I hope you can see a pattern here: To the extent that I can make the women I’m with happy, then I am happier, too. That is not to say that I am entirely selfless or altruistic–Let’s face it, we’re talking about SEX here. But, if all I wanted to do is have an orgasm, I would have plenty of avenues to do so, with or without a partner. No. I love women; they are intriguing, fascinating, and delicious. But….every guy is entitled to a “clinker”, or two.
Let me tell you about Zeta. She is pushing 40, is a substantial 5′ 6″ (1.7m) 130lbs(59kg), 36D, highly talented woman of Eastern European heritage. Was born in Europe, was educated there, speaks four languages, and worked her way up the ladder in live theater to eventually become a stage manager. The key word here is “Manager”. Her career revolved around, essentially, telling people what to do and when to do it; and, if they don’t, the quality of the production diminishes or fails altogether. Believe me, nobody wants to suffer the wrath of Zeta for fucking up anything!
But apart from her being driven professionally, Zeta could be immensely charming…and sexy! Her range of knowledge was broad. The arts, of course, were her staple, as one might expect but she had a thorough understanding of history and politics–focused on European history, certainly, but world history as well. She was what one might call a raconteur; by virtue of her many years in the performing arts she had a wealth of stories about actors, playwrights, directors, and others that she shared at the drop of hat. She commanded attention…literally!
I was invited by Karen to attend the local premiere live performance of a particularly popular musical. (Karen? I may tell you about her later.) Karen knew one or two of the performers, women in the chorus, and I went along with her backstage to visit them. Before the performance, everyone is too busy and stressed to make visiting realistic, but Karen wanted to at least wish them luck–in theater parlance, to “break a leg”. I was standing aside while Karen talked to the two women when a voice boomed at me.
“Who are you two and WHAT are you DOING on MY stage?” It was Zeta “managing”.
At that moment, Karen turned around from her conversation with her friends and faced the booming voiced Zeta.
“Zeta! How good to see you,” said Karen with a charming smile, “you recognize me, I’m sure. I trust you weren’t objecting to my presence here.”
What I didn’t know but found out right there was that Karen, being a moneyed person, was a patron of this theater group. She was involved in the organization that put on the productions, including selecting the…yes…the stage manager. In other words, Karen had some pull.
Zeta pulled in her horns somewhat, and said, “Oh, Karen! I didn’t see you there. I certainly wasn’t directing my displeasure at you. You are certainly welcome anytime backstage. It was that male creature there I intended to question.”
“I can understand your concern, Zeta,” Karen continued, her charm now somewhat forced, “that ‘male creature’, as you put it, is my guest, Drummond. I invited him back here to see a little backstage prep for the show.”
“Oh, I see, Karen, my mistake,” said Zeta, deferentially, “I didn’t think he belonged here, especially ogling the chorus women. I have to watch everything, you know.”
“I can vouch for him, Zeta…he’s harmless, ” said Karen with a sly smile, “but, please Zeta, meet my friend Drummond.”
I extended my hand to Zeta who declined to shake it. I found out later that her European sense of etiquette made a woman shaking hands with a man inappropriate, especially on a first meeting. A woman offering her hand to a man, on the other hand–so to speak–was acceptable. It was all about form and propriety for her.
Zeta eyed me up and down, gave a little sniff, and said, “Yes, well Mr. Drummond, as friend of Karen’s you are, of course, welcome back here when you are with her. I trust you won’t take offense at my impoliteness.”
I sensed that Zeta was being too stiff, too formal. This may have been because Karen was there, whom she depended on for her job; or, it may have been that she was suppressing some feelings that I couldn’t identify at the time. No matter, though, I wasn’t going to let her ruin my date with Karen or my enjoyment of the production.
The performance was a rousing success, bouquets thrown on the stage for the principal performers, multiple curtain calls. Reviews hit the internet instantaneously, not like the “Good Old Days” when everyone had to wait for the morning newspapers. And, trust me, everyone who was anyone connected with the production had read them before the after-the-show party commenced.
At the party, Zeta was in high spirits. Being three or four cognacs in didn’t hurt her ebullience either. It turns out that Zeta was such a talent at her craft that playwrights, producers, and even directors often deferred to her in terms of the actual performances. She was the equivalent of a Field General; she made the wheels turn, in sync, and on time. Yes, a VIP, unquestionably.
“Ah, urfa escort Mr. Drummond!” Zeta addressed me at the party, “you enjoyed the performances tonight? I trust my behavior didn’t tarnish your enjoyment.”
I could tell Zeta was “fortified” and headed for being just plain old drunk but, being with Karen, I didn’t want to brace her on it, or anything else. I smiled and nodded.
“Oh, come, come, Mr. Drummond,” she said as she put her arm on my shoulder, “there’s no reason to pout. I like you, Mr. Drummond…I do…despite…well…no…not despite….what’s the right word….despite…yes…despite you being something of a cretin…still…there is something about you…I…well..yes…like.”
“You flatter me, Zeta,” I said forcing myself to not cut loose on her, “you are too kind!”
“Well, I apologize, Mr. Drummond,” Zeta continued her native accent more pronounced, “if I have said anything to insult you…well, I apologize…yes…and let me make it up to you… Please come to my office…yes to my office…to see me…yes see me…I will give you…give you a tour…a look at… yes a tour…of our production back stage…I want to…well…make out…I mean make up…for my unforgiveable…behavior. I hope you will…come…”
Karen and I glanced at each other and simultaneously shook our heads. It was clear that Zeta was well on her way to, if not passing out, dozing off. We gave our farewells and headed off.
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In the morning, Saturday, Karen’s cell phone buzzing woke me up. (I said Karen is another story…be patient.) I could see the display showed “Zeta”. It woke Karen too; she reached over and answered the call. Of course, I could only hear one side of the conversation but Karen managed to give me a hint at what Zeta was saying.
Karen: Hello, Zeta. Well, yes, it was a grand triumph. I think you outdid yourself.
(In more ways than one, I thought)
Karen: Oh, the party? Yes, that was quite a time too. Drummond and I enjoyed it immensely.
(If seeing Zeta drunk and sloppy was enjoyable, then I had to agree with Karen)
Karen: Drummond….yes, just a friend…No, you did apologize to him…more than once…yes.
(Something tells me Zeta’s memory was a little fuzzy…Imaging THAT!)
Karen: Do I have his number? Well…yes I do… but I don’t think that will be necessary…no your apologies were ample and sincere….yes…yes…I have no doubt you made your point.
(All the while I was shaking my head “NO” a) to Karen giving Zeta my number, and b) emphatically “NO” to Karen giving Zeta my number)
Karen: I’m not exactly sure what you are asking, Zeta…did you do what?…..NO! I am absolutely certain you didn’t do that…or anything like that…No, no! you didn’t tell him you wanted to do THAT! Trust me!
(Karen looked at me and gave me a pantomime of a blowjob with her hand circling a phantom penis, while bobbing her head. She nearly laughed out loud and I had to suppress my laughter as well.)
Karen: That’s O.K., Zeta…yes…no….well I don’t know…perhaps…yes,….if I talk to him….yes…I will tell him…I’ll give him your number….yes..that’s right… yes…I hope you’re feeling better, Zeta.. yes…good bye.
Karen explained the last part of the call to me, saying, “Oh, Drummond! I’m afraid Zeta was a little too drunk last night. She doesn’t remember a whole lot, though she does vaguely remember her apologies, plural. She didn’t mention anything about offering you a backstage tour. She did say, that she was afraid that she might have told you that she wanted to give you a blowjob just to make it up to you! Isn’t that hysterical? Anyway, you heard most of it. Oh, and I’m supposed to apologize to you again for her, the next time I see you.”
Karen put her cell phone down, pulled back the sheets and proceeded to give me a fantastic blow job–blowjobs are all fantastic, so…a blowjob.
After she finished, she looked at me and said, “That’s from Zeta…she apologizes!”
We both laughed ourselves silly!
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As blustery as Zeta could be, nobody could ever accuse her of not being smart and resourceful. She did a little research, more on Karen than me, and discovered that I was a “family friend” of Karen and her husband. (That’s true and…well…there’s more to be told about Karen and me.) The point is that Zeta, having identified me, easily found my phone number…hence the following call, in the morning a few days later.
My cell buzzed but I didn’t answer it as there was no name attached to the caller. It was an out of state prefix so I concluded that it was a spam call of some sort. Then my cell “pinged” telling me I had a text. I went there and found this:
“Hope I have the right number for Drummond. Pls call me at this number Zeta.”
I would not allow myself to behave like the cretin she accused me of being, so I called her back directly.
“Hello, Zeta?” I began, “Drummond urfa escort bayan here, calling you back. How can I help you?”
“Oh, Mr. Drummond, I am so happy you returned my call,” Zeta sounded all smiles, ” you have been on my mind and I just wanted to apologize again for my beastly behavior the other night. It was inexcusable, and I am so sorry.”
“Well, Zeta, thank you,” I kept my voice even, “but you were abundantly apologetic at the party after the show. I thank you, though, for your continuous outpouring of remorse but…believe me…it isn’t necessary. All is forgiven!”
“Yes, yes, yes, and thank you,” she pressed on, “but I remember now that I said that I would give you a tour of the theater…not just as a token of my contrition…but to get acquainted, you know. “
She sounded so contrite that I didn’t have the hard to turn her down flat even secretly knowing what might be in her mind. I thought, “What’s the harm, anyway?”
“Well, Zeta, that is very kind of you. When would you like to do this?” I said in a friendly way.
“Today, if you have the time. The theater is dark today getting ready for the weekend’s performances. So this would be an ideal time to show you around. If you’d like.”
I hesitated but decided now is good a time as ever, “I’m wrapping up my morning’s work. I should be free around 4:00PM. How about I meet you at the playhouse then? Sound good?”
“Marvelous, Mr. Drummond. I’ll see you there, then.”
I had to throw this in, “Oh, and Zeta, ‘Drummond’ is my first name. It’s not Mister Drummond, just plain Drummond. See you at 4:00PM”
She responded, “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you. 4:00PM, then…BYE!”
She knew my first name was Drummond…she had looked it up! Funny woman, this Zeta.
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“Oh, Mr….I mean Drummond, I am so glad you could make it today. I have so much to show you!” she said as she, etiquette notwithstanding, actually grabbed my hand to lead me into the building.
“I expect the ‘grand tour’ that you offered, of course!” I said, nettling her a little bit, “I’m sure if anyone can give it to me, you’re the person.”
A whole lot goes on in a theater before and after a performance but the most exciting time is during the performance. There is a whole team of stagehands, lighting personnel, sound experts (most of the performances are “miked” today”) and they are constantly in motion during a show. Scenery changes, make-up touch-ups, prompter updates (they are “miked” now too–the actors have ear pieces). It is a flurry of activity even when the action on the stage is static.
The stage manager works out of a control room that looks like a small version of a space launch. All of the people have headsets on, the lighting guy, the scenery guy, the sound guy; and they are in voice contact with the actual technicians. There are several closed circuit TV screens showing the different venues within the theater.
During a performance, the stage manager keeps an eye on the TV monitors and gives commands left and right. Timing is crucial. It takes a lot of effort and I can see where Zeta would want to “unwind” after any performance, let alone a premier the likes of which I had attended.
Zeta and I were standing in the vacant control room as she explained all of the goings-on to me. I was nodding with understanding appreciation. She was about to show me the computer and display where all of the “blocking” diagrams were stored. As she gestured, her pen flew out of her hand and clattered off into space and landed probably on the floor somewhere under one of the desks.
“Oh, dear,” she said, “that’s an expensive pen. I need to find it. Here, help me look!”
So, “we” started a search. I looked high and she looked low. She was wearing blue jeans, and a pull-over sport jersey. I was dressed approximately the same, except for the jersey–sport shirts were my style. As looked high, I couldn’t help but see her searching low on her hands and knees. Her blue jeans stretched as they fitted themselves over her nicely shaped, though a tad large, fanny. At point I could see right down the neck of her loose fitting jersey; two boobs and no bra is what I saw–two 36D boobs, I might add.
I was sitting on the edge of a desk, having searched the pigeon holes for the pen, and Zeta had just gotten herself out from under a desk and was resting on her knees. I felt her eyes inspecting my crotch.
“Drummond!” she exclaimed softly, “pardon me for mentioning it but…well.. you fly is open!”
I looked down and sure enough, my zipper on my blue jeans had opened about half way. Before I could do anything about it, Zeta chimed in,
“So, the question is, Drummond,” she said with her eyes still fixated on my fly, ” shall I zip it ‘UP’ or shall I zip it ‘DOWN’? What do you think, Drummond”
Her fingers had already gone to the tab on my zipper and pulled it down an inch and then pulled it back up an inch. She repeated this two or three times, during which my penis escort urfa was beginning to react–there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
“So…up? Or, Down?” Zeta repeated, “UP? DOWN?…..UP? DOWN? I think DOWN is best, don’t you Drummond?”
So, down my zipper went and simultaneously Zeta’s other hand unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned the top button on my blue jeans. She used to both hands to tug my jeans and my shorts down over my hips down as far as my knees. She didn’t bother with getting them any farther down because she had already started to pay attention to my cock.
Using one hand to massage my cock and the other to massage my scrotum, she gently blew on both. I felt the breeze of her breath rustle my pubic hair as it wafted over my cock and balls. Her hands were warm which added to the sensuality of her massage. A little cool breath, a little warm hands–the contrast was indeed stimulating. She leaned forward and gave the shaft of my penis a series of nipping kisses working her way down to the head. It turned into a moving target as I erection bloomed. Before long she was looking at my fully erect cock.
“If we’re going to do this, Drummond, we should do it right, don’t you think?” Zeta purred.
With that, she pulled my jeans all of the way off me, pausing only to slip my cross-trainers off my feet so she could get my jeans all the way off. To balance things off, she also removed her jersey–as I suspected, she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Seeing this 40ish woman’s D-Cup breasts was an enlightening experience, to say the least. Now I know a little from breasts and these two “puppies” where not the boobs of a 40 year-old woman. A 30 year-old woman? Maybe. But a 25 year-old would be more like it. They were firm and very little droop or sag…naturally there was some but, Sheesh!, I’ve never seen breasts that large not hang at least a little. Her areolas were on the large side, probably 2″(5cm) and her nipples were not prominent…yet. They made my mouth water and my dick hard…harder, that is!
“Well, Zeta, if you really mean right, then….” I followed up on her statement.
I stood her up, unbuttoned and pulled her jeans too. They fit her a lot tighter that mine did me but the struggle was worth it. Her thong came off along with her jeans to reveal a lush pubic bush made of curly, tawny hair. Her pubic crease was totally indiscernible, that’s how thick it was. Her body was relatively trim–a little “pooch “here, a little padding there–but in remarkably good shape, again, for a 40ish woman.
Zeta had my shirt of in no time at all and we stood there naked looking at…actually admiring…each other.
I think we had the same thought at the same time, “If we are going to get serious and fuck each other, where are we going to do it? On the hard control room floor? Not hardly!”
I saw the light go on in Zeta’s eyes. She held up a finger in a “ssshhh” sign, opened the control room door, looked around, and dashed out. Seconds later she dashed back in with a couple of large pieces of thick foam padding. She threw them on the floor.
“Voila’, problem solved!” she crowed, “our stunt people have this stuff lying around all over the place. Nobody wants a stage fall to turn into a real fall…so….Oh, and don’t worry, the theater is empty now…I made sure of that!”
I’m not sure if she meant that she checked quickly and saw that the theater was empty or, if she somehow arranged for the theater to be empty now. One guess was as good as the other but, as I learned more about Zeta, I suspect the latter was the more likely situation.
With the foam on the floor making an unusually comfortable bed, Zeta and I got down to business. Her original intentions, I suspect, were just to give me a blow job and follow through with the rest all in good time. I think I turned the tables on her, though. That isn’t to say that she was displeased; she was just disconcerted that her plan had to be modified.
Well, modify that plan I did. Bypassing the kissing stages, I plopped Ms. Zeta on her back on the improvised mattress. She fell giggling…actually giggling…with her legs conveniently apart. I never miss an opportunity like this one, so I proceeded straightaway to cunnilingus. Ms. Zeta expressed no objection. On the contrary, once my face was in her crotch, she–like DD–pressed her hands to the back of my head increasing the pressure of my mouth on her snatch.
It was a harder to maneuver through her thick pubic hair but I managed, with the help of my fingers, to identify and expose the lips of her vagina. Those lips were rather large and pendulous, something that was not evident on first inspection. I was thinking that perhaps that was why Zeta sported such a full bush. Well, that is neither here nor there when it came to servicing said pussy. Once the thicket was parted, I had an clear field of action.
Thick pussy lips and a large vaginal opening, those gave me some challenges but nothing I couldn’t overcome. Her vagina was moist but not wet, her clitoris, while small, was hiding under a rather large hood–another challenge but, again, not insurmountable. I decided to go straight for her clit, a wise choice it turned out to be. I found that she had a hyper-sensitive clitoris. My mere breath send spasms through her so I took more care in my incremental teasing of it. It took time and care.