The rain that wasn't supposed to move through until well after midnight began falling in the early evening, sending unprepared pedestrians scurrying for cover from the sudden downpour. Marsha Jenkins bobbed and wove her way through the unhappy crowd, the prospect that she might actually be late making her heart pound angrily in her chest.
She simply could not miss the opening curtain.
Marsha quickened her pace until she was almost running down the street. Droplets of rain slapped her face, stinging terribly, but she ignored it . . . her entire being focused on a single purpose. She'd never been late . . . not once. No matter what obstacles she'd had to overcome, in the end she'd always been there when the curtain went up. She absolutely refused to be held up by a little rain.
Since it had opened two weeks ago in the small, renovated theater downtown, Marsha hadn't missed a single performance of A Streetcar Named Desire . . . though it wasn't her love of theater or Tennessee Williams that brought her back again and again. It was the woman playing Blanche DuBois she was really going to see.
From the moment she'd seen that woman walk onto the stage Marsha had been in love . . . in love with those eyes . . . that smile . . . that sweet, sweet face . . . and of course, she couldn't deny she'd been in love with that delicious body dressed up like a Southern belle.
The program listed the woman's name as Julie Matthews. Marsha repeated the name over and over in her mind all day at work and then, later . . . at night . . . under the covers . . . she repeated the name aloud as she got herself off with one, sometimes two fingers thrust up her cunt while she imagined Julie going down on her wildly, sucking her clit, hot tongue lapping at the folds of her pussy then going deeper . . .deeper . . . face buried in her cunt . . . grunting with effort as that hungry mouth brought her to a crashing orgasm.
Peering down the block, she could see the familiar lights of the box office and she homed in on them like a ship following a lighthouse beacon. People gave her dirty looks as she brushed passed them but she ignored the grumbles and raised eyebrows that her perceived rudeness brought her, the burning desire not to be late the only thing that mattered.
I feel like the white rabbit, Marsha thought, allowing herself a smile.
She was out of breath by the time she got to the box office. There was no line for tickets, which didn't really surprise her. The theater was used by a small repertory company that barely did enough business to stay in production . . . although, she thought wryly as she paid for her ticket, the business they got from her alone was probably enough to keep them up and running.
The audience was actually pretty big for a Wednesday night, mostly college students on cheap dates that would end with cappuccino and, for some lucky few, a sweaty romp in someone's studio apartment. There were also a few theater types . . . drama students and would-be actors with nothing better to do on a weeknight. Marsha checked her ticket. Fourth row, eighth seat. She would have preferred something closer, but the view of the stage wasn't bad. Nothing would ever be as good as front row, but she would settle for what she could get . . . just as long as she got to see Julie perform. That was all that really mattered.
Marsha settled into her seat as the lights dimmed and the curtain went up, feeling the same rush of anxiety in her chest she'd felt each night for the last two weeks as she waited for Julie to make her big entrance as Blanche DuBois. She could still remember that first night, sitting in the ninth row . . . just enjoying the play when that lovely, sensuous creature had stepped onto the stage to steal the show . . . stealing her heart in the process. She hadn't missed a performance since then, sitting there night after night thinking what a jerk Stanley was . . wondering if Julie liked going down on other women . . . amazed at how gifted Tennessee Williams was with Southern idiomatic dialogue . . . imagining what Julie's cunt might feel like wrapped around her fingers.
Then Julie appeared on stage.
Marsha took a deep, calming breath and released it slowly. The costume Julie wore for the part of Blanche DuBois was exquisite, a white gown with ruffles that looked so out of place against the blue collar backdrop of Stella's house. Julie moved across the stage with such elegance . . . graceful, like an angel. That's exactly what she looked like . . . an angel. Marsha sighed, listening to the melodic lilt in Julie's voice as the words came pouring out, sweet, heavenly sounds that made her warm and wet and crazy with desire. She lost herself in the words and images that came to her from the stage, suffused with heat, heart pounding and breathing labored . . . feeling a want so desperate her entire body ached.
It seemed like only a few minutes before the curtain went down again and the lights were turned on, though Marsha knew it had been much, much longer . . . closer to an hour, but then for her time had no meaning when Julie was on stage. She grabbed her purse and headed for the ladies room, feeling an urgency that had gone unnoticed in the frantic race to get there on time.
She felt much better afterwards, breathing a weary sigh of relief as she washed her hands in the quiet of the empty ladies room. The second act wouldn't begin for a good twenty minutes, which to Marsha seemed like a lifetime . . . a lifetime before she would see Julie again. She studied herself in the mirror above the sink. The rain had left her jet black hair a mess, the red blouse and denim skirt she'd decided on for the evening not faring much better. She fished a hairbrush out of her purse, hoping she could do something about her disheveled appearance.
"I think you look fine."
Marsha turned around to find herself face to face with Julie Matthews. She gasped in shock, feeling so light headed she was afraid she would pass out right there. Julie was out of her Blanche DuBois costume, wearing instead a white cotton tanktop and a pair of loose fitting shorts that showed off what Marsha had always imagined was a luscious body. She was right. Her gaze drifted for a brief moment to Julie's round, firm breasts so well displayed in the skimpy undershirt. Marsha licked her lips, all but panting like a dog happy to see its master. She knew she should say something . . . anything . . . instead of just standing there ogling the other woman's breasts.
"The rain, " Marsha said.
"The rain, " Marsha said, swallowing hard. "I got caught in it."
"Oh, " Julie said. "It happens. I wouldn't worry about it. It's not that bad . . . not bad at all."
Marsha managed a timid smile. God! Here was the woman of her dreams and she was tongue-tied. She'd dreamed of this moment for two weeks . . . imagined the things she might say. Now she couldn't think of anything! "Um, you're in the play, right? You play Blanche DuBois."
"Yeah, " Julie said.
"I thought I recognized you, " Marsha said. "It's weird hearing you talk . . . I mean, not that you sound funny or anything, but . . . " The words trailed off into a sigh and she cursed herself inwardly for acting like such an idiot.
"Mebbe it wuld hep if I tawked like the-is, " Julie replied in an exaggerated her Southern drawl.
Marsha laughed. "No. I think I like your real voice better."
"Good, " Julie said. "You've been coming to see this play a lot, haven't you?"
"Uh, yeah, " Marsha said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Julie recognized her! She had to think of something fast, something innocent . . . something as far from the truth as she could possibly get. "I really like Tennessee Williams."
"Oh, " Julie said. "Well, damn. I thought maybe you were coming to see me."
Marsha opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. The notion that Julie had actually seen through her all this time left her throat feeling like sandpaper. She felt her knees buckling, and just when fainting seemed like a very real possibility Julie smiled at her, reaching out to brush a stray tendril of hair away from her face.
"Oh yeah, " Julie said, nodding. "You look just fine to me." Marsha trembled as Julie's lips brushed against her own, a soft, gentle kiss that quickly blossomed into something more intense. Hands slid across her hips, stroking her ass. She moaned softly, deepening the kiss further still. It was like a dream . . . surreal and magical. She couldn't believe it was happening, but the hands busily fondling her ass suggested otherwise. Marsha forced Julie's mouth open to accept her hungry tongue, finding no resistance. She quickly discovered Julie's hot tongue and teased it with her own, both of them now moaning with mutual desire.
"Oh . . . God, " Marsha muttered. "Wh-what if someone walks in?"
"Shhh, " Julie managed to whisper between kisses. "Don't worry . . . I locked the door." Hands lifted Marsha's skirt up over her hips and Marsha whimpered softly at the feel of Julie's hands on her bare ass. Julie's fingers teased her cleft, just lightly tracing the length of her crack, and Marsha groaned with need. She pushed Julie back against the sink cabinet and straddled the other woman's leg, grinding her dripping wet cunt against Julie's knee.
"You are so wet, " Julie mumbled. "I love the feel of a hot, wet pussy."
Marsha bucked against Julie's leg, humping like a rabid dog in heat. She was desperate and impatient and she didn't care that Julie knew it, moaning and simpering as she rubbed her sopping wet pussy up and down the other woman's leg in a frenzy of desire. Julie's hands clutched her ass, pulling her close with every thrust. She sucked on Julie's bottom lip, devouring it. The taste was so sweet . . . so delicious . . . making her crave more . . . much more.
Marsha urged Julie to sit on top of the cabinet that ran the length of the ladies room, quickly positioning herself between the other woman's spread thighs. She cupped Julie's breasts in her hands and massaged the ample mounds through the flimsy tanktop, feeling the nipples stiffen under her touch.
"Oooh . . . baby, " Julie muttered. "Suck me . . . go on . . . "
Marsha pushed Julie's tanktop up just far enough so she could get her mouth around those delicious nipples, sucking the rock-hard tips until Julie cried out softly. She moved from one breast to the other, sucking . . . kissing . . . biting . . . flicking her tongue wildly against Julie's plump little nipples. The hands running through her hair were insistent and demanding . . . a silent plea Marsha understood perfectly. She knelt down in front of Julie's spread legs and pulled off the other woman's shorts, marveling at the beautiful cunt she knew would be waiting for her. Marsha wasted no time burying her face in that musky heaven, tongue lapping wildly at the swollen netherlips. Julie cried out, arching to her, hands clutching her shoulders as she tongue-fucked the woman of her dreams and fantasies. Julie's pussy was tangy . . . utterly delicious. There was no way she could get enough of it into her mouth. She pushed her face deeper, exploring every wet inch. Julie's cunt pulsed around her tongue, a manic rhythm beating out of control.
"Yes . . . yes!" Julie cried. "Mmhmm . . . that's it, baby . . . eat my pussy till I come on your face."
The prospect of that happening sent a shudder through Marsha's body. She worked her tongue up Julie's slit, slowly . . . deliberately . . . finding Julie's engorged clit and teasing it. The hard nub of flesh throbbed with a need Marsha knew only too well. She flicked Julie's clit with her tongue and Julie whimpered, begging for it. Marsha caved in, taking Julie's clit between her lips and sucking it hard. The button of nerves was nothing so much as a plaything and she nibbled it, rolling it around in her mouth. Julie bucked and heaved, gasping for breath as Marsha pummeled the woman's poor, helpless clit without mercy. Julie cried out sharply, body shaking in the grips of orgasm. Marsha lapped up every sweet drop, stopping only when Julie was pushed her away with a heaving grunt.
Marsha got to her feet, breathing heavy . . . watching through heavy lidded eyes as Julie hopped off the sink, eyes intent . . . smile wicked. Julie pulled her close, kissing her deeply . . . passionately . . . making her whimper with need. Julie turned her around, pushing her forward until she was bent over the sink . . . hands on the counter . . . ass in the air. Julie lifted her skirt and thrust against her, hot, wet cunt rubbing up and down her ass . . . the damp hair covering Julie's mound tickling her crack. Marsha moaned softly, dropping her head as Julie's cunt slapped against her ass. Then it was Julie's hand slapping her ass . . . not hard . . . playful, a gentle smack that was quickly soothed by the touch of lips against her skin.
"Mmmmm, " Marsha purred. Julie's hand slid between her legs, running up and down her thighs . . . so close to her quivering pussy that she trembled with anticipation. Julie laughed softly behind her, placing one hand on the small of her back while the other hand teased her cunt from behind, stroking the unfurled netherlips with a feather's touch . . . soft . . . delicate. Then Julie was inside her, fucking her cunt from behind with two fingers. Marsha cried out, the gut wrenching moan torn from her lips by the nimble fingers thrusting in and out of her pussy. Julie pushed into her . . . deeper . . . deeper . . . so hard she could feel it in her belly . . . two fingers . . . then three . . . fucking her hard and fast.
"You are so beautiful," Julie whispered. "Look how beautiful you are when you're getting fucked."
Marsha opened her eyes and stared at the reflection in the mirror. There she was . . bent over the sink . . . face flushed a deep red . . . hair a mess . . . legs spread wide as Julie fucked her mercilessly from behind. The sight if Julie standing there . . . mouth curved into a smile . . . fingers up her cunt . . . was almost too much to bear. She wanted to scream with joy and cry in ecstasy. Julie's eyes found hers and never strayed, even as she began stroking her clit . . . squeezing it, jerking it off with those busy fingers. Marsha jerked in heaving spasms as she came, seeing herself coming . . . the way her face twisted and contorted, looking almost pained . . . but also seeing how much Julie loved making her come. Simple delight tugged at the corners of Julie's mouth and Marsha smiled, all but collapsing forward in exhaustion.
"I have to go," Julie said, gathering the shorts that were still on the floor and slipping into them. "The second act begins in a few minutes."
Marsha nodded her understanding, watching in the mirror to see Julie offering an apologetic smile . . . then dropping a hurried kiss on her cheek before scurrying away. Marsha slumped her shoulders, sighing as Julie disappeared out the door. She washed her hands and face, hastily straightening herself up so she didn't look too much like a woman who had just been thoroughly fucked in the ladies room.
She returned to her seat, settling in with a shrug of resignation. It had been everything she had wanted and more . . . feeling Julie's naked skin under her hands . . . tasting Julie's sweet cunt . . . hearing Julie's voice wavering with pleasure. It was a dream come true, and if she never had Julie again it was something special that she would always cherish. Still, Marsha wished Julie had given her some sign . . . some indication that there was more . . . that this wasn't just a one time fling. She sighed. Perhaps that was asking for too much.
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
Marsha looked up to find a pimply-faced usher standing over her. "Yes?"
"Miss Matthews asked me to give this to you," the usher said, handing her a plain white envelope.
"Thank you, " Marsha said, trying to keep her hands from trembling. She waited until the usher was gone before stealing a quick breath and holding it as she carefully, so very carefully, opened the envelope. Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized just what was inside: a front row ticket for tomorrow night's show.
The lights dimmed as the curtain went up and Marsha sighed contentedly in the darkness, clutching the envelope in her hand. Even as she watched Julie prance across the stage she was looking forward to the next performance . . . and looking forward even more to the intermission.