[Continued from "Sex is Fun (Part 1)."]

“Hold on a second,” I said.  She gave me that put-up-or-shut-up look so common to women who just don’t understand why men aren’t always looking to get laid; cowardice did not seem like an option.

Heather had taught me the geography of the female body, so maybe my inexperience wouldn’t show too much.  Heather told me, “You’re too pretty, if you don’t know what to do with a girl when you get her, you will just turn her off to sex.” Feminism in 1968.

“Okay.”  I hoped I seemed confident.  We went down the sidewalk that would get us to the studio.  “What are you expecting this to be like?”

“Fun,” she had started to dance down the sidewalk.

“If you don’t stop dancing around I might just have to tie you down.”  She was suddenly standing in front of me, looking up in to my face.

“Would you really?”  I’d meant it as a joke.  It crossed my mind for a moment that I probably should tell her I’d never tied anyone up before, but only for a fleeting moment.  Bondage was a sex game I’d wanted to play as long as I could remember getting erect.  I wasn’t going to miss out on tying her up.

“Yes.”  My cock was stirring.

Then we were in the studio.  I went into the booth and turned on the house lights, but then I decided to use the stage lights, so I turned off the house lights and put on the setting for “Sex, Drugs and Rock-n-Roll.”  No one could see them from the outside and I wanted to make this spectacular.  Maybe she wasn’t allowed to dance Sex, but we could turn the sex into a dance.  I turned on the music from the same dance, the Rolling Stones; whose back beat was raw sex.  The music would only last forty-five minutes, but I put it on repeat so except for the fact that the tape would have to rewind the music would last as long as I wanted.

Clarissa was standing in the aisle that led from the house to the stage.  She was smiling, but her eyes seemed to have the same apprehension that I felt.  I smiled at her and gave her a moment to back out, then took her by the bicep and propelled her down the aisle to the stage.  She smiled back at me her eyes a bit scared.

A heavy bed I’d built was the only prop in “Sex, Drugs and Rock-and-Roll.”  It would now be used in my own little bit of choreography.  Clarissa moved with me, didn’t fight me.  I stood her next to the long side of the bed.  “Don’t move.  I’m getting the rope.”  She stood still, looking lusciously vulnerable.

“Should I take my clothes off?”

“No, I’ll do that; you just stand there and get turned on.”  I had some soft clothesline I’d used for a bondage scene in one of my plays in the prop room.  It was still there, but it hadn’t been coiled so it was a mess.  Fortunately it was in short lengths so untangling it went quickly.  Handling the rope turned me on more.

Back on stage, I threw the ropes on the bed.  Clarissa stood still, watching me.  I unbuckled her overalls and let them drop, which they did, without interference from her hips.  She was barefoot, only the heavy calluses to protect her feet.  She was of good Russian stock, rather wider in the chest and hips than most dancers, but still lean and hard.  People who spend eight hours a day exercising don’t get soft.

The leotard was the one she had worn under her costumes for the show.  It was infused with dried sweat and smelled of her.  It was damp in the crotch.  I got it off of her and threw it away from the bed.  Heather had taught me that women liked to be admired by their lovers.  My experience is the same.

She was a sleek, smooth blond.  The hair on her head was fine, and hung down to her shoulders.  She trimmed her pussy hair so that it didn’t sneak out of from under her leotard.  All that was left was a fine, sparse fuzz.  In spite of the warmth of the day and the lingering heat from the theater lights she was getting goose flesh.  The almost white hairs of her body standing on end.  I turned her around once so I could see all of her.  She moved effortlessly.

I leaned down and kissed her.  My lips pried her lips open and my tongue caressed her inner lips and gums.  Her tongue touched the underside of mine, it was a bit surprising, but not unpleasant.  As our tongues made love I lifted her up, not breaking the kiss, and placed her on the bed.

[To be continued.]

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