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Private Lessons Ch. 01

By: STEPHENA



Emma moved in, during the late summer of 2008. It was a sunny day and Stephen had remarked to himself what lovely hair she had. It was luxurious and fell well past her shoulders. It was a mousy colour with blonde highlights, or that might have been just the way the sun reflected off the beautiful locks. 

Stephen guessed she was 19 or 20, he wasn't a curtain twitcher so pretended to take some rubbish out. She had a young cute face with a slightly upturned nose and a faintly, naturally tanned skin. She looked like a student in second or third year. She was helping with carrying some of the lighter objects, being assisted by an older man, who it transpired was her uncle. Stephen thought it was the reasonable thing to offer another pair of hands. He really wanted to get a closer look at his new neighbour. 

His offer was warmly accepted by Emma and the man and he soon found himself carrying a refrigerator and then a bed in kitchen and bedroom respectively. Emma was gorgeous. She had charming olive-hazel eyes and full reddish pink lips which revealed perfect white teeth when she smiled. Oh what a smile! She had a warm, slightly naïve smile but it seemed to reveal a slightly mischievous look, or so Stephen thought. Her best feature though was her bottom, it was perfect. She was wearing tightly-fitting, faded jeans, which hugged her pert round buttocks to perfection. As she walked they seemed to wiggle and twitch slightly, almost as if they had a life of their own, moving in perfect rhythm with the swing of her hips. Stephen was a breast man but this was a peach.

When the moving was finished, her uncle had to dash to pick up his wife from work and Stephen and Emma were left in her kitchen, full of brown boxes and disconnected appliances. 

'Thanks, that was kind of you.' 

'Don't mention it,' returned Stephen. He had booked the week off to work on his latest book and had welcomed the diversion. 

'Why don't you lock up and come round for a coffee?' asked Stephen, 'You must be tired and you deserve a rest.' 

'OK, thanks, but can't be too long as I need to get things sorted, but I'd appreciate a rest.' 

'Of course.'

A few minutes later, after locking up she perched herself on his kitchen stool and shuffled slightly, which made her hair sway -- wonderfully. Stephen, caught a whiff of her perfume, it was gorgeous and combined with her own warmth to produce an exciting, alluring scent, which started to turn him on. "Control yourself", he thought and tried desperately to ignore it. Starting with an erection in his kitchen with a young woman was not the done thing and he somehow managed to stifle it by chatting. 

'So, are you a student? He asked. 

'Yes, third year at Uni, I've been in halls since my first year and now want somewhere better. This is handy, and there's plenty of shops.' 

'No pubs though,' said Stephen. 

'Nooo, but I like going in town anyway with my friends and chilling in The Social and the Firkin.' 

'The Firkin! I used to go there in my twenties, it was a rock pub.' 

They chatted for half an hour about this and that, until Emma decided it was time to go and sort out her belongings. 

'Let me know if you want anything, said Stephen. 

'OK, excellent, will do said Emma,' with a heart melting smile. As she left he watched her bum wiggle up his path with a pang of lust. If only...

A month had passed and Stephen said hello to Emma most days, exchanged pleasantries over the fence etc. After a few short conversations he had established that she was reading English. He also found out that she would be holidaying in France for a month in the summer and wanted to learn French. His subject! Stephen would be glad to help, and relished the thought of spending some time with her. At the same time though, he was nervous and slightly afraid of himself. From an early stage he had privately wanted to get close to her but no avenue seemed appropriate -- no opening available. Now as her private one to one tutor he had the chance to find out more about Emma, to perhaps live out his student fantasy.

Emma already had the basics, but wanted to learn more in depth French, conversational French. Their first session went well and Stephen explained some of the basics of using correct pronouns and a little on usage and register. 

As she wrote down some exercises that Stephen set for her, he would study her secretly. He drank in her perfume, and longed to run his fingers through her hair. For the first time he noticed properly her breasts. She was wearing a tight white T shirt and a unbuttoned check shirt. She had average sized but pert breasts, which were cupped by a white bra, which gave them lift so that her cleavage just lifted the white cotton producing cheeky mounds in her top. He imagined what her nipples were like. He liked nice round smooth ones, which sort of rise seamlessly from the breast. He didn't dare imagine that he might one day find out. No surely he wasn't that lucky...was he?

On Emma's second lesson, Stephen thought he was developing a good rapport with his new neighbour. Although he was nearly 20 years her senior he was very young in his demeanour and kept himself fit. He knew how to talk to students and older teenagers. He had an affinity with girls, where he struggled with blokes. So when he asked about Emma's life and travels it came naturally, there was no tied tongue or uneasiness. 

Emma was not local, her slightly southern accent she told him was from Northamptonshire, she was actually from just outside Rugby. She had played Hockey at sixth form and now was in her House Volleyball team at Uni. 

'I guess you must leave some time for guys though?' asked Stephen slyly. 

'Erm, I've had my moments but no, not at the moment,' she said. 'Just too busy with everything and not met anyone whose right.' 

'I thought you were all shagging each other senseless at Uni?' asked Stephen grinning. Emma shook her head and smiled one of her smiles. 

'I guess some are, but...' They both laughed. 

Stephen had taken a risk with being this frank, but it had gone down well. 

Emma learnt about irregular verbs that day and as she left she gave Stephen a smile; but it was not her normal smile. There was a twinkle in her eye and she winked just before tossing her lovely hair to one side and wiggling back to her house.

That smile had sent shivers down Stephen's spine. He thought of Emma that night. It was a nice image to take to his slumber land.

Emma was back a couple of days later. There was the customary light 'tappity-tap on Stephen's door, which Stephen could instantly recognise as Emma's. She wasn't meant to come for another session till Friday and it was Wednesday. He opened the door and was instantly gob-smacked. It was a warm day in late August, but here was Emma in a light summery top (clearly braless) which was held on by two flimsy tie-ups at the shoulder and a short, short denim skirt. 

He let her in with a smile. She smiled back softly, with a distinctly mischievous, sheepish look. Stephen's mind was doing overtime....

Stephen could not hide the thrill he got seeing her dressed like this and he instantly felt his dick start to unfurl in his trousers. 

'Ooh Emma, you look stunning.' said Stephen with a distinct quiver in his voice. 

'Mmmmm, I know,' returned Emma. 

'I thought I would give you a nice treat for all the help you've given me. A special reward!' Stephen, gulped, he was sure his prick was now protruding through his jeans, as Emma glanced down and gave him a wicked smile.'

Stephen showed Emma through to his living room and they sat down together on the long cream sofa, Stephen shuffling awkwardly as his dick was now starting to get uncomfortably tight in his jeans. 

'Emma, you just look like a complete Goddess like that.' 

Her perfume wafted across to him as they had sat down and had put his libido into fourth gear. She had recently showered and her hair had that slightly lank but just starting to become fluffy look. She was just lightly made up with soft magenta eye shadow and a pale rosy lip gloss. As she was now sitting her skirt barely covered her panties and Stephen couldn't help notice the glorious shape of her pussy pushing against the white cloth. 

'Stephen, I think you need to release your old man from those jeans mate, or you'll burst the denim!' 

'Oh fuck my old boots,' was all Stephen could say. 

He stood up. He pulled down the zipper and unbuckled his belt. His boxer shorts immediately popped open and his cock slipped out, nearly fully erect. Emma giggled effervescently. 

'Wow, you're really on the rise there, come here so I can feel it.' 

He stepped forward and Emma gently took hold of his rod, closing her grip so she could feel the throbbing of his hard-on against her palm. 

'Wow, now that is what I call stiff,' said Emma. She gently stroked the underside of his phallus and then rolled her palm against the tip making it twitch with pleasure. 

'Oh gosh Emma, that's wonderful -- you're wonderful.' 

'I know.'

'I can't believe this is happening.'

'Well, believe and enjoy.'

Emma stood up, unzipping her skirt at the side and allowing it slide down to her ankles. She moved close up to Stephen pressing her body against his, grinding her mound against his erection. Their lips met, the two simultaneously pushing their tongues together and exchanging liberal amounts of saliva, which began to dribble down Stephen's chin. Stephen pulled back slightly kissing Emma's luscious lips full on, licking them softly with his tongue. 

He moved gradually across her face kissing her cheek gently until he reached her neck, planting soft kisses like stepping stones down to the top of her shoulder. It made Emma shudder, she had never been treated quite like this before. Stephen took hold of one end of each tie-up on her blouse, pulling the bow open slowly. He savoured the sight of the strap unwinding until the top fell away revealing two of the most pert and juicy pair of tits he had ever seen. Her nipples were a rich rosy pink of the kind which looked permanently slightly erect. She still had slightly puffy areolas, just the sort which Stephen dreamt of in his fantasy of the girl next door. Stephen stooped slightly and slid his tongue gently against her nipple, moving round and round the edge of the areola and then slowly closing his mouth over the whole nipple, sucking tenderly. Waves of pleasure shot through Emma's young adult body; this was definitely a new experience. 

As Stephen was doing this, Emma was slowly wanking him, giving him an exquisite feeling of absolute ecstasy. His dick was now so swollen it almost felt as if it would burst. 

'I'm not sure I can take much more of this baby, before my dick explodes.' 

Stephen dropped to his knees and grasped the top of her thong, pulling it down slowly over her hips, exposing her mound, which had a short matting of mousy hairs, slightly lighter than her thick locks. Stephen shuffled closer and nuzzled his nose against her pussy. Her aroma was a wonderful combination of musk and honey. He parted her labia slightly with a finger and dipped his tongue between her inner lips. She was already really wet with love juice from his kissing her breasts so expertly. Stephen sipped the juice with his tongue as he delved slightly deeper. He could feel the soft velvet of her pussy against his mouth as he licked and stroked his tongue around her moist vulva. He pulled away slightly and leaned up, flicking her clitoris with his tongue, All the time, Emma was giving little moans of delight, and him playing with her clitty like this was really turning her on, her pussy getting wetter and wetter until droplets of her juice formed between her lips. Stephen continued to pay attention to her clitoris, licking and probing it and occasionally catching it firmly in his mouth and pulling away so it flipped back, giving Emma a whole new sense of sexual pleasure. He moved back to her honey pot, again driving his tongue into the crack and lapping up her copious girl juice, as it seemed to ooze in to his mouth and down his throat. 

Emma was flushed and hot at the attention she was receiving, but this was meant to be Stephen's treat. 

'Let's swap places,' she said. 

Moving to her knees as Stephen rose she took his tool in her right hand and slowly began to wank it, the glans just centimetres from her face. When it was fully hard again, she moved in and licked the end of his cock gently and then slowly around the head. Her tongue glided around his phallus. She lifted it up and slid her tongue along the base forward to the tip, repeating this two or three times. Looking up at him with her sweet butter wouldn't melt face she opened her mouth and took his throbbing manhood two, then three inches in to her mouth. She moved slowly, her lips clamped around his cock, sucking and wanking him at the same time. This was just amazing for Stephen, he could feel the spunk begin to well up deep within his shaft as she continued to alternate between slow sucking and licking. Occasionally she would gently stroke his balls and perineum making him physically judder. As she felt him grow even bigger she speeded up the sucking. Stephen was getting close now, his legs were becoming weak and his heart thumping in his chest, she could feel his cock at bursting point as Stephen felt he would almost pass out in sheer delight. She continued to suck but wanked him faster until suddenly he could take no more and he pulled away, a thick jet of cum shooting over her mouth and down across her cheek. She leant back as the second pulse landed over her breasts. A few more lots dropped out, the cum sliding over her breasts down to her naval. As he wanked the final drops from his penis Stephen felt an intense tingling in his toes and collapsed in a heap on the floor. 

'Oh Emma, my darling!' was all he could say. 

She looked at him triumphantly. For a few seconds she said nothing, and then, 

'Was that good then.' 

Stephen leaned forward, wiping her cheek dry with his hand and kissed her softly on the lips. 

'My darling, beautiful Emma, that was beyond description. If we do this again, I promise to return the compliment. If you'll let me, I'd love to give you an orgasm.' 

'Mmmmm, that's tempting,' she said. 

Emma would be back.

Private Lessons Ch. 01-04



WEEK ONE – THE ORIENTATION 

Sometimes...rarely but sometimes...there is a moment where life is perfect. 

As I sat in the windowless basement buried snugly in the bowels of Tribeca, I reflected that this was one of those moments. 

For in the next ten minutes, Mr C would walk into my life and all would be right for the world. 

For the sake of privacy, I shall not reveal Mr. C's true identity. Suffice it to say, he is only one of the most talented musical theater actors to ever grace a Broadway stage. Mention his name anywhere in the world and it would be recognized. You may wonder why such a celebrity would deign to teach a Master Class in Musical Theater at this rather old and dumpy Tribeca acting school. It is true that his career had suffered in recent years. His last projects were a little too unsuccessful. He was no longer fashionably young. The romance of his image was now shunned in a world who considered sentimentality to be passé. The fickle public had forgotten him and all that he had given. I had not. 

To me, he was more than just an admired stage star. He was my muse. And soon he would also be my teacher! 

Could I ever forget the first time I heard his voice of magic? 

It had been ten years ago. I was eighteen. 

I was aimlessly driving down a Texas highway consumed with rage and pain after my ego had been torn to shreds by my ex-boyfriend. Having just recently graduated from high school a month ago, I did not have the distraction of school or other people to get my mind off of the nasty breakup. I was searching desperately for something...anything to get my mind off of him. I turned on the radio, looking for an angry rock song, something with a metallic 80s sound that was hard and violent and cold. But while I was making my way onto the entrance ramp of another highway, I was too busy concentrating on weaving my way through the heavy traffic to worry about what station was on the radio at that moment. Was it Classical or Easy Listening? I do not recall. All I remember is that voice of magic. Who was that?

Mr C was singing the ballad from LES MISERABLES: I Dreamed a Dream. Not only was his voice that of molten gold, but I felt as if he were taking the pain in my heart in as his own. Somehow, wherever he was, basking in a mansion in England or living in a penthouse in Manhattan, he was reaching out to me. For those three minutes and twenty seconds of song, we were one. I know it sounds creepy and psychotic, but I felt as if I had found some sort of salvation in his song. Eventually, I pulled off of the highway, turned off the engine and gave in to the tears that had been burning to come out. That was the beginning of a period of catharsis and rebirth for me. 

Since then, I had become quite the scholar on Mr. C's work and career. A scholar. I loathe the word 'fan'. I owned all of his CDs, attended any concerts that were within reasonable distance, watched all of his film and television performances and kept up with any news of him on the Internet. As the years passed, he was no longer a favorite actor and singer, but an inspiration. At college, I used him as a character in Creative Writing. In Acting 101, I was acting out my love scene with him, not the nerdy freshman that I had been paired up with. And so on and on it went. Friends and lovers had come and gone, but Mr C was there to stay, ever faithful to me. Even when I graduated from college and moved to New York, a stranger in a strange land with the all-too-common goal of being a professional actress, he was there for me, always encouraging, always understanding... Not that the road was an easy one.

New York City had a way of wearing down a person, no matter how young and ambitious. There were the nonpaying off-off-Broadway shows where the cast always outnumbered the audience. There were the acting teachers, casting directors and agents all shaking their heads in disgust and telling me to go back to Texas. There were the temp jobs in offices with rathole cubicles and ghastly fluorescent lights where corporate types with overblown egos assumed that I was their personal slave to abuse and insult at will. There was the ever-present fear when riding the subways that Al Qaeda would decide to pull a sequel to 9/11 and I would be at the wrong place at the wrong time. And always, there was the wolf at the door...the too-expensive rent, the too-expensive headshots and acting classes, the bills, the cost of living... 

But now all of the suffering and frustration seemed to have happened for a reason. And that reason would be walking through the door in...I looked at my watch...nine minutes. 

Not that getting into Mr C's Master Class was easy, mind you. The competition to be accepted into the class was fierce. Hungry actors were always anxious to attend a class of a well-known celebrity, hoping that a friend of a friend of a friend would get them that agent or a role in a movie. Even to just attend the class on the sidelines was not cheap. But to actually participate as I was going to do, you practically had to take out a loan to cover the cost. Also, you had to sing your ass off in one very crowded audition. I still could not believe that I had made the cuts as singing had never been my strong suit. Also, whenever I wanted something this badly, I would invariably strike out. 

It must have been fated in the stars. Also, the fifty-dollar-bill I had given to the Managing Director of Student Relations, who was in charge of auditions, worked wonders. I do believe in the concept of making my own luck. Sometimes, that is a lot more effective than destiny.

Fidgeting about in the plastic blue chair that annoyingly teetered about on uneven legs, I glanced at my watch again. Eight more minutes! Oh, God, this was going to take forever! 

I was so edgy, pumped up on too much coffee to make up for the eager tossing and turning of the night before. A class at 10 am on a Sunday morning was enough to screw anybody's system up. With the caffeine taking its toll, I simply had to stand up and walk off some of my nervous energy. Descending from the second row of wooden planked risers, I walked about the basement which was being called a classroom by the school. All of the walls were painted black; thus, the name of a 'black box' theater. There was a small curtain at the back of the room, covering up another room with a variety of torn-up furniture and props donated for use in scene study classes. There was a piano in the far right corner of the room. A small desk with a blank notepad was at the left side. 

Making my way past the furniture and props, I checked myself out in a full length mirror that was nailed to the back wall. This was a mistake because my neurotic worrying began to kick in. Had I dressed up too much? I was wearing a black vee-necked silk top and a red and black plaid skirt with a sexy pair of fuck-me heels. I had even gone to the trouble to put on a red headband in an attempt to control my wild curly hair which had a mind of its own. It was nothing all that fancy. I would have worn these clothes to any audition, but today I felt like I was trying too hard. And whenever I tried too hard, something always seemed to go wrong. People could smell my desperation or something. 

Fortunately, students began to pour in, striking up conversations that got my mind off of my frayed nerves. Wasn't it cold outside? What song did you pick to sing? Have you ever taken any classes at this school before? Who with? 

Seven minutes later. The room gradually began to fill up with actors and singers, most of them not feeling my obsessive need to dress up. 

There were the unavoidable young James Dean and Marlon Brando types, all ruggedly handsome in their torn jeans and flip flops. I always got along with these guys and enjoyed doing acting scenes with them. Usually, one of them would go out of their way to work with me when I took a class like this. Probably it was because they correctly sensed that I had no interest whatsoever in fucking them. Therefore, they weren't threatened by me. You have to understand that these kind of guys always have women falling all over them all of the time. It wasn't that I didn't find them attractive necessarily. It was just that they didn't have what I needed. Whatever that was. So I usually enjoyed being in class with these guys as I wasn't threatened by them either. 

However, the women in the room were a different story. This class in particular had entirely too many thin blondes for my taste. Cameron Diaz types. Charlize Theron types. I loathed them. Such actresses made me feel helplessly ordinary. 

I was not bad looking with my dark brown hair and blue eyes, but I was no cover girl on a fashion magazine. My curves were a bit too full for what was considered popular to the Madison Avenue publishing crowd. My face was a tad too boring. Indeed, my looks usually proved to be instant death in a casting agent's office. If I got a chance to do a cold reading or perform a monologue, I had a possible shot at some sort of success. Otherwise, no way, Jose. If you were beautiful, you got lead roles. If you were ugly, you got character roles. If you were average like me, you did not even rate a call back. Surrounded by this bevy of beauties, I felt a bit like the neglected stepsister, a thorn amongst a garden of roses. And an elderly thorn at the ripe age of 28. If only I could start over again as a baby, I would try to do things differently. I would have eaten less carbs and junk food. I would have stuck with religious dedication to my skin regiment and aerobic workouts. I would have... 

Like a whirlwind, Mr. C rushed into the room, dressed in a tan windbreaker and blue jeans. My heart stopped. 

To say that Mr. C was so much better looking in person is a hopeless cliché, but it is the God's Honest Truth. I hungrily drank in the sight of his curly auburn hair, lightly-freckled complexion and deep brown eyes. Although he was a man in his late forties, he moved and carried himself with exuberant energy as if he were much younger. True, he probably had more wrinkles on his face than the teenybopper set would go for, but as far as I was concerned, he was 'sex on a stick'. Age only meant that he might know what to do with those elegant large hands of his. With his barrel-shaped chest and large frame, I could easily imagine him carrying a woman off somewhere like a savage caveman. I eagerly awaited for him to speak with that gorgeous voice of his, perfectly tinged with an Irish lilt. And I looked forward to that smile that he would give out at his concerts, that big teeth-flashing grin that would make my toes curl. 

However, as the star-turned-teacher took a final sip from his Starbucks Styrofoam cup, there was no smile. In fact, he looked downright surly as he pulled off his jacket, revealing a plain forest green sweatshirt underneath. As he walked over to the desk, there was a hardness about his eyes, implying that it was not his first time at the rodeo and he would tolerate no bullshit. My lovesick giddiness metamorphosed into pee-inducing fear. Maybe he was angry because his career had gone so stale that he was reduced to this level. Maybe he took one look at all of these deadbeat actors and decided this was not his bag. God, if he was already going to look like a tyrant, what was he going to be like as a teacher? Well, maybe he was just grouchy on Sunday mornings like everyone else. 

This first class was set up as an orientation. Inevitably, we would be besieged with handouts and lofty expectations. I knew from my ten-year study of Mr. C that he was a hardcore perfectionist. Great. Then we would all get up individually and sing a song that was prepared in advance. No time to waste with Mr C. I had brought Time After Time, a song that I had sung repeatedly at auditions and was fairly certain that I would not fuck up too badly. It was always best to start out easy with this kind of a class. Still, as Mr. C stood up in front of the class and looked at us appraisingly, I could not remember a single word of my song. 

For one brief moment, his eyes even met mine. Something sparked in his eyes. He looked like he was about to wink at me. What was that all about? Curiosity? Amusement? Was he already maliciously thinking of how cruelly he could intimidate the almost middle-aged plain-looking woman sitting in the second row? 

Every teacher had their set of Rules, a set of Ten Commandments that must be obeyed. Of course, he was no exception. First and foremost, there would be no absences unless you were at home on your deathbed. And death might be preferable to the wrath of Mr. C when you returned. He made it clear that there were plenty of others on a Waiting List who would be eager to step in at the last minute. Secondly, you were expected to do your 'homework', meaning rehearsing all songs and doing all vocal exercises he assigned for at least thirty minutes a day. Otherwise, there was little point in wasting money and time. We were all to get up and sing for every class during the next twelve weeks, no matter what. Mistakes were acceptable as this was a class, but not being prepared was a sin of the utmost gravity. 

The setup of the class was a simple one. After the song, the floor would be opened up where all of the students could comment about the performance. Then Mr. C would give his own critique and suggestions. The format was nerve wracking. Your own peers were usually worse than any audience if they didn't like your work, particularly if they were going to be brutally honest. 

"You may be as verbally violent as you wish in your comments," Mr. C announced. "But no physical violence shall be tolerated. Now that we have that settled, who shall go first?"

No one volunteered. "Come now, you are all performers. You have to show initiative if you want to get ahead. No one is going to hand opportunities to you. You have to make them." 

He was looking right at me as he said these damning words. 

God, he was expecting me to go first! Why was I being singled out? Was he that eager to torture me first?

Fortunately, a lanky young guy in his twenties with straw-blonde hair volunteered, unwittingly becoming my savior. He began to sing This is the Moment from JEKYLL AND HYDE. I almost groaned in agony for him. Any song from a hit musical in the last decade was bound to be overdone in an audition setting. Even my song wasn't great, but this guy was a glutton for punishment to sing this song. He did have a good voice though; and he really seemed to be getting into it. Well, this would be a good test to see just how vicious Mr C was going to be. Most of the class raved about how good the guy was in their comments. I was tempted to give my feedback about the overdone nature of the song but was too nervous.

"A good start," Mr. C remarked. "But be careful of your musical selection. This piece is extremely overdone as an audition piece. I can give you a few suggestions of some more obscure pieces that would suit you after class." 

So Mr. C and I saw eye to eye on that one. Good, very good... 

He continued to speak about the importance of focus and control while singing, to remain in 'character' for some length. 

"Next?" he asked expectantly. Again, that awkward nauseating silence. And he looked at me once more, daring me to volunteer. 

Damn it, why did my muse have to be so fucking obnoxious in reality? I did not like it one bit. We had gotten along so swimmingly when he was just a figment of my imagination in my psyche. I never dreamed that he would be such a bully. 

Another young Dean-wannabe got up to sing. This song was more interesting. I've Got to Sing a Torch Song. A fairly well known song to the Turner Classic Movies crowd, but a good bet that it was unknown to your average auditioner (who probably thought that Gold Diggers of 1933 was the name of a rock band). I was immediately charmed as I loved Dick Powell and classic movies. For once, I was actually doing what I was supposed to do. I was watching one of the other students in class instead of the teacher. However, I did think that Mr. C would be awesome if he made a recording of this song. I was even sufficiently enthused enough to make a comment in the open forum. 

"Good audition choice. Very retro." 

After all of the comments of the class were over, I turned to see Mr. C once again scoping me out. My heart was beating so fast that I thought I would have a stroke. I prayed that I was not blushing because I suddenly felt very hot. I was the one who was the obsessive fan...I mean, scholar. It was my job to do the staring. Why did he keep looking at me all of the time? Why wasn't he ogling the Uma Thurman-lookalike on the other side of the risers? What was wrong with him? 

Unfortunately, any comments he had given to the singer went through one ear and out the other for me. I simply could not concentrate. And then I started to worry about the song. One thing I had not considered was that I usually thought about him when I would sing Time After Time. But how could I think about him when he would be sitting there in the corner, coldly staring at me like a starving crocodile? For the first time, I wondered about the wisdom of attending this Master Class with Mr. C. In my past experience, reality usually proved to suck. I liked Mr. C the way he had always been as my imaginary friend and lover who urged me on to do my best. But I just knew that the real man was going to rip my heart out of my chest and eat it. 

"So...Maggie Spencer?" 

Hearing him say my name with his Irish accent nearly caused me to jump out of my skin, although I suppose I should have expected it. 

"Would you care to grace us with a song today?" 

"Okay," I said, faking an easy smile as I grabbed my sheet music in sweaty shaking hands. 

As I made my way down the risers, my mind was racing. Why had he just volunteered me like that? How was I going to sing when I was shaking in my high heels? Why was it so cold in here? What was the first word of my song? 

The intro of the song started. I stared at a spot of the room and tried to focus. 

Time after time, I tell myself that I'm so lucky to be loving you...

The words felt empty and meaningless. I felt naked and exposed in front of everyone. Trying to act or sing when you weren't into it was like a dry fuck. Not only was it not fun, but it was excruciatingly painful. I had to psyche myself out somehow. I had to get away from this miserable reality. So I relied on the good old stand-by of acting class. Tricking the brain.

Of course, this was all an act Mr C was putting on, I told myself. He couldn't very well show his preference for me in front of all of these other paying students. Of course, he wanted to help me and see me succeed. That was why he kept staring at me. Somehow he must feel this cosmic connection as well. After all, wasn't this class fated? Think of the song. Wasn't I lucky to be with him at last? Wasn't I lucky to be in this class? And then I saw him standing in that fixed spot ahead. My muse. The real Mr. C. 

My body relaxed as I felt myself get into the words of the song. 

So lucky to be the one you run to see in the evening when the day is through...

The rest of the song floated by like a pleasant dream. 

After my final note, the room was silent. So much so you could hear a pin drop. 

They hated it. 

I churlishly moved toward what Mr. C jokingly called the "hot seat". This was basically a chair on the other side of the room, directly across from Mr. C's desk, where you sat sweating while you were being flayed alive by your teacher and classmates. No one contributed any comments as if they were unsure of what to say. God, this was so humiliating! I just wanted to fall through the floor. 

"No one has anything to say at all?" Mr. C asked. "Tommy, you have any comments for Miss Spencer?" 




Private Lessons Ch. 01-04



Tommy had been the lanky actor who was the first one to sing. Why was he calling that boy by his first name while he was so formally referring to me as 'Miss Spencer'? 

"I thought she was pretty good," Tommy replied with a noncommittal shrug and a smile. 

"Why don't you tell her that?" Mr. C grinned. Damn, why did he finally flash that handsome concert smile right before he was going to annihilate me into bits? The nasty sadist... 

"You were pretty good," Tommy smirked, looking in my direction. The entire class laughed. I smiled too, feeling a little better, even though the humor on my part was completely insincere. 

"Anyone else?" 

The levity once again turned to dooming silence. 

"Very well," Mr C replied before turning his intense brown-eyed gaze upon me. "The song fits you very well. Period songs suit you." 

I smiled like the eager puppy I was, anxious to please. Period songs suit me! Cool! 

"But you must be present right at the very beginning of the song. By the time you were where you needed to be, a casting director would have already cut you off. You have to be present and focused before that first note comes out. Technically, even before the intro music. No one will wait for you to get warmed up. Understand?" 

I nodded enthusiastically. 

"Excellent. Bring this song back next week with that adjustment." 

"Okay," I answered, my voice a little too high-pitched. 

"Oh, and one other thing. You should not wear those shoes when you sing, Miss Spencer. While they are quite attractive, they throw the balance of your body out of alignment. If you are required to wear heels in a show, that is an obstacle you have to deal with. But if you are in control of your own clothing, I would advise against wearing them." 

He thought my shoes were attractive! 

I was on Cloud Nine for the rest of the class, relieved that the worst was over with. 

WEEK TWO – VOICE PROJECTION

The next week dragged by too slowly.

Every day, I spent my time daydreaming about Mr. C. While I was mindlessly filing or copying during my boring temp job, I was humming one of his songs. When I had downtime, I would work on an audition monologue and pretend that I was talking to him. One time, I had spent a half hour just staring at my screen saver, lost in a romantic daze, not even knowing what I was doing. 

After work, I forced myself to go to the New York Sports Club and work out whether I wanted to or not. After all, even if I was never going to be perfect, I should at least attempt to get in shape. I was cursed from birth with a pudgy stomach that never seemed to get flat, no matter how many sit-ups I did. I took whatever class was available at the time. Yoga, toning, aerobics, belly dancing, whatever.

During the hellish rush hour traffic home, I zoned out into an erotic fantasy world as I listened to my CD player. This was actually a nice change of pace from my usual worries about being bombed by a terrorist. I had been temping only four blocks away from the World Trade Center when it fell on September 11th. Never will I forget the sight of seeing only one tower standing, the other one having collapsed into rubble and white ash drifting in the sky. After that day, I seemed to suffer from permanent paranoia, sure that when the next attack came that I would be at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was actually a relief to have something else to think about as I rode the 9 train to Chelsea. Rather, something else to obsess about.

The fantasy would be a simple one. Next Sunday, he would ask to speak to me after class in private. Would I like a Frappucino at Starbucks? Over coffee, he would tell me about a few showbiz anecdotes. He would take my hand and say that he found me very attractive. Would I like to spend the night with him? Voulez vous couchez avec mo ice soir? We would ride a taxi together to his fancy apartment on Fifth Avenue. I would never go hungry again as every night I would have caviar and champagne. He would help me with my career. And the rest of my days would be spent in one big fuckfest with Mr. C. 

Heaven on earth. Inevitably, I would go into my small rathole of a bedroom in the cramped brownstone of Chelsea. I would shut the door, careful not to disturb my cat-loving cigarette-smoking roommate across the hall.

I would throw myself under the covers of my bed, remove my clothes and rub myself into a relaxing orgasm.

But the craving for him was still there, ever present.

Every night, I worked on Time After Time for at least thirty minutes. Luckily, no neighbors complained. Sheila, my roommate, was very tolerant as long as it didn't go on for too long. For some reason, my singing tended to bother her cat, Chauncey. Granted, the shabby two-bedroom apartment was not the most ideal place to rehearse. But it wasn't easy to rent rehearsal space when you were flat broke all of the time, relying on the kindness of temp agencies and office assholes just to pay the rent.

Sunday finally came...at long last.

I volunteered to sing in class this time around. Not first. Jeez, I wasn't that brave yet. But I did go second.

Mr. C looked delicious in a pair of khaki pants with a light blue button-down top. I must have spent an hour and a half that morning deciding on what I would wear. You can dress to show or you can dress to hide. I did a little of both. I work my green ribbed turtleneck that showed my breasts and waist off to full advantage. I wore a skirt that was so short it was a bit risqué. Although all of those step classes didn't do a damned thing for my stomach, my legs were actually getting quite shapely. Speaking of my wretched flabby tummy, I wore a control top pair of underwear in an effort to hide the hated anatomy. And I grudgingly wore a pair of black flats, as was Mr. C's dictum, who by the way, looked just as delicious this week as he did the last.

Secure in the knowledge that Mr C was no threat but my supportive teacher just like he had always been in my mind, I was relaxed and totally in tune with the song from beginning to end.

The class gave good feedback. Mr. C was not quite as enthusiastic, nodding but not smiling.

"A marked improvement, Miss Spencer. You take direction well. Just one matter. Come with me."

I felt like a squirrel cornered by a cat.

Mr C walked toward the center of the stage and gestured for me to join him. He took my arm and led me toward the side of the room. Oh, God, he's touching me! 

I felt light perspiration on my brow. Was I actually shaking?

Have I died yet?

His hand wrapped lightly around my upper arm.

"Now put your hands against the wall."

Oh, your wish is my command, cruel master...

I felt the cold black painted bricks against my palms as I placed my arms out in front of me at shoulder's length. His large hands pressed hard near the bottom of my rib cage. I could not help but think just how close his long elegant fingers were to the vicinity of my breasts. And in front of all of these people too. 

Damn, this was getting sort of kinky!

"This is an exercise to help you breathe deeply through your diaphragm and sustain your notes," he said. "Relax your neck and shoulders. Stand up straight. Now push against my hands when you inhale."

I did so, wondering if he could see my nipples harden through my thin green turtleneck. I felt all achy and suddenly wanted to use the bathroom.

"Now sing out the first word of your song, exhale and push your diaphragm against my hand."

"Tiiiimmmmmeee..."

I was daydreaming about a different kind of diaphragm pushing against another choice body part of his.

"PUSH HARD!" he ordered.

Trying to focus on the matter at hand, I pushed my diaphragm out against the large hands of my stern task master, feeling rather dizzy as I did so.

"Good. Now inhale."

I inhaled. He smelled of coffee and something sweet-smelling like soap or shampoo.

"Again. Breathe through your mouth this time."

I inhaled deeply though my diaphragm again.

Mr. C's hands pressed hard against my ribs. He was so strong that he could smash my chest into bits if he wanted to. And I became aware of how tall he was. I thought of the big bearish weight of him on top of me, resting between my open thighs.

"Tiiiimmmmmeee..."

"Good. Again."

I did it again. Press me, baby, press me. I would do anything he ordered. Anything.

"Good. Now practice these exercises every day when you rehearse. Ten repetitions. And bring in a new song next week."

Rather disappointed that the close encounter was over so quickly, I returned to my seat.

"Okay."

When I went to the bathroom during our ten minute break in the middle of class, I realized that my panties were absolutely soaked. How would I survive the following ten weeks without going crazy? 

WEEK THREE – STAYING IN CHARACTER

Another week in a haze. This time, I got my hair done and had a very painful facial.

Also, I agonized about the new song. I finally settled on My Ship, a song from "Lady in the Dark" and another one I wouldn't fuck up. I bought a pair of boots that were sexy with very low heels. And I wore a solid black dress with a wrap artfully draped around my waist to disguise that stupid hateful stomach.

Mr C was delectable in a denim jacket, jeans and brown boots.

The response to my song was a tepid one.

"I really have nothing really negative to say," Mr C started with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. The piece that you have chosen this time around is fairly simplistic, not that there's anything wrong with that. One thing to work on is that it is a 'laundry list' song. Make every description on the ship mean something special. Paint a picture with your words that we can see. To be honest, this song is a silly piece of fluff. It is your job to make a sensation out of fluff. I remember once I was in this really horrible Made-For-TV movie. I don't even remember the name of it. Something to do with a pilot having a romance during World War II. A really silly story. Lord, I'm going to spend the rest of the day trying to remember the name of it..."

"A Heart Denied...?" I chirped up. The story had not been a raging success, but I had loved it. I even had my own videotaped copy of it that I had bought off of EBay.

Mr C raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised at my knowledge of its existence.

I suddenly felt sick. Hello, numbskull? You are an actress who is a student of his. The lovesick girl who plastered photographs of Mr C all over her dorm room walls disappeared in Texas, got it? If he thought I was a 'fan' of his, the cool teacher-student bond would be obliterated in seconds.

"Don't tell me that you actually watched that piece of dreck, Miss Spencer!" he smirked with curiosity.

I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.

"I must have read it somewhere. I like to know the experience of my teachers."

"I see," he answered skeptically. "I am quite sure that particular phase of my career is not common knowledge."

The class started to titter and whisper.

"Well, I don't know what to say," I laughed with an innocent shrug.

"I see I have a Number One Fan in this class. I'm flattered."

Oh! To be compared to Kathy Bates in that Stephen King movie was just too horrible. I suppose that he thought I was going to try to chop off his foot with an axe or something. It was humiliating. I felt like I was some pathetic freak. Perhaps when I was younger, I was lonely and desperate, but not now! No, I was a different person now! Why couldn't I have just kept my damned mouth shut? Here I was, constantly being criticized all of my life for not being outgoing and talkative enough, and then when I do talk, I have to be a blasted idiot about it!

"You know how I hate to be ignored, Dan."

The class laughed at my quote from "Fatal Attraction". He did not.

"Bring in the same song next week with my adjustments," Mr C said, mercifully skating over the subject. "After that, I think you should pick something different. Maybe an upbeat song. Something that is going to challenge you. You should always try to take risks, Miss Spencer. Remember that."

"Okay."

Idiot! I cursed. Idiot, idiot, idiot! 

WEEK FOUR – PREPARATION

I spent the next week in a gray state of depression.

That beautiful Irish voice tortured me with those words: Number One Fan...Number One Fan...Number One Fan...

Everything was ruined. Things had been going so well. And now he probably thought I was just a pathetic loser. I had to distance myself from him. The pain was just too intense. It was not healthy to feel this way. It was bad enough to be obsessed with a star, but when it became a sort of dysfunctional teacher/student relationship, it was even more unhealthy.

Being a classic movies lover, I had read my share of Marilyn Monroe biographies. Some of them claim that she became so dependent on her acting teacher, Lee Strasberg, that she lost all objectivity and it destroyed her career and what was left of her ego. One minute she was hanging on every word of Strasberg's like he was God. The next, she was lying dead and naked from a suicidal overdose. I could picture myself in her place wrapped with a sheet, an empty bottle of pills beside the bed and my telephone receiver off of the hook, dead as a doornail. Funny, I couldn't imagine myself as a blonde though.

I just had to think about something else for a while which was hard to do since I had probably thought about Mr. C at least once every day for the last ten years.

He was not God. He was just a man. And a bastard at that.

So out of sheer bullheadedness, I did not practice my singing lessons once all week. I did not do my diaphragmatic exercises. I didn't even work out. Instead, I went shopping for clothes that I couldn't afford. I went on a Turner Classics Movie film jag. I hung out in Barnes & Noble for hours. I did anything but rehearse for class.

I even stayed up until 2:00 AM on Saturday night, watching one of the 'Thin Man' movies on TCM. And I paid the price when my alarm went off at 9:00 AM after I had pressed the 'snooze' button one too many times. 

Rolling out of the bed, I decided that I would not even make an effort today. I would be just like all of the others in class. I threw on a pair of jeans and a raggedy plaid shirt that completely hid my figure. I put on very little makeup. I wore my workout shoes. I grabbed my sheet music and headed for the subway station.

I still went over the words of my song though. I was not so uncaring that I would wait until the very last moment to go over the words, although I certainly knew my share of students who did that all of the time. As I stared at some indecipherable scribbling of graffiti on the window of the train, I went through the words, whispering them out loud.

"My ship has sails that are made of silk, the decks are trimmed with gold and of spice and jam..."

Fuck! That wasn't right. It was 'jam and spice'. It was imperative that I get that part right as the next lyric rhymed with it.

"And of jam and spice, there's a paradise in the hold..."

Good thing I was at least rehearsing this much. Mr. C would crucify me if I got that simple lyric wrong.

Not only was I not early this time, but I was the last one to enter the class. Not quite late, but almost.

Mr. C glared at me as I sat down.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Spencer."

"Sorry," I smiled with a shrug.

He perused my appearance with visible disdain.

I did not volunteer to go first. In fact, I waited until the very end of class to get up. 

The problem was that I couldn't get into the song this time. Not even playing my little mind tricks worked. I just felt like I was going through the motions.

"My ship has sails that are made of silk, the decks are trimmed with gold and of spice and jam..."

Fuck. Fuck! FUCK! I DID NOT JUST DO THAT!!!

All of the sudden, I felt like throwing up.

"Sorry, can I start again?"

Mr. C looked not only disappointed. He seemed furiously angry with me. His face was so red that it looked rather sunburned. He scowled coldly, his arms crossed against his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

"Please do."

I went through the song again, still feeling nothing but at least getting the words right.

When I sat in the hot seat, none of the students volunteered a comment. Killing me with quiet kindness.

"I don't think I need to say anything, do I, Miss Spencer?"

"Sorry," I said sheepishly, quite ready to die in shame. "It's been a hard week."

"Do you think that Andrew Lloyd Webber would give a flying fuck if you had a hard week, Miss Spencer?"

The room was deadly quiet. I wished that I were anywhere else but here at this moment.

"Well, do you?!"

"Um...no...probably not..."

"Do you think a casting director or an agent will care? Will an audience care? An audience who paid at least $50 a pop just to hear you fuck up their favorite song? But it wouldn't matter because they wouldn't be able to hear you anyway. Would they?"

I wanted to cry.

"No."

"I can't hear you, Miss Spencer."

"No," I said more loudly.

"Please remain after class, Miss Spencer. I wish to speak with you in private."

So this is what Hell felt like. My idol, Mr. C, was about to banish me out into the cold for being such a monumental fuck up. How would I be able to endure the next five minutes? How would I be able to look in the mirror again? I worked so hard to get into this class and now I was going to be unceremoniously thrown out of it.

Some of the classmates took their time gathering their belongings, hesitant to leave the torrid drama that was about to unfold in the basement theater in Tribeca. But at last, they were all gone.

We were alone. I was still seated on the hot seat. Mr C was still at his desk.

Speak, damn you...get it over with...say something!

"I expect my students to work hard, Miss Spencer. I believe I made that clear on the day of the first class. Did I not?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" I asked with confusion.

"You will address me with respect, Miss Spencer."

Christ, this was too much! He was taking the overpowering guru teacher act just a bit too far for my taste!

"Yes, sir!" I sniped bitchily, making it clear that I meant no respect with that word whatsoever. "Is that what you want?"

His brown eyes narrowed.

"Shall I have you removed from the class, Miss Spencer? I can do that quite easily, you know."

"You'd do that to me?!" I asked, outraged. "Because I messed up the words with one song I sang in one class, you'd have me kicked out?!"

Mr. C pulled out a sheet of notebook paper covered front to back with handwritten names.

"You see this, Miss Spencer?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," I sighed out with disgust.

"Do you know what this is?"

"No, sir."

"It's a waiting list of names of all the people on standby for this class. There is nothing to stop me from saying that you do not have the appropriate talent and discipline necessary to remain here. Do you think that the admissions office will question me about that, should I choose to do it?"

I knew that they would not. He was Mr. C, a famous star of the Broadway stage. This class was probably making the acting school more money than it had seen in years. Of course he would get whatever he wanted.

I said nothing, feeling like I was just waiting to be escorted to my own execution.

"I shall give you a second chance, Miss Spencer, if you do everything I say without question."

What was that? A glimmer of hope? I waited breathlessly for him to continue.

"Lean over my desk, Miss Spencer."

"What?" I asked dumbly, not believing my ears.

"Lean...over...my...desk..."

He placed the waiting list down on the table top emphatically, making his point.

What the hell was this? The principal's office in high school? I should report him for sexual harassment. I should call him an asshole. I should get a refund for the class. And then I should throw away all of my Mr. C paraphernalia so I would never see his face or hear his wretched voice ever again. I should blight him from my life!




Private Lessons Ch. 01-04



As if I were no longer my own person, I walked over to his desk and leaned over.

Mr C stood up from his chair and circled around me. And then I sensed him standing behind me, his breath very close to my ear. His large hands reached for my diaphragm. But they were underneath my shirt and on the bare flesh of my midriff.

"I don't like this shirt, Miss Spencer. You have a beautiful body and should not cover it up in such an ugly way."

My anger dissolved into a state of hot wet desire. Mr. C. thought I had a beautiful body! Me...with my too-full curves and poochy stomach.

"Inhale..."

I inhaled, breathing through my diaphragm although I knew that this wasn't what this particular exercise was about.

His hands moved slowly up from my ribs on to my breasts. The world seemed to stand still. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a creamy pair of tits, Miss Spencer?"

"No, sir." I could honestly say no one had ever said that to me before.

"Well, you do. A nice handful and very fuckable. From that first day I saw you in class, I couldn't get my eyes off of them."

Oh, no man had ever affected me like this. He was being so coarse and yet saying and doing all of the right things.He massaged my breasts with a sureness that was unsettling. As he pinched my nipples through the silk cloth of my bra, I ached sharply between my legs.

"Take off that ugly shirt, Miss Spencer."

I felt confused, halfway desirous and halfway humilated. While I had dreamed of being intimate with Mr. C for most of my adult life, I wasn't sure I wanted it this way. It felt so dirty, this kinky domination game, this forced striptease. But I was too far gone to turn back. Part of it was pure sexual arousal, part of it a sick curiosity of what he was going to do to me next.

I unbuttoned and lowered the shirt, shivering as the cold air of the basement caused goose bumps on my bare arms. There was a soft whooshing sound as it hit the floor.

"Hands back on the desk," he ordered.

I obeyed him. I was free to leave, free to run right out of this room. And yet I might as well have been chained to the desk. And he knew that. Somehow he knew it.

"Good little girl..." he crooned as he lowered the cups of my bra so that my bare breasts were resting on top of them. Again, he played with my nipples, pinching and flicking at them with his fingertips. I squirmed and moaned softly, shifting my body weight from one foot to the other. The pressure in my pussy was intense. I needed to have him inside of me so much. 

God, I never wanted to get fucked so badly! Not ever!

I'd had boyfriends in my time. Three of them, in fact. I'd had sex with all of them but never really saw the big deal about it. They always seemed to enjoy it more than I did. And it was usually over fairly fast.

But this older man, this idol who I worshipped, made me feel like someone else entirely. I thought of how I must have looked wearing only my jeans and bra. Normally, I would have been embarrassed and repulsed. But I felt horribly sexy. Not sexy in a sweet cute sort of way, but in a hot pornographic sort of way. It was completely foreign and scary...and exhilarating...

"You also have beautiful legs," he whispered. I tried to listen to him, but it was difficult since his hands were driving me crazy. "I want you to wear skirts in my class from now on, Miss Spencer. And no underwear, understand?"

"Yes..." I moaned, pushing my hips back against him. I needed contact. I needed more skin. More and more and more...

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," I gasped softly. I was rewarded with a squeeze to both breasts.

"You like my hands on your breasts, don't you?"

God, wasn't it obvious?! I was melting like butter.

"Yes, sir. Very much, sir. Very very much..."

"Remove your jeans, Miss Spencer."

I blindly obeyed, no longer caring about what was right and wrong. I just wanted him to touch me.

"And the panties."

The panties joined my jeans down at a heap at my feet.

"What a sweet ass you have, Miss Spencer."

"Mmm..." I moaned when his hands reached down to massage my buttocks.

"How many times are you supposed to repeat the breathing exercise in one session, Miss Spencer?"

"What?" 

How could he be talking about singing at a time like this?

"How many sets of diaphragmatic breathing are you supposed to do every day?"

"T-t-ten..."

"For each time that you did not do it, I am going to spank you, Miss Spencer. That will be your punishment. Then you'll remember to do them from now on, won't you?"

Oh, man, this was just too perverse! I only heard about this sort of stuff in the movies and in some of the erotica novels I kept stashed underneath my bed. While I found it wild and sexy in my fantasies, I wasn't sure the reality was for me. I didn't really like pain.

"I like you very much, Miss Spencer. I think you have so much potential in so many areas. But you must take risks as I told you before. You want to stay in my class, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," I said honestly.

"You shall. But first you have to pay the price for your lack of artistic discipline. Will you take your punishment, Miss Spencer?"

I had to make a choice. It was one of those moments where I was at the fork in the road, the edge of the precipice, whatever cliché you prefer...

He was giving me an 'out clause', so to speak. I could leave his class and never come back but keep my dignity intact, what little of it was left anyway in this ignominious position.

"Yes, sir."

I thought I heard a moan of satisfaction from behind me.

"Spread your legs widely apart, Miss Spencer."

I swallowed dryly, widening my stance.

"Wider. I want to see all of that pretty pussy, all wet and pink and open."

His dirty talk freaked me out and yet made me feel even more randy...if that was possible.

"You will keep your eyes looking down upon that waiting list on top of the desk, Miss Spencer, reminding you why you are being punished. You shall count with every spank, Miss Spencer. Starting now."

THWACK! His bare hand slapped against my right buttock hard.

Try as I might, I could not hold back my scream after receiving the stinging slap. Obviously he had done this sort of thing before. Indeed, this was no dirty short story being read before masturbating. No, this was the real thing...and it hurt like a motherfucker!

"What was that?" he teased. "Did you say 'one'?"

I felt his fingertips brush along the underside of my buttock.

"ONE!!...one...one..."

THWACK! Then his hand gave a stinging blow to my left buttock.

"OW...oooohh....TWO!"

THWACK! A sting to the underside of my right buttock.

I was out of breath already, practically clinging to the edge of the desk with my tense hands as if I were hanging off a cliff.

"THREE!"

THWACK! A sting to the underside of my left buttock.

"Four..."

Even though the sensitive skin of my backside was burning up with his slaps, I had somehow managed to regain control at least to the point where I was not shrieking. I could handle this. I could live through it. It was okay. He could get his jollies off by spanking me and then it would be all over with.

Then I heard the rustling sound of clothing.

Whoosh...THWACK!

This one had been different, much sharper and biting than the others.

"FU-UCK!!!" I screamed, unable to help myself, tears stinging at my eyes from the blinding pain.

This was no longer just a spanking but an out-and-out whipping! I dreaded the next lashing he would give me with his belt.

"I thought raising the stakes would make things a bit more interesting, don't you agree?"

Whoosh...THWACK!

"Don't forget to count, Miss Spencer."

"F-f-five," I sobbed, sniffling through the tears that I could not stop.

"Actually, it's six."

He stopped for a moment, rubbing and massaging my buttocks. God, his hands felt so good. I moved my hips, thrusting my pussy against the edge of the desk.

"None of that now, Miss Spencer."

I almost moaned when his soothing hands left my flesh.

Whoosh...THWACK!

"AAAIIIYYYY!"

The bastard had whipped me right between the legs! I gripped onto the desk for dear life, certain I was going to faint at any second.

"What number?"

"SEVEN! You fucker..."

"That's not very nice, Miss Spencer..."

Whoosh...THWACK! Belt on right buttock.

"EIGHT!"

Whoosh...THWACK! This time, he was cute, taking my pussy by surprise again.

"NNIIIYYY....NINE!" God, I burned and hurt all over!

Whoosh....THWACK!

"TEN!" He cruelly had aimed right at my exposed clit this time. The stimulation was too much. I was shaking with pure fuck-need.

"Please..." I begged, completely broken.

"Please what, Miss Spencer?"

I felt his long elegant fingers slide up into my pussy hole. Oh, God, he knew just how to do it! The friction of his fingers against me felt so good. He slid another finger into me, increasing the heavenly pressure.

"Would you like me to fuck you with my fingers, Miss Spencer?"

"Please..."

"Please, what?"

"Please fuck me," I pleaded. "Anyway you want. Anything. Just fuck me...fuck me..."

With his fingers still inside of me, he reached around with his other hand and played with my clit, circling it and rubbing it and pinching it. He thrust his hand in me with a vigorous rhythm, making my hips bounce about as he did so. It was hard and brutal and just what I needed. 

I felt a monster orgasm coming as sure as Christmas. And I knew I was going to come so hard that it was scary. I screamed and thrashed, flexing and tensing and opening my thighs as his relentless hands kept fucking away at me.

"See you next week, Miss Spencer."

For some time, I remained there alone, my jeans and panties still on the floor and my boobs still hanging out from my bra, paralyzed with shock and afterglow. I had been through the most intense sexual experience ever...and Mr. C had never even taken his pants off!



Private Lessons Ch. 02



Ms. Michelle Lewis and Ms. Amelia Parks were attached with their arms locked around each other. They were frozen in this position on Amelia's office desk as they had just been caught getting it on by their principal. Their bodies were still sizzling, steamy, sweaty, and shaking with embarrassment and humiliation. 

Principal Marshall simply said he wanted to see them in his office and he left without another word. 

Michelle released Amelia to get dressed but she only got as far as the edge of the desk before her face reddened and tears began to flow. 

She had been infatuated with Amelia for some time and would have done anything to have sex with her but never did she think it would come at the cost of her job. Teaching was her life's dream and she hoped that dream would still be alive after this day! 

Amelia was older than Michelle, about a twelve year difference, and fancied her just as much. She couldn't believe someone would be interested in her given how "old" she was. Not that thirty-five meant she was anywhere near a walking cane but sometimes people see themselves differently than the world around them. Michelle's lust for her caused her to perk up a bit and walk with even more grace! 

Amelia was thriving in her perfect career as well and hoped the last half hour didn't erase the last thirteen years and keep her from teaching the students of the future. 

Amelia rubbed Michelle's back with a hand of comfort and warmth. "I'm really sorry about this. I didn't think we would get caught." 

Michelle sniffed and wiped away her tears. "We could have just as easily went to your house or mine. I couldn't wait and look what happened. Do you think Principal Marshall will pretend like he didn't see what he saw? Could we convince him it was a figment of his imagination?" 

Amelia chuckled through her pain. "Ha, yeah, right, but he's a reasonable guy and I've won teacher of the year a couple of times and you almost won it this year. Maybe we earned a second chance?" 

Michelle summoned enough strength to step into her panties and dress pants, button her blouse, and step into her shoes. "I hope so." 

After Amelia dressed, the two women went through the locker room and upstairs. 

They strolled to the principal's office, which was clear on the opposite side of the school! 

Both women had overwhelming tension gripping their every step and that made the walk that much more difficult. It seemed they passed a thousand lockers and classrooms to get to the principal's office. It was like it would take days to get there. 

After what seemed to be ages, which was only three minutes, they arrived at their destination. The ladies' hearts were quaking within. They both looked at each other as if to see who would go in first but fortunately or not, neither had to make that decision. 

Marshall lifted his head from his desk and spotted the women in the hallway. "Come in here now." 

The women gulped and Amelia followed by Michelle went inside. The latter closed the door behind her and they took their seats in front of the principal's desk. 

Marshall wasn't much older than Amelia and slender in a perfectly dry cleaned dark blue suit and tie. He was fair to all, which the ladies hoped wouldn't work against them this time. 

He dropped his pen on his paperwork and leaned back. "I just want your personal opinions. What would you do if you were me and you caught two students say in the bathroom or the auditorium naked doing all sorts of things inappropriate in a school setting? Hmm?" 

Marshall turned towards Michelle first. 

She couldn't keep her fingers still and her tummy churned and churned again. "Um, they should get another chance? Everyone makes mistakes." 

Marshall said, "Okay, that's true, we all do things in error at times, but while we hold students to a high standard, we hold the ones teaching them to an even higher one. After all, they are our future and they should be as prepared as possible when they get out in the world. How can two people that have decided to set poor examples teach them the right way to do things? Amelia?" 

Amelia dipped her head and was playing her fingers. "I believe you caught two women who are passionate about teaching our future. Our track records speak for themselves. Yes, we made a mistake, but it's not one that will be repeated. Give us a second chance and you won't be sorry, I promise." 

Marshall sat without a word for the longest time ever. 

Michelle felt like wasps had taken up residence in her tummy and she tapped her feet to the carpet awaiting his next words. She glanced over at Amelia who had her hands in her lap and was sitting straight with her chest thrust forward. Like she was going to be okay no matter what happened. Michelle, on the other hand, had mortgage payments to make not to mention not being able to pursue her dream. 

Marshall seemed to really be struggling with the fate of the ladies. 

Finally, he leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. "I think you both are incredible teachers that made a very bad mistake. While your arguments almost convinced me to let you stay here, I'm sorry that I can't do it. If you want to use me as a job reference for your next opportunity, you have my word that I will only say positive things about you. What I saw between you two I will keep to myself." 

Michelle sprinted for the door with streams pouring from her eyes. She was saving the full-on wailing until she got outside. 

Amelia caught up to Michelle and she let it all loose into her chest while they embraced. 

Michelle was torn up inside and couldn't stop shaking but she pulled back after a couple of minutes to speak through her sniffles. "What am I going to do?" 

With her thumb, Amelia wiped away her tears, which caused her makeup to run. "We can figure it out. Do you want to come to my place?" 

Michelle could already feel herself come alive once again. "Do you have some ice cream? Like a tub of it?" 

"No, but we can make a stop for some if you like." 

"Okay, but you can't have any. I think I need it all after this." 

It did sting a little bit when Amelia became unemployed but after years of saving, she would be okay for a while. That freed up her mind for other more naughty things. 

She loved holding Michelle when she cried into her. She was so warm and had such a soft young body with a sweet smell. Amelia may have been reluctant to sleep with her before but now that she had a taste, she craved her more! Her body was pulsing with sexual anticipation when she agreed to come to her place and her pussy was becoming hot and soaked again. 

After stopping for a bucket of Rocky Road ice cream, the women went to Amelia's. 

Her home had quite a wilderness feel to it with plotted plants in every corner and floral arrangements on all the tables. She had an aquarium with goldfish and ocean blue lighting in the living room and a kitchen with newly installed maple cabinets and polished granite countertops. 

Though the home had much more to see, Michelle didn't get beyond the reddish brown sofa just past the front door. 

She kicked her shoes off onto the tile near the door and flopped right on the sofa with the plastic bag holding the ice cream. 

Amelia offered her a bowl, a spoon, and an ice cream scoop, but she only took the spoon. She sat Indian style with the bucket between her legs and dug right in! 

There was a 60 inch flat screen nearby but Amelia sat on the love seat near Michelle and the girls ended up talking for hours. 

Night had fallen and Amelia was getting more aroused when she thought of what she wanted to do to Michelle. 

She put the ice cream on the table next to her. It was over half eaten! 

Michelle yawned and stretched her arms to her sides. "Yaaawn, do you mind if I stay here tonight? I don't feel much like getting behind a wheel." 

Amelia was leaping on the inside. "Sure." 

"Thanks for talking with me. I still don't know how I'm going to make it but at least I'm filled up on ice cream and got to talk to you for a while." 

"Oh, it's all my pleasure, sweetie." 

Michelle stood. "You don't mind if I get comfortable do you?" 

Amelia couldn't wait to see what she meant by that. "Just make yourself at home." 

Michelle pulled her pants down and Amelia wanted to reach for her pussy right there. She had the cutest pair of legs with a natural lightly tanned complexion. 

She kept her blouse and panties on and stretched out on the sofa. 

Amelia went into her room and slipped into her sleeping attire, which was a pink shirt with a teddy bear on the front. She usually wore pajama pants but for what she had in mind, they'd probably get in the way. 

When she walked back into the living room, Michelle was already snoozing. She was so overloaded with fear, confusion, sadness, and ice cream, and the fact she'd been crying was all so much that it took her all of two seconds to wind up asleep. 

She was on her back with her legs stretched out and parted slightly and Amelia was trying to sneak a peek between them. She felt so selfish. She knew Michelle was probably not in any kind of sexual mood but Amelia was about to explode with tension. She had to satisfy her craving. 

Amelia, while rubbing her own pussy through her panties, sat at her friend's feet. Her blouse had ridden up some and she could see her dark blue panties. 

Amelia was vibrating with excitement as she reached to caress her pussy but Michelle flinched suddenly and she pulled her hand back. 

It seemed it was just an involuntary movement in her sleep. Amelia went for it again and touched her this time. 

"Wow, you're hot..." Amelia said to herself as she played with her but trying to be careful not to wake her. 

She, ever so slowly, was moving her hand back and forth over her sex. She was giving off intense heat and the fabric was damp. 

Amelia wanted to get braver and moved a finger to the edge of her panties. She was trying to slip it inside and feel her uncovered flesh. She pulled the material aside, little by little, and eased her finger into her pussy. 

She looked up at Michelle's facial expressions to see if she could tell what she was doing. Her lips parted a bit but she kept on breathing. 

Amelia slowly pushed her digit into her and dragged it across her pink flesh until it was out. She licked her fingers and tasted her cream. It was like honey. 

"Mmm, I want to eat you, baby..." she said as she leaned over and lowered herself towards her pussy. 

She licked along the satin. She slid her tongue inside and flicked around. She tugged her panties aside more and pressed her tongue to her clit. She lashed at it with quick licks while a digit, followed by another, penetrated her pussy. 

She slow finger-fucked her while spinning her tongue over her clit and Michelle began squirming and a soft moan came from her lips. 

Amelia attached her lips to her clit and sucked with her fingers still ploughing into her. She curled them and danced them around within her and Michelle came out of her slumber with loud sounds of delight. 

"Oh, yeah, fuck me, baby..." Michelle said with her head turned to the side with her eyes shut as she absorbed the feel of every suck, lick, thrust, and movement of her fingers. 

Amelia swept her panties off and tossed them away. She kissed Michelle's cheeks and left kisses towards her lips. Michelle pulled her closer and they devoured each other's mouths with a kiss that had both of their fires lit and waves of arousal were shooting through their beings and to their toes. 

They fought to get more kisses in than the other as they cradled their faces. 

Amelia sought out Michelle's neck and glided her tongue over it before she locked onto it and sucked hard. Michelle held onto her and hollered in a joy that filled the room. Amelia licked her in a fury and Michelle's toes curled. 

Amelia slithered down her body back to her pussy. She spread her lips, dove in, and licked it ferociously. Her tongue was licking everywhere not missing a spot. 

Michelle was letting all her screams of lust go. 

Amelia tongue-fucked her with a hand traveling up her tummy and to her breasts where she gave one a rough knead, squeeze, and tugged hard at its nipple. 

Michelle was rumbling. "I'm going to cum so hard!" 

Amelia shoved three fingers in and fucked her deep, hard, and twisted them around until her friend shuddered and came! 

She drove her tongue back in her and lapped up all of her cum juices. 

After gathering herself, Michelle lifted her back off the sofa and tasted Amelia's lips. 

"Your cum tastes so good, doesn't it?" Amelia asked as she withdrew from the kiss. 

"Yeah, I love it! Now, I want to taste yours again!" 

She gave a playful shove to Amelia's chest and she fell to her back on the other end of the couch. 

Michelle grabbed Amelia's panties and ripped them down her legs and off. She was a couple inches taller than Michelle. Her legs were longer and she dragged her hands over the length of them, over her pussy, and onto her tummy. Amelia wiggled and felt the powerful tension gathering between her legs. 

Amelia was already teetering on the edge of bursting when Michelle pushed her shirt above her tits. With no bra, she clamped onto her right nipple and sucked hard while she jammed a couple of fingers in and fucked her with them. With their gleaming bodies attached, Michelle sucking and licking her tit, and with her fingers shoved in her and moving them in circles, Amelia couldn't take anymore. 

She arched her back, tensed, and released a wave of cum onto Michelle's fingers. 

She cleaned them and left not a drip of her sweet cream on them. "Mmm, delicious!" 

Amelia's back was hot and wet like the rest of her. "I'm glad you like it!" 

The women shared another hot smooch and stayed on the sofa cuddled up in sweaty heat for the rest of the night. 

Waking Michelle the next morning was the day's first light streaming in around the curtain's edges. 

She sat on what little edge of the couch there was with Amelia still sleeping on it and rubbed the sleep from her eye's corners. 

There was an obvious draft that replaced the warmth she had when she was curled up with Amelia and the void was saddening! 

Her body was still tingling with sensual excitement but she couldn't play all day. 

Her phone lit up with a purple glow and was ringing so she swept it off the carpet and answered without looking at the Caller-ID. 

She held the cell to her ear with her shoulder while she was stepping into her panties and dress pants. "Hello?" 

"Hey, sis! It's me! How are you?" 

That voice caused her to freeze and her heart almost did the same! 

"Me" happened to be her brother, Lyle. The same brother she hadn't spoken with in a year since he moved overseas to be with the love of his life he met on the net. 

Lyle was the brother that not only put frogs under her sheets when they were kids and poured honey in her hair but would turn anyone's face to pulp who even looked at his sister wrong. He wasn't beyond taking the blame for things to take a spanking from their parents in place of her. His sister was his life until he moved to Germany for his beloved Karly. 

Michelle slid into a chair at the dining room table. She tried to keep her excitement contained to keep from waking her friend. "Lyle! How have you been?" 

"Just wonderful, sis! What about you?" 

Michelle stared at Amelia's legs up to her pussy and her tits, which were still out for the world to see. "I have to say that I don't know how I could be better!" 

"I love that. Anyhow, I'm in town so I was wondering if we could meet for coffee." 

Michelle gasped. "What? Really? I thought you were still overseas?" 

"I'll explain everything later. Can you meet?" 

"Yeah! I can't wait! How about in an hour at Chandra's Café?" 

"I'll be there. Bye!" 

"Bye..." 

Michelle had a face-length grin plastered over her. She was in the clouds. She just fucked Amelia and now her loving brother was in town. After being axed from her job, things couldn't get any peachier... 

Michelle couldn't wait for Amelia to wake so she left a note on the table. 

She drove home as fast as she could. After showering and dressing, she headed for the café. 

It was a spring, breezy day, so she grabbed a seat near the sidewalk, a metal mesh chair at a similarly designed table, and sat. 

She closed her eyes and let the wind soothe her skin and toes and caress her curly light brown tresses. 

She was in a light blue short-sleeve shirt, jean shorts, and flip-flops. 

Her phone buzzed and she checked it. Amelia had texted her. 

"I got your note. I hope things go well with your brother. Mmm, I can still taste your cum on my lips and smell your scent. I had a great time. Come back, soon!" 

Michelle couldn't help but think about that wonderful time last night, too. She couldn't wait to fuck her again. 

She flipped open her compact mirror and passed the time by checking herself out. She realized that she couldn't quit grinning and there was a sparkle in her irises. 

She also caught a glimpse of a red spot on the side of her neck. She recalled how Amelia left it there and she sighed. When she dressed that morning, she must have missed it because she would have buried it in makeup so people wouldn't ask her about it. 

In mid-thought, her brother scooped her out of the chair with a bear hug and her flip flops fell to the ground. "Hey, sister!" 

He was once in the military, the army, but he kept his figure and stayed in shape and had quite the grip. She loved every second of the love he showered her with. 

Michelle tried to squeeze him back just as hard. "Hey, I'm so happy to see you! I was shocked when you called and wanted to meet." 

"I hoped you would be. Come on. Let's get some coffee..." Lyle said as he walked with her, arm-in-arm, into the café. 

A few minutes later, she was sipping on a cinnamon-spiced latte and nibbling on a glazed, raspberry-filled doughnut and Lyle had him an iced coffee with milk. 

Lyle took a sip of his coffee. "Hey, sis, do you remember the time I put syrup on the desk chair you sat in when you studied? You were so mad but I thought it was funny." 

"Um hum. I bet you remember when I put superglue in your shoes, too." 

"That sucked! And I wasn't even wearing socks that day!" Lyle chuckled. "I still miss those days." 

Michelle took a bite of her doughnut. "Mmmhmm, me, too." 

The pair chatted for an hour about their lives. All the while, she was trying to make it look natural as she covered her hickey and hoped her smile would pull his attention away from it! 

They talked about her former teaching job and buying her first house but leaving details of her love life out. He spoke of his life overseas as he visited the Berlin Wall, cathedrals, ancient castles, and other attractions with his Karly. They seemed to have a great relationship right up until the "talk" she wanted to have. 

Michelle held her brother's hand as he was visibly shaken by the turn their conversation had taken. "What's wrong?" 

"Sigh, Karly grew distant on me. I thought everything was perfect but she said we didn't have chemistry anymore. She wasn't feeling me. I found out that it wasn't so much that but someone else was moving on my Karly. Someone from her past. Someone she claimed she was in love with before me. I lost her to another woman and I was helpless to do anything about it." 

Michelle raised a brow. "I'm sorry." 

"We were supposed to have a family but she went off with her! Two women just aren't supposed to be together! It's wrong." 

Michelle paused and her tummy twisted in a thousand knots. He had no idea his sister was having sex with a woman herself. Michelle didn't know what to think. Would he have ill-feelings towards her? Think something was wrong with her? No, no, not him. Anyone but Lyle! 




Private Lessons Ch. 02



Michelle eased her hand away from his slightly. "I'm sorry for what happened with you but what if two people, no matter their sex, fall in love? I don't think anything can be done about that. Everyone has their own opinions, sure, but you can't change how people feel." 

"No, sis. They don't really feel that way. Maybe they didn't have luck finding someone of their own sex or they're delusional but they can't really love someone of their same gender. I don't believe that! It's not supposed to be that way!" 

Michelle snapped. "You don't know that! Don't judge things you don't fully understand. That's all I ask. You're bitter over Karly leaving you, that's all." 

Lyle rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not happy about that, but I meant what I said." 

Michelle was ripping up underneath and she was doing all she could to keep her emotions from spilling to the outside. "Um, I really enjoyed spending time with you but I have to go." 

Lyle was scanning her as if to figure out why she wanted to split so abruptly. "I didn't mean for the conversation to turn this way. I apologize. Anyhow, where's your boyfriend? When I left, you said you'd be married with kids in a year. I know you always talked about it when we were younger." 

"I had a boyfriend up until a month ago. He cheated on me and lied about it. He thought I was gone to work one day when he invited that whore into our bed. I burned that bed right after. Asshole. Never mind. I don't really want to talk about it."  

When Michelle calmed down she realized Lyle was staring at her neck. Damn. She'd forgotten all about it. 

He pointed it out. "So, who left that mark on you?" 

She covered it again. "A, um, one night stand." 

"Oh, I see," Lyle said. "Listen, I'm sorry if I upset you. I was wondering if I could stay with you a while until I find a place in town? We can play Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, and Charades like we used to with chocolate milk." 

That wouldn't have been a bad idea if he hadn't opened his mouth in the last few minutes. 

Her eyes darted everywhere when she answered. "I'd really love to but I sold my house and I'm living with a friend now..." 

There was an uneasiness that came over her when she told that white lie but she figured it may be true soon enough. 

"Oh, okay. I'll just get a room for now. It would have been just like the old days," Lyle said as he walked to the other side of the table. "I love you." 

Michelle felt this negative energy when he approached and hugged her. It was nothing like the old days she thought. 

He kissed her cheek and was off. He wanted to hook up again later but Michelle wasn't so sure... 

Amelia was in her queen sized bed on her red wine satin sheets wearing nothing but the smile across her pink lips. Ever since she sexed Michelle, she was in a constant state of arousal that she couldn't seem to cure. 

She was pinching and pulling at her right breast with her pink seven inch cock-shaped vibrator in her other hand. 

She brought the tip of the toy to her clit and the vibrations had her squirming and squealing. Her head was flooding with images of Michelle attacking her clit and pussy with her tongue and darting it in and out of her. Every nerve she had was firing off. 

Amelia glided the toy lower and teased the fold just outside the entrance to her sex. She rotated the toy in circles and the buzzing gave her a nice feel. 

She slipped the vibrator in her drenching wet pussy. She was fucking herself with slow in and out strokes before going faster and faster. The vibrator was ribbed and its friction within her flesh was driving her crazy. 

She shoved it in as far as it could go and held it there while she soaking in the feel of its buzzing. The pulsing sensations shuddered her between her legs and down them and through the tips of her fingers. 

With every shove into her, she was closer to exploding. She massaged her clit with the fingers on her other hand. She was moaning and gasping and was in a different world. 

Amelia pulled her knees towards her chest and kept the toy pleasuring her. She fucked herself so long that her hand was getting numb. 

When she slipped it out, it was coated in her sweetness. 

With the vibrator well lubricated, she reached underneath herself and pressed only the tip inside her ass. She loved when she expanded to take it in and the buzzing sent intense vibes up through her body. She fingered her pussy at the same time and she was hollering in ecstasy. 

That is before the doorbell rang. 

She tried to ignore it but it rang again followed by a pounding at the door. 

Amelia whimpered and slammed the vibrator on the sheets. "Why now? It'd better be Michelle..." 

She threw on the red, lacy bra at the foot of her bed and the matching panties that had fallen on the carpet. 

After tossing on a black cotton shirt and denim jeans, she fluffed her hair in the dresser's mirror. She did the best she could without time to reach for a brush or comb. 

The knocking at the door persisted. 

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" she said as she speed-walked to the door. 

She flung it open and was paralyzed in shock. 

A man, in a grayish blue button-up shirt, khaki pants, and brown shoes holding a vase full of roses was standing before her. And it wasn't just any man. 

"Will...Willie? Um, hi," was all she could find to say. 

"Hi, Amelia," he said as he extended the gift. "I got these for you. Good to see you." 

Willie was the guy she was madly falling for before she moved from Charlotte. They probably would have been a thing but she took the teaching job in Carlton and had to move across the country. And he wasn't an ass about it. He encouraged her to go despite it shattering his heart into a million pieces. 

And now, here he was. 

Amelia already felt her knees get a little wobbly. He had dark skin, short black hair, a mustache, sandpaper beard, and a slender frame perfect for the acting he once did before moving from Los Angeles to Charlotte. She thought that was the man of her dreams until her dream took her to another city. He was now in Carlton and she could feel the same feelings when she last saw him. 

Amelia asked, "What brings you here?" 

"I did mention I would visit you sometime this week. Did you forget?" 

"Oh, right," she said with a shrug. "How silly of me. Well, don't just stand out there. Come in." 

Before long, they were on the sofa talking with glasses of Bacardi Gold in their mitts. Yeah, the same sofa she was sexing Michelle on the night before. In the presence of this man, her thoughts of her and him were in competition. 

They were turned towards each other and seemed to be completely in sync with their mannerisms and even voice inflections. 

Willie said, "And I got a call for a role playing a zombie in another World War Z movie. I was like my career must really be in the crapper. Shit, a couple hundred bucks to go around biting people? That's the best I can do? Wow!" 

"Oh, that's why you got out of acting. I could really see you playing Bond. James Bond." 

"Well, some blond guy got that role. Sucks. Too bad I was beaten out for that one. I think they got the wrong guy!" he said as he rose from the sofa and eased close to Amelia's neck. "I think maybe I would make a good zombie, though. I can bite!"  

He playfully nibbled on her neck and Amelia giggled and pushed him back. 

"You're too silly, Willie," she said as that spark within that was growing the longer he was there. She glanced at his left ring finger. "So, no significant other in your life?" 

Willie reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring that was once on that finger. "I guess I can't lie to you. She's nice but she's not you." He closed the gap between them until their knees bumped. "I believe if you're going to be with someone the rest of your life then it should be someone you're in love with." 

Amelia was turning to mush. "In love? You still love me?" 

"I never stopped," he said as he took her hand. 

She noticed him stare at her lips and back into her aquatic irises. She couldn't move. Those electric sparks she once felt when they dated the previous year were alive again. 

Amelia grinned and looked down and away while touching her neck and giggling. 

He lifted her chin with a finger and leaned forward with his lips. 

She felt a powerful rush but she pulled back. "Not yet. I'm not ready." 

Disappointment washed over him but he sucked it up. "Just tell me if you're seeing someone." 

"I am." 

"Do you love this person?" 

Amelia's mind was a jumbled mass of confusion. "Listen, I'll call you later, okay? I need to think about some things." 

Willie allowed her some space and took off. When the door closed, Amelia snatched the alcohol bottle from the table. She thought about refilling her glass but turned the bottle up instead! She had to talk to Michelle! 

Michelle was dumping a load of laundry into the washer. Any moment she stood still caused more agony and her head became the spin cycle. She kept running through her choices and none she jumped for joy for. 

Give up Amelia for her brother. Give up the one woman it took months to work up the nerve to confess her desires to. She could keep seeing Amelia but confess that to her brother. Admit that she had wild sex with her and become the very person her brother despised. And she could tell him where he can go if he didn't like it. Tell that to the brother that was also her best friend since birth. Oh, what was she to do? 

After she pushed the start button on the washer, her phone rang. It was Amelia and they both agreed they had to meet. 

Once she finished the laundry, she dressed and headed out. 

When Michelle arrived, she rang the doorbell and was invited in. Her eyes were drawn to the porcelain vase with roses tucked into it. She folded her arms and kept her distance from Amelia while emitting a frosty aura. 

Michelle stared at the flowers with a snarl. "I didn't realize I wasn't the only one." 

Amelia realized what she was talking about and wanted to kick herself for not hiding them. "It's not what it looks like. A past guy, Willie, showed up today. Those were a gift because he hadn't seen me in a while." 

Michelle picked up one of the stems and sniffed the petals. "Really? I may be young but I won't claim the dumb part. These must have cost a half of week's work at the school. He wants you doesn't he?" 

"Yes." 

"And do you want him?" 

Amelia opened her mouth but it took a while before she said anything. "Uh, he's married." 

Michelle curled her lips and an indention appeared in her chin. "That didn't answer my question!" 

"I don't know, okay? I really enjoyed my time with you but I really loved him. He's the type of guy I could see myself settling down with but like I said, I'm not the only one either." 

Michelle said, "Well, at least you told me. My brother and I had some great conversation and I was so excited to see him and then he mentioned he would be against two women being together. He only brought it up because his girlfriend left him for a woman. I don't know what to do. I couldn't tell him about us or he might disown me as his sister." 

"What do you want to do? If I told you that I wanted to be with you, would you?" 

"I...I...I don't know." 

Amelia took slow steps towards Michelle and took her into her arms. "Maybe we should take some time to decide what's best for us before we do anything else." 

"Yeah..." 

The girls shared a kiss before Michelle left... 

It was about ten days later and Amelia had picked up a job as a substitute teacher in the district. This day, she was subbing at another high school. 

She and Michelle had a lunch date to discuss their respective dilemmas. 

Amelia pulled out her desk drawer and took out her cell phone. 

She texted Michelle to see if she had arrived. 

Amelia: Where are you? 

Michelle texted back: Look to your left. 

Amelia turned left and there was Michelle leaning against the inside of the doorway. She made her hair curly. She was in a white shirt that displayed a great deal of cleavage, a blue jean skirt, and some flat shoes. She pulled her skirt up a bit and were halfway up her legs approaching her pussy. 

Amelia asked, "Michelle, uh, what are you doing?" 

Michelle's hips rolled side to side as she walked in Amelia's direction. "We had a lunch date, remember?" 

Amelia smirked. "I know that look. I think you're starving for something else." 

"I missed you." 

"I missed you, too, but what about your brother?" 

Michelle let her shoulders rise and fall. "I love him but I have to live my life like everyone else. If he disowns me, I would be sad but I'll live through it." 

Michelle went behind the teacher's desk and invaded her space. 

Amelia said, "We can't do whatever you're thinking about. I just got this job!" 

Michelle opened her handbag and let her see what was in it. "I have something for you." 

Amelia's jaw fell from her face. "You really want to do that to me?" 

Michelle turned around and secured the door, which gave them privacy and shut out the lunchtime chatter. 

She approached Amelia again and took her surprise out of the bag. It was a strap-on, pink, about seven inches in length. 

She salivated at the sight of Amelia in her charcoal skirt suit and black knee-high boots. Her dark brown hair was flowing freely. 

Michelle moved back into her aura. "This whole week we were apart, all I've been able to think about is fucking you." 

Amelia was turning on and becoming wet between her legs. "Do I get a say in this?" 

Michelle asked, "Do you love that other guy?" 

Amelia stammered. "I...um..." 

At the first hint of hesitation, Michelle smothered her in one sizzling kiss after another. She pressed against her lips hard and held her hips. She moved forward while still kissing her to force her onto the desk. When she climbed upon Amelia, she pinned her to her back. 

Whatever inhibitions Amelia had faded away. She promised herself that she would reject any sexual advances, if any, she made because of things she wanted to discuss over their lunch date. 

That failed. Miserably. She couldn't help but be attracted to this beautiful, young woman and she was pleasantly surprised about how she was going for what she wanted again. She let herself go while in the rear of her mind hoping they didn't get caught with their asses out again. And hoping she could find a way to speak about what was on her mind...eventually. 

Michelle was maneuvering over Amelia's face and settled there with her knees on either side of her looking in the direction of her pussy. Amelia could smell her arousal and was becoming intoxicated. 

"You're not wearing any panties..." Amelia commented while looking under her skirt. 

"I didn't want to waste any time in you getting your tongue on my pussy." 

"How did you know I would do it?" 

"Sigh, you're talking when you should be eating, baby." 

"Oh, right, sorry..." Amelia said as she reached up to hold her ass cheeks while she attacked her pussy with her tongue, licking over her pussy lips and inside its fleshy fold. She dragged her tongue all within her and Michelle was trying to keep from shifting around. 

Amelia's thumb ventured between Michelle's ass cheeks and pressed against her anus while she continued swirling her licker up and down the length of her pussy. 

Michelle grinded against her thumb and was cupping and squeezing her tits. She was blinking rapidly and sealed her lips to try to keep from getting too loud. 

Amelia slapped Michelle's ass with both hands a few times before groping them so hard Michelle let out a moan. 

Michelle leaned forward and tugged at Amelia's skirt. It was pinned to the desk underneath her but she managed to get the front up a little. She massaged her legs deep into the muscle before moving her hands inside of them between her legs. She massaged harder there with a hand on each leg and her body weight shifted forward. 

Amelia purred into Michelle's pussy and both girls were vibrating out of control. 

While she was still licking Michelle, she became wetter and juicier and she slurped it all up. 

"Ohhh myyy, your tongue feels so good in my pussy..." Michelle said as she had pulled her shirt lower revealing her perked up tits with stiff nips. 

Amelia licked her as fast as she could, all over and deep within. Her jaws became sore from holding them open so long but she kept eating her delicious sex. 

Michelle was racing to the edge but slid towards the rear of the desk where Amelia's legs were dangling off the edge. 

She stood near Amelia and shoved her skirt towards her waist. Amelia lifted her ass off the desk some to help her. 

She was wearing black panties with a wet spot on them. Michelle smiled in acknowledgement then wasted no time in pulling them down and dropping them to the tile. 

Something about being exposed in a public place was setting Amelia off and her pussy was still creaming. 

She was massaging her clit while she watched Michelle pull the strap-on to her waist. Amelia was craving a good fucking and she wanted her to put that rubber-like cock in her. 

Michelle walked between Amelia's legs while holding the toy. "Tell me what you want me to do." 

"Come on, please..." 

Michelle smirked. "Please...what?" 

"I want you to fuck me long and hard with that cock. Get it as deep as you can." 

"Hmm, okay. I just wanted to make sure." 

"I hate when you make me beg." 

"No, you don't. Now be quiet and spread your legs wide for me." 

Amelia found it odd being commanded by someone Michelle's age but she couldn't deny the pleasure she rewarded her with. 

Amelia opened her legs more and Michelle positioned the cock in front of her pussy and noticed how creamy it was. "Looks like you've already cum. It's just the start." 

She pushed the head in first and she loved how her pussy opened to take it in. She rocked back and forth within her, just the head inside, and Amelia was wanting more of it. 

Michelle gave her another couple of inches and fucked her with just that much length. She gave her the whole thing next and was deep as she could get. She held the cock there and reveled in how much Amelia was moaning. 

She held the back of Amelia's knees to keep her legs open and she pounded her pussy with long, deep thrusts. She was rocking Amelia's body and she was about to cum again. 

Michelle changed rhythm going at her pussy with speed. The cock's constant rubs against Amelia's flesh had her surging with sexual energy. 

Michelle climbed onto the desk and pummeled Amelia some more. Her friend was sliding all over her desk calendar and papers, which were moist from her back. 

She was driving her hips against Amelia with each thrust. She loved giving herself to Michelle and the passion she showed in how she was fucking her was even more of a turn-on. 

Michelle slowed her cock and came to a stop. Amelia opened her eyes to see why. 

She gave Amelia the come hither as she slid off to her feet. 

Amelia stood up in front of her. "Where do you want me?" 

Michelle spun her and pressed on her back until her tits were comfortably on the desk. "This is perfect right here." Michelle gave her a few playful spanks to both of Amelia's cheeks. 

"Oww! Oww!" Amelia cried as she reached back to rub the stings away. 

Michelle moved her hand away. "You're bad letting me fuck you here. All this time, I never knew that about you." 

Amelia looked back over her shoulder. "So, what are you going to do about it?" 

Michelle penetrated her pussy with the cock right then. "This!" 

Amelia's eyes lit up. Her pussy was throbbing from the fucking Michelle was giving her but she didn't let up as she grabbed her ass and drilled her more. 




Private Lessons Ch. 02



Michelle leaned over, swept the tresses from Amelia's face, and nibbled and tugged at her ear and smothered her facial cheek in kisses. 

Amelia shut her eyes and soaked in the feel of her pussy swallowing the cock and now more stinging sensations on her ass with her friend spanking her again. She had a pain tolerance that was nonexistent but she was loving this moment so much that she didn't care. 

Her legs were sinking against the back of the desk as they were turning to mush. 

Michelle slowed her thrusting and pulled out. 

Amelia stayed flat on her desk and rested. "Wow, that was amazing. Whew!" 

She turned around and sat on the desk. 

Michelle pushed on her thighs and Amelia took the hint and parted them. She entered her once again but was moving barely at all while she eased Amelia closer and kissed her French, full-mouthed style with their tongues dancing together. 

Amelia was in a daze when she disconnected. 

Michelle was smiling and playing with her moist locks. "What did you think of that?" 

"I think that was great, sweetie." 

"Come to my house tonight. I think we both have something we need to do." 

"I know..." Amelia said as they kissed once more. "See you soon." 

Michelle got herself looking presentable and zipped the strap-on inside her handbag. She opened the door to leave and gave Amelia a seductive smile with a lick of her lips before disappearing into the hall. 

Later that evening, Amelia pulled into Michelle's driveway. 

Michelle thought it'd be best to tell their "dilemmas" where they stood. She was going to tell her brother, Lyle, that she'd been fucking Amelia and he could jump in the lake if he had anything negative to say about it. 

Amelia didn't think it would be that easy. They were siblings so close nothing could rip them apart. Almost nothing. 

And Amelia was to tell Willie that she wanted Michelle or at least tell him she didn't want him in any romantic or sexual way. Again, that would be a challenge. She still sensed a powerful magnetic attraction to this guy and he could resurrect fantasies, or rather dreams, buried long ago. A chance to settle down. A chance to have kids before her biological clock struck midnight. Amelia was never decisive about anything. She wrestled every night with what side of the bed to sleep on. What color socks to wear. Whether she wanted grilled or baked chicken. Any of those scenarios could potentially trigger a one or two hour debate in her mind. 

Amelia took a deep breath, got out of her car, and strolled to Michelle's front door. Yeah, this was going to be interesting... 

As she approached the walkway leading to the porch, she could hear Michelle arguing with someone. She'd never heard her that loud. Well, not outside of them having sex. 

Amelia stood beneath the yellow porch light and started to press the doorbell but thought she'd eavesdrop. Her voice was muffled but she was so loud that if she focused enough, she could make out what she was saying. 

Michelle was defending her decision to fuck Amelia to someone. And she was hollering about her being the same person he grew up with. Amelia figured she must have been chatting with Lyle. 

Michelle was throwing everything she could at him: insensitive, jerk, ignorant, stupid, selfish, etc. 

It was getting intense and Amelia heard something hit the floor so she mashed the doorbell five times and beat on the door. 

When Michelle let her in, her eyes were crimson and moist and she just fell into Amelia's arms and cried. 

Amelia let her pour her emotions on her for a minute before she spoke. "I take it that was Lyle." 

Michelle fought to respond through her tears. "Lyle's an ass...'sniff.' He said he didn't want to talk to me anymore because I admitted that I liked girls. He said he didn't know me and something must be wrong with me. Like I'm diseased or something. I was trying to be honest and he responded by treating me like shit! Why? I'd never seen that side of him." 

Amelia pulled her into her body and the connection their bodies made filled them with much warmness. "I'm sorry, Michelle. Why did you have to tell him about us?" 

Into her chest, she said, "Because we never kept secrets and he would be twice as angry if he found out on his own. Eventually, when he didn't see any guys hanging around, he would have done the math. He wasn't ever good at math but I think that he could have figured it out." 

"Oh, I understand. Well, I hope he'll come around one day and realize he was wrong for reacting that way." 

"Thanks," Michelle said as she leaned back. "Have you spoken to Willie?" 

"No, not today. I owe him a callback, though." 

"What are you going to tell him when you do call him back?" 

And there was the ultimate test for Amelia. She came in with the intention of breaking things off with Michelle. At least the sex part. 

Now, how could she just cut it off? She'd be devastated. She figured she'd put off pursuing her dreams a little longer. More fun in the sack couldn't hurt...could it? 

Amelia said, "I'm going to tell Willie that I'm not interested in a relationship with him because I want you." 

Michelle's eyes glimmered. "R...Really?" 

"Yes." 

Michelle's tears changed from those of hurt and sorrow to pure joy as she hopped into Amelia's arms. "Yay! I was hoping you said that! I think we should celebrate. Wanna go to bed?" 

Amelia was stirring again within her pussy and still couldn't say no. 

She lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bedroom. "I thought you'd never ask!" 

They collapsed to Michelle's bed, started kissing, and feeling each other up. They were in for another wild night!



Private Lessons Ch. 05-06



WEEK FIVE – TAKING RISKS

I wish that I could say that my erotic experience with Mr. C had changed me into a new woman. I would have loved to wake up on Monday morning and see the reflection of a sensual femme fatale peering back at me. Then I would happily prance off to my temp job at the latest corporate prison, prepared to give sassy attitude to all of the corporate assholes with their control issues. And then I would set the world on fire with my acting and singing. Finally, those paying jobs in my chosen profession would come in. The agents would show up. My name would be in reviews. I would move from Off-Off-Broadway to Off-Broadway. And from there, there was only one more step to my Big Dream.

As it was, I woke up, looking pretty much the same as I always did. Even worse, I saw a single gray hair on my head and a burgeoning zit on my cheek. Only I would be so fucked up as to have aging hair and teenage acne at the same time.

For much of Monday, I spent time just gazing at the computer screen saver (the one with swimming fish) in a trance. I knew that I needed to bring in a new song for the next class. That is, if I even intended to go back to class...

Truth be told, I simply did not have the first idea of how to handle the situation, emotionally or otherwise. For so long I had dreamed of Mr. C. And for the fantasy to become such a kinky reality was just too weird. There are just some lines that should not be crossed. There was a part of me that was terrified to step back into that room. It seemed that no matter what happened, the outcome would be a bad one. If he ignored me, pretending that nothing had occurred at all, it would be devastating to my self-esteem. And yet, if something else were to happen...I didn't know how I would deal with that either. The situation was just so unbearably awkward. 

When I thought of just not going back to the class at all, I became horribly depressed. After all, I didn't ask for all of that trouble. And damn it, I liked the class in a masochistic sort of way. I didn't want to leave. Then this other side of my personality, a stronger side who I thought of as the "Actress", would not allow me to leave. 

I know that I must sound a bit like Norman Bates from PSYCHO when I talk this way. But it's the way that I am. 

Ever since I moved to New York, there seemed to be at least two sides as to who Maggie Spencer was. The little girl from Texas, the one who had been trampled on and beaten to a bloody pulp by hurtful people. She was the dreamer who thought that Mr. C was speaking to her through his song on the radio. And then there was the Actress who had clawed her way out of the ashes, for better or worse. The pain inflicted on her was simply used as a fuel for her scene work in acting classes. And she was always in control, always in the driver's seat. And she said: "Grow up. You know that such things are just part of the Business. So you got finger fucked by the man of your dreams. Was that so awful? Cry me a river! He got his jollies off. You know that he got yours off. Pick a song and go back to class. Don't be an idiot."

So after much soul searching and staring at the computer screen, I left work and went to the New York Public Library, scanning through the sheet music for something to sing for the next class. The problem was that I felt paralyzed with even picking a song. I did not want to sing another romantic ballad. I had already done Time After Time and My Ship. I simply wasn't in the mood. So what would I sing?

I wanted something upbeat and snappy. As I browsed my way through song after song, I saw All That Jazz from CHICAGO. Yes, something like that would be just what I needed to do. Something that was just about having a good time...and fuck everything else. But I knew that any song from CHICAGO would be instant death in class. For one thing, since the movie came out, any song from the musical would be overdone for audition purposes. Secondly, I was as far away from the character of Velma Kelly that a person could get, both physically and emotionally. And third, All That Jazz was not just a song that you could stand up there and sing with your thumb up your ass. You had to have some sort of fancy choreography to make the song work at all.

With a plaintive sigh, I kept turning pages of sheet music.

But wait a minute...

What about Roxie Hart from CHICAGO? She was much more my speed. Someone who was not the Glamour Queen like Velma Kelly, but she sure as hell wanted to be. She was ambitious, wanting to be Somebody, even if her fame came through committing murder. I could play that and have a damned good time.

The name on everybody's lips is gonna be...Roxie...," I hummed as I made my way to the Xerox machine, relieved that I had made a choice.

On the subway ride home, I started to worry again.

Before Mr. C, I had been studying with another teacher. Not Musical Theater, just straight shoot-from-the-hip Scene Study class. Let's just call this teacher Mr. B. I actually took a break from studying with him to clear my schedule to devote all of my time to Mr. C's class. And I did feel a little guilty, as Mr. B was also a good teacher. And I knew what he would say to me right now. I was picking the material to suit my mood rather than using my past experience to suit the material. That I was working too much from my emotions in the present and not from the past. This is always a dangerous thing for an actor to do because the present is mercurial and changing, so you cannot rely on those emotions to still be there by performance time.

Shut up, Mr. B! I'm not taking your class right now, am I? So much for that worry.

And what about the material itself? CHICAGO is still going to be overdone, no matter how much you want to sing the song. And everyone will be watching you and thinking about Renee Zellweger.

Well, so be it! Mr. C's always preaching about taking risks. OK, I'll take a risk. I want to do it, so I'm going to do it! I already have audition pieces anyway. Besides, I was wasting no one's money but my own by using a class to sing an overdone piece. Right?

As I made my way off of the subway, I noticed two National Guardsmen standing at the subway exit with their large bomb-sniffing dogs and guns. Apparently, there were more threats about another terrorist attack hitting New York City. I had heard about it on the news; and I had been seeing more policemen around. Again, I recalled that sickly smoky smell of 9/11. Again, I remembered running down Canal Street in a panic as one of the World Trade Center buildings collapsed with all of the rumble of an earthquake.

I tried to fight off a case of the post-traumatic shivers.

Well, at least, my neurotic worrying about my song kept me from worrying about the next terror attack. And from worrying about sexual relations with Mr. C.

----------------------------------

One benefit from my unwillingness to deal with real life was that I was much more focused in the world of Roxie Hart and CHICAGO. I even made up a character bio for her which is something I usually only reserved for my Scene Study classes with Mr. B.

I even discovered that working on Roxie Hart's bio at my boring temp job saved me a lot of hard work. You see, if corporate assholes see a temp doing nothing, they will find the most menial things that they don't want to do and give it to them. I've always felt like it's the working force equivalent to hiring a streetwalker and degrading them to the utmost level in order to get their money's worth out of them. If you are a temp and are caught reading a book, you will then get sent to the filing cabinet pronto. And if you finish that, then you are expected to tell them that you are finished so they can then find something else for you to do like faxing reports or making copies. But the corporate assholes really don't care about what you're doing, as long as they don't think that you're enjoying yourself, because then they will look like they're not doing their job...which they're not, most of the time. So while I was typing away at Roxie's bio, they thought I was hard at work and left me alone. I had a much fuller interpretation of who Roxie Hart was and my feet got a rest. The corporate assholes thought that I was slaving away over their exciting profit reports. In short, everyone was happy.

As I rode the subway to Tribeca, I felt pretty jazzed about my song. I wore a skin-tight slinky low-cut top of beige and black. I thought of it as my "Marilyn Monroe" top as it looked just like something she wore in BUS STOP. I knew that Mr. C would not like it, but I wore my fuck-me shoes. I just couldn't sing as Roxie in flats, no way. And I wore a knee-length black skirt with roll-up stockings. And no underwear...as per Mr. C's dictum. Somehow, the forbidden nakedness underneath my skirt just added to the wildness of Roxie Hart. So it was okay.

Listening to my headphones, I kept playing different sexy songs in order to prep myself up. Not from CHICAGO! That really would have been self-defeating. But whatever sexy ego-boosting stuff took my fancy. In this case, I was listening to a lot of Madonna songs. Her music is great for prep work if you can get your mind off of the Madonna publicity machine and simply listen to the words. Particularly her earlier stuff.

I kept listening to the music, all of the way until I made it into the classroom. Even when I took off the headphones, I let the words reverberate through my mind. I hummed lyrics as I hung up my coat. I dared not think on anything else or I would return to reality and lose my nerve.

"You made it back alive!"

The smiling blonde jolted me out of my Roxie Hart heaven as I made my way from the coat rack. Although she seemed sincerely friendly, she was just the sort of Cameron Diaz/Charlize Theron wannabe that drove me nuts. I tried not to hold her good looks against her.

"Yes...out of the jaws of death!" I joked.

"I never knew Mr. C could be so cold and brutal," she whispered, sitting next to me. "He looked just like he did when he played that famous villain part. What was it?"

I answered the inane trivia question, secretly thinking her a bimbo. That 'famous villain part' was only the most famous role he ever played! Hello?!

"Yes, that's the one," she giggled.

Then she leaned over to me, whispering in my ear.

"But he looks so sexy when his eyes narrow like that and he gets all sadistic, don't you think so?"

I pulled away from her as if I had been burned.

Of course, the other women in class found Mr. C sexy. They would be dead if they didn't. But I didn't want to have to hear about it. And I didn't like the possessive feelings that were already taking over. Last week meant nothing, I told myself. It was just an experimental thing, just a little fast fuck, if you will. I had no right to make it anything more. And for my health, it was best that I didn't. I still wanted to bitch slap the bimbo though.

"What's your name again?"

"Tammy."

Somehow, that was a perfect name to suit the bimbo.

"Well, Tammy," I said coolly. "I need to go over my lyrics for my song so if you'll excuse me."

"Sure thing," she winked.

Once again, I yearned to beat the crap out of her.

Use it, the voice in my head said. Wouldn't Roxie Hart like to beat the crap out of her? Damn straight she would!

After a few moments of pacing around in the hallway and getting back into Roxie mode, I was raring to go again. When I entered the room, there was Mr. C, looking fuckable in a green sweatshirt and jeans. Green was his best color. It set off that Irish red hair of his and made his eyes light up. Why did he have to wear green today?

So the fuck what, Roxie Hart said to me. He's just another man. He's not Jesus Christ, for Pete's sake! He's just another lamebrained actor. He's no better than you. He just got lucky, that's all. Now stick with me, honey, and we'll have some fun! Pay no attention to that sonofabitch!

"So who's going to get fried first?" Mr. C asked with a playful grin.

I rose my hand instantly. Roxie was ready to go. In fact, I would burst soon if I couldn't let her have her way.

I saw the glint of interest in Mr. C's eyes as he nodded. Obviously, he liked the slinky top I wore.

Of course he does, sweetie, Roxie said. Don't be a dope. He's a man, isn't he? Shake 'em at him and he'll be eating out of your hand, honey pie. Cause deep down, you know all men are jerks that only think with their dicks. Men are all lousy rats! But don't worry about that. Let's go, honey! LET'S GO!!!

The music started. And there was no more Maggie. There was only Roxie. The class didn't matter. Mr. C didn't matter. All that mattered was letting Roxie revel in her egotistic glee and her dreams of fame. When you're really into the character to the point where you're almost oblivious, there is nothing in the world like it. It's an incredibly freeing experience and more addictive and devastating than crystal meth. Once you reach that high, you spend the rest of your life trying to recreate it again. And for some actors, they can never get there again. That's why you see some of them making the same movie over and over again under different titles, trying to capture the magic of that first time.

I was still coming down from the high of Roxie when the song was over and I was in the 'hot seat'.

The energy of the class was completely different than I had ever seen it before. Most of the time, even when they had good things to say, it was sort of with a grudging jealousy factor going on. Prying complements out of them was like pulling teetch. But this time, they couldn't say enough good things about it. They had really enjoyed it!

And when I looked at Mr. C, he had one of those big grins from ear to ear. One of those concert curtain call grins. I was melting. Roxie, Roxie, where are you when I need you, I pleaded weakly. But she was gone with her song.

"Well, that was fun," Mr C laughed. "It felt good, didn't it?"

"Yes," I admitted shyly, having lost all of my Roxy.

"Maggie, that was the best thing I've seen you do so far," he started. "I don't think that I need to tell you that. I think you also know that this would be risky as an audition piece."

"Yes, I just wanted to try it out."

He nodded.

"Well, this is a class and experimentation is welcome here. But you know, it's also a business. What you need to shoot for at this point is to find a song that gets you in that same place that isn't overdone. Then you will have a very strong audition piece that may open doors for you. Something to think about. Good work. Bring in something new next week."

I felt rather in shock. That was the best critique I had ever seen Mr. C give anyone in the last five weeks. And it was for me!

The rest of the class, I was still high from post-performance euphoria.

When class was over, I moved to get my coat. It was best just to leave while I was ahead, escaping any unnecessary embarrassment. All the while, students were telling me how much they had enjoyed my song. My head was getting so big with all of the praise that I felt as if I would explode. I could get used to this all too easily.

"Maggie, could I speak to you for a moment?"

Damn!

The soft Irish tones stopped me in my tracks.

"Sure," I smiled, putting my coat on one of the chairs of the risers.

When all of the class had left, we were alone at last. He locked the door behind the last straggler. My nerves were frayed. If he was going to apologize for last week, I was just going to die. I wondered if I should just speak up. Say, Mr. C, I know that last week was just a flash in the pan thing. Let's just forget it, okay? No hard feelings and all that, okay?

I said nothing, but just waited. Right now the only character I could have played was a lamb being led to slaughter.

"I wanted to tell you something else, but it would not be appropriate in a classroom setting."

Since when was the belt-lashing Mr. C concerned about appropriate behavior?

"Really?" I asked.

"If you're going to play it sexy, you need to commit more to that."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"You were halfway there, if you're going to play it that way, then do it. Don't just strike poses. It's not always easy to do in front of an audience, but that's what the character demands."

He was talking about the song. It was so confusing with him. I never knew if he was talking about sex or performing. And there was no translator to help me out. 

"You need to get in touch with your sensual nature. I could help you with that if you'll let me."

The room was very quiet, so quiet that you could hear the classrooms on the other floors.

"Will you let me?"

So here I was again at the crossroads.

"What will happen if I say no?" I asked.

"Nothing," he shrugged.

"You wouldn't kick me out of the class?"

He answered haltingly.

"No...I wouldn't...Last week, I suppose I got carried..."

"Yes," I interrupted. "Help me."

Mr. C's eyes narrowed and seemed to darken. He did indeed look like a villainous character. And he knew what I needed from him. I did not want apologies from my teacher. I wanted him to dominate me, to guide me and teach me, to reward me when I was good and to punish me when I was bad. I suppose since I had gotten a taste of kinkiness, I now realized that I wanted more of the same. And he knew that I wanted it that way. And I knew that he knew it. And he knew that...oh, it didn't matter. I wanted him so badly.

"Help me..." I asked again.

"Help you, what?"

I almost smiled in relief.

"Help me, sir. Please teach me."

Mr. C's eyes were alight with anticipation as we fell back into our game. He sat behind his desk and propped his feet up.

"There is a stool behind the curtain where the props are. Get it."

"Yes, sir."

I dragged the stool to the center of the stage.

"Sit down on it."

I did.

"Good. Now close your eyes and relax."

I closed my eyes, but I couldn't relax.

"Breathe in and out...deep breaths..."

I listened to the melodic tones of his voice that I knew so well. And they comforted me, despite the fact that he was the reason why I was so on edge.

"Put your hands behind your back and spread your legs wide."

This was something I had never done before. Tentatively, I followed his instructions. I blushed when I remembered that I wasn't wearing panties.

"Wider!" he commanded.

I spread them until my skirt almost rode up to my waist. Oh, all I needed was a pole and I could have been a stripper.

"Beautiful..." he crooned. "Now arch your back and thrust out those tits."

"Yes, sir," I panted. I loved it when he was crude. And I was getting all wet.

"Are you feeling sexy?"

"Yes, sir."

I tried not to smile or giggle.

"Sing some of the song...just a few lyrics..."

I sang the song, feeling sexiness oozing from my pores. Sleazy sultry Hollywood sexiness...

"Much better, my dear. You should be rewarded. Would you like that?"

Again, he was asking permission to use me like a whore. And again, I gave in.

"Yes, sir...please..."

"Keep your eyes closed."

I heard the sound of his boots as he walked over to me. For the longest time, he just lingered there, keeping me in suspense.

A cold finger stroked my lips. Eagerly, I began to suck at his finger, feeling my insides heating up like a furnace. I know it is strange to say but his finger tasted good. As I kept licking away at it, I could hear his heavy breathing. Knowing he was turned on only turned me on more.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when his other hand grasped at my breast. The silk of my top somehow made me feel more sensitive than I would be if I were naked as he pinched and pulled at my nipple. And I heard him kneel down in front of me. Oh, I wanted to move so bad. But I didn't dare. I felt my skirt creep up my thighs and the cold air hit my exposed thatch.




Private Lessons Ch. 05-06



"You follow directions well, Maggie," he said huskily, undoubtedly taking in the sight of my naked spread pussy.

I only let out a tortured moan in response as I felt his fingers spread my pussy lips wide.

"Would you like me to reward you, Maggie?"

"Yes, sir," I whispered.

"Stay very still."

His wet finger flicked playfully at my clit.

I felt his warm mouth through the silk of my blouse as he kept playing with my clit with one finger, driving me crazy. As he tortured my nipple and clit, I was truly desperate to come. Then I heard and felt him move lower. His warm breath brushed against the inside of my thigh.

I squirmed and jolted as his tongue wriggled up and down my pussy.

"Stay still!" he ordered, spanking me lightly on the thigh.

My legs were trembling as he pulled my hips farther to the edge of the stool. Had he not been holding both of my hips in his hands, I would have fallen onto the floor. As it was, his mouth just pressed against me more deeply. I felt as if he were going to devour me whole and I would die without so much as a whimper.

When he held my clit between his teeth and began to suck at it, I could not help but moan and buck my hips.

"Ooooohhhhhh..."

"Silence!" he ordered.

Pulling away from me, he spanked me sharply between the legs several times.

I bit my lip, trying not to cry out, even through the slaps were more arousing than painful. And because my eyes had been closed, they had seemingly come out of nowhere.

He pulled me from the stool and onto my back, slapping lightly at my breasts and buttocks.

I moaned and cried out.

"You need to learn discipline, don't you, you naughty little girl?"

"Yes, sir," I moaned.

"Do I need to teach you that lesson too?"

"Yes, sir."

"I will tell you once more not to move. If you do, I shall stop and you can just stay frustrated. Do you want that?"

"No, sir."

"Then be good."

He pulled my thighs apart wide and rested then over his shoulders as he continued to lick and nibble and suck. When I felt his fingers thrust into me, the orgasm hit with a vengeance. The tremors seemed to go on and on forever as my pussy convulsed around his fingers. He was not merciful but kept sucking until he made me come a second time.

When it was over, I thought I would faint. I could barely move or breathe. I sat up, my thighs soaked with his saliva and my juices. 

Mr. C was already standing up.

"You can open your eyes now."

I got onto my knees, practically crawling at him on all fours.

"Please, sir..." I begged. "Please let me..."

"Yes, Maggie. What would you like me to let you do?"

"I want to..." I searched in my mind for the words he would like. "I want to suck your cock. Please, sir."

Oddly, Mr. C hesitated at first. I would have thought that he would have been all for it. And it wasn't every day that I was crawling and begging to give a man oral sex. But I wanted to make him feel the way that I did. Also, I needed to feel like I had a little control in what was going on, even if that was the only way I could do it.

With a gentle smile, he unzipped his pants. His cock was very nice and thick. I have never been one to compare appendages. Being so imperfect myself, I did not want to contribute to the mass obsession with physical characteristics. But it was a very nice cock.

Funny that I had begged to suck him off as I had never particularly liked oral sex. When I received it, I felt either awkward, grossed out or feeling under obligation to return the favor. But I particularly didn't like the taste of a man's cock. I tried it with my first boyfriend and was completely disgusted. With the second one, I got better at it and a little more used to it. In fact, I became so good that sometimes that was all he wanted from me and didn't even reciprocate. After enough of these unsatisfying trysts, that was the end of that relationship. With the third one, I didn't do any blow jobs at all. It just wasn't worth it.

But as I took Mr. C in my mouth, I didn't mind the salty taste. In fact, I even got into it, taking him deeper than I had ever taken any of the ex-boyfriends. Not so far that I would gag. Linda Lovelace did not need to worry about any competition from me on that score. But I made up for depth with my tongue, sucking and licking and swirling away at him. Judging from the throaty moans he was giving out, I must have been doing something right. I clutched at his denim jeans, pulling his hips closer and closer, unable to get enough of my Mr. C. I even let him come in my mouth and swallowed it, breaking another precedent. I'd still have a Coca Cola any day over cum, but it wasn't bad.

For a while, we both just remained still. His hand was stroking my hair. That was the first time he had ever touched me that was not as a teacher or in the middle of fucking. Somehow, the intimacy freaked me out. I don't know why. Maybe because Mr. C was starting to seem like a human being rather than a sadistic taskmaster or a poster on a dormitory wall.

And again, I was struck by a sense of unreality. Was this what Monica Lewinsky felt like after blowing Bill Clinton? I wondered. Just this weird sense of 'what the hell is going on'. I had no way of knowing. I did know that I would learn from her mistakes and keep my mouth shut about what just happened. Not that Mr. C was as famous as the President of the United States, anyway. And besides, who was I going to tell the story to? My mother?

"Another class is going to come soon," he said quietly. "We have to leave."

Mr. C helped me up to my feet. The action would have been rather gentlemanly if the scenario had been different. Then came the inevitable awkwardness as I pulled at my mussed clothing and retrieved my coat.

"See you next week, Maggie."

Mr. C kissed me lightly on the cheek. He smelled of sex.

It was not until I made my way to the Number 9 train that I realized that he was no longer calling me 'Miss Spencer'. He had called me 'Maggie'. 

WEEK SIX – DEALING WITH OBSTACLES

This was proving to be the Week from Hell. 

At my boring temp job, one of the higher-ups started to get bored and try to think of ways to "improve things". So naturally I was stuck with so much grunt work that I had to put my own acting projects on hold. I was seriously considering moving on to greener pastures. If you temp at one place for too long, then the chains start to tighten around your neck. If only the rent wasn't due.

My mother called with her usual habit of taking out all of her angst on me. When was I going to grow up and be responsible? When was I going to meet a nice guy? Why wasn't I a better housekeeper? Blah blah blah. Over the years, I have had many issues with my mother. I still have not conquered the art of not letting her words bother me. My compartmentalizing skills were fairly crappy.

Despite all of my vigorous dieting and workouts, I had gained two pounds.

And worst of all, I woke up on Friday to an unpleasant surprise. Bloody underwear and God-awful menstrual cramps. So much for any hanky panky with Mr. C. this particular Sunday. And I had been daydreaming about what I would do to him all week.

I sang an old Judy Garland love ballad in class. Not any great shakes, but I was too stressed this week to climb Mount Everest. It wasn't bad but wasn't great.

Mr. C's critique: "You need to make the stakes stronger. For this character, it is life or death that you are with this man. You have some of that, but I want more."

To be honest, I wasn't sure I had that much to give, especially when the whole world was in a conspiracy to keep me from pursuing my career.

"Sorry, I know it was crappy," I said sullenly in the Hot Seat. "I'm not feeling so well today."

For a moment, Mr. C looked concerned. I was touched. But then the strictly-business teacher took over.

"We all have excuses, Miss Spencer; but the show must go on."

"Yes, sir."

"I can't count the number of times when I've been on stage with colds, feeling nauseous, suffering headaches or whatever. You just have to find a way to deal, although I will admit that the human body does have a nasty way of impeding a person's ambition." He gave me a generous grin. "Just wait until you're my age. Onward and upwards," he said, dismissing me.

The rest of the class dragged on. Unfortunately, I could not really enjoy it as I had my usual third day menstrual headache. The songs all seemed fairly dull to me. Mr. C could have done a naked lap dance on me and I wouldn't have cared. All I wanted to do was take Tylenol PM and pass out until this wretched menstrual cycle was over.

"Feel better," Mr. C. whispered in my ear as he joined me at the coat rack, touching me on the back lightly. Did I say that I didn't care? When he touched my back, I felt like a lonely cat desperate for more petting and affection. As usual, he had been very discreet since most of the students were congregated at the far side of the classroom, chatting.

"Thanks," I said, smiling weakly. "I'm sorry. Female trouble."

"Oh," he nodded. "Glad it's nothing serious."

No, my period would not kill me. It just made me wish that I were dead.

He gave me a quirky sort of smile. I never thought I'd look at my idol as kind of a goof, but at that moment I did.

"Perhaps next week, we should do lunch," he suggested.

Doing lunch. That seemed suspiciously like going one step beyond rushed explicit sexual encounters in a locked up basement. 

"I'd like that," I said with a smile.

"See you next week."

Suddenly, the sun was shining. The birds were singing. And all was right with the world. We were going to do lunch!

"Hey, Maggie!"

It was Dawn, the key student of Mr. C's class. The key student generally took care of administrative stuff like role call, making sure any props used were returned, et cetera. I don't think that I had spoken two words to Dawn since I started the class so I was sort of surprised when she came up to talk to me.

"Would you like to work on a staged duet for next week?" She had already asked Mr. C permission if we could do this. He said it was okay with him if it was okay with me.

"Sure," I smiled. It might be fun to work with somebody else for a while. I always preferred scenes to monologues. I imagined duets would be very much the same sort of thing.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I have a few things that you could look at."

"Okay. Give me a call."

Things seemed to be looking up a little bit, at last. I couldn't believe how much better I felt. Mr. C's class truly was a tonic for what ailed me.

It was when I reached the exit of the basement classroom that I saw him.

Billy.

You know how I said I had had three ex-boyfriends? Billy had been #2. To be honest, he should have been a one-night stand. He just lasted six months longer than that.

With dark curly hair, green eyes and a lightly freckled complexion, Billy was an attractive guy. What had turned me onto him in the first place was that he had seemed so mature. And he had known what to do with his lips and his hands. It wasn't until later that I found out that he still lived with his mother and was so manic depressive that he made me look sane. After one particularly nasty fight on the telephone, I called him a "fucking psycho" and hung up on him. I thought that would be enough to cut him out of my life forever.

Guess I was wrong.

"How are you, Maggie?" he asked, putting on his lost puppy dog act, staring at me with soulful eyes.

I knew better.

"Fine."

I was in shock to see him. Why did he have to put us through this? What the hell was he doing here? 

I looked back towards the classroom nervously. Mr. C was nowhere in sight. Good.

"So..." I started awkwardly. "Are you taking a class?" If he was, it would be too good to be true. That would mean that this was only a chance meeting.

There was a long pause.

"I'm going to audit one."

My bullshit meter was going off a mile a minute.

True, I had met Billy in one of Mr. B's scene study classes. But it seemed that Billy was much more interested in getting into my pants than he had ever been in working on acting. I should have known right from that point on that he would prove to be nothing but trouble. But I was a sex-starved young puppy having just arrived from Texas. I didn't know any better at the time.

"Whose class?"

"What?" he asked.

"Whose class are you auditing?" I repeated, feeling a bit like a prosecuting attorney grilling a witness.

He named another teacher of the school. I nearly accused him right then and there of being a liar. You would have to audition for that teacher's class, and I knew Billy well enough to know that he was not disciplined enough to audition for anything. He would never be able to hold his own in that kind of an acting class. He couldn't even hold a job.

"You look good."

Always looks with him!

"You've lost weight."

Always weight with him! First, I was too fat. Now, I supposed that he thought that I was too thin. Why was he always so fucking body conscious? Not that I cared.

Christ, I hated this! I hated who I was with him. In his eyes, I was just some stupid hick doormat that he could push around whenever he felt like it. That is until he started to get lonely. Here I was...just getting into my stride. Taking a class with Mr. C, for God's sake! And then he had to come back from my past to haunt me. After all, he was the one that became all moody and hostile and critical, cheating on me, not returning my phone calls. And now he was here stalking me. I was sure of it!

"Well, have a good class..." I said, attempting to sound cheery as I tried to pass him.

"No, wait..."

He reached for my hand, grasping on to it tightly. Was he crying? This was just too much.

I pulled away as if he had burned me. But it was too late. Mr. C had just passed by us. He must have seen Billy clutching at my hand. He couldn't have missed it.

I was furious. It wasn't enough that he had to break my heart. Now he was ruining my chances with Mr. C too! I lost all patience with trying to be nice.

"I've got to go," I said sharply.

He nodded, all abject like he deserved it...which he damned well did, as a matter of fact.

I left the acting school, made my way for the subway and did not look back.

That did not keep the matter from grating on me however. I had worked so hard to put that part of my life behind me. I was no longer the girl who had given her virginity to her high school sweetheart, only to be dumped by him the following week. I was not the lonely woman who would be abused and degraded by a man who couldn't even hold a job as a doorman.

No.

I studied myself in my small mirror in the Chelsea dump that was my apartment.

I was Maggie. Miss Spencer. An actress. A singer. An artist. And I had integrity as a performer and as a person.

What I was doing now was what I had come to New York to do. If I wanted to be fucked over, I could have stayed in Texas. I thought of Mr. C and all that he had taught me. Okay, perhaps he was fucking me over too. But that was okay. I was giving him permission to do that with my eyes open. He had made no promises to me. I could live with that.

But erotic encounters aside, he had taught me that I could take pride in my work. That I did have value in the field I wanted to be in. That maybe I could make my dreams come true. Despite everything.

WEEK SEVEN – DEALING WITH DISASTERS

Working with Dawn was a hoot. We both enjoyed working on the duet from GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES and fell into an easy camaraderie. When we weren't singing our hearts out, we were divulging in coffee and gossip.

Apparently, Dawn had known Mr. C long before he started teaching this Master Class. In fact, she had been in the chorus of one of his more famous Broadway shows. She was an older woman, possibly in her late thirties or early forties, but I could believe that she was a dancer. She had the build for it, that bitch, I thought enviously. With Italian dark looks and short hair, she was quite attractive in a mysterious way.

Without hesitation, I tried to pump her for information all about how she knew him and what he was like outside of the classroom.

Dawn laughed over her latte at Starbucks.

"I confess, I really don't know what his personal life is like," she said. "Whenever he was at work, he was completely dedicated to the task at hand. And he is just as brutal on himself when he is acting as he is on us in class. There was one time, after my divorce when..."

Her voice faltered.

I knew that I was stepping on painful territory.

"You don't have to go on just for me," I said. "It's okay."

"...No, it's just that he was very nice to me. Very supportive. At a time when I needed it. I'll never forget that."

To know that there was a human being behind that singing and acting machine was a comfort. I guess knowing that Mr. C had a heart made me a little less frightened of him. And I was getting more nervous by the day at the prospect of "doing lunch" with him. 

At that moment, my cell phone rang.

"Excuse me, better get this..." I said, hoping that it was a casting call since only people in the industry had this number. Only people in the industry...and Billy, I noted with distress.

"Nothing important," I shrugged.

Happily, I returned to Dawn and her stories. Billy would just have to learn to take no for an answer. I was a different person now.

-----------------------------------------

"Very good, girls," Mr. C said wanly after our number. "Next time, let's try something with a little substance, shall we?"

Dawn and I were both disappointed as we thought that we would like it. Oh, well, on to Plan B. The duet from WEST SIDE STORY. The "I Have A Love" number.

"Oh, and Maggie?" Mr. C asked. "Would you take this to the Admissions Office for me?"

"Sure."

It was a blue audit card. On the back of it was a scrawled message.

"Meet me after class at the back entrance."

I nodded, trying to be subtle. Of course, he couldn't just waltz around town with his student all over New York without a care in the world. He was still Mr. C after all! He probably just wanted us to have some privacy while we snuck away in a taxi.

At least, that's what I assumed he meant by the "back entrance". Naughty thoughts of anal sex crossed my mind. The thought terrified and repulsed me that he might want to do that. He was already into kink, so why not that? And I was pretty sure that I wouldn't like it. But on the other hand, I never thought I would get so turned on by being spanked and whipped. So what did I know? There are some men that you want so badly that you would do anything, try anything, if they asked you to. And I knew that Mr. C was one of those men for me. 

For the rest of the class, I was wondering where we would do lunch. Where does a person like him eat lunch? Sardi's? 21? Nah, those were all tourist traps now. He would undoubtedly go to some real hot swank spot that you hear about in gossip columns, one of those places where you couldn't even get in the door unless you were Somebody. 

When class was over, I visited the ladies' room and fixed myself up a bit. I had worn an elegant burgundy sweater with a respectable black knit skirt. I had no idea what to expect, so I decided to go conservative. I even pulled back my hair for the occasion. And I looked pretty good, I had to admit. Even my stomach was starting to finally firm up a little bit.

Then I went out through the main hallway of the school, past the Green Room, towards the back entrance. I had never been back there before. The view wasn't much. It was just a plain side street where I had hoped his car would be waiting. But there was no car. So why were we meeting here I wondered, shivering in the cold. Snow had fallen early this year. I occupied myself kicking at the snow with my boot, nervously waiting for his arrival.




Private Lessons Ch. 05-06



"Hi." 

Mr. C was bundled up in a black trench coat with scarf and gloves on. 

"Hi," I said with a warm smile. It was ironic that even though I knew what he sounded like when he came, I was still not sure if I should call him by his first name or 'Sir" or "Teacher" or what.

Apparently, Mr. C was nervous too because he wasn't looking at me and seemed very quiet.

"So where are we going to have lunch?" I asked eagerly, hoping to break the ice.

He looked pained at my question. Jeez, did I fuck up already?

"But if you're not up to it, we can postpone it, that's cool..." I babbled, suddenly afraid. Very afraid.

A long silence.

"We can't keep doing this," he said simply.

"Doing what?" I asked stupidly, hoping that I was just misunderstanding him.

"Meeting this way."

Of course, it was inevitable. After all, he probably had a whole harem of women just waiting for him to call them up. Of course, he was already tired of me. Why would he want an inexperienced hick from Texas who gave bad blow jobs when he could have movie stars, models, anyone he wanted...?

Oh, yes, I expected this to happen.

What I did not expect was the pain in my chest like I had been punched in the gut. I did not expect the wild frantic scream that was fighting to rise from my throat. Call me the best actress in the world, but somehow I managed to stay cool.

"But what about...lunch?"

Mr. C closed his eyes in torment. He looked like what he was, a man horribly guilt ridden by the prospect of ripping my heart out. He could have been playing one of his romantic roles on stage,

"I shouldn't have done that," he said apologetically. "I had led you to expect...more than I can give you. And I'm sorry about that. There are lots of things that I shouldn't have done."

I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. It was a litany in my brain.

"With me?"

"Yes."

I was swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry, Maggie. But I am really not ready for a relationship."

"Hey, I'm cool with that," I said, nodding. "Neither am I. You know, I've got auditions to go to, acting jobs to take...no time for romance."

"That's not what I saw in the hallway last week."

Oh. So that was what this was about!

"Look," I said, trying not to laugh in relief. "That guy. He was an old boyfriend of mine. He was trying to start something up again, but there's no way. He means nothing to me now, less than nothing. I have no idea why he's bothering me..."

"Who you see is none of my business."

"But I'm not seeing him!" I argued desperately.

"I took advantage of you, Maggie," he continued, not listening to me. "In the most horrible way. You were a student of mine and you looked up to me and I..."

"I still look up to you," I protested. "You've taught me so much. Just because we..."

"Please let me finish!"

Abruptly, I shut up.

"I suppose I really have no business teaching. I've never done this sort of thing before. I'm just an actor who got some lucky breaks. And...when I watched you in class, you reminded me of me. Back when I was young. The way you would look at me. From that very first day, I found you so cute...and..."

Cute. Could any other word be such an omen of doom?

"...I guess I got a bit carried away..."

I winced at the memory of clutching on to the desk as he whipped me with his belt. And when I thought of how I had posed like a stripper for him on the stool, I felt worse than pathetic.

"Yes, I guess you could say that."

There was a horrible long silence between us.

"You're so young, Maggie. All intense and optimistic and full of life. That boy you were with...he's the sort you should be with. Someone who has something to give you."

Yeah, right, I thought bitterly. Like what, besides heartburn?

"I don't have any problem with your being older. In fact, I kind of like it."

It was true. I had always fantasized about being with an older man. Maybe because my dad abandoned the family when I was only eight years old. I don't know the psychology of it. But there was something comforting about being with an older man.

"Trust me, dear, I'm no Romeo, no matter what roles I play..."

"Look, sure, I know you're no saint. Neither am I. I mean..."

"I've done some reprehensible things in my time," he continued. "I wasn't that much older than you when I sold my soul to the devil just to get some good roles on the stage. I sacrificed my home and family just to get ahead. I have an ex-wife who hates my guts, two daughters that won't speak to me. And now that I am no longer considered as young and handsome as I used to be, now that I am not longer the flavor of the month, so to speak, I have been lowered to the point of passing myself off as a teacher and taking advantage of my students. I am no better than a scam artist selling fake watches on the street. But you've taught the teacher something, Maggie. I guess I have a conscience after all."

I couldn't look at him. If I did, I would crack into a million pieces. I just stared at a used cigarette butt in a drift of dirty snow at the foot of the steps. And I really really wished that he had never discovered that he had a conscience.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I shrugged.

"No, it's not."

Don't make me do this, you bastard! I thought frantically. It's bad enough that you're saying these things. Don't rub in my pain.

"I hope you will stay in the class. I think you've got a great deal of talent and potential."

The thought of the next four weeks facing me made me feel sick. But I was a professional. I could tough it out.

"Sure."

I was proud of myself. Perhaps this was the first time I had ever gone through a breakup and had not started to bawl like a baby. But then again...was this really a breakup? Had we ever started? At any rate, I had not cried. I just felt numb. Someone could have kicked the shit out of me and I wouldn't have felt a thing.

"Well, I guess I'd better go," he said.

"Okay."

"Are you going to be...?"

"Yes," I interrupted him, just wishing he would go. For the first time ever, I wanted Mr. C out of my sight. I didn't want to see that sexy face or hear that deep voice. I just wanted him to walk away while I was still numb.

I walked up the side street to the #9 train. Pulling out my Arthur Miller play, I looked at the words but they were all garbled up somehow. They weren't registering in my brain. 

Walking up the four flights of stairs, I entered the Chelsea Dump, glad that my roommate was not in. I pulled off my boots, took off my coat and laid down on my bed.

And then the dams broke with a vengeance... 

WEEK EIGHT - SICK DAY

If I were Marilyn Monroe, I would have groped for a bottle of pills and washed them all down with a healthy shot of Southern Comfort. If I were any Drama Queen worth her salt, I would have slit my wrists or hung myself in despair.

As it was, I was all too ordinary. I got sick with a cold.

Whenever I went through heartbreak, I tended to get sick. And not just a sniffle and a few coughs, either. Nothing as civilized as that. No, this was a horrendous and disgusting wheezing disease, complete with laryngitis. My chest hurt with every breath. My back ached from my lungs being so full of phlegm. Sleep was an utter lost cause.

And going to class on Sunday was out of the question. I guess it was just as well.

I called Dawn. We were always supposed to call the key student in the horrid event that we have to miss a sacred class.

"Dawn?" I rasped on the phone. "Hi, it's Maggie."

"Christ, Maggie! You sound awful!"

"Yes."

"Needless to say, I guess you're not going to come to class."

"There's no way I can sing. And I'll infect everybody."

"Take some Slippery Elm and drink lots of orange juice."

I asked her if I thought Mr. C would boot me out of the class.

"What? Are you kidding?! He loves you!"

Yeah, right.

"He might bark at you a little and give you a hard time, but I'm sure he will understand."

"OK."

"Get some rest."

"OK."

I hung up the phone, staring at the walls of my room in bleak hopelessness.

What to do when a person is sick and emotionally distraught at the same time?

Because I felt so rotten and uncomfortable, I was not sleeping. I was just lying there in bed, mulling over what had happened with Mr. C. Remembering the things he had said, the things I had said, all of it playing over and over like a broken record...

Normally, I would just drown myself in a classics movie marathon on Turner Classic Movies. But to watch movies, you have to have peace of mind. Otherwise, scene after scene passes; and before you know it, you have no idea what plot you are watching or who the characters are because your mind has wandered. With a book, the words start to turn into garble and make no sense. In short, there was no peace. No peace anywhere.

I reached for my bottle of Tylenol PM, hoping that maybe this time the pills would overcome the misery. At least for four to six hours.

The phone rang again.

"Hello. This is Spartan Temp Agency. May I speak with Miss Spencer?"

"Speaking."

"Hi. I just wanted to let you know that Goldman & Brothers gave us a ring. Apparently, they won't need you anymore at this point. Are you available to take a new assignment?"

"I'm sick. Can I call you in a day or so?"

"Sure thing, sweetie."

Great. Now I was dying, rejected, broke and out of a job. Could things get any worse?

As soon as I hung up from the temp agency call, the phone rang again.

Jesus Christ!

"Hello?"

"Maggie?"

Oh, God...it was Mom...

"Maggie? Is that you? You don't sound like yourself!"

"Yes. I'm sick."

"Well, I haven't heard from you in a while."

There was a reason for that. I simply had nothing to say to her. But she always liked to dwell on the negative. If I didn't call her, it meant that I didn't love her. But if I did call her, then she never hesitated to give me unwanted advice, insult me and make me feel like a huge disappointment and fuck-up. She would say that I didn't love her. That it was horrible for a daughter not to love her own mother. But the fact of the matter is that enough bitterness and negativity and criticism could destroy any loving relationship. But apparently, she was more addicted to making me feel like shit than trying to work things out.

Back when I was a kid, I could tell my mom anything. Most of the time, she would understand and be a sympathetic ear. Then once I graduated from high school, she changed. Or I changed. One of us changed. Maybe we both changed. And now, there was no comfort in confidence with my mother. If I told her about Mr. C, for example, she would not pass the Kleenex and supply a shoulder to cry on. I could practically hear the insensitive response, complete with accusatory sulkiness: As long as you keep living your life the way you do, you're never going to meet any worthwhile men. So what do you expect? Her definition of 'living your life the way you do' meaning my being an actress living in New York City and her definition of a 'worthwhile man' meaning some Prince Charming with a nice fat bank account who will marry me on the first date with no questions asked.

You see, once upon a time, before I was born, my mother had been a photographer. And a good one. If she had applied herself, she could have been very successful, I believe. She had gone from Texas to New York City on her own when she was eighteen, ready to set the world on fire. But she listened to her parents, who had guilt tripped her into essentially leaving the city and coming back to their Texas farm. She married my father, the nice young man who sat next to her in Biology Class at the University of Texas at Austin. I cannot say what they saw in each other. To this day, I have never figured it out. They never had anything in common. They never seemed to be madly in love with each other. The fact that both of them were Bible Belt virgins who didn't have a clue about birth control did not help matters. I was born exactly nine months after their wedding day.

For most of my childhood, I was admittedly a spoiled rotten brat. When I became an adult, that was when the shit hit the fan, so to speak. My parents learned that I was all too human. I became equally disillusioned about them.

During my first semester at the community college, Dad left Mom. He did not leave her for another woman. He just wanted to pursue his passions for airplanes and hunting. At the time, I called him up on the phone and said all sorts of nasty shit to him. That's because I was more or less trapped with a distraught woman who was having the temper tantrums of a 3-year-old and making me feel like killing her. And I blamed him for putting me in such a position.

As I get older, I can start to see things from his point of view. From both of their points of view, actually. They had both given up their dreams in exchange for the All American Dream. You know, the white picket fence, the cars, the kids and suburbia. Later on, they realized that their personal sacrifices were not worth the All American Dream. And when I was born, I was the glue that either held the marriage together or kept them in chains, depending on your point of view.

Which put an awful lot of pressure on me.

Yes, I had dreams of moving to New York City, even though I had very little except what money I had saved up from various part-time jobs and the clothes on my back. My mother's repeated psychodramas with dialogue from the worst written soap operas simply fueled the flames of my ambition to leave for good. And unlike my father, I had the right to leave. I wasn't married to anyone. And I was an adult.

So after college, I took off to the Big Apple. And to this day, Mom has never forgiven me for it. She would have been perfectly happy if I had become a pathetic old maid schoolteacher still living at home with her mother at the age of 40. Just the prospect of such a gruesome fate made poverty a little less hard to take.

The rest of the phone call was short and tense. I was always tense around Mom, never knowing if she was going to be sane or go off the deep end with me. It was truly a dysfunctional relationship. And always in the background were her damning words drumming in my head: You're a fuck-up...You're a fuck-up...You're a fuck-up...although a nice Southern Baptist would never swear like that.

I said I was losing my voice and really shouldn't talk anymore, cutting the conversation short.

I could tell that even that pissed her off, never mind the fact that I was fucking dying.

In some ways, my mom's call was a shot in the arm, reminding me that life might not be paradise now. But it was still a whole hell of a lot better than where I had been. After all, a 'two-ships-passing-in-the-night' encounter with Mr. C was always preferable to hearing my mother go on one of her typical five-hour bitchfests.

I took my Tylenol PM, turned on TCM and laid back on bed, listening to the legendary dialogue from CASABLANCA. As Rick left Ilsa at the plane, I promised myself that tomorrow I would go to the library and pick out a new song.

I was an artist, after all; and I knew how to use pain to my advantage.



Private Lessons Ch. 07-10



WEEK NINE – ALLOWING SPONTANEITY

You are complete, yes, you are your own. We do not belong together...

I was off to a good start; and I knew it. I could feel it.

You are complete, just you all alone. I am unfinished, I am diminished...with or without you. We do not belong together...and we should have belonged together. What made it so right together is what made it all wrong...

I was completely at one with Stephen Sondheim's "Move On" from SUNDAY IN THE PARK, even if I was singing the Barbra Streisand rendition. And the words so matched how I was feeling, Mr. B's advice about using too much of the present in the work be damned. This couldn't be wrong. It felt so deliciously sublime.

Always I had loved the song of "Move On", even though until now I could never identify with it on a personal level. All of my break-ups had been nasty and bitter in some regard. But "Move On" was a sympathetic song, urging the best for your lover even though things did not work out. And it felt so mature and dignified. There was no need for hatred.

My mother would disagree. Maggie, where did you get such low self esteem? she would ask. But was it low self esteem to find what was beautiful, even out of something incredibly painful? Was it low self esteem not to give in to melodrama at every disappointment? 

Besides, I could not bring myself to hate Mr. C, even though I felt like my guts were ripped out. He had given me so much. My inspiration. My muse. My sadistic taskmaster of a singing teacher. No, I could not hate him.

Settle for the glow. Time for letting go. Now the moment's gone. Time for moving on...

The room was silent. And I did not want to let go of that song.

Then there was breakout of the most intense applause. Apparently, I had knocked their socks off when I had only meant to purge my soul in a sort of intense catharsis with this song.

As I sat down in the Hot Seat, I took a good look at Mr. C for the first time that morning. Before class, I had just kept my head buried in my sheet music because I just couldn't deal. He looked weird. There was a strange expression in his eyes that I couldn't decipher.

"Welcome back, Miss Spencer."

Despite my depression, I couldn't help but smirk in humor. I should have known that he would not let my absence pass without notice.

"You know you kicked ass up there. Go back to your seat."

Everyone laughed uproariously. Even with the huge stamp of approval, I felt sort of deflated.

But I felt much better being in class again. It was a mystery how art always seemed to heal the soul somehow. Maybe you get so focused on a goal that you forget how bad reality sucks. I don't know. But I was suddenly very happy to be back.

After class, I made my trip to the ladies room, checked out the schedule for the next term at the Admissions Office and then started on my way.

Well, now that I had no strings and was fancy free, what the hell would I do with myself on this Sunday afternoon? Shopping was out because I had no money. Eating was out because I was still on my diet. All I knew was that I did not want to go home. Maybe I would...

As I passed the side street past the corner of the school, I was suddenly grabbed and yanked back into a small fenced area just beyond. The street was deserted. No cops around, no people, nothing.

Jesus Christ, I moaned. Now I was finally going to become part of those statistics. A mugged victim, possibly raped and murdered in the bowels of Manhattan. It was just one of those things that I thought would never happen to me.

But once I was released a tad, I realized that it was no mugger who had attacked me.

It was Mr. C!

"What...?"

"Shut up!" he interrupted fiercely before grinding his mouth against mine, grasping at me and wrestling me back until I almost lost my balance. The hard metal of a dumpster was behind me, but I took no notice.

All I knew was him. The feel of his cashmere black coat. The ruffled red hair, which looked a little too 80's to be fashionable. The smell of coffee and spicy cologne.

And his mouth tasted so good, so fucking good. I had been starving for him.

I wanted him so badly that I wrapped a leg around his hips, ready to fuck him right then and there. Hell, no one was around. Who would see?

"Come to my place," he said between hot kisses. It was more of a command than a question.

"Yes," I whispered.

He grabbed my hand leading me out to a yellow taxi, barking out an address on the Upper East Side that I am not at liberty to divulge.

I was going to Mr. C's place, the starstruck fan in me enthused. How fucking cool is that? But I could only revel in the wonder for so long, especially when Mr. C's hand crept to a very naughty place. I looked up nervously at the Armenian cab driver who seemed to be oblivious. Mr. C's fingers were digging deeply against my panties, pressing hard against my clit, rubbing at it insistently. I shuddered, trying not to come in front of the cab driver, even though my pussy was rippling in pleasure. And he would not stop. I bit my lip, trying to hold back, but it was impossible.

"Ah!" I cried out when the orgasm hit.

The cab driver looked at me through his front mirror.

"Everything all right, Ma'am?"

Oh, God, I was blushing down to my toes.

"Yes. Sorry. Must have been something I ate."

I could swear that Mr. C was holding back a snicker. I didn't know how, but somehow he was going to pay for that! I would see to it.

The cab took us to a small brownstone. Funny, I always sort of imagined Mr. C would live in a penthouse with a rooftop view, lounging about in a smoking jacket with cocktails. We even had to climb stairs to get to the front door. How my illusions were shattered...

Still, I was blown away when I saw the inside of the brownstone. He owned the whole frigging thing! All four floors!

Even as he was dashing me along various stairways and hallways in a hurry to get me in his bedroom, I could not help but notice a bit of the décor. All about, there were familiar posters and photographs I had seen and collected throughout the years! This was just too surreal, I mused, as I saw a picture of him hugging Carol Channing. And was that his Tony Award in the glass cabinet against the wood-paneled wall? And was that the...!

Oh, God, I am so out of my fucking league, I thought to myself, even as he hurled me onto his bed. When he pulled my sweater up over my head, yanked my bra down to my waist and began to attack my breasts, I lost my train of thought. He was swirling his tongue around my nipple, alternately sucking and biting at it.

"Take off your shirt," I demanded.

He pulled away from me, peering at me over my nipple.

"Is that the proper way to address me, Miss Spencer?"

I almost purred with pleasure when he started to turn all dominating again. And it was weird. I really can't explain it. But the Madonna lyric from EROTICA comes to mind: Only the one who hurts you can make you feel better. Only the one who inflicts the pain can take it away...

There was nothing else. No irritating mother on the other line of the phone, anxious to let me know about everything in my life I was doing wrong. No stalker ex-boyfriend, anxious to get back together with me so that he could make me feel like dirt. Not even any acting class with the usual performance anxiety. There was nothing but this...

"Please, sir, take off your shirt..." I begged. "I want to see you and touch you and taste you..."

He smiled lazily.

"You take it off."

Without hesitation, I began to undo his buttons, kissing him along the chest as I did so. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized, barely able to hide a sheepish expression. "I am afraid the reality of my body is not as firm and air-brushed as my publicist would have you believe."

I was truly blind to all faults. Sure, his arms were a bit thin and saggy. Yes, there was a little extra flesh around the midriff. But I did not give a damn. In fact, I liked what I was seeing very much. Although I had all sorts of ideas of what he might look like bare chested, particularly when he was starring as the hero of one of my guilty-pleasure erotic novels, none of my daydreams lived up to the reality. His expansive chest was truly a sight to behold, lightly dusted with auburn hair that was graying. He was so large and strong and masculine with a build as primitive as a caveman's. Deliriously, I worshipped his chest, licking his nipples and swirling my tongue along his collarbone, running my fingers through his chest hair.

"I think you're very sexy...sir..." I murmured between kisses.

"I should spank you for being such a liar."

Oh, please...my inner slut begged.

Once I had started tasting him with my mouth, I could not stop. I worked my way down, unbuttoning his pants and sucking on his cock. What can I say? I was so into the moment that my usual disgust of oral sex wasn't kicking in. If he tasted bad, I didn't notice. In fact, I was getting into it, feeling wetter and wetter at the sound of his deep moans of pleasure.

Suddenly, Mr. C let out a sound like a growl as he withdrew from my mouth. Frantically, he threw off of his clothes. Following suit, I also undressed until I was completely naked.

Mr. C pushed me down upon my back on the bed and leaned over me. Just the weight of him on top of me and between my thighs was driving my desire into a fever pitch. Not that I had not enjoyed all of our other times together, but feeling his naked skin on mine was so intimate and real. I was squirming and shaking. Oh, I was ready, I was soooo ready. And he kept teasing me, driving me crazy. Nibbling at my neck, stroking my breasts, rubbing at my pussy with his teasing fingers. I was already trembling with small little pre-orgasmic tremors from his games. For once in my life, I had had my fill of foreplay and just wanted to get it on!

"Please, sir, fuck me...fuck me now...fuck me hard...please..."

Cruelly, he held my thighs wide apart, teasing me with the tip of his penis.

"Please..." I kept begging, knowing no shame. "Please..."

Suddenly, he thrust in me to the hilt. I became very aware that he was larger than any other lover I had ever had. There was a sort of tight stretchy feeling, but I was so wet and ready that it did not really hurt. In fact, I started to tremble and come at once just from all that thickness inside of me. I came so hard that I was sure that I was done, that every ounce of pleasure in my body had been spent. But then he slowed his thrusts a bit as he slipped his hand between us, finding my clit and pinching it.

"Oh, sir, I don't know if I can..."

"Ssshh, I'm not done with you, Miss Spencer...just relax..."

Helplessly, I let him have his way with me, rubbing and stroking at me until I was getting excited all over again. I couldn't believe it. I never thought I was capable of being multi-orgasmic. I moaned and screamed and perspired, thrusting my hips wildly against him. Once he was satisfied that I was completely far gone, he began to fuck me hard and fast. Clutching onto his shoulders, I felt another orgasm come...and another...

When he finally came violently with a loud cry, I truly was dizzy from all of the exertion and pleasure. Closing my eyes, I just relaxed next to him, floating on a cloud. If I were struck dead right at this moment, that would be okay with me. Because how could life ever get better than this?

Unbelievably, I slept. We both did. When I finally came to again, the room was dark. Mr. C was naked and curled beside me, snoring lightly in my ear. We were both buried under some satin coverlet probably purchased from Bloomingdale's or Saks Fifth Avenue. Some store beyond my means.

I wished it were still daylight so I could take in the sights of the bedroom. From what I recalled, the décor of the apartment was very nice, very English...I don't know how else to describe it. There were a lot of antiques around. Paintings of artists that I had never heard of. Nice comfy looking leather furniture. A state-of-the-art entertainment center. There were pictures of him with family members, friends...and I realized that even with all of my study of his life, I did not really know the man at all. Not really. And I was humbled. He had been places and seen things that I could only dream of. Never had I felt more like a Nobody. 

A Nobody who was in bed with a Somebody.

I should go home, I thought. Even while I was loath to tear myself away from him. I just wanted to cuddle up against that bearish chest and sleep the day and night away. Still, this whole encounter had been sheer impulse on both our parts. Maybe he didn't want me to stay here. Better to leave than to bear the hurt of being made to feel unwelcome.

Gathering up the sort of resolve I had when I forced myself to do push-ups, I slipped out of the bed and began looking for my clothes in the dark. I had managed to find my underwear, but my sweater and skirt were still lost in pitch black somewhere.

So intent was I in my task that I nearly had a heart attack when Mr. C turned on the lamp next to the bed.

"What are you doing?" he asked sleepily.

"I should go home."

Squinting his eyes, he looked at the clock on the nightstand.

"Maggie, it's eleven o'clock at night."

"So?"

"You shouldn't be out this late at night."

I nearly laughed. My sadistic and erotic lover was starting to sound like my dad.

"I do it all the time."

"Why don't you come back to bed?" he offered, patting the bed beside him.

"No, really. I'm not sleepy anymore. Besides, I have to go to work tomorrow."

"So watch some TV."

He reached for the remote, turning the TV on.

"Do you like Turner Classic Movies?" he asked. "We could watch a movie."

Did I like Turner Classic Movies? Could this man be any more perfect?

I tried not to notice that "Wuthering Heights" was on. One of my favorites...

No, I had to be strong. If I stayed here, I would fall even more in love with him than I already was. And I would get so sucked up in him that when the inevitable parting would happen, I wouldn't be able to take it. I truly would meet a fate like Marilyn Monroe if my heart were to become so devastated. No...

"Are you hungry? You want to order a pizza?"

I held back a chuckle at the thought of having pizza and watching movies with Mr. C. It just seemed so normal.

"Pizza's hardly on my diet."

"You're too thin."

"Now who's the liar?"

With a sigh, he rose up from the bed.

Everything had been so intense and rushed before that I never really took in the whole sight of Mr. C with all of his clothes off. Truly, he was a perfect creature. I did not mind any signs of aging or imperfections. I just thought that he was unspeakably hot. I averted my eyes when I realized that I was staring at him. And he knew it too!

"What can I do to convince you?" he teased, reaching for me and covering my neck and shoulder with kisses.

"Nothing," I insisted, even as my nipples hardened when he took off my bra.

"Nothing?" he asked, slipping a hand inside my panties.

God, I was melting like butter, melting like the Wicked Witch of the West, melting...

"You're so sweet," he crooned in my ear. "So damned sweet..."

A sharp ache of wanting stabbed between my thighs. Jeez, could I be any more of a nymphomaniac? I had already had more orgasms than I could count. And here I was, ready for more...

And he knew that too. Damn him.

"Well, maybe just for tonight..." I gasped out with a shiver.

"That's a good girl."

I was doomed. Completely and utterly doomed.

WEEK TEN – STAGE FRIGHT (Part One)

After the rest of the night passed with lovemaking and classic movies, Mr. C hired a cab to take me to work. He gave me a much larger amount of cash than was required for the ride to midtown. For a brief amount of time during the morning ride, I felt somewhat embarrassed at the money. Like I was being paid for services rendered. But when I thought of the alternative, of riding on a crowded smelly old subway car, I quickly got over my apprehension.

After all, if Mr. C wanted to spoil me, who was I to stop him?

I knew that reality would have to kick in eventually. And it finally did on Wednesday.

I was sitting at a local Chinese hole in the wall across from the street from where my temp job was. My diet was going well. Usually if I just had some wonton soup or a chicken dish, I wasn't straying too far away from my goals. I had already lost ten pounds in the last few weeks and I was going for twenty more. 

Also, my ambition wasgoing into overdrive. I was looking through various plays, trying to find that Perfect Monologue again. Finding a Perfect Monologue for an audition was just like finding a Perfect Song. It was like a search for the Holy Grail. Perhaps I was also using the quest as a way not to dwell on Mr. C. After all, I couldn't spend all of my time in a state of heated anticipation with messy underwear. I had to compartmentalize...at least a little bit...

While I was mulling over a problematic speech, someone sat across from me at the small table. I was a bit annoyed because I knew that the place was not packed to capacity and I really wanted to study my monologues in piece.

To my surprise, I looked up to see Billy.

Good grief, not again!

This time, I was really unnerved. There was no way that this was a coincidence. Maybe, two weeks ago, he might have somehow gotten his ass in gear enough to get back into an acting class. But now, I knew that he was truly was following me around. And I didn't like it.

"Hi, Maggie," he said awkwardly. "I was just making a delivery downtown."

Somehow, I doubted that he had any sort of job that paid any income, no matter how small.

With our last meeting, I had tried to be civil. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I had hoped that that meeting had just been an unfortunate and awkward coincidence. But now there just was no excuse for his behavior.

I glared at him, emitting a pained sigh.

"What do you want from me, Billy?"

Quietly, he reached for my hand, causing me to nearly drop my plastic fork.

"I think we should try again."

If Billy's oh-so-sincere plea had been put on film, I am sure that all of the audience members would be cheering for me to go back to him. But they didn't know him like I did. Why did he want me back? He never appreciated me when I was there.

Besides, with Mr. C in the picture, I could not possibly have eyes for any other man right now. Skeptic that I was, even I had to admit that I had won a prize better than the lottery. God had rained good fortune down upon my head. Whether it be fate or kismet or whatever, I could not deny that I was one lucky bitch. Last weekend, I had spent the night with the man of my dreams. No way was I ever going to compromise that for anything.

"Look, Billy," I said, pulling my hand away. "I'm seeing someone else now."

True, Mr. C and I weren't really seeing each other, I supposed. Not technically. At least, I didn't guess that we were. To be honest, I wasn't sure what we were to each other. But it was better than anything I had ever had before.

"Who is he?"

"You don't know him," I answered abruptly. Even if I did sound snippy, it was better than saying that it was none of his damned business...which is what I really wanted to say.

"It's that teacher, isn't it?" he asked. With the question, he could not hide the malice in the tone of his voice. His green eyes were cold and hostile as he glared at me.

Ah, the Real Billy is coming out of the shell now...where have you been, Billy, darling?

"I really don't care to discuss my private life with you."

"Well, I hope you're not seeing him!" Billy started, getting that condescending whine in his voice which made me want to slap him. "Isn't he a bit old for you?"

Before I even had a chance to respond, he kept on.




Private Lessons Ch. 07-10



"Or maybe that is what you want. You always have had a chip on your shoulder about your father going away; and now you've got a nice fat rich Daddy who can boost up your career at last. Just what you've always wanted. That is if he keeps you around long enough."

As much as I longed to throw my steaming hot bowl of wonton soup into Billy's snide face, I showed remarkable self-control. After all, this loser really was not worth getting an assault and battery charge thrown against me. Or being sued. Or whatever sort of sick malicious action he would take...

"I'd be careful if I were you," he continued. "After all, he's a celebrity. And guys like him will eat little southern belles like you up for breakfast."

"I'm sure you all know about it," I retorted, standing up from the table. It didn't matter. I had completely lost my appetite now. "Bye, Billy. See you around."

What had I ever seen in that guy in the first place, I wondered as I walked back to the office. I must have just been with him out of sheer loneliness. But those days were over now.

Still, I could not help but fume over Billy's nerve as I typed away at the various expense reports. Yes, the guy was a hopeless cause but he had said something which stuck in my head. Was I just a fun little diversion for Mr. C while he passed the time teaching the Master Class Workshop in New York? All along, I had suspected as much. And I was cool with it. Really. But for some reason, hearing it said out loud made it hurt. 

"Jeez, did your pet dog just die?"

The snarky voice of Mark Richmond intruded on my thoughts. I gave a sigh of irritation. Joy and rapture! Just what I needed to make my day even worse.

Mark Richmond was one of the execs I worked for at my latest boring temp job. Don't ask me his position because I don't keep tabs on that stuff. I had only been at this particular office for one week. Besides, when you float from one job to the next, job titles mean little. And it didn't make sense to try to make friends or enemies with people as you might not even see them from one week to the next. But I was pretty sure he was a Vice President of some such department or other. Regardless of what the title was, his job was usually fairly stressful and he would always take it out on the nearest unsuspecting temp. In this case, me.

Actually, during the week that I had this particular assignment, he had never really insulted me. Believe me, in my time, I had worked for some real characters. People that would insist that I take down the minutes for their meetings and then get all snippy when I can't understand what they're saying because they're talking so fast. People that liked to throw telephones and beat up fax machines for fun. People that gave me hard assignments, got annoyed if I asked questions and got angry when everything went wrong because no one would tell me how they wanted stuff done.

Mark Richmond wasn't that bad. Really, I suppose the most annoying thing about him was that he was always having me do the most menial stupid tasks that it would take him two seconds to do. Like sharpen his pencils or open his mail. I secretly suspected that he got off on ordering me around. Being ordered around by Mr. C with our clothes off was one thing. Being ordered around in an office just made me cranky.

I merely glared at my temp boss and shrugged.

"Cheer up, why don't you?!" he snarled before going into his office and shutting the door.

Good.

If the door was shut, that meant that he wouldn't be bothering me.

At first, I did not detest Mr. Richmond so much. For despite his hostile manner and bossiness, he was kind of attractive in a quirky sort of way. He reminded me a lot of Chandler Bing on Friends, you know the one that Matthew Perry played. I never watched the show when it was really on the air. But I had received the first DVD set as a Christmas gift from my mom; and I had been hooked ever since. Now I was almost up to the third season. And I couldn't decide if I loved Chandler or hated him. He was an awful cretin and horrible towards women. These are the days before the thing with Monica. Yet I had more than my share of wet dreams about him.

Of course, the fact that Mark Richmond was his own man meant nothing to me. As far as I was concerned, he just looked like Chandler too damn much. And so I couldn't help but treat him as such. And Chandler was too much of a sarcastic ass to be bothered by anything that I would do.

At that point, my cell phone rang. If it was Billy, I swear that I would...

The Caller ID said Unknown Number. Probably a damned telemarketer. How did my number always end up on those lists?

"Hello?" I asked wearily.

"Maggie?"

My heart dropped in my chest. Mr. C!

"Hi..." I said breathlessly.

"I looked up your number in the Admissions Office. I hope that was okay."

Was he crazy? 

"Sure," I said, trying not to sound too gleeful. "What's up?"

"Well, I was wondering..." There was a long pause. A deep breath. "Would you like to have dinner with me on Friday night?"

Why did I want to cry?

"You're asking me out on a date?"

"Well, I guess we have been doing things sort of backwards...but yes, I suppose that I am."

Oh, Mr. C!

"Well, let me see..." I said, actually pretending like I had anything close to resembling a social calendar. "I'm pretty sure that..."

"If you're too busy..."

"No, no..." I said frantically. Jeez, it would be just like me to play it so coy that I blew the whole deal! "Um, I'm pretty sure that...yes, I am definitely able to go to dinner Friday night."

I tried to ignore Mr. Richmond storming past my desk, his eyebrow lifted inquisitively. Damn office policy! If he had a problem with me taking a personal call, he could just let me go. This was too important!

"Shall I pick you up at your pad?" he asked, sounding so foreign.

"Um..." I hesitated. God, the sight of my shabby abode would scare him off right away. "Actually...how about I meet you? I'll be over in that part of town anyway." I was lying like a rug and didn't care. This was too important!

"Sounds lovely. Do you like Italian?"

"I love Italian," I enthused, hoping that the Diet Gods would not strike me dead for even contemplating lasagna.

"It's a date then."

"Okay," I said, feeling hopelessly shy and awkward. Apparently, I could be his sex slave with no problem; but when it came to a date, I was feeling like a gawky kid from high school. "I'll be looking forward to it."

"Me too."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Fred Astaire was singing in my head: Heaven...I'm in heaven...and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak...

"Well, don't you look like the cat who ate the canary?" Mark Richmond said, interrupting my fantasy ballroom dance. "If you can spare all of your admiring beaux a few moments, would you mind faxing this out for me?" He whisked the paper upon my desk. "Mucho gracias."

I really disliked that guy. In fact, I was quite sure that I would fuck Chandler any day of the week over him. And twice on Sunday.

But as I floated over to the fax machine, I could not help but smile with a silly grin. It didn't matter. Nothing could upset me now.

WEEK TEN – STAGE FRIGHT (Part Two)

The rest of the week went by too fast and too slow at the same time. 

On the one hand, I couldn't wait to see Mr. C again. This last encounter of mind-blowing sex had truly pushed me over the edge. My ability to compartmentalize had gone all to hell. All I could think about was how good the sex was. No, 'good' did not describe it. I know it sounds cheesy, but I felt as I finally understood what the big deal was. Before I always thought that the idea of being sexually fulfilled was just a phrase used in romance novels and Cosmo. But that last time, I truly was satisfied. 

Again and again, I would remember fondly that feeling of being cuddled against Mr. C's chest, looking out the window out at the snow. I took sadistic pleasure in being so warm and (dare I say it?) happy, my body singing with afterglow feelings while lazily peering out the window, watching the poor schmucks out on the street slipping and sliding in the snow. 

Like a drug addict, I had the worst sort of craving to repeat the experience: both the sex and the afterglow.

But I had to have time to get ready. This wasn't a quick tumble in a black box theater basement. This was an honest-to-God date! Things were getting serious; and I had to look dazzling. Even if I did only have adequate material and meager funds to work with.

Usually, I could not stand spending a lot of money on buying clothes in Manhattan. I would much rather take a trip out to New Jersey. You didn't pay sales tax; and there was more of a chance that you would find real clothes for real people out there. But there was no time for a mall in Jersey. No, I had no choice but to hit the Manhattan stores and find something that would fit the bill.

Gritting my teeth, I went to Macy's, figuring at least there would be a lot of selection there. No matter what I would pick, it would mean more debt on my worn credit card. Ultimately, I found the perfect dress for the occasion. A burgundy slinky silk dress with spaghetti straps. Apparently, my obsessive dieting and working out paid off as I actually looked pretty good in it.

In theory, it was a good idea. In practice, I was freezing my ass off as I walked along the New York streets to Mr. C's apartment. Even my black winter coat felt as thin as silk against the biting gusts of winter wind. Oh, well, better to look good than to feel good, right? I just hoped that I wouldn't get a relapse with my illness.

Too miserable to be nervous, I frantically rang the buzzer.

"Come on in," Mr. C smiled. He was wearing a suit and looked fabulous. I got that silly dreamy feeling just looking at him.

"Take your coat off and relax," he said invitingly. "I just need to finish talking to my agent."

"Okay."

Mr. C went off into another room, closing the door behind him.

Trying to relax on the luxurious black leather sofa, I stayed huddled in my coat although I did undo the buttons. Again, I was in a starstruck condition as I looked about what I guessed was the living room. I noted pictures of Mr. C on Playbill Magazine , Time Out and People. There were publicity photos from some of his various film and television work. 

I was reminded of the line from Sunset Boulevard. "That's Mr. C...and that's Mr. C...and that's Mr. C..." Going from one picture to the next, one award to the next, one tribute to the next...

What could it possibly be like to know such glory? What could it like to know so much of life?

"Aren't you going to be a bit cold in that?" The voice startled me out of my musings. 

"The price of fashion," I smirked with a grin.

"You want to borrow one of my sweaters?"

I didn't know whether to smile or sigh in irritation. There goes Mr. C being my Dad again. It was sweet of him to care, but why did he want to go and tear down all that I had so artfully created at such expense?

"You don't like it?"

Mr. C gave me a smile that made me melt like butter as he sat down next to me. Even after all we had done, I felt a bit like Red Riding Hood being eaten out alive by the Big Bad Wolf.

"You're beautiful.." he whispered huskily, leaning towards me. 

Gently he kissed me on the lips, stroking my hand with his fingertips. I grew all weak and shivery as his mouth moved to the side of my neck. The kisses grew more and more heated.

"We'd better go to dinner," he rasped. "We have reservations."

"To hell with the reservations," I sighed, pulling him back in my arms.

"Ssshhh...."

Mr. C put his fingers against my lips.

"Let me take you out like I promised," he cajoled. "I want to do this."

"Okay."

Like I could deny him anything...

------------------------------------

We went to an Italian restaurant, very posh and expensive with a name that I could not pronounce. As I perused the menu, I had to use all of my acting skills in order not to seem as awkward as I felt. Gnocchi, fettuccini, manicotti, linguini...hell, I would have been happy with spaghetti and meatballs. Sadly, that wasn't on the menu.

"What would you like to drink, Maggie? Does a bottle of wine sound good?"

"Sure."

"Any particular kind you like?"

God, I knew even less about wine than I did about pasta. 

"Um, I like Pinot Noir," I answered, remembering Sideways.

Mr. C smiled with amusement as he ordered the wine. I guess he must have seen that movie too. The immaculate waiter bowed as Mr. C ordered for us. I had no idea what I was going to be eating. I just hoped there was no anchovies or mushrooms in it.

Could I have felt more out of my element?

"Why me?" I asked suddenly, immediately wanting to slash my wrists after the stupid question.

"What?" my teacher asked, taken aback.

God help me for being a fool, but I had to know. It was hard to say the words, but I had to get them out.

"You could have any woman you want. You could have...movie stars or...one of those blonde models in class. Why me? I'm..." I hated to say it, but I had to be honest with myself for once. "I'm nobody, just a struggling acting student. I'm not even particularly pretty. Why me?"

"Because I like you," he answered simply, taking my hand. "Isn't that good enough? And you're very pretty..."

I felt vaguely frustrated, like he was just skating around my question. Why did he like me? I knew what was in it for me, but I could not possible see what I had to offer someone like Mr. C. I didn't have a damn thing. Not money or connections or beauty. My self-esteem was suddenly sinking to subterranean levels.

Still, I fought to keep my insecurities from completely sabotaging my date as I murmured inanely about how good the bread was.

What was even more maddening was that I kept thinking about Monica Lewinsky. And believe me, the thought of her crouched under a desk in the Oval Office giving the President a blow job was doing nothing to increase my ardor. But I guess I felt like I was walking in her shoes. She was also a Nobody, just a White House intern. She was comely enough, but hardly a movie star or model. Why did Clinton fool around with her? Was it because she was easy and there? Because she inflated his ego and made him feel young? And I remembered how she became such a joke when all of the scandal broke out all over the place. I had always felt kind of sorry for her. Maybe she had just been overwhelmed with all of the excitement and let it go to her head where she got stupid...

I tried to push the image of her face out of my mind.

This wasn't the same thing at all. For one thing, Mr. C was divorced. In the second place, he was a Musical Theater star, not a President. And in the third place, I was smart enough not to breathe a word of our relationship to anyone. 

And I was being entirely too neurotic about the whole thing. So Mr. C wants an affair with a younger woman who is no threat to him. That is understandable. We have a nice S/M dynamic going on which is also a major plus. Why was I getting so worried?

"Are you all right, Maggie?"

Wrenched back to the present, I looked at my handsome date and smiled, trying not to grimace.

"Sure."

"You're being so quiet."

"It was just a hard day at work," I shrugged with a lie. Actually, I had spent most of my day at the office, reading some new plays I had bought, but he didn't need to know that.

Mr. C asked me about my job, where I was from, et cetera. I was appreciative of the small talk as I desperately needed to relax and just feel normal for a while. The rest of the date was good. We didn't set the world on fire, but the nervousness had eased...at least, until the next catastrophe occurred...

We were walking off dinner, walking along the Promenade of the Winter Garden. This walk could be beautiful or depressing, depending on your point of view, literally. If you faced out towards the water, you saw colored purple and blue lights in the water. You saw all the ferry boats and ships. You saw the skyline of the surrounding boroughs. If you looked in the other direction, you saw the large amount of space where the World Trade Center used to be. And then the inevitable 9/11 flashbacks would kick in. I tried to keep looking out at the water.

And that was when I saw the billboard of That Movie.

That Movie was the film version of a very successful Broadway musical that Mr. C had been in. On stage, his performance had been legendary. What a treat it would have been for Mr. C to have been in the film version of That Movie, immortalizing his brilliance on film forever. As it was, the Hollywood Powers That Be in their infamous wisdom decided to cast a younger actor in Mr. C's part in order to bring in a "younger audience". Every time I thought about it, I practically got livid to the point of violence. And if I was so pissed off about it, I could only imagine what Mr. C must have felt about the situation.

With my arm linked through his, I could feel him tensing up.

"It's sort of cold out here. Maybe we should go somewhere else," I suggested desperately.

"It's all right," he said, rather tersely.

"Aren't you cold?"

"Maggie," he repeated. "It is all right. Don't worry about it. Really."

Still, the conversation and easygoing feelings dwindled away as we eventually made our way back to his apartment. I had pretty much written the date off as a disaster and was on the verge of a major anxiety attack. We would have to run into a movie poster of That Movie with That Actor. Now Mr. C was depressed and would forever associate this date as a bummer.

I was quite prepared to go home and get dead drunk to deal with the disappointment.

"I guess I should go home..." I said softly, standing with him at his doorstep outside of the brownstone.

"Oh?" Mr. C asked, genuinely surprised, taking my hand. "I thought...well, I was sort of hoping you would stay here tonight."

"Really?" I responded. "Are you sure?"

He smiled indulgently as he led me inside. Gesturing for me to sit down on the living room couch and take off my coat, he sat down next to me.

"I haven't been the best of company today," he said. "And I apologize."

"Yes, I guess I've been a rotten date too."

"But I'd like you to stay. Maybe we can turn the night around. Let's see what's on TV."

TV was good. Something to get our mind off of our problems and nerves. TCM was showing King Kong, the 1933 version. Great. Hardly a date movie.

"Perfect," I moaned.

"What's wrong?" he laughed, pouring us some glasses of sherry. "You don't like this movie? It's a classic."

Now it was my turn to smile with indulgence.

"Well, I liked it as a kid. And I know the film was an amazing technical achievement for its day, but now it all seems pretty silly."

"It's a fantasy. You're not supposed to take it seriously."

"I know, but surely that big monkey must know that the size difference with the little blonde is a serious problem that cannot be surmounted. He's constantly leering at her and carrying her around everywhere, but doesn't seem to have the sense to know that she is the wrong species for him all together."

Mr. C guffawed with laughter.

"And I thought I was a cynic!"

"Well, really, I don't see what the big deal is with this story."

"I am surprised that with your acting abilities that you can't see the forest for the trees where this story is concerned."

"Well, you don't need to get personal," I said, rather miffed. "I haven't had to audition to play a primate in some time."

Mr. C pointed at the large ape, roaring out from the TV screen.

"Think of what it must be like to be the last of your kind. A prehistoric creature from days gone by. Maybe he doesn't know about species because there is no one else like him. Maybe he can't even conceive of another female gorilla because he's never known one; at least, not one of the right proportions."




Private Lessons Ch. 07-10



I took a sip of my sherry, suspecting that Mr. C must be drunk to be carrying on a serious conversation about such a silly story as King Kong.

"The only other creatures he knows are the other creatures on the island, like the dinosaurs, who are always wanting to kill him. And the natives who are so afraid of them that they build a big wall to keep him away from them. And then suddenly, there she is. The blonde creature of beauty who represents what he longs for."

"Yes, because all monkeys secretly crave beauty..." I quipped. "Especially blonde beauties with big breasts."

"He probably knows that a union with her is impossible in the true sense," he continued, ignoring my comments. "Yet he holds onto her because she is the only beautiful thing he has ever known. And he doesn't want to lose that beauty. Thus, beauty killed the beast."

How did Mr. C always have this insight that made such sense? Maybe that ability was what made him such a good actor.

And I thought about how I felt about Mr. C. That was what Mr. C was for me. A beautiful creature I could never truly have. Not really. He was Beauty, and I was the Beast. I suddenly wanted to cry, completely identifying with the big monkey on the screen.

"Besides King Kong is as sexy as hell."

I nearly spit out my sherry in surprise.

"You have to be kidding me!"

"Am I?" he asked, sidling next to me on the couch. "Look at Fay Wray up there on the screen."

"Whatever happened to Fay Wray?" I sang, quoting The Rocky Horror Picture Show. "That delicate satin-draped frame..."

"Maybe it's just a male thing, but the way she is tied up like that between those totem poles, all vulnerable and helpless, is extremely arousing."

I felt his arms wrapping around me. Well, the night seemed to be improving. If he got off on bound blonde beauties with wide eyes, I was suddenly very supportive of that. I felt like purring as his hands cupped my breasts, playing with my nipples through the silken cloth of my dress.

"With her dress halfway falling off of her body," he murmured, pulling naughtily at my shoulder straps. "Not knowing what is going to come out at her from the darkness. Only that she is dependent on him for everything." 

The cool air made my nipples harden as he lowered down the front of my dress and bra. My breasts were now exposed and completely at the mercy of his large beautiful hands. I let out a soft moan as my pussy began to ache sharply.

"He could devour her whole if he wanted to. Her fate is in his hands. Will he give her pleasure or pain?"

The image of the RKO movie grew blurry as I felt my insides start to melt into hot juice between my legs. I squirmed slightly, feeling all weak.

"And she can't move. She can't escape. All she can do is take whatever he chooses to give her..."

His mouth nibbled at my ear. I jolted at the feel of his tongue swirling around the sensitive lobe.

"Don't you find that sexy?"

I didn't answer, because I truly was too turned on to speak at that moment. His hand crept up my skirt, pressing against my panties.

"Ah, yes, I can feel that you do..." he whispered as his fingers rubbed against my damp underwear.

I could only moan helplessly in response, thrusting myself against his fingers.

"Maggie, you know what I want, don't you?"

I had a pretty good guess. And the prospect was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Will you let me tie you up, Maggie?" he asked huskily. "It would please me so much..."

Part of me was terrified at the thought of being tied up. He could torture me or kill me. He could do whatever he wanted. I could be a statistic in the New York Post the next morning. All I can say is that hormones are a powerful thing because I was truly so sexually aroused that desire overcame the fear. I turned my head and kissed him hungrily.

"Say yes," he demanded. "Say it."

"Yes..." I moaned, no longer caring what would happen, just wanting more and more...

Mr. C carried me up to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed as if I were indeed a fragile damsel in distress. Then he pulled at my dress and underwear until I was very naked.

"Just imagine what it is like, not being able to see anything in the darkness," he said with an evil smile, holding a tie before me. He wrapped it snugly around my face, covering my eyes with it like a makeshift blindfold as he tied it shut. Not seeing anything was so weird. My breathing sounded incredibly loud. And I was ultra aware of my body. He took my wrists and tied them to the bedposts, presumably with more ties. Experimentally, I moved my arms. Yes, I was trapped and helpless, all right.

But I was okay with that.

It was when he lifted up my legs and tied my ankles up by my wrists that I started to get squeamish. My legs were too high up. My thighs were too spread apart. Everything down there was exposed. I didn't even want to think about how pornographic I must have looked in such an undignified position.

"Do you have to tie my legs?" I whined.

"Don't make me gag you."

I took that as a 'yes'.

Then there was a strange whirring sound that came out of nowhere.

"What the hell is that?" I asked nervously.

"A surprise," Mr. C answered mysteriously.

I felt a hard object rub between my legs, vibrating busily away. Swallowing nervously, I yearned to clench my thighs together if only I could. I had never used a vibrator before, although I had seen them advertised frequently at the sex shops on Christopher Street. I knew a few actress friends who used them. They always looked so big and alien and scary, never mind the fact that they reeked entirely too much of desperation and loneliness for my taste. And here I was, all trussed up with my pussy wide open and ready to be invaded by the thing.

"Please...I've never used..."

"Ssshh...trust me...remember what I said about taking risks?"

"That was singing...not fu-OOOHHH!!"

I felt his warm mouth kissing and nibbling the flesh between my legs. The thought of him down there with me tied up like that was humiliating...which sort of made me more excited. It was disgusting, but Oh, God, it felt so nice...so nice... He did not stay down there very long. Just long enough to get me all hot and bothered and prepped for his evil plan with the sex toy.

I moaned when I felt him shift away.

When a small and hard fluttery sensation zapped around my clit, I shrieked from the unfamiliar sensation. My hips shrunk away, trying to escape.

"Feel good?" he asked.

"Uuugghhh...." I answered, incoherently. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I liked it or not.

The whirring noise and vibrations stopped. Then he was sliding the head of the vibrator inside of me. To my relief, it didn't hurt. Indeed, I was so aroused that I would have come right away if it only been a bit thicker. Then I heard a clicking sound and the head began to rotate inside of my pussy, churning away relentlessly. 

"Oh, God..." I moaned, involuntarily jerking my hips helplessly.

Then I heard another click. There was a vibration all around my clit. This made my pussy tense up violently in excitement, clenching at the toy. I had to pee and fuck and scream all at the same time. It was truly a bizarre state of being.

"OOOHHHH!" I cried out. "Ohh, fuck!"

"If you insist..." he laughed. Bastard! Then he cruelly began to move the vibrator in and out of me. The vibrating part lightly spanked at my clit. As soon as it was away and I got some peace, it was there again, jolting me with more of the incessant torture. Pleasure and pain seemed to blend together as I writhed and moaned mindlessly, begging him to keep doing it, begging him to stop. I pumped my hips, trying to fuck the toy, trying to get away from it. Then Mr. C held the vibrator firmly inside of me, not allowing me any leeway to escape from it. When he cruelly pinched one of my nipples, I was pushed violently over the edge into an incredible orgasm that seemed to go on forever.

I sighed with relief when the vibrator was out of me, only to feel Mr. C's dick taking its place. After coming so hard, I wanted to rest but he wouldn't let me. Again, I felt that splendid sensation of his large naked frame on mine. I wanted so badly to touch him, but I just had to settle for placidly lying there as I was bound, accepting everything he was doing to me. He slapped and pinched at my breasts, forcing my body to once more build up to a fever pitch. My cunt milked away at him hungrily as I spasmed up again, tears streaming down my cheeks with the effort. He came hard, crying out hoarsely before collapsing upon me.

The rest of the night was a blur of sleep that bordered on unconsciousness. I only vaguely remember Mr. C undoing my ties...and dreaming of King Kong...



Private Lessons Ch. 11-13



WEEK ELEVEN – When Things Go Wrong

After my illuminating night with Mr. C, I decided to take a field trip over to a little adult toy store in Soho. Having had my taste of the forbidden, I was now completely addicted and determined to get my own vibrator. Don't get me wrong. It wasn't like I needed to replace Mr. C. I just thought it would be nice to have something to take the edge off of those long lonely weeks between sessions.

The experience had been weird. The girls working at the store were quite nice, offering to take me on a tour of the store. And I had to admit that there were a lot of bizarre looking items on display. Some of them were fairly recognizable: whips, nipple clamps, massage creams. But the dildos and ass plugs sort of freaked me out, particularly the ones that looked so large that they looked like something you would give birth to rather than use for fun. The vibrators were on the pricey side, but that was what I wanted. Since I was blindfolded, I never knew for sure what that vibrator had looked like. But I opted for a purple rabbit looking vibrator which looked like it would do the job nicely. I even christened him Mr. Purple.

The week flew by. The days went by at work without my supervisor at my temp job being too annoying. And the nights were filled with rehearsals, exercise, movies and hard core sexual fantasies. What more could I want?

So when I went to class, prepared to do "I Have a Love" from WEST SIDE STORY with Dawn, I was surprised that my scene partner was so tense. In fact, she was downright cold to me. It was unlike her. She had been fine during rehearsals. I just shrugged it off as pre-class nerves. It was when I was getting strange looks from some of the other classmates that I started to feel weird. I just had that feeling that people were talking about me, whispering, laughing, saying things about me and I didn't get why. Even Mr. C looked intense and edgy this morning. Shrugging it off as my overactive imagination, I tried to focus on the day's song.

Despite the strange vibes from Dawn, our song was fairly successful. Mr. C was polite and complimentary, not giving us much to work on. I was halfway starting to worry that too much sex had made Mr. C lose that perfect touch of cruelty which had made him such a great teacher. Surely he was not worried that he was going to hurt my feelings?

After our song, I sipped at my coffee, still feeling as if I were the object of stares. What in the hell was going on? I felt like I was in my own version of BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK. The longer the class went on, the more sure I was that this was not just my imagination.

When class was over, Mr. C snapped out, "Miss Spencer, may I speak to you, please?"

The students left the room reluctantly as if they were expecting to see something of interest.

For some reason, I had this foreboding feeling of nausea. Was I in an alternate universe? I just didn't get what was going on. 

Was That Movie the reason for all of this tense atmosphere?

Yes, I reasoned as I waited for the people to leave. That had to be it. The movie had opened this week to rave reviews. That Actor had earned a brand new reputation in musical theater as well as cinema, becoming more or less Mr. C's successor. Some even felt that he had performed better in the movie than Mr. C would have. I usually shrugged off such attitudes as insufferable ignorance, but that was just me. That explained the atmosphere. Mr. C was upset. All of the students knew That Movie had been opened. Everyone was just all pent-up with nerves and anger.

So maybe I was in for a really rough whipping session. Just the thought of it made my blood race. I was not afraid but anticipating him using me. That's truly how fucked up he was making me. Bring it on, Mr. C. Maggie'll make it all better. You're always number one with her, lover boy.

After the last student left the room, I turned to face him, wondering if I should take off my clothes now or let him rip them off.

While I was relishing the thought of being naked and thrown onto the small table in the corner of the room, I did not expect to have a copy of a certain New York newspaper being thrown in my face.

"What the hell!?" I stormed angrily, trying in vain to fix my messed up hair. It was one thing to spank me; entirely another to throw the paper at me like I was a dog or something!

"That's what I want to know," Mr. C rejoindered. "There's a lot that I want to know!"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded angrily. "What's the matter with you? Has everybody gone crazy or something...acting like a lot of fucking weirdos?"

After picking up the paper, I noticed a certain gossip columnist article. A paragraph had been circled.

"Proud of yourself?" Mr C jibed.

I ignored Mr. C's rage and read the paragraph silently.

"ITEM: What famed theatrical star from yesteryear is having a fling with a very young wannabe actress from an oh-so-private workshop? Is his Lolita sufficiently distracting him from the recent blows to his career and overblown ego?"

"What...?"

"I hope you were well paid for that..."

Not only was I in shock from this article, but I was confused. How did anyone know about us? I hadn't said a word to anybody, not even my mother. And now our affair was an alluded item in a popular Manhattan gossip column. How in the hell did this happen?


"Don't act like you're so damned surprised," he sneered. "This is real life now, not class."

I didn't say anything because I still just couldn't wrap my mind around what happened.

"To think that with some effort, you might have gotten somewhere on your own steam. And instead, you had to stoop to whoring...not only to me but to that columnist bitch! I suppose she paid you a lot of money for that little scoop..."

I tried to ignore the insult, knowing that he was hurt. What could I do to convince him that he was wrong? That I would never betray him like this? That I would never insult him? Hell, what did I know about newspapers or gossip columnists?

"Please..." I started. "I don't know how this..."

"...But there's really not much profit to be made from feeding off of my failures, Miss Spencer," he interrupted in a rage. "If you haven't noticed, I have very little of a career left. There's not really that much interest in me anymore. I'm practically just a museum piece now. Take my advice and screw over someone a little higher up on the food chain next time you spread your legs."

"Look, you've got it all wrong..."

"And here I thought that you were just a young girl who looked up to me as a teacher, who had a sincere interest in what I could teach you. To think that you actually made all of this..." he gestured at the classroom. "...fun for me. It wasn't a big run on Broadway, but it was fun in a different sort of way."

"I do look up to you..."

"And I got involved, even when I kept telling myself not to. I guess I was an idiot after all."

Grabbing his coat and notebook, he stormed off before I could even react.

I just stood there alone in the classroom. I felt bruised by his words, even though they weren't true. He had it all wrong. It wasn't fair. That he was so quick to believe the worst of me. It was almost as if he had been looking for some reason to run away. 

As I walked along the streets of Manhattan, aimlessly just spending off energy, I felt such a weird sense like none of this could really be happening. Then again, I suppose I had felt that way about Mr. C from the first day, eleven weeks ago, when I had first set foot in his classroom. And now I had to face the fact that I had officially been dumped by Mr. C; and had we ever really been going out in the first place?

WEEK TWELVE – The Last Class

"Come on, you son of a bitch! Answer your stupid phone!"

Despite my cursing, the phone kept ringing and ringing. Again, I pressed 'redial', determined not to quit ringing the phone until Billy answered and explained his actions. Although I had no proof, I knew my ex-boyfriend was responsible for that gossip column. He had always bragged about having connections to important people, although I thought he had been bullshitting half the time just like he did about everything else. 

After about half an hour of calling him on redial, I began to feel more than a little stupid. 

Why call Billy? I knew where he lived. All I had to do was go to Brooklyn and wait outside his apartment...and do what? The obvious retaliation would be to kill him. I had no gun, but I did have a nice long kitchen knife. I thought of chasing after him on the street, slashing away at him with all of my violent fury, watching him rip up and bleed and scream in agony. And then I imagined the cops coming for me. I'd be thrown in a stinking horrible jail, filed with drug users and prostitutes and murderers. I'd probably get raped daily by prison guards and lesbians for years on end. Maybe I wouldn't murder him after all. Revenge on Billy was not worth such a fate. 

And as much as I hated to admit it, neither was Mr. C.

I choked on a sob as I took another swig of my Slim Fast smoothie, alone and miserable in my bedroom on a Wednesday afternoon. No, I was not at my boring temp job. I called in sick. Life was horrible enough without having to deal with a bunch of asses telling me what to do all day long. I just needed the time to lick my wounds.

How could Mr. C have been so quick to think the worst of me? How could he have said those things to me? It was as if he had been looking for an excuse to cut things off between us. If he had been anyone else, if he had been an ordinary guy, I would have just told him to fuck off and gone on with my life.

But he was no ordinary guy. He was Mr. C. My muse. The man of my dreams. My teacher. My lover. My father figure.

But the idol had fallen off of his pedestal.

Apparently, Mr. C was only human after all. And he was just as capable of being a pig as any of the other men I had ever known in my life.

Even so, I wanted an explanation for all of this, damn it.

Storming off to the D Train, I rode to Sheepshead Bay, determined to find Billy. I wouldn't kill him. I just wanted answers.

There was no answer at his apartment. So I went to the diner across the street.

Much to my good fortune, Billy was sitting there at a booth, downing a cup of coffee, undoubtedly loafing another day away. Anything but go to a job like a real person, I fumed as I stormed over to him. At least, there was something to be said for his boring existence. He was an easy man to find.

His eyes widened as he saw me.

"Maggie...what are you...?"

Slamming my copy of the hated newspaper on his table, I succeeded in knocking over his coffee and almost but not quite scalding him.

"Fuck! What the hell are you...Fuck!" Billy jumped up from the seat, wiping at the brown stains on his pants.

"Proud of yourself?" I asked, pointing at the paper. "I always knew you were a pathetic idiot, but I didn't think that you were capable of being such an asshole!"

Glaring at me, he picked up the soggy paper and read the column. At first, he smirked. The smirk turned into a grin. The grin turned into a full-fledged laugh as he put the paper down. I wished I had brought along that long kitchen knife after all.

"I didn't do this," he said between chuckles. "But this is priceless! I wish I could take the credit for it. Looks like Mr. Broadway Star got his and you got yours. Priceless!"

As snotty as his remarks were, I believed him. He was just too conceited not to take the credit if he had actually done it. He would have rubbed his victory in my face. As it was, all he could do was laugh at the article and rub that in my face.

"Fuck off, loser!" I snarled before racing off to the subway.

So if Billy hadn't done it, who did?

------------------------------

By the time I got back home, I was so consumed with hurt and rage I just didn't know what to do. I wanted to cry but I felt emotionally constipated somehow. The feelings just wouldn't come out.

So I went to the gym.

I brutally punished myself, climbing on the stairmaster for 45 minutes at high levels until my knees ached and I was drenched in sweat. 

As if my day had not been bad enough, I stepped onto the scale.

Ten pounds! I had gained a frigging ten pounds!

All of the time, I had to work non-stop to keep fat from collecting on my stomach and hips. If I so much had a small order of French fries, they'd be on my waist the next day. I knew that I would be stressed out so I was trying to be especially good. And now I had gained all the weight back in one week. Less than that! Just a couple of days. How did it happen? 

Probably stress. Because of Billy and Mr. C, those fuckers! It was bad enough that both men had used me and degraded me and ripped my heart out in their own individual ways. But now they were responsible for my getting fat all over again!

Kicking the scale, I stormed out of the dressing room, ignoring the chastising look of one of the gym employees. 

Going to the nearest Duane Reade, I bought one of those high-caffeine, high-octane fat burners. As a rule, I did not usually take diet pills. They always made me feel like I was going to have a heart attack at any second with my heart palpitating in my chest. But I no longer cared if I died. Besides, I would only take the stuff until I lost those damned ten pounds. That's all. Surely I would survive for that long. And then I would be very strict on myself so I wouldn't gain that weight back. 

Taking a swig from my bottle of Poland Spring, I downed two pills right off of the bat. No time like the present to let the magic take hold. And I felt better. At least, there was one thing in my life I was in control of. 

I felt better. I felt better. I felt better...

I repeated the words to myself like a mantra. 

Maybe if I said the words enough, I would believe them.

--------------------------

"Nice of you to show up," Mark Richmond remarked as he waltzed into his office, armed with a muffin and coffee from Starbucks the next day.

Normally I would have sulked at his arrogance, but I felt all empowered by my zip-a-dee-doo-dah diet pills. In fact, I must have been typing a hundred words a minute. That was cool. I was in the groove.

"You been sick?" Mr. Richmond asked as he left his office again, stopping at my cubicle. "You look like you've lost weight."

Mr. Richmond, you are now promoted from a boring asshole to a boring schmuck. Congratulations!

I couldn't help but beam with a grin, even though there was no way I could have lost my ten pounds in one day.

"Nothing serious," I answered, rewarding Chandler...er, Mark...with a glance.

"Well, you look like you need to eat something. You want to do lunch?"

I stopped my typing, mid-word. Mr. Big Shot Executive wanted to do lunch with the lowly temp?!

"Well, jeez," he chuckled. "Don't look at me like I've turned into an alien. It was just a friendly offer."

I stared at him, sizing him up. No, he was annoyingly sort of cute but better not to mix business with pleasure. Hadn't I already learned that the hard way?

"I've got plans," I answered.

"Okay. No problem."

I could tell that he was sort of disappointed, but I couldn't help myself. I simply despised every man on the planet right now...and the boss was no exception.

But at least I had gotten back to work. At least I was coming back to some order after the mega explosion of last week. And now I had to figure out what I was going to do about the class awaiting me on Sunday.

--------------------------

As I neared the entrance of the classroom, I began to panic.

This was a bad idea coming here. It would be horribly awkward and painful and horrible. Maybe people knew what was going on and they would point at me, whispering. But the worst thought of all was the contemplation of Mr. C's cold hateful eyes, ripping me to pieces.

Out of sheer stubbornness, I kept on towards the hallway. I paid for the class. I had worked hard in the class. I was going to go to class, damn it.

But then I stopped mid-track.

Part of me yearned to go to Mr. C and plead my case, begging him to believe me about that column. I would never hurt him. I couldn't. Surely, he knew that. It was how I felt. These were the words fighting to leave my lips. 

But hadn't I given him everything I could already? I knew that I would never be enough for a man like him. How could I be? I was a Nobody and he was a Somebody. I had never forgotten that. Maybe I should just keep what remained of my dignity and self esteem and give him the silent treatment. After all, it was what he deserved for hanging me without giving me a fair trial.

But was I strong enough to do that?

Should I just turn around and take the subway home?

"Hi, Maggie!" Tammie, the ditzy blonde, called out behind me. "What you gonna sing today?"

I swallowed hard.

"Another Suitcase From Another Hall. Evita."

"Good choice."

"Thanks."

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the classroom. I would do what any seasoned performer would do. I would play it by ear...improvise...and roll with the punches.

I did not expect the first blow so soon.

At Mr. C's desk sat a thin woman with frizzy brown hair. She was looking at the role book quizzically as if it were a snake about to bite her.

"Who is that?" I asked Tammie dumbly.

"We have a sub for the rest of the term. Apparently our star went off to greener pastures."

With a nonchalant shrug, she pranced off across the room to talk to some of her other friends.

I was reeling with shock. Mr. C was not even there! And he was gone next week too!

Disbelieving, I heard the announcement that Miss Frizzy Hair was making. Due to 'conflicts of interest', Mr. C could no longer continue to teach the Master Class in Musical Theater. Miss What's-Her-Name (I forgot the name as soon as I heard it, but to me she'll always be 'Miss Frizzy Hair') would be taking over for the remaining two weeks of the term.

Sheer panic rose up in my throat. No! He couldn't do this to me! He couldn't abandon me! He couldn't just leave and go off to parts unknown! 

I felt as if I were hyperventilating, trying not to break down as the class went on with one interminable song after another.

"Miss Spencer?"

I grimaced as I heard Miss Frizzy Hair refer to me by that name.

"It seems you're the only one left to go up."

Was I? I had lost track of the time. 

Dutifully, I walked to center stage, waiting for the intro music of my song to end.

I sang and felt nothing.

"Time and time again, I say that I don't care. That I'm immune to gloom. That I'm hard through and through. Being used to trouble, I anticipate it; but all the same I hate it. Wouldn't you? So what happens now? So what happens now? Where am I going to? Where am I going to?"

The song dragged on and on, finally coming to a merciful end.

The substitute loved it. The class loved it. 

But for me, their compliments were cold comfort. 

Deep down, I knew that Mr. C would have kicked my ass to the Staten Island Ferry and back for daring to bring in such a sloppy song. He would have torn me to shreds and rightly so for having such poor concentration on stage. It had been nothing but cheap pretend emotion and mechanical technique. I might as well have sent the song in by fax machine. I knew it. And he would have known it.

As I walked home, I felt on a roller coaster from horrible depression to numbness as I reached into my purse to take some more of the magic diet pills...hoping I would melt away into nothing...

Ch. 13 – A month later

"That's it, girls! Stay strong! Yeah!"

I was in the Zone, sweating and pumping up and down in a bootcamp interval aerobics class at the New York Sports Club. Jumping up and down on the step, doing pylo jumps, lifting body bars, balancing on a stability ball, straining with push-ups...I was sure I was going to have a heart attack any moment. Every muscle in my body was screaming in agony. 




Private Lessons Ch. 11-13



Well, no pain, no gain, right?

The strains of flamenco music played in the background at odds with the loud techno thumpa-thumpa music being played at the gym.

Damn!

Scurrying to my cell phone in my gym bag, I quickly turned it off. Smiling my apologies to the instructor, I hurriedly scurried back to my place on the sweaty gym floor, ready to let that aerobics teaching dominatrix kick my ass for another thirty minutes.

After the torture session was over, I stepped on the scale, nodding in satisfaction. Only twenty more pounds and I would be content. Despite the shakes and the racing heart and the stomach cramps, I was feeling pretty good on my magic pills. Life was seeming to float by from one boring work day to the next, from one extreme workout to the next, from one SlimFast bar to the next one. I even noticed Mr. Richmond ogling me more than usual at work. Now if only I could keep up the pace and not backslide into my prior poundage. How to do that and get off the diet pills...that was the universal question.

As for my career, that was on an even more stubborn plateau than my weight loss. I went on auditions, but nothing was happening. I didn't have the money for any more classes. I was still paying off credit card debt from Mr. C's class. So I pretty much spent my spare time when I wasn't working and exercising sitting around various waiting rooms in Manhattan, hoping to get cast in that elusive part, whatever it might be. In fact, I had another audition in an hour from now...

After a quick shower, I looked at my cell phone.

The number was an unfamiliar one. That small inkling of hope rose up, no matter how hard I tried to suppress it. Was it him?

Quickly, I pressed 'dial' on the number.

"Hello?"

It was a woman's voice. My hopes deflated like a balloon.

"Hi. This is Maggie Spencer. Did you try to call me?"

"Hi, Maggie! This is Tammy!"

I had no idea who the woman was, but she sounded as if we had been long lost best friends.

"Tammy?" I asked, the name meaning nothing.

"Remember me? We were in class together last month. I sang 'Life Upon the Wicked Stage'..."

Visions of a blonde bimbette appeared in my mind's eye. The one who didn't know anything about Mr. C. Truly proof that a man's brains were in his balls as Mr. C always seemed to let her skate by on her looks rather than her talent.

"Oh, yes. Of course. How are you?"

"Great. Listen, I am putting together a little stage revue and I was wondering if you'd like to be a part of it."

I tried not to groan. Probably one of those non-paying gigs where the cast would outnumber the audience. And any respectable agent would walk out at intermission..if they showed at all. Life was just too short.

"Well, my schedule's kind of full right now. I don't know."

"Oh, that's a shame. I'd really love for you to do your 'Roxie Hart' number."

It would be fun to do 'Roxie' again. And if they were going to pay rights to do a 'Chicago' number, it couldn't be that shabby.

"What's the pay?" I asked, ready for the hemming and hawing and excuses.

"Scale."

Well, there was my out.

"I'm not in Equity."

"Well, if you do the show, we could get you in the union easily enough."

All of the sudden, Tammy was my best friend.

"You could get me into Equity?"

"No problem...I just have to make a few phone calls and get you the paper work."

I had seriously underestimated the power of a well-built blonde.

"So when are the rehearsal dates?"

--------------------------

Two months and fifteen pounds later...

Damn! It was good to be in a show again! I felt like Norma Desmond from SUNSET BOULEVARD, finally having made my 'return' to all of those people waiting for me in the dark. As I sang 'Roxie' with gusto, I felt truly happy for the first time since...well, since that damned newspaper incident with Mr. C. I wasn't Maggie. I was Roxie. And nothing could touch me. And the audience was with me in full sympathy. I could feel the energy flowing through me as I went into my choreographed dance number.

Life was good. I was in Equity. I was singing one of my favorite songs of one of my favorite characters from one of my favorite musicals. I was getting extra income. Maybe things were starting to finally turn around.

Since my number was near the end of the show, I was still on an adrenaline high long beyond the curtain call. 

Changing from my sparkling sequined dress to a sexy little black dress, I was ready to go out on the prowl. Mark Richmond, the guy from my temp job, had come to the show tonight. As a rule, I usually did not mix business with pleasure, inviting temp contacts to my shows. But with Mark, I was making an exception. After some cajoling, he finally got me to go out and have lunch with him. I found that we both had a liking for 1980s tunes. So my plan was to have him come to the show, then we could go dancing at the "Culture Club", a New York 80s club...and then if one thing led to another, well, it was time for me to move on with my life. It wouldn't be love, but it wouldn't be bad. He was cute in a quirky sort of way. And with his money, there were sure to be some good dates ahead.

Once I was dressed to kill, I went out into the lobby to look for Mark. Although I did not see him, I did notice a lot of flashing cameras and noise going on near the bar area. Curiously, I peered over at the center of the attraction.

It was him. Mr. C.

I didn't know whether I would cry or faint. I did neither.

Mr. C was standing at the bar, giving an interview to a reporter. As usual, he looked immaculate in a business suit, his hair perfectly styled. Tammy and Dawn were both standing on either side of him, giggling like teenage groupies. When Tammy saw me, she gave me a wave to come over and join them. 

When Mr. C turned to see who Tammy was talking to, our eyes met. It was one of those cinematic moments like in CASABLANCA. Of all the dumpy theaters in all of the Off-Broadway shows in New York, he had to walk into mine.  

With "As Time Goes By" waltzing in my head, I walked over to them, nodding to Mr. C. 

So he treated me like dirt and abandoned me. I could be an adult about it, couldn't I? I could be just as tough as Humphrey Bogart. Tougher.

"Miss Spencer..." Mr. C said. The coldness in his voice was apparent.

"Hi," I said, not sure what to do. Running out into the night screaming did not appear to be an option.

"Come on, Maggie!" Tammy said excitedly. "We're going to pose for some pictures with our teacher. This is going to be great publicity for the revue!"

I smiled with a brilliance that I did not feel. As soon as Tammy had gotten her fill of the pictures, I scurried away, heading towards the bartender.

"You have any Southern Comfort?"

"Sure."

"I'll have one."

"You want Coke in it?"

"No. I'll just have it straight."

The bartender nodded like it was my funeral. And the stuff did taste like gasoline at first. But after the first few swallows, the taste got better.

"Maggie, you were fantastic!"

Ah, it was Chandler...I mean, Mark.

"Mark, darling!" I raved, throwing my arms about him and kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you so much for coming."

Peering over at the mirror, I saw Mr. C glaring at my reflection moodily. Ha, ha! Score one point for Maggie. I gave Mark a kiss on the mouth. Nothing big, just a small little peck...just enough to stoke Mr. C's jealousy. What I didn't count on was Mark's green eyes darkening with sexual tension.

"Maybe we should celebrate your success with a drink?" he suggested, although I could tell by his husky tones that he had some other ideas in mind.

Easy there, tiger! This is all strictly for show.

"Oh, thank you, sweetie. But I am simply exhausted. Could I take a rain check?"

Mr. Richmond could barely hold back his disappointment.

"Sure." Then it all became Awkwardness R Us. "Well, I guess I'll see you in the office on Monday."

"Sure thing, boss," I said with a giggle, waving at him as he left.

Funny, who knew that the man could seem so sexy? Or was I just a little tipsy? Speaking of which...

"Hey, play it again, Sam!" I ordered, almost giggling at my CASABLANCA reference. I must have been a little loud as people were starting to stare at me. 

"Maggie."

Tammy was beside me at the bar.

"Ah, the fair Tammy...your 'Life Upon the Wicked Stage' was priceless..."

"Thanks," she said uncertainly. "Maggie, don't take this the wrong way but you might want to take it a little easy on that stuff. We have two shows tomorrow, you know. Remember the Saturday matinee?"

"I'll be just fine, Tammy. Thanks. And...you must remember this. A kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh..."

She looked at me as if I had gone starkraving mad. Well, I didn't expect her to get the reference. Her idea of a classic movie was probably SHOWGIRLS. At the naughty thought, I nearly burst out laughing in her face.

"Take it easy, Maggie," she said coldly before leaving.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," I said, slurring my esses like Bogart.

I downed my second glass of Southern Comfort. Did I hear that click in my head yet? No. I most decidedly did not. Searching in my purse, I was looking for another six bucks for a third glass of mercy. Ah, there it was!

As I placed the dollar bills upon the counter, a well-shaped elegant hand covered mine.

"Don't be an idiot, Maggie."

The beautiful tones of the Magic Voice made my blood boil.

"Thank you for coming," I said coldly, turning to face Mr. C. "We are so honored by the presence of one of the legendary stars of..."

"Please don't be like this..." he snapped.

"Like what?"

"Don't be so damned condescending..."

"Whatever you say, sir." I used the forbidden term with a mocking toast. "You know that I'm your slave in all things."

He flinched.

"I suppose I deserve that."

"Damned straight you do."

With resolution, I put my empty glass of Southern Comfort on the bar.

"So why are you, Mr. Broadway Star, lowering himself to come to this dump?"

"Because a lot of my students are here," he answered matter-of-factly. "A lot of them would like my support. Besides I'm in town for a concert."

Oh, yes. I remembered seeing an ad for it in the newspaper. Apparently, Mr. C was trying once more to pump some life back into his sinking career, despite That Movie. There was part of me, the young groupie who blindly worshipped no matter what, that wanted to actually pay for a ticket to see him. I wanted to support him and see him triumph over all of the bastards who had stood in his way. But I just didn't think that I could stand it.

"Well, gee, it's awful nice of you," I sneered. "Aren't you worried that they're just out to use you for your money or for headlines or...?"

The tears that I had thought had dried up forever soared up like a tsunami behind my eyes.

"Look," he hemmed and hawed. "Maybe I was a little hasty about..."

"You think?!" I snapped out with a sob. "Shit!" 

Grabbing my bag and storming backstage, I pushed roughly past an eavesdropping Dawn on my way/

"Maggie..." I heard him call out.

I went into the small smelly ladies room backstage, shutting the door and locking it behind me. I then collapsed into a fit of wailing that would have done any soap opera diva proud. It was not just proud tears, but a shrieking sobbing fit that seemed to come right up from my stomach. And the drink probably did not make my depression any better.

There was a knock on the door.

Why wouldn't he leave me alone? He had taken my dreams, my heart, everything I had...wasn't that enough?

"Go away!" I wailed.

"Maggie?" It was Tammy. "Are you okay?"

"Tammy," I answered uncertainly, opening the door and peering out. "I'm just feeling a little sick, that's all."

"Well, he's asking about you, not wanting to leave until he's talked to you."

I didn't have to ask who 'he' was.

"There's nothing to say..." I said, not out of melodrama, but sincerely meaning it. 

"He's really worried about you."

"Well, tell him I don't plan on slitting my wrists anytime soon..."

I sat on the toilet, head in my hands, the world spinning drunkenly around me. What could he possibly want to say to me? Was he sorry for blindly accusing me of all sorts of horrible things with that gossip column? Did he miss me? He could have any woman he wanted. I was just a little fun backstage, easily disposed of when I became inconvenient for his all-mighty career.

For a while, I waited until it sounded as if all of the excitement had died down.

Feeling slightly nauseous, I quietly began to make my way out of the bathroom when the sight of a figure in the dark hallway nearby frightened me.

"Dawn!"

She had the most vile expression on her face. The kind of expression you would read about in a Stephen King novel. Like she was that little boy in The Omen or something. Like she was Jack Nicholson getting ready to swing the axe. For a moment, I thought she looked as if she would kill me. The expression disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

"Wonderful work, hon." 

Dawn came over to hug me. I felt a case of the chills, sure that she would stab me with a knife any moment. But she seemed so normal now. She couldn't have looked the way I thought she did. Why would she look at me with such hatred? It must have just been my imagination.

--------------------------

It was a Thursday evening. There was no show to perform that night.

I walked home sullenly from my temp job. Mark had been hell to work for ever since he came to my show. As if our having sex was going to somehow make our working relationship better. It was all getting too messy and awkward for me. I was strongly considering getting another temp job and living off of my acting checks until something part-time and flexible came along.

And there it was.

The theater where Mr. C was going to be performing his concert tonight. It wasn't as classy as his venues in the past but it was something.

Eyeing the poster of him holding a microphone with a soulful expression, I tried to walk blithely past. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard before a million times. But the young girl from Texas still swooned at the thought that we were both near each other, only separated by walls of brick and plaster, breathing the same air. You'd think I would have gotten past that by now.

I needed him. I needed my fix.

Tentatively, I entered the theater, going to the box office.

"How much for a ticket tonight?"

"I've got back orchestra for one hundred dollars."

Ouch!

"Anything cheaper?"

"That is the cheapest..."

"Forget it," I sniffed, turning on my heel and into the street. Mr. C. had already gotten me in enough debt with that class. I couldn't handle paying for his concerts too.

But I needed my fix.

If only I could just hear him sing to me. We could be just like we used to be. Adored star and adoring fan. The contempt and the pain would melt away because on stage he would need me. He would need me to clap and to yell and to support him. That was the only way he would ever need me. And his music would transport me and inspire me, despite everything.

"Okay," I sighed to the ticket agent, pulling out my credit card.

Later that evening, I was sitting down in my uncomfortable seat. Why couldn't I ever get a decent spot when seeing one of his shows? I eyed the people at the front. Probably a lot of patrons of the theater and VIPs who didn't even appreciate what they were about to witness.

Looking around, I noted that the back few aisles were empty. I could remember several years ago when he had been in a much larger theater and the whole house had been packed. Oh, Mr. C, how had it all come to this?

But when the orchestra swelled up, my heart raced just like it used to. And then Mr. C entered on stage where he belonged. My eyes welled up with tears, not out of pain, but out of happiness for him. Even though he was seemingly out of my life forever, we still had this. This connection. He would sing and I would listen. Forever, I would be the loyal audience member who would hungrily suck up his musical notes just as a vampire would consume blood. And it would never be enough...never enough. And that was the only way I could have him now, the only way to hold onto him...even if it was only through this paltry connection in my mind.

I closed my eyes, willing the angelic voice to wash over me.

But it did not take long for me to realize that something was wrong.

Perhaps I had been too devoted to Mr. C's artistry to the years. Perhaps I had placed him too high upon his pedestal and expected perfection each and every time. Or perhaps he had taught me how to see a little too clearly...for my muse had fallen from heaven.

I could tell that he was just going through the motions. At times, he even stumbled upon the words of his songs, ever so slightly. I am not sure if anyone else even noticed. But knowing all of his songs as I did, I knew right away. Technically, he made all of the right moves and sang all of the right notes. But his heart was not there. His soul was not there. I might as well have been listening to one of his CDs. He would sing songs of love, but his eyes were hard and embittered. He had been an abused performer, burned just a few too many times by critics, rejected one too many times by producers, and it was starting to show.

"Come on...focus..." I whispered.

But it was simply more of the same.

I couldn't help but be furious with him. If I had sung like that in class, he would have reemed me out ruthlessly in front of everyone. And yet there he was, doing exactly the stuff he told us not to do and getting paid for it! No wonder his career was suffering!

And then I did something that I would have considered blasphemy in my younger days.

I left the show early so that I could go to the bathroom. He simply did not deserve my applause, not with a wooden performance like that. Oh, he would get his adulation from people that did not know any better. But he wouldn't get it from me.

As I exited the theater, I saw a lot of security guards huddled around the backstage door. Suddenly, Mr. C was leaving the theater, making a getaway for his car.

Some excited females started to scream and point at him. He smiled at them, waved and then he saw me.

"Maggie..." he mouthed in surprise before motioning me to join him. "Get in!"

Why did I get into his car with him when I knew nothing good would come out of it? I guess there was part of me, the masochist, that wanted to be by his side no matter what.

"Thank you for coming," he said with a patented grin, kissing me on the cheek. "I knew you wouldn't stay mad at me forever."

Well, that wasn't quite true. Before I could respond, he kept talking.

"Wasn't it great, Maggie?" he beamed like a little kid. "It's been so long since I've been on stage, too long...what did you think?"

I was first of all amazed that he was behaving as if nothing bad had ever happened between us at all. And I was surprised that he didn't even seem to realize how badly he had done. And then I wondered if he really wanted me to beam how wonderful he was, forgive him and give him a one-night fucking session. He was probably used to that sort of thing.

"You're a fraud," I told him sadly.

"Pardon?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I believed all of those press releases and interviews over the years. I thought you were a perfectionist and cared about what you did. But all you are is a thief."

His smile melted into a sneer.

"Please go on..."

"You robbed me of one hundred dollars to get a seat in a concert when I could have gotten a five dollar CD that would have given just as good a performance if not better!"

With disgust, he shook his head.

"I should have known better than to think you would be an adult...that maybe we could just move on from that whole thing..."




Private Lessons Ch. 11-13



"You shouldn't teach people what you don't do yourself!"

"...But instead of trying to talk this out, you have to insult me!"

"I am not trying to insult you, but if I had sung like that in class, you would have crucified me right in front of everyone. Remember 'My Ship'? Remember that?"

He shrugged indifferently.

"I was a teacher. That was what I was paid to do."

"And tonight you were paid to give a performance!" I emphasized. "When people paid all that money to see you, they wanted to be moved and to feel something. Not just to watch a nice-sounding stone on stage!"

"Imagine you telling me how to sing!" he snarled. "And how many awards have you racked up, Miss Spencer? How many recordings have you made? Oh, yes, you need to get an agent first. You need to get paying work first!"

"This isn't about professional credits, this is about..."

"Just a little hick from Texas who thinks she knows everything. But you know nothing, Miss Spencer! Nothing that I didn't teach you myself!"

"Well, maybe you should practice what you preach a little bit..."

"I've had enough of this."

The car came up to a stop in front of his brownstone.

"I was going to invite you up for a drink. See if maybe we could just forget about that nasty column business and take up where we left off, but..."

"And have me be your adoring little fuck buddy again?!"

I didn't know where all of my helpless rage was coming from, but I just couldn't pretend to have a casual affair with him anymore. I could no longer pretend that I was oblivious to pain.

"I think I am out of the mood now," he answered simply, his eyes hardened and cold.

"For the record, I never did anything indiscreet. I don't know how that columnist found out about us. I thought it might have been my ex-boyfriend, but I really don't think..."

"It doesn't matter now," he interrupted sharply.

And I felt more dirty than the trash on the street, the way I had let him use me like he had.

"No," I answered bitterly. "I guess it doesn't."

After that, there was nothing but silence.