yours.”

The door swings closed behind him, forgotten. He’s got that star-struck look on his face that feeds something in my soul and makes me preen. “Why, thank you.”

I love interacting with fans almost as much as I love being on the stage. Attractive men drooling over my talent is a highlight of my life. And this man is very, very attractive.

He’s the perfect height for kissing without straining my neck. The start of a beard speckles his chin and cheeks. Not so long it’ll impede a kiss, but just long enough to give his jaw some extra definition and create a delicious scratch along my thighs. His shoulders are broad and stretch the button-up shirt he’s wearing, which is, of course, rolled at his forearms in that way that’s more attractive than it should be.

“I wish I had a pen or something to get your autograph.”

“I always carry one on me for just such an occasion.” I pull my favorite pen from where I stashed it between my breasts and his eyes go wide, then hooded. This man will be eating out of my hands—or some other part of me—in five minutes tops.

“I don’t have anything for you to sign.” He looks around, searching for something he won’t find in the empty box seats.

“You have lots of things I can sign.” I step into him and trail my nails down his chest. His Adam’s apple bobs. An underrated attraction, if you ask me.

“But first,” I drag the lidded pen along his collarbone, “do you have a girlfriend, boyfriend, wife, any sort of significant other?”

“Um, no.”

I circle him like a fashion designer evaluating a model. “Would you like a memory that will stick with you longer than a signature?”

He swallows again and nods slowly, his gaze tracking my movements. He really is beautiful. That backside. Those shoulders. That narrow tapered waist. I bet he has a lovely Adonis belt.

“Do you solicit all your fans?” He asks, a cheeky smile gracing his lips as he finally shakes off his initial star-struck stupor.

“Surprisingly, no. I love the attention of a fan, but I typically like to keep my affairs more… private.” I back towards the door, keeping my eyes on him while I lock it. “But I’ve had a terrible lady-boner since I first stepped on stage tonight. My co-star, Puck, says it’s a curse of this show. It makes people inexplicably horny on opening night. I didn’t believe him, but,” I shrug, “here we are.”

Licking my lips, I uncap my pen. “Drop your pants, starry eyes.”

Without hesitation, he undoes his belt, unzips, and lets his pants fall to his ankles, uncovering his grey boxer briefs and a surprisingly massive bulge for his stature. Delightful.

“First things first.” I kneel in front of him and scrawl my signature across his right thigh, intentionally brushing my hand across his hard package.

His head rolls to look at the ceiling, and he groans. “You’re really gonna let me fuck you, right here, during intermission, in your costume?”

His dark eyes drop back down to me and the ample cleavage this costume is putting on display from my kneeling position below him.

“Actually, intermission is almost over.”

Proving my point, the lights flash, signaling the audience to return to their seats. His face falls, but mine lights in a wide grin.

“I have a different proposition for you.” I drag my hands up his thighs, looking up at him from my knees. “Eat me out during my solo, make me come before the last note, and then I’ll let you fuck me. I have fifteen minutes between this song and my next one.” I look him up and down. “That should be plenty of time for a man in his prime, like yourself.” Lightly dragging my teeth up his cloth covered length, I add, “What do you say?”

“Can you really get off while performing? Won’t it mess up your song?”

With a smile, I stand and pat his face. “Oh, honey. I’m a professional. And I’ve always wanted to come on a high note.”

I wink at him and strut to the half-wall at the front of the balcony, feeling his eyes on me as I hit my mark. The lights dim. The music starts. My skirts lift from behind, and he lightly slaps my inner thigh to get me to spread my legs wider. The spot light hits me, and I sing right on cue while his breath warms my thigh, deliciously sensual.

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