Apparently I Was Wrong

First thing's first: I'm antsier than a bitch in heat because I haven't had an orgasm which involved penetration by penis in a ridiculously long time. Which may be coloring my judgment slightly. I've been a bit stressed out, but nothing like I was at the close of last year, and the combination of stress and lack of a way to get any has really driven my sex drive into a wild tailspin.

Dad has been unavailable for various reasons. Nothing sinister, I hope, but he just hasn't been available. And while if I had the solace of Sveta or some other form of non-male partnership to keep me sane, I wouldn't mind so much (but I might mind a bit, much as it pains me to say that, because I can't go for too long without some cock in my life), I've got nothing else. I haven't had the time to visit Kate, though I've meant to several times, and then she injured herself and isn't really up for any sort of shenanigans, so while I might be able to get something out of Roger, I doubt I'd want to. I have been severely tempted to break my embargo on Perry, just because he's someone who'd be glad to give me a little bedroom action that I'm dying for.

But no. Poor Lexi and her magical fingers, which are becoming less and less magical every time I am forced to settle for them instead of something else. I know, I'm coming across as a whiny asshole to all those out there in readerland who think that "regular" sex is once a month. But my needs are extreme, and I've grown accustomed to their fulfillment. I'm sorry for whining. I didn't mean to whine.

I meant to talk about what happened yesterday at work. I was sitting in the audience after rehearsal getting notes from the director, with one of the tempting yet unavailable women of the cast right beside me. We get along fine, she and I, but I'd never put the moves on her even if I didn't know she was married because she's kind of shy, introverted, the type of person I'd feel bad putting the moves on because it would put her in an awkward position. I don't even ogle her when she's not looking much; she's just too nice and shy for me not to feel slightly guilty about it.

She has the physical attributes to mesh perfectly with her social ones; she's tiny, somewhat mousy but in an attractive way, a little voice, just wee. She's older than I am, probably by ten years at least, but she's in much better shape than I am, sandy-blonde hair, blue-gray eyes, just cute.

And nothing happened.

Okay, kidding, but I had to say that because otherwise I've just telegraphed the entire story, haven't I? Would I really spend this much time talking about her if nothing had happened? I think not.

Anyway, we're sitting there, doing a bit of chatting on the QT while the director talks, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, she puts her hand on top of mine. Maybe it was an accident, and she wasn't thinking, and my hand just happened to be on the handrest. Whatever it was, I think she expected me to do something, but I just let her put her hand on top of mine.

Then, lo and behold, she wrapped her hand around mine. It could have been excused as purely sisterly at this point (sisterly for the general public that is; sisterly for me is cunnilingus). I enjoyed it. I haven't been getting a lot of human contact recently, and holding hands can be nice. I realized that we were at the back of the group, that no one could see what was going on, probably about an hour after she realized the same thing because it was obvious she was up to something.

The fingers interlaced a little, then a lot. Normally I wouldn't give a tremendous post-facto forensic breakdown of hand-holding, but this was just so crazy I remember all the steps. Then her fingers curled up under my hand and pressed her nails into my palm a little, lightly, not painfully. She wasn't even looking at me; she was just staring straight ahead at the director, like she was listening to notes. I let her do whatever she wanted to do.

Then she slipped our joined hands off the handrest and down to rest in her lap. She was wearing workout pants, having changed out of her costume, loose, baggy things. But her thighs are in much better shape than mine, I can tell you that. Mine get a bit flabby (don't think I'm putting myself down; you've never felt my thighs) at times. And my hand was resting right above her crotch.

Up until this point, it might have been just weird sisterly affection. Some people display friendliness in ways that others don't. Hand-holding has never been one of my friendship signals, but then I'll fuck someone at the drop of a hat, so maybe I just leap straight past that stage. Anyway, once she put my hand in her lap, there was no question that this was no longer innocent. She pressed my hand down between her legs a little, her fingers atop mine, moving my hand into the space between those taut little thighs. And oh my God was she warm. She was putting off heat like a wood stove. Through the fabric of the pants, which was not thin, she still felt like she was on fire.

At this point, I had three options: I could gently but firmly withdraw my hand, with whatever reaction that entailed; I could simply sit back and let her do whatever she was planning on doing, or I could signal my interest in continuing so she wouldn't be out on a limb. I won't lie and say that it was an instant decision. I didn't really want to withdraw, and had I decided to do that, I certainly would have done it in a way which made no judgment. But the other two options seemed equally interesting, mostly because I was tired and didn't want to push anything, because I still didn't quite believe it was happening. It was a bit shocking, really. Here was the woman who I would have put last on the list in the cast even to be receptive to advances, let alone make advances herself, let alone in this manner.

In the end, after she opened those wonderful thighs a little and hesitated, I pressed down with my middle finger without prompting and stroked it up and down between, feeling the heat flowing off her, wondering if she was drenched underneath. I was becoming a bit dewy myself.

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, still facing forward toward the director, and gave me the cutest little secret-squirrel smile, which I returned. To all observers, we might have been enjoying a private joke. Her hand stayed over mine, but it was now merely present, not active. Her lovely thighs opened a bit more and she shifted slightly, and I could feel her pubic bone through the fabric as I stroked again.

Then I cheekily shifted my hand up and to the waistband of her pants, to see what she'd do. Her hand stayed right where it was, and she arched her back slightly as I touched the smooth skin, my fingers dipping into her pants slightly. I didn't hesitate to slip under the lace panties I felt but didn't see. I moved my hand down over her lower abdomen, my fingers cold compared to her burning skin.

She has a carpet of silky hair which I imagine is probably the same color as that on her head. I didn't turn to look. It wasn't unkempt, although it was a little sweaty or juicy. As my fingers approached the apex of her cunt I hesitated, just a moment, still not really believing, until she moved the hand still in her lap slightly, stroking it against mine, which was all the invitation I needed.

She's tight too. No children, to the best of my knowledge, and exercise and probably just her size have left her with a tight little pussy, but a hot, wet one that welcomed my finger with open labia. I fingered her, slowly, gently, slipping in and out, running up to the hood of her clitoris and back to the honey pot again. I risked a look at her face; she was trying hard to keep normal, but she had a sort of dreamy look. I hope the director, who was the only one facing us, didn't pay too much attention.

She didn't get sloppy, just lubed, and when I introduced a second finger to the mix she shivered slightly and sucked in a breath, and her cunt spasmed three times, tiny little spasms but perhaps an orgasm. It didn't seem to affect her much; her hand pressed down on mine a little, and her leg muscles tightened just perceptibly. And then that was it, and she let me keep fingering her until the notes were finished, with no further fanfare.

Then she turned and smiled her secret-squirrel smile at me again and took her hand away from mine, and I sensed that any further activities couldn't be conducted at the moment, because they would be too conspicuous. So I pulled my hand from her pants, discreetly licked my fingers with a shit-eating grin, and prepared to be instructed to meet her somewhere for further excitement.

And then she went home without saying a word to me. And today, no mention was made. I didn't want to bring it up, but on the other hand I really did. I would have happily fingerbanged her in public again if that's what it took, but damn it, I really could use a bit of quid pro quo. Instead, I went home, washed my hands (her scent wasn't strong and her taste was almost non-existent, at least at the time), and fingered myself to some sharp yet not totally satisfying conclusions.

I'm not sure what to think. I don't think she was using me, but if she was, what the hell brought it on? If she wasn't, same question. And was it merely a prelude to something which she hasn't figured out yet? I haven't decided exactly how I want to play it either; on the one hand, I'm perfectly okay with bringing up the subject, but on the other, I don't really know what to think. If she'd been awkward with me, that would have been one thing, but she was literally like nothing had happened.

Just further proof that I have an odd life. I'd really like to know if there's a craigslist ad out there saying that at my theater the cute redhead will give you a handy after rehearsal, and if so, what the signals are so I can signal back and cut out the ridiculous hesitancy. And also make sure that people know that I'm easy but I like to get mine too, thanks. And what's up with this woman, of all women, being the first one to take me up on the offer I didn't know I was making?

Current state: Confused, horny