Back With a Vengeance

No, I'm not plotting the downfall of various people. I just meant that I now have some free time again and boy do I have things to talk about.

The other night there was a shindig at the theater, during which time I had a bit more than a bit too much to drink, over the course of several hours. Most of that time I hung out, chewed the fat with various people, cheerfully ogled a few people without any particular malice of intent, and just generally was present at the party. I was not the only person who was getting to a state of inebriation either; there were plenty of people who really needed to let loose a bit.

This hasn't been the most stressful thing ever, but there has been some stress, and while tempers have been kept in check, there have been moments where things might have gone horribly south in a hurry. But the party, if not fixing that, at least alleviated the pressure a little. People were being social, friendly, lubricated people.

At a certain point, after I realized that I was perhaps being a bit too lubricated when I said one or two things I didn't really mean to say, I excused myself to the bathroom, but went to a different bathroom than the one near the party because I wanted to take a few minutes and make sure I was all right. I wasn't worried, really, just needed a moment to myself to fix myself with a stare in the mirror and tell myself to behave. That kind of thing.

I walked into the ladies' bathroom, expecting to be completely alone, when what should I discover but a surprised couple engaged in some extra-curricular activities. More specifically, an actress and a technician, she sitting on the counter with her top off and dress pushed up to her waist, he between her legs with his pants around his ankles. Best part: she's married, and not to him.

When I say "surprised" however, what I mean is that they both looked up and their faces registered a small amount of surprise, then she grinned sloppily and wrapped herself around him again as he started thrusting once more. Well, I'm nothing if not a voyeur (okay, maybe a few things) so instead of interrupting, I leaned back against the wall and watched. I'd always wondered about her; she seems rather free-spirited and young for her husband, whom I've only met in passing, but she's got 17 kids (not really, but she has more than two) which means she must have been popping them out one a year since she was 18, because she also doesn't look old enough to be a mother more than once maybe. She looks my age. I know, I'm ancient, but seriously, she's incongruous.

And did I mention they're both redheads? No, I didn't. They are. He's got great hair; I'm not sure hers isn't dyed, but either way, it looks good on her.

After a few moments, I went in closer because I hadn't really gotten to see anything but his ass and a brief glimpse of her. She has gorgeous tits too, particularly considering the number of kids she has. She's not skinny, but very curvy in a zaftig kind of way. And she was wasted. He looked a bit more sober than I was, sober enough to give me a glance as I came in closer, then grin as she moaned softly.

It could easily have become a redhead threesome; I was ready to go right there. But although they didn't seem to mind me being there, they made no move to invite me in, even when I leaned in to get a closer look at his cock thrusting up into her pussy. The carpet doesn't match the drapes on her, but that's not necessarily an indication of anything; she has lightish-brown pubic hair, trimmed but not much more than that, which could well be her hair color or could be just an indication that her hair is different. I've met people who have different color hair, pubes, and beard. He, on the other hand, was a fire-crotch, and lots of it.

Sober, I might either have felt slightly uncomfortable or I might have made a move, but in my state, I was fairly content to watch. She giggled as she flipped over and he pressed into her again from behind, then shortly thereafter he pulled back with a small grunt and made a mess of the back of her dress. She didn't seem to notice. I just grinned at them and left again.

Which was why I didn't get to give myself a good square look in the eye, which was why I went back and had another drink, which was why I wound up on stage with another gal singing musical theatre numbers and laughing. I was dripping wet at that point, from watching bathroom sex and not getting any myself and just from being me and drunk and horny. When someone asked me if I needed a ride home, I told him, "Yeah, take me wherever." Which was how I wound up at his house making out with him on his couch. He's not bad to look at, and he was perfectly happy to, "Fuck me, fuck me please!" as I must have begged him about a million times on the car ride home.

I wasn't so drunk that I blacked out, I was just too drunk and tired to give a rat's ass. I wanted to get laid. I've flirted with this guy in the past, and if it was a bit of shitting where I eat, that's life. He's older than I am but I'm okay with older men, as I've said in the past. I let him do most of the heavy lifting, which I feel just a little bit bad about because hey, I like to bring my A game. I think he may have gotten my C game.

There was making out and light manhandling on the couch, then we moved to the bedroom where clothes were shucked somewhat woozily and then some more naked making out, body to body, with his hard cock pressing against me as he stuck his tongue down my throat and pressed fingers into my cunt. No oral, just straight from light foreplay to penetration. I don't remember him putting a condom on but he was wearing one when he entered me. Face-to-face fucking lasted about a minute before he wanted me on hands and knees; I'm not really trying to insult him, but it really was like he had wanted it that way in the first place.

When he pressed in from behind, hands on my thighs and pulling me back onto him as he pushed forward, I came. It was a drunken O, which meant it was just sort of a state of mind, but it was pleasant enough. He wasn't going at it hard enough to work through the haze, so I remember encouraging him to go harder until he pulled out and moved up, obviously expecting to be finished in my mouth. I obliged. Then I don't really remember going from cum on my tongue to sleep, but clearly we both fell asleep thereafter.

I woke up tangled with him in his bed, bleary and stiff, more from sleeping in a strange bed with someone than from drink. I was all set to make the walk of shame, but he said he had to drive me back to get my car anyway, so why not hang around for a while, have breakfast, get a shower, something. "Something," wound up being morning sex, which I remember more clearly this time. It wasn't much to speak of. Stripped of the haze of alcohol, he was rhythmic but kind of boring, he didn't seem interested in eating me out, and he didn't last long enough for me to cum more than once. I'm not saying it was awful, just that it wasn't epic. I don't expect epic, and it was nice to get some penetration, but it really made me miss people who do it better.

Then, finally, he drove me back to get my car. Vague assurances were made that it was no big deal, that hey, everyone was entitled to a bit of a fling, etc. and so on. Then I drove home and got ready to go back to work.

Later, I caught the eye of the technician who had been railing the hot married actress and gave him a grin, which he raised an eyebrow at but did nothing else. He's pretty quiet, so I wasn't expecting much. Redheaded married actress wouldn't look me in the eye. Frankly, I don't care; I've seen her naked and that was fun, and I had no illusions about getting to fuck her, so it's all lagniappe.

The pressure is off for a bit now, and hopefully will remain off long enough for me to catch up on some blogging. And strangely enough, I don't really feel any guilt or regrets about any of this. I'd expect to feel a bit of work-personal-separation-anxiety, but I've been so cut off from sex recently by events that I just felt like I deserved a bit of loving. It won't affect my professional life, and why work in theatre if you don't get to screw actors?