Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ï>¿Butterflies by M.  Millswan

   Actress just staring out has her first nude audition.

   Studio B was tucked back in a distant corner of the sprawling Metro
Films lot.  Discarded props and miscellaneous film production equipment,
too valuable to junk, but too old to be of service at the bigger studios
nearer the front gate, surrounded the old, square building.

   She parked in the temporary lot as she had for the last two weeks. 
Though, she wasn't late, the young woman lost no time as she made her way
inside.  Slipping in the stage door she had hoped to find the building
deserted, but the set was already buzzing with activity.  Grips were
hanging lights, and production assistants were busy dressing the set. 
Trying to act casual, she made her way towards her dressing room.  Was it
just because she was so nervous she thought she noticed everyone glancing
at her as she passed by?  "No," she decided, "I've got to stop being
paranoid."

   She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn't see it at first, but
her timing could not have been worse.  As though a black cat had crossed
her path, she stopped, frozen, just ten paces from the safety of her
dressing room door.  Two production assistants were wheeling a complete
king-sized bed toward the set.  Feeling her cheeks redden, she let them
pass and fairly leapt to the security of her dressing room door.  Once
inside, she put her purse down and went immediately to the large, lit
mirror over her dressing table.  "Oh no," she thought.  "How
unprofessional, I'm blushing."

   She stood stock still, reminding herself to breathe slowly as she stared
into the mirror collecting her thoughts.  The girl who looked back at her
was pretty; anyone would be quick to agree.  She was almost petite, but
nicely shaped.  Her curves were full and suited her nicely.  Her dark,
reddish brown hair hung to her shoulders, accented with bangs cut straight
an inch above a pair of striking hazel eyes.  She smiled at herself,
revealing perfectly capped teeth, a cosmetic enhancement, which
complimented the surgeon's fine touch to her nose.  For a young
twenty-something, up and coming actress, she certainly looked the part.

   As though coming out of a trance, she blinked back to life.  She had to
get ready.  Today was the big day.  She checked her watch for the umpteenth
time in the last five minutes and began to go about her routine.  But she
just wasn't with it.  Her mind was in a whirl.

   A few months ago, it had all started; she found it flooding back.  Since
graduating from college with a BA in drama, she had been to maybe fifty
auditions.  Only for minor roles, had she ever been called back.  She'd
played the parts of the maid, the cousin, the sick sister; but she knew
that she was better than that.

   After her reading this day though, it had been different.  The
director/producer had asked her to stay and meet with him later in the
afternoon.  It was though a bomb had gone off in her heart.  There in his
little office, he told her he wanted her to play the co-starring role. 
This was a small, independent production for video release, and it would
pay her $5000 for three to four weeks work.  Actual shooting would begin in
a few months.  It was a typical action film with the crusty but benevolent
good cop versus the handsome but evil drug lord.  That kind of thing.

   "Yes," she'd blurted out.  "Oh, yes.  I'll take the part."

   The director looked pleased by her over eager response.  "Great!" he
came back, unsuccessful in suppressing a grin.  "Uh, you are aware that the
role does require a love scene." His eyes were steady.  "A nude, love
scene."

   No, she hadn't known.  She only knew she had auditioned for the role of
Cassie, the tough yet spunky undercover DEA agent who would infiltrate the
gang by becoming the gangster's girlfriend.

   She attempted to compose herself.  "No, uh, I wasn't aware." She tried
not to sound disappointed.  "You mean explicit---?"

   The director cut her off.  "No, no.  This isn't a pornographic film." He
rose from his chair and came around to sit on the edge of the desk in front
of her.  "But the script calls for a scene where your character goes home
with the bad guy, and they end up in bed.  She goes along as she wants to
avoid any suspicions on his part."

   She sat there, her legs crossed primly, hands in her lap, staring back
at him.

   "It's not pornographic," he continued.  "No penetration or oral sex,
nothing sleazy like that, but it will have to be convincing."

   She didn't know what to say.

   He picked up her paperwork and gave it a quick scan, flipping over the
photograph on top and running his finger down the first page.  "I see by
your resume you don't have all that much professional experience, so far
nothing outside of a few minor roles."

   He tossed it over on the stack of others, but seemed reluctant to quit
his explanation.  "I thought your reading was good and you look the part.
You've got a fresh new face.  I think I can turn your inexperience into a
disarming cuteness, which will give Cassie a hesitant believability in her
scary undercover situation."

   He sat up off the edge of the desk and returned to his chair.  "But
before we went any further I wanted to make sure this would be all right
with you."

   "What should I say?  What should I do?" Her thoughts tumbled in
confusion.

   He pushed his glasses back up on his nose, obviously a nervous habit,
and exhaled in regret.  "Well, okay, I understand..."

   She came to life.  She'd decided.  "Oh no.  I don't have a problem with
a 'romantic' scene.  As long as it's a necessary part for my character, and
doesn't really involve ...  Like it's not going to be extreme close ups."
She stopped, putting her frantic hands back in her lap, then continued
boldly.  She wanted the part.  "None of that..." her fingers clenched as
her hands once again sought to help describe her anxiety, "...awful
banging, sucking..."

   "No, no, no." He laughed.  "No.  It's only one scene, and it'll be very
tastefully done.  With the violence in this movie, we'll already earn a
hard R rating.  We don't want to do anything to push it over the edge.  We
can't.  Not for this distribution."

   Relief flooded through her, and her excitement came back.  "No," she
stated firmly.  "In that case it won't be a problem.  I'm a professional.
I've done kissing scenes before."

   He pushed his glasses up again.  "This is a little more than kissing."

   "As long as it's not pornographic," she stated flatly.  "I'm just
starting on my career, and I don't want to ruin it." She looked him
straight in the eye, her hands back in her lap.

   "Well, okay then," he nodded.  "Welcome to the cast.  There'll be some
papers you'll need to take home and bring back tomorrow, signed.  My
secretary has a package ready for you.  Pick it up on your way out."

   She almost wasn't listening; she was so caught up, already thinking
about calling her mother and celebrating tonight with her boyfriend.

   "No, problem, Mr.  Weaver" she smiled.

   "We're informal here." He leaned across the desk and offered her his
hand.  "Call me Max."

   She stood up and leaning forward took his hand and shook it vigorously.
"I'm Sally."

   He held up her resume.  "Yes, I know."

   Feeling absolutely ecstatic, she turned to leave.  It was the hardest
thing to be calm and not leap up and shout, "Yeah, baby!"

   "Oh, too." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes and then the
bridge of his long nose.  "Before you go; just one last thing."

   "Yes," she beamed.

   "I need to ask you to please disrobe."

   "What?" she replied, the crack in her voice revealing her surprise. 
"Here?" She took a wary step back from the desk.  "Now?"

   He seemed more than a bit embarrassed as well.  "I just need to be sure
you'll be okay.  You know.  No birthmarks, no tattoos." He smiled,
obviously trying to lighten the mood with some humor.  "No great hairy
moles."

   He stared at her from behind the desk and put his glasses back on. 
"I'll need to do this sometime before we sign the contracts.  If you'd be
more comfortable with another person also watching." He reached for the
phone.  "I can call in my secretary."

   "No," she said swallowing deeply.  "It's all right.  I understand."

   He put the phone down and just looked at her, waiting.

   She clutched her purse.  "Now?"

   He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands apart.

   "I mean, I guess." She squeezed her purse straps, strangling them with
both hands.  "If it's really necessary?"

   He touched his fingertips to each other delicately, his elbows on the
desk.  "I'm afraid so."

   She stood there staring back, caught in the situation.  She remembered
thinking, "I'm going to remember this moment the rest of my life."

   She knew it was her move.

   With one toe, she slid off the back of one of her slip-on sneakers and
then repeated the action with the other foot.  Her shoes off, another long
moment stretched out.  She could hear a phone begin ringing somewhere on
the other side of the door, an entire world away.

   And then, she began.

   She placed the purse she had been clutching on the seat of the chair
behind her, and when she came back around her hands rose to the top of her
blouse.  She felt her fingers begin at the top button and start down.  The
first stuck as she tried to push it through, but finally popped free.  Her
fingers were shaking.  Nervously, she found herself counting them off
silently to herself as the button released and the blouse began to spread
open: "one, two, three, four..." She swallowed again, thinking, "Is this
me? Am I actually doing this?"

   Pulling her shoulders back, she shrugged out of the blouse and turning,
placed it on the chair back ever so carefully, hanging it out with its
empty arms dangling.  For some reason her purse looked foreign to her, odd,
sitting there all alone on the black plastic seat of the chair.  Turning
back to face the man behind the desk, she noticed his expression hadn't
changed a bit from when she'd started.  He looked glassy eyed as though he
wasn't focusing on anything, yet his eyes followed her every move.

   "Should I take off my bra next, or my skirt?" she thought, hesitating.
Her palms were wet and her cheeks were hot, as she reached to her side and
began unbuttoning the skirt.  Stepping out of it, she gathering it up
before folding it in half over her arm and laying it down flat, covering
her purse.  It was as though none of this was real.  She knew she was doing
it, but it was like she was watching herself, like she was caught up in one
of those eerie out-of-body experiences described by people in the tabloids
who've come back from death.  Now, standing here under the bright lights of
this office, wearing only socks, panties and a bra, she became acutely
aware of the feel of the smooth skin of her thighs as they pressed
together.

   Swallowing dryly, she reached behind her back, fingers fumbling for a
moment as she unhooked her bra.  It loosened and came free.  Her breasts
tingled and her nipples were embarrassingly erect as she slipped it off,
feeling the cool air rush up against her exposed skin.  She coughed
slightly, bringing her fist up to her mouth, trying to clear her parched
throat.  Never had she felt so naked in her life.  She let herself look
down and seeing her own nipples, stiff and pink, she felt something in her
stomach flutter and go cold at the same instant.

   For some reason, she attempted folding the bra, but only succeeded in
wadding it up.  Awkwardly, she feigned a wiry smile, fidgeting with the
thing before giving up and dropping it on the seat of the chair.  When she
turned back, for a moment, her eyes met his, and they both instantly looked
away.  Taking a deep breath, she tried to think, to breathe, anything to
calm her fiercely pounding heart.

   Her hands went down to her panties.  Feeling the elastic under her
fingers she tried not to think about what she was about to do.  Staring
straight out, she pulled them down, so aware of the fabric sliding down
between her thighs.  And then she stepped out of them, first with the left
leg, then the right.  Her mouth had gone stone dry.  A few hours ago she
had never met this man, and now here she was, standing naked before him in
his office.

   Somehow the silky little garment slipped from between her fingers,
fluttering to the floor at her feet.  She moved to pick them up.  But
bending over she became ultra aware of her breasts as they dangled away
from her body.  Startled by this exposed feeling, she thought in a flash it
would be better to squat down.  Instantly, this thought was followed by a
vision of her legs coming apart when she neared the floor, and so she just
stood back stiffly, not having a clue now as to what to do with her hands.
Instinctually, her fingers wanted to cover the sparse wisps she could feel
so glaringly exposed, but she fought back the impulse.  She didn't dare
follow his gaze down when his eyes dropped, preferring to watch the second
hand of the wall clock behind the desk as it dragged along.

   Again the silence closed in, the clock ticking loudly, each second
echoing throughout the room.

   "Should I take off my socks, too?" she offered, shattering the moment
and feeling suddenly foolish.  Her hands, she couldn't think of a thing to
do with her hands.

   It was his turn to have his voice crack when he spoke.  "Uh, no.  Uh,
that won't be necessary.  Would you, uh, please put your arms over your
head?" His voice was more than a little shaky.  "Turn all the way around,
slowly?"

   She found herself doing as he asked.  Her arms came up, her breasts
rising slightly with them.  She closed her eyes and licked her dry lips
when she had her back fully to him, taking a moment to breathe in and out,
in and out.  After what seemed the longest time she finally heard him say,
"You can turn back around."

   She turned all the way about and faced him again.  He was looking her up
and down.  For a split second she feared there might be something wrong. 
But he said, "Okay, great.  Thank you.  You can put your clothes back on.
You're a stunningly beautiful young woman.  You'll do just fine." Beads of
sweat were on his forehead and upper lip.

   And that was that.  He made himself busy about his desk while she
dressed, feigning interest in various papers, which he picked up and
shuffled around, eventually replacing them exactly where they had been
moments before.  She had gone home and signed the contract, and now for the
past weeks she had been "Cassie" undercover DEA agent.  But today was the
day.  As always, the future had arrived.

   She slipped out of her reverie at the knock at the door.  It was Marge,
her costume/makeup assistant.  All the production crew on this low budget
film had more than one job and carried a hyphenated title.

   "I heard you'd come in early," she said with a smile.  "Thought I'd do
you first since you don't need much wardrobe today." She half winked and
held up the hanger with the small string bikini.

   They had shot the beach scene yesterday, where Cassie conveniently meets
Frank outside his Malibu beach home.  She had gone inside with him for a
drink and one thing led to another.  In the last shot, he grabbed her and
kissed her and she didn't resist.  The camera dollied behind them as he led
her into the bedroom and closed the door.  "Cut," she had heard Max say,
"Print.  We'll see everyone back tomorrow."

   Randall, the actor who played Frank Falcone, the bad guy, had smiled to
her and said, "Nice kiss." His smug grin had reminded her of a wolf.

   She sat in front of the mirror letting Marge do her thing.  Sally's
thoughts dissolved to her first day in pre-production, her first time in
her very own dressing room, the first time she had met Randall.  She had
wondered if he was thinking the same things she was when they shook hands,
their first touch.  She knew he must have been, for later in the day, after
rehearsals, he'd approached her.

   "Sally," he said, scooting his chair closer to hers.  "The production
schedule says we have our big scene coming up pretty soon."

   "I know," she said, feigning interest in some activity across the
studio.

   "Well, I've been in a few of these types of pictures and I know, or
experience has taught me," he closed in, "that maybe we'd feel a bit more
at ease if we did a little extra rehearsal."

   She turned and looked him squarely in the face.  "Rehearsal?  I do have
a boyfriend, you know."

   He laughed and put his hand atop hers.  "I'd imagine so?  Hey, look, I'm
married myself."

   For some reason, she hadn't thought of that possibility.

   "It's part of the job," he pressed on.  "Look, my wife's an actress too.
You know, now that I think about it you two even look alike.  Listen,
Sally, she understands.  We're professionals.  I'm telling you, it'll make
us much more comfortable when we do our little scene."

   Something almost made her agree.  He really was good looking.  He had
dark, wavy hair and a strong angular face.  He was solid and well toned; he
just looked like a movie star.  But he was just a little too eager.

   "No, I don't think so," she decided.  "The scene is one thing, but I
don't think we should meet off the set.  I mean go to a motel or---"

   "No," he broke in trying to salvage his pitch.  "A motel would be, well,
uh, kind of seedy, don't you think?  I thought more along the lines of your
place," he tried to make his eyes go soft and caring.  "Where you could
feel relaxed, more laid back."

   It was those eyes that made up her mind.

   "No," she said with finality.  "I don't think I could justify it to my
boyfriend.  Besides, I'm sure Max has it all worked out, exactly what we're
supposed to do."

   "Okay, whatever you say," he said getting up.  She could tell he was
trying to hide his disappointment; but, he wasn't that good of an actor.

   "There, all done," preened Marge.  She gathered her makeup kit and went
to the door.  "Don't be nervous, honey.  Its all just play acting.  You'll
do just fine.  You know, actually Randall's not so bad.  To tell you a
secret, I kind of envy you."

   Sally just stared.

   Marge laughed, adding, "Break a leg," and she went out leaving Sally all
alone.

   Sally looked at the time again, eleven minutes.  Her palms were wet with
sweat.  She took off her street clothes hanging everything up perfectly on
the wire hangers in the cubby of a closet.  She picked up the small bikini
from the dressing table and held the pieces out in front of the mirror. 
She had worn it most of the day yesterday, and had enjoyed the reactions
from the guys in the crew, noticing each time they quickly looked elsewhere
when she turned her eyes their way.  She decided to not put it on just yet,
thinking maybe she'd feel more natural if she stayed like this for a while.
"Hey come on Sally," she thought to herself trying to bolster her
confidence, "you're no prude, girl."

   She remembered her sophomore year in college.  The night she had parked
with a fellow drama classmate.  They had been petting and groping, for at
least a half hour in the back seat, and finally all of their clothes were
off.  He was hard and ready, and she was breathing so fast.  It was all hot
and sweaty in the car, like a sauna.  He had just put it in.  All the way
in and laid down on top, kissing her deeply, when there was a great crash,
and the car lurched to the side.

   Some other students, drunk, had hit their car in the parking lot. 
Before they could do anything, people had materialized from nowhere and had
ringed the car, watching them as they struggled to find their clothes and
get dressed.  The campus Police arrived just seconds after she had gotten
her shirt back on.  She still wondered whatever had become of that bra.

   She snapped back to reality and looked at the time.  "Okay, five
minutes," she thought.  The insistent tickle she had recently come to know
so well, fluttered in the bottom of her stomach as she tied the bikini on.
"Butterflies," she thought to herself.

   She slipped on her white robe, and with one last, big, deep breath,
abandoned the security of the dressing room for the walk to the set.  Crew
members stopped what they were doing and watched as she passed by.

   The set looked like a real bedroom, a macho guy's bedroom.  The bed
itself was large and had a dark, Spanish style headboard.  The walls behind
and to the side were gray, and had colorful abstract paintings above the
bed and to the side.  Lights were angled discretely casting shadows, and
soft gel filters muted the light to a dusky, warm sensuality.

   Embarrassingly for all, everyone ceased talking as she walked up.

   Randall was there, wearing his robe and waiting.

   The set was a little chilly, but she knew it would be warm enough up
under the lights.

   Max stepped up.  "Great, we're all here," he announced loudly.  "We're
going to have the small crew for this.  It'll be Mike on camera, Marge for
make-up and continuity, John on the dolly, me, and oh yeah, of course
Randall."

   He touched Sally shoulder and tried to look serious or maybe
sympathetic. "You ready?"

   "Sure Max," she heard her voice say.  "I'm ready as I'll ever be."

   Everyone else left, most of the production assistants dragging out
slowly in a hangdog shuffle, and the set doors were closed.  Max outlined
how he wanted the scene to go, reminding them that they were going to do it
three times, each from different camera angles.  Listening to Max's
instructions today for some reason was all so unreal to her, almost as
though he was speaking in a foreign language that only sounded like
English. She heard him and knew how the scene was to progress, but hearing
him say things like, "Caress her breast with your left hand first," and,
"Sally, once he's been on top for a bit, turn him over and you get on top."
It all made that fluttery knot in her stomach that much more cold and
queasy.

   "Okay, everybody, let's go for a take," Max said, clapping his hands. 
"Positions everyone!"

   She removed her robe, feeling the cold studio air.  Randall had done the
same and was standing on his mark in his black Speedo swimsuit.  Sally
moved up to him and stood on the little piece of tape that marked her spot.
Marge, holding the slate in front of the camera, called out the scene name
and number, then clacked the arm down and stepped back.

   "And action!" said Max, kneeling behind the camera like an umpire at a
baseball game.

   Sally looked into Randall's eyes, and saw a delight there that was more
than professional.  He gathered his strong arms around her and held her
close.  Her nipples, already so stiff, pressed against his hard chest and
she felt the bulge in his swimsuit press solidly against her tummy.  He
kissed her, deeply and slowly.  She artfully returned his passion, thinking
of the camera, responding, opening her mouth to his.  His hands went to the
string of her bra around her back and pulled the loop loose.  The strands
fell away, only the pressure between them holding it to her.  She felt
alive, and scared, and self-conscious, and excited.  She knew all eyes were
on them.

   He stood back, and her top fell away.  Randall hooked one arm up and
under her butt, picking her up off the ground.  He set her on the bed and
once again kissed her deeply.  This time, growing bolder, she put her
tongue in his mouth.  The camera had dollied around to the opposite side of
the bed to gain the best view.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it
rise up on its pedestal, taking a position slightly above the bed.

   Randall knelt on the bed and hooked his fingers into her bikini bottom.
He closed his hand and ripped it from her.  The silence on the set was
deafening.  Only the whirr of the camera dared to make a sound.  Her heart
was pounding in her ears.  It didn't matter, she was sure no one else on
the set was breathing either.

   For a long moment the camera tilted down, the lens rotating as it zoomed
in, taking in her naked form.  She suddenly felt a wave of
self-consciousness flood over her.  For some reason she couldn't help
picturing the view of her sparse pubic hair, knowing her little lips were
completely exposed and open to view.

   Now caught up in it totally, Randall stripped off his own bathing suit,
and lay down next to her, leaning up on his left elbow.  He placed his hand
on her right breast and rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger.  He
had become stiff as the proverbial rod; she felt it hard against her leg.

   He delivered his line on cue.  "You want it all, don't you, baby?"

   "I want you," she cooed, surprising herself.  "I do." She had been sure
her voice would be gone.

   He ran his hand down slowly from her breast.  She felt her stomach
tighten as his fingers passed lower.  Ever so carefully his middle finger
parted her lips and he found her little spot.

   The line escaped from her, "Yes, Frank, take me," she moaned.  "I want
you to."

   "This is too much," she thought frantically.  "Acting is acting, but
this guy has his hand on my pussy and is rubbing my clit.  He has a huge
hard-on and has to be enjoying it.  Oh my God!" It hit her.  "What if he
comes?" At this, her vagina went wet, and another thought flooded in, "Oh
God, I'll leave a wet spot on the bed.  The camera will see and they'll all
know.  They'll know what?" she argued to herself.  She answered that, deep
inside.  "They'll know I like it."

   She reached her left hand up, and put her fingers deeply into the thick
hair on the back of his head, pulling his face to hers.  She kissed him. 
She kissed him again, and this time she let her tongue taste his mouth. 
She pulled him down on top of her.  Holding him down on her now thoroughly
sweat soaked body.

   The camera dollied out and pedestaled down, now level with the two of
them on the bed.  This was her moment of truth.  She didn't know if she
could do what came next.  It was supposed to be only acting, but oh, it
felt good.  Knowing the others were watching her, watching them, this
heightened her excitement tremendously.  His erection was big, and real,
and hot.  She was wet, steamy wet, and starting to lose her ability to
remember that this was only a scene.  His tongue and hers were impassioned;
kisses, kisses that wouldn't stop and only kept feeling better and better.

   She stole the briefest of glances toward Max and the camera.  He was
completely mesmerized, holding his fist clenched before him as though he
had just captured something out of the air.  His eyes were wide, and his
mouth was open.  Marge was standing in back, her face red and flushed, and
one hand was clasped to her throat.

   Randall was panting, his body feverish.  She could feel his abdominal
muscles ripple and clench as he ran his hands all over her.  Her breasts,
her hips, her legs, her throat, he touched her everywhere and paused
nowhere.  It was time.  Now she would do it.  She was too caught up in the
moment, so she just let herself go.  She shifted her hips and parted her
legs, spreading them wide.  It was delicious.

   Randall gasped; she felt him swallow.  A moan stole from his mouth only
she could hear.  The swollen and sticky head of his erection was there.  It
was there for real.  All he had to do was push in, move his hips forward
ever so slightly, and they would be screwing for real.  Would he do it?  Oh
God, she wanted him to.  It was right there.  When it slid down the last
little bit, between her slick lips, rubbing over her pounding clitoris
she'd thought she'd almost come.  And now, there it was down in the cleft
of her vagina.

   The camera was up, almost over them now, and still it whirred as it
recorded all.  No one other than the two on the bed dared make a sound.  He
was kissing her madly now.  This was no longer acting in a scene; it was
too intense.  He was hard and naked on top of her, and she was wet and now,
oh, so willing.  She had been so worried about accidental penetration, and
now this was what she craved.  She raised her legs straight up and then
brought them down around his butt.  She locked them around him and pulled
him in.

   He opened his eyes; she saw the fright and excitement boiling in him. 
She had seen eyes, which looked like that her very first time, that night
in the car when she had lost her virginity.  The naked and overly excited
boy from drama class and Randall the experienced actor were now one and the
same.

   He was all the way in, locked deep, deep within her.  It was so hard and
it curved up just right, touching exactly what needed touching.  It arched
in to just the right spot.  His balls were squeezed tightly against her
butt, and the pressure on her clitoris was exquisite.  Involuntarily, she
arched her hips up into him trying to press him in even more deeply. 
Looking into his eyes all those same signs were there.  She knew it.  All
his pretense and machismo had evaporated.  She had him.

   "Oh God," he moaned, his mouth at her ear where surely only she could
hear.  "Oh God, you're gonna make me come."

   Suddenly, she had a flash of reality, realizing where she was and what
she was doing.  "There are people watching me and I'm fucking this guy. 
I'm fucking him for real.  It's not him.  It's me!  And he's going to come.
He's going to come in me!"

   Too late, she felt it start.  He was like a rock, and it was hot, hotter
than even she was.  She saw the change come over his face; he was losing
control.

   With a great gasp, it flooded into her.  Molten, thick and intense, the
eruption splashed so hard she felt it all.  Randall rose up on his arms,
arching his back, and pulsed again and again.  The warmth and wildness
flooded her, and she came too.  She couldn't help herself.  Reflexively,
her legs released her hold around his butt and spread into a V in the air;
her heart was pounding in rhythm with the contractions as she, too, came
and came and came.

   Shaking, Randall slumped down on her, and held his cheek against hers.
Her face was hot, almost burning, and they were both slick with sweat.  She
turned her head to the left and looked at the camera.  Max and Mike were
rigid like statues, surely unaware the level of their excitement was
readily apparent.  Marge was leaning against Max, draped about him, her
face, red and flushed.

   "Cut," croaked Max, coming to his senses.  He removed his cap and wiped
his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand.  "That's the most damn
intense thing I've ever filmed.  Damn!" He sat down on the edge of the bed
and slapped his cap on his thigh.  "Damn!" he said again.

   Randall pulled out of her and rolled off to the side.  He was still
panting.  He looked over at Sally incredulously.  He didn't need to say
anything.  She already knew.  She leaned her head up and looked at the
slick smear between her legs, and the globs of come on her thighs.

   "It just happened," she said, her eyes wide and wild.  "It just happened
before we could stop."

   "Well, we'll have to do it over," said Max.  "If I put that in the film
well get a triple X rating for sure."

   "Okay," she said, sitting all the way up, naked and wet.  She hadn't
even thought yet to close her legs.  "Just let me go get cleaned up." Sally
closed her legs and swinging them over the side of the rumpled bed sat for
a moment trying to get orientated.  "I'll be back in a minute."

   She rose and found her legs rubbery and shaky.  She even forgot to stop
to put on her robe.  It was Marge who ran after her, catching her at the
studio door and holding it out.  "You'll need this, honey."

   Sally looked vaguely at Marge, then realized where she was going.  She
slipped the soft terry cloth over her shoulders, sticking her arms through
the sleeves and wrapping it closed around the front.  Then opening the
stage door, she padded back barefooted on the cold cement, ignoring all
eyes all the way back to her dressing room.

   They broke for lunch, and then resumed shooting about one.  For once,
everyone was on time returning from the break.  This time it all went as
planned.  He kissed her, removed her bikini top, put her on the bed, took
off her bottoms, got on top, they kissed, she rolled him over and mounted
him sitting up, arching her back and letting her hair fall.  They did it
twice more from other angles and all went like clockwork.  Only once did he
become hard again, and Max had yelled, "Cut!" allowing Randall's ardor to
subside.

   Then it was all over.  They were done.  It was behind her.  The worst of
her fears were over.  She had done it.  She had lost control, and rather
than him screwing her, she had ended up screwing him.  But too, it had been
good.  No, it had been glorious.  And with the worst of her fears behind
her, she had found herself able to really apply all her talents to the
three takes, exuding a slow and consistently sultry passion, which just
seemed to seep from within.

   Three months later, she was at the premier strolling into the theater
attached to her boyfriend's arm.  He was crazy to see the film.  That
night, after the love scene, she had called him to her apartment and
literally screwed him to death.  She had always been a willing though
tender lover, but that night she had become something else entirely.  And
tonight, she knew he was dying to see what had caused such a
transformation.

   They met Randall and his wife coming in and were even seated next to
them.  Randall's wife seemed cool toward her as they were introduced,
avoiding Sally's eyes.  Still, Sally had expected something from this
woman, and she wasn't sure if her reaction was jealousy, or what.  She
wasn't hostile, but Sally could feel some emotion was going on beneath the
surface.  "So much for the experienced professional," she thought.  Then
she added a peculiarity she couldn't help but notice.  "She does look
something like me, though." She looked again, stealing a long glance and
concluded, "Randall must be hot for my type; she does strangely resemble
me, at least somewhat."

   They weren't seated long before the theatre darkened, the music came up,
and the film was underway.  Seeing her own name come up on the credits was
a special thrill all its own.  For the first time she was about to see
herself on the big screen, ten feet tall; the anticipation was almost
overwhelming.  But this wasn't what was causing Sally to fidget in her
seat. "The love scene, the love scene," kept running through her mind.  She
had seen the edited rushes in the small studio viewing room, but had no
idea how this final cut would appear.  She was relieved, knowing what they
wouldn't be seeing was the director's cut.  Max had personally edited a
longer version in which he'd included vivid details and even close ups from
the first, torrid take of the love scene.  He had given Sally and Randall
their own private copies.  At home, in front of her own TV, alone, she'd
thought her ears would catch fire when she'd watched it.

   The action in the film flowed well; it looked better than the usual made
for video release.  Max had done a good job.  Sally found herself becoming
caught up in it, just as though she'd never seen any of it before.  And
when the scene finally arrived the flutter in her stomach had returned full
force, and her fingers had grown icy cold.  She saw herself with Randall,
or rather Frank, alone in his bedroom.  But it was different than what she
remembered.  The love scene she saw portrayed up on the big screen was soft
and beautiful.  The lighting mostly revealed only hints and whispers.  It
wasn't at all pornographic, but it was extremely erotic.  She could just
feel its effect come over the entire theatre.  Not a person moved in their
seats, no one coughed, and the air felt thick and hot.  At the part where
she was on top of Randall and his hands were on her breasts, she felt
something and looked over to see Randall's wife staring at her from a few
seats down.  Then in a flash it was over.  Three minutes and the film raced
on.

   "Now I see what got you so hot the night after the shoot," her boyfriend
had squeezed her hand, and whispered in her ear.  "Damn, Sally, where'd
that come from?

   The party afterward was spectacular.  Everyone was there.  Max, over
dressed in a tuxedo was schmoozing with some distribution execs, the living
example of a truly happy man.  Everywhere people were dancing, people were
smiling.  Sally, had no idea how much she would enjoy being the featured
attraction.  There was no way to keep up with the people who circulated
around her, some she knew, like Marge and Max; most she didn't.  Everyone
seemed to be offering her scripts to read, and roles to enhance with her
talents.  The best she could do was to reply with a generous smile and a,
"call my agent." And of course she actually took a perverse pleasure in
saying, the inevitable, "let's do lunch."

   Sometime between the third and fourth drink, she realized it had been
quite a while since she had last seen her boyfriend.  She also realized it
had been a while since she had taken a much-needed trip to the ladies room.
A little woozy, she set off in search of both.  Off down a short alcove a
door with the word: "Damas" came into view.  Surprisingly enough, for the
throng of people outside, the restroom was unoccupied.  She found a stall
and took care of much needed business.  It was a tremendous surprise to
open the stall door and find Randall's wife standing before her, waiting.

   "You next?" Sally asked, and then instantly realized that was a stupid
thing to say.  "What is it about those Long Island Iced Teas that make me
regress ten years," she thought.

   "Maybe I should ask you the same thing?" was the woman's reply.

   Sally didn't know what to say.

   "My name's Marlene," she offered, still not giving Sally room to totally
exit the stall.  "I believe you know my husband."

   Amazingly, the woman smiled.

   "Could I please get by?" Sally asked.

   Oh, sure.  Sorry." Marlene moved aside.  "I've been looking for an
opportunity to catch you alone.  You've been so busy out there.  Aren't you
the popular one?" Marlene obviously caught how what she had last said must
have sounded, and she added quickly, "By the way, congratulations."

   "On what," Sally thought to herself.  "Balling your husband." She was
more than a little suspicious of Marlene.  And what was it about talking to
someone in a restroom that made her feel so claustrophobic and
self-conscious.

   "Look, this is a little strange for me, too.  I don't often get a chance
to meet the other women Randall makes love to."

   "Wait.  Hold on," Sally said washing her hands.  "I may be a little
drunk.  Okay, maybe more than a little.  But, I'm not going to be pushed
around.  I am an actor.  I played a role.  Your husband played a role. 
That's it.  That's all.  You know, I thought he said you were an actor too?

   "No.  Oh, I am sorry.  I really didn't mean to make it sound like that."
Marlene stretched out her arm, bracing against the towel dispenser for
support.  "I guess I've had a little too much to drink, as well." She
conveniently handed Sally a paper towel with which to dry her hands.

   Sally again noticed her face.  She didn't really appear to be harsh or
jealous.  Maybe it was just the poor lighting in here, but they could
almost be mistaken for sisters.  "She's about as small as I am," Sally
appraised, "maybe even a little shorter without those heels.  And that
really is a pretty outfit.  But I bet she's about as much a true blonde as
I'm really this shade of brown.  I wonder why Randall was so desperate to
talk me into that little private rehearsal," she thought.  "I didn't think
most men would want to fool around with someone who looks like their wife."

   Some other women had just come in so they moved away from the sinks.

   "Randall told me this was your first leading role."

   "Yes." Sally replied.  "My big break!"

   "You did a hell of a job." Marlene was genuine and sincere.  "You've got
a bright future if I may say so."

   "Thanks," said Sally, really warming up to her.  This had not been what
she had expected.

   "You know though, the right connections are every bit as important as
talent?"

   "Yes, I'm aware."

   Marlene suddenly changed her tack.  "You know, Randall went into quite a
bit of detail with me about your shoot."

   The little flutter reappeared in Sally's stomach.

   "Look.  I'm a direct person, so I'm just going to have to come out and
say this.  Okay?"

   "Go ahead." Sally was ready.

   "I've never heard anything as hot as what he described to me.  Whatever
you did to him under those lights lit a fire under his tight butt, like
I've never seen." She held up her hands.  "Look, I've done a few love
scenes, too.  You're not the only one.  Everyone has to these days.  But,
you caused a change in him.  He's been ravenous.  And it's affected me. 
It's like some incredible fire has spread from you to him to me."

   Marlene paused for a moment.

   Sally caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over Marlene's shoulder
and realized she looked silly with her mouth slightly open.

   "Anyway, as I said, I'm a direct woman," Marlene put her hands down,
leaning on the sink as she continued.  "I had to come to this premier
tonight.  You know, to see for myself.  And even though it was only a film
up on that screen, I was blown away.  You're about the hottest thing I've
seen come along in quite awhile."

   Sally didn't know what to say.  She did remember to close her mouth.

   "Anyway, I had to talk to you.  To ask you ..." Marlene stopped, then
with more than a little effort, as though making some kind of leap, she
leaned closer, almost to Sally's ear.  "Look, I'll go for broke.  Do you
think you would ever like to try it with a woman?"

   "I know.  I know." Marlene pulled back at Sally's expression.  "I can't
believe I'm doing this either.  I mean, I'm not a lesbian.  It's just." She
stopped again.  Her mouth moved, but nothing came out.  Then she sighed
shakily and said, "I had to ask."

   It took Sally a few moments to digest everything and respond.  When she
did it wasn't very smooth.  "Well ...  I ...  Uh ...  I ...  Look, just
give me a second?"

   Again, things weren't happening quite like what Sally had expected.

   Finally, Sally leaned forward and whispered.  "Let me get this right. 
You want to make love?  With me?"

   Marlene pursed her lips into a line, and nodded.  It was plain she was
very embarrassed, maybe almost as much as Sally.

   "Just think about it," Marlene said, furtively.  "Okay?  That's all I
ask."

   She reached into her purse, and pulled out a piece of paper.

   "Here's my cel number.  It's not my home number.  I'd die if Randall
found out."

   She took Sally's hand and pressed the folded piece of paper into her
palm.

   "I'm not talking about a relationship or anything like that.  I like
being married to Randall.  I like men.  It's just...  Well, think about
it." Marlene closed her purse with a snap, and without another word, went
out.

   Sally rejoined the party.  It was amazing how sober she now felt.  After
a long search, she found her boyfriend, and remained attached to him the
rest of the evening.  It was late when he drove her home.  They only made
love briefly as it was very late, and he had to work in the morning.  After
he had gone she rolled over in her covers, and fell into such a deliciously
comfortable sleep.  "What a night," she thought as she drifted away.  "What
a dream."

   Reality dawned the next day, and it was back to cooking, back to grocery
shopping, back to laundry; but at least now there were offers on the table.
It wasn't even Friday, before she had already signed for another role.  And
strangely enough, it was that evening that she took the crumpled piece of
paper out of her purse.  The bit of paper she had thought about throughout
the week.  Not knowing really why; but enjoying the delicious feeling that
flitted about in her stomach, she picked up the phone and began to dial.  A
voice answered after the third ring.  Good thing, Sally's courage had
almost evaporated, and she'd just been about to hang up.

   "Hello?"

   Sally froze.

   "Who is this?" Marlene's voice asked.

   "I don't know if you remember." Sally had to clear her throat.  "But we
talked, you know, the other night, at the party, the premier, I mean."

   "Sally?"

   "Yes."

   Silence.

   "Marlene?"

   "Oh yes, sorry."

   Sally could hear a TV in the background.  Standing in the middle of her
own living room, she had one hand up in her hair, her fingers twirling, her
toes gripping and kneading the carpet.  She just couldn't be still for a
moment.  "I've been thinking about, you know, our talk the other night."

   "Yes," Marlene's voice was anxious, and she was whispering.

   "As I was saying, I've been thinking about your ...  proposal." Sally
couldn't believe she was actually going to say the words.  "Were you
serious?"

   "Totally," Marlene replied.  "God, I can't believe you called.  Here,
let me go to the other room."

   Sally waited, not knowing what to do.

   "There, that's better," Marlene's voice came back on.  "Randall's
watching some ball game."

   "Mark," Sally decided to just plunge right in, go for broke.  "He's out
of town this weekend.  I've got tomorrow night free.  I thought maybe we
could talk a little more.  That is if you still want to?"

   For a moment there was silence; Sally's heart skipped a beat.

   "Yeah, sure.  I can do that." Marlene replied.  "Where would you like to
meet?"

   "How 'bout my place," Sally said.  For some reason she remembered
Randall's attempt to convince her to rehearse their scene at her place,
saying:" ...where you could feel more relaxed, more laid back."

   "That'll be fine," Marlene responded.  "I could come by about eight."

   Sally swallowed.  "Sure."

   "Look," Marlene continued.  "I'm just as nervous about all this as I'm
sure you are.  Let's just plan on a little talk.  I'll bring a bottle of
wine, and we'll just get comfortable and talk, just girls.  I ...  I ... 
How does that sound?"

   Sally, for some reason felt immensely relived.  "That'll be good.  Here,
let me give you directions." Then a few minutes later, after she had hung
up and stared at the wall for what seemed the longest time, she went into
the kitchen, poured herself a stiff one, and came back into the den.  She
plopped down on the futon, wrapping her feet under herself and turned on
the TV, but couldn't think of a thing except for tomorrow night.

   Ten minutes after eight, the doorbell rang.  Sally had been ready since
late afternoon.  She'd spent the morning getting the apartment ready, and
had gone out to have her nails and hair done as the last thing on her
agenda.  The apartment was as clean as it had ever been, fresh towels were
in the bathroom, and she'd even cleaned out the 'fridge before going to the
deli.  The doorbell rang a second time, and she found herself taking one
last look around.  In the past twenty minutes she'd lit, snuffed, then
relit the candles around the room, three times, thinking maybe it was too
much, too overtly blatant, just too ...  too.  She couldn't let the
doorbell ring again; this would have to do.

   Opening the door she said: "Hi!" instantly thinking she sounded like
some character from a 50's sit com greeting her nosy next door neighbor.

   Marlene, though, didn't seem to notice.  Like some kind of desperate spy
with the evil agents hot on her heels, she almost fled into the apartment.
She was wearing a scarf draping her face, and relief seemed to shine from
her eyes when Sally had closed and locked the door behind them.

   "I love your place." Marlene said sounding out of breath.  She was
clutching a bag in her hand and had her purse wedged up under her arm like
a running back on an end run.  "Two bedroom?"

   "No just one," Sally came back.  "Here let me take your things.  Come on
into the living room."

   Marlene set her purse next to the freshly cut flower s atop the table by
the door and handed over eh brown paper bag.  "I got a nice little
Zinfendel.  I hope that'll be okay?"

   "I'm really not much of a connoisseur," Sally called back heading for
the kitchen.  "Come on in.  Sit down." Once in the safety of the tiny,
little kitchen she lost no time opening the bottle and pouring two glasses.
She'd had everything positioned on the counter just waiting.

   "Is that Enya on the stereo?" Marlene called out.

   Sally was having difficulty holding the stems of the wine glasses with
one hand and attempting to pick up the tray of cheeses she'd bought at the
gourmet shop this morning.  "Yes!" she called back.  "I hope you don't
mind."

   "No!" Marlene called out way too loudly just as Sally reentered the
room. She dropped her voice.  "Anything is fine by me."

   Sally placed the tray down first on the coffee table and then handed
Marlene her glass.  Marlene was sitting on the futon looking much different
than the woman who'd been skulking at the door.  Sally stood there, holding
her glass of wine, without a clue of what to do next.

   Marlene patted the fabric.  "Take a seat.  I hear it's been quite a week
for you?"

   Sally came around the coffee table settling down on the far corner of
the futon.  She locked her knees, her elbows pinched together on her lap,
the base of her glass gripped by both hands.  She took a sip of wine.  She
couldn't recognize the taste.  If it had been cream soda, she probably
wouldn't have noticed right now.

   "You have no idea," she said swallowing dryly.  "People have been
calling; the phone never seems to stop ringing." She set her glass down. 
"Mostly relatives and friends, but a few offers, too."

   Marlene smiled and swallowed a little sip for herself.  "So I've heard.
Any other offers like mine?"

   Sally felt that flush of heat rush up her neck and cheeks, exactly what
she'd told herself, and told herself she wouldn't do.  Ever since she'd
called, she'd scolded herself over and over to look at this as a role, or
at least an acting experience, something akin to research for a character.

   Marlene let her off the hook.  She let out with a mighty exhale, blowing
up with her bottom lip so that her hair above her eyes wafted up.  "I guess
with all this success, pretty soon you'll be moving out and getting some
place larger, maybe in the valley?"

   "Oh wouldn't that be great," Sally said, then again went for her wine.
With the second sip, really a gulp, she could finally taste it.  "I don't
know how long before I could be able to afford something in the valley, but
I'm at least going to start getting some new furniture for this place. 
Some of this stuff I've had since college.  I have to apologize."

   "Don't apologize about a thing." Marlene's laugh had a quick, sincere
spark, just right to ease the mood.  "You're young; you're just getting
started.  Give yourself a couple of years.  You'll see.  You'll look back
on these early days, the days of hamburger instead of steak, a used clunker
in the carport instead of a new Mercedes in the driveway, as your fondest
of memories.  You'll find it tough being a star."

   Sally, looking over her glass and couldn't hide what was behind her
eyes. The "wanna bet" look she cast back caused Marlene to go for her
glass.

   It was Sally who had to break the awkward silence.  "I love your dress.
I think a purple like that suits you; it goes with your green eyes."

   "They're not really green," Marlene came back, "contacts.  Actually,
unless you're faking it, too, we've got the same color of hazel.  Hey!" she
sat forward a bit.  "I won't apologize for one damn thing.  I'm an actress.
I change my eye color about as often as my hair color." She ran a finger
down, twisting a strand, looking at it, then dropped her hand and cupped
her right breast.  "I've even had these done."

   Something about seeing Marlene touch herself set off that flush again.
Sally drained her glass.

   "Aw come on." Marlene inched a bit closer.  "You've had your nose done,
haven't you?"

   Sally nodded.

   "But not your boobs?"

   Sally shook her head.

   Marlene scooted forward a bit more.  "You know Randall had his tush
done." She noted Sally's obvious surprise.  "No, really!  You want to talk
about a vain little boy.  He spends more time primping in the bathroom than
I do.  And hell, I can't begin to remember what color his hair was when we
met." She leaned in a bit more and ever so quickly touched Sally on the
knee.  "He even dyes it down there?" That laugh came back, even brighter
than before.

   "More wine?" Sally asked.

   Marlene, withdrawing her hand, held up her glass.  "Just bring in the
bottle.  That's why I got a big one."

   Once in the kitchen Sally tried to compose herself.  "Come on," she
whispered.  "Calm down." Still it was almost as though she could feel
Marlene's touch lingering on her knee.  Picking up the bottle she took one
deep breath and then another.  "Breathe, that's what the drama coach always
said was best for a case of nerves." She closed her eyes, inhaling and
exhaling slowly.  Something about the breathing reminded her of the private
audition she'd done in Max's office that day.  Washed over with deju vu,
the entire emotion of standing under his office lights, naked, came
flooding back; which didn't serve to help her composure one bit.  She took
a swig straight from the bottle, swallowed, and steeled herself.

   Marlene was up, looking at the pictures on the wall when Sally came back
in.  "This is your boyfriend, right?  Cancun, right?"

   Sally settled in, forcing herself not to show her anxiety by cramming
her body back into the corner of the futon.  She didn't need to look up as
she refilled the glasses.  "Cozumel," she replied.  "Mark's kind of a dive
nut.  That's where he is right now.  He and some buddies are down in
Belize."

   Marlene came strolling back over.  "San Pedro?"

   Sally was impressed.  "How'd you know?"

   Marlene came around, picking up her glass.  When she bent over, Sally
had a view straight down Marlene's neckline.  So surprised with herself for
looking she almost choked on her piece of cheese.

   "Careful there, girl," Marlene said coming around and settling in right
next to her on the futon, close, but not exactly touching.  "I've done a
little diving, myself.  That Belize is one hell of a place.  I imagine he's
partying it up right now, swilling down a bucket of Bellican's, eating
lobster, kicking back.  Lot's of pretty chiquitas running around down
there. You ever get jealous?"

   Sally shook her head.  "We're not like that.  We're kind of open."

   Marlene nodded.  "Me and Randall, too.  I mean," she popped a piece of
cheese in her mouth, chasing it with a long drink.  "We don't have full
blown affairs, skulking around, lying, that kind of thing.  But in this
business a little extra just seems to happen." She twisted her hips to face
Sally.  "Like take your scene with Randall.  Here we sit.  I'm his wife. 
And, admittedly it was on screen, but I've seen you two kissing, rolling
around on a bed together butt naked, and generally having sex.  I bet he
even propositioned you, and asked you to do a little rehearsing on the
side?"

   Sally couldn't believe what she was hearing.

   "See," Marlene came back, pointing with the toothpick she'd just used to
spear another wedge of cheese.  "I knew it!  He's so predictable.  Did
you?"

   "No!" Sally blurted, shaking her head incredulously.

   Marlene talked while she chewed.  "But you did it on camera.  How many
takes did you do, besides that wild first one Randall only sort of told me
about...  three takes, four?"

   "That's different." Sally was feeling defensive.  "It was work.  It
wasn't me; it was my character, Cassie." She couldn't believe she was
saying this.  She knew full well what had happened on that first take.  If
what she had done on that bed with Randall was acting, she'd best clear off
a spot on the mantle right now for an Oscar.  Amazing too, how Marlene
seemed to be able to read her.  She looked back at the woman next to her,
her fake green eyes, her fake blonde hair, hell, her fake tits, and knew
for some reason, from Marlene she couldn't hide a thing.

   "I apologize." Marlene looked worried, maybe even upset.  "We're
supposed to be having a pleasant evening, aren't we?  Tell you what.  How
'bout a shoulder rub as a way for me to say I'm sorry?" She held up her
hands, waggling her fingers.  "Best hands in town."

   "I don't know." Sally was cradling her wine glass in her palm and
rubbing the stem between two fingers.  "Maybe I'm not up for this."

   "You know." Again Marlene sat forward.  "Can I tell you the truth?

   Sally stared back; then when she saw nothing more was forthcoming she
cleared her throat and answered slowly, "what?"

   "The reason I was late tonight.  You don't really know me yet, but I'm
never late.  If I have a cast call at 8 o'clock, it's 8 o'clock, no, seven
forty-five." Marlene seemed suddenly interested in the small amount of wine
in the bottom of her glass, twirling it around like some kind of brandy
snifter.  "You know, half way here I turned my car around." She looked up,
her eyes not so green anymore.  "I almost went back home."

   "But you're here," Sally said softly.

   "That's right," Marlene came back.  "I am, aren't I?"

   Just like in the audition in Max's office, Sally could hear the clock
ticking on the wall.  It hit her, a realization.  Marlene was brash.  She
had on those dangly gold earrings while Sally had chosen simple, little
diamond studs.  Marlene had on that low cut designer dress, while she had
chosen velvet slacks and a soft, white cotton blouse with fine lace trim
around the neck and puffy, little short sleeves.  But Marlene was every bit
as afraid right now as she was.  She just had a different way of hiding it.
The little quiver Sally kept feeling in her tummy all afternoon, Marlene
was probably feeling that, too, right now.  She'd probably felt it when she
turned her car around and headed home, and then surely when she'd changed
her mind and turned around again.

   "I think a shoulder rub would be just what I need," Sally replied,
breaking the silence.  "Here, give me a refill.  Make it a double."

   She handed Marlene her glass and scooted out the coffee table, sitting
down between Marlene's feet.  She hadn't noticed before but Marlene had on
these darling, little gold slippers, like something a dancing girl would
wear in an Arabian nights movie.  There were little tassels dangling on the
ends of the curved up toes.  She couldn't help but tweak one, flicking it
with her fingers as she settled in.

   "I love those shoes, Marlene."

   "Call me, Marly." Marlene wiggled her foot and handed Sally her glass
over her shoulder.  Sally didn't have a clue what Marlene had done with her
own glass.  Of course, it didn't matter.  If she spilled on the futon, what
the hell.  It'd seen worse.

   "I stole them from the wardrobe of a commercial I was in," she said.  "I
just couldn't resist."

   "Do people really do that?" Sally came back, suddenly realizing exactly
how naive she must have sounded.

   "Grab it while you can," Marlene responded.  "That's what I always say.
If you don't, somebody else will.  That's something you need to learn about
this business.  I image we're pretty much the same age, but I started as
model.  I've been around a bit.  Randall tells me you went the college
route."

   "Yes," Sally came back, wondering just how in depth Randall had gone in
talking to his wife about her.  "I did my four years in purgatory.  We did
"Antigone" on the mall in front of the dorms, "Harvey," in the small
theatre.  My senior production was: "A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To
The Forum." I was a slave, sold for sex."

   "Lucky you," Marlene came back "Now sit back and let me do my thing."

   Sally settled in.  The wine was doing its job.  The music was soft, a
Celtic melody, one of her favorites.  The feel of Marlene's hands kneading
her shoulders at the base of her neck was so soft, so gentle.  She'd never
had a shoulder rub from a woman and only rarely from a man.  Maybe it was
more than just the wine that was getting to her, but she did feel warm all
over.  She lay back, the self consciousness dissolving little by little as
they talked and talked about the things girls always want to talk about
when at last they can relax and be themselves.  And for Sally it was an
education too, as Marlene seemed to know just about everyone in the
business and what they were all up to.

   "You are a tense one," Marlene said, pushing harder.  "Do you work out?"

   "I swim," Sally came back.  "Three to four miles a week."

   "How do you keep your hair so soft?" was Marlene's reply.  "That
chlorine is murder." She ran her fingers down the side of Sally's head,
lightly brushing past an ear.

   Sally was already beginning to feel a bit dreamy.  "I wear a cap, like
in those old Ester Williams' movies.

   Marlene's fingers were settling in now, kneading, tracing along the fine
edges of Sally's back and shoulder bones, everywhere where the muscles had
gone tight, seeking out and probing for each little spot where she'd ever
been sore.

   A little sigh escaped Sally's lips, then she added a bit dreamily, "do
you love the old movies?

   "Adore 'em." Marlene's voice had relaxed in relation to the deficit of
the contents of the wine bottle; it seemed a bit more velvety now.  "Greta
Garbo, Errol Flynn, Jean Tierney, Carey Grant, Deborah Kerr ...  From here
to Eternity," she added wistfully.

   "Montgomery Clift," they said together, causing each to laugh.

   Sally took another good long drink.  This was beginning to feel oh so
good.

   "God, he was hot." Marlene said.  She had slowed her rhythm considerably
in the past few minutes, and had begun to drape her hands over Sally's
shoulders, dragging soothingly up on those muscles which always seemed to
be so tired and frazzled between her shoulders and breasts.  One of
Marlene's hands went away for a moment; obviously she was taking another
drink of her wine.  She coughed a little as she must have swallowed wrong
and said, "could you imagine kissing Montgomery Clift, doing a scene with
him, even with the lights and the crew, to have him take you in those
strong arms and just ...  just ...  kiss you."

   Sally could feel it.  She had her eyes closed now.  The wine was strong;
there was this delicious glow spreading everywhere within.  Marlene's hands
were hypnotic.  Little knots in her neck kept popping; muscles she hadn't
even known were sore were beginning to melt.

   "Have you ever kissed a woman?" Marlene asked.

   Sally wasn't even startled when she just reached in and told the truth.
"Not a woman.  But I had a special friend when I was just a teenager.  One
night, we were sleeping over." It just seemed to flow out of her; it felt
so natural, so soothing, so right to talk to Marly.  "We kissed some.  We
were just ...  I don't know now how it happened, but we were talking about
boys and then just suddenly kissing."

   "Did you ever do it again?  Or was that the only time?"

   "No," Sally replied.  "I mean, yes; we did again, a couple more times.
But then it just seemed kind of awkward, at least for me.  It was like the
first time there was an innocence to it.  The second time was a few
weekends later.  We were at her house that Saturday night; I can so
remember it.  It was like neither one of us could say anything openly, but
we both knew we wanted to.  I think we both got a little carried away.  And
the third time ...  I don't know.  The third time it just felt a bit silly,
her lips on mine.  Maybe we were trying to hard, or embarrassed from the
last time.  Anyway, that was it.  What about you?"

   "About the same.  But my first was at a summer camp.  I was sharing a
tent with this girl.  Funny, but I don't even remember her name now.  We
were giggling and cutting up, tickling each other and stuff like that.  She
dared me.  Funny that I can't remember her name, but I can remember
everything about how her lips felt, her breathing, silly stuff like how her
nose brushed against mine.  Are we weird?"

   Sally nodded her head going with the flow of Marlene's fingers.  Last
time she'd spoken she'd become aware of just how thick her tongue felt and
how her syllables had begun to slip.  "I think things like that are natural
for most girls."

   "What about boys?" Marlene's voice most definitely had a pronounced slur
to it.

   Sally hiccupped.  "I don't think boys do that kind of thing."

   "Some do," Marlene came back.  "Just not the kind you or I would ever
end up with." She paused, but her hands didn't.  She knew just where to go,
what to touch and how to touch it.  "Some things are better about being a
girl.  You know?"

   A real sigh, escaped from Sally.  She couldn't have held it back even if
she had known it was coming.  The feel of Marlene's legs at her back
shifted, as though she was resettling, and then Sally felt Marlene's lips
graze her ear.  It was just a little kiss, just a touch, but she felt the
contact from both her lips, could even feel the heat of her breath.

   Marlene moved back.  "Was that okay?"

   Sally didn't even have to think.  "More than okay."

   Marlene's hands were making slow, deep circles atop Sally's shoulders,
riding the ridges and pressing in along the slender bones running out from
her neck.  Her fingers, the balls of her palms, how she pressed, everything
was just melting away.  Sally saw her glass on the table.  It was empty
again, so soon.  Again one hand ceased.  Sally hadn't even said a thing. 
But reaching over, so her breasts touched against the back of Sally's head,
Marlene picked up the bottle and refilled Sally's glass.

   "How does she do that?  How'd she know I wanted more wine?" flashed
through Sally's mind.  But all suspicion was erased when Marlene put her
thumb down right at the base of Sally's clavicle and pressed in.  "Oh,
right there," she breathed.  "God, right there."

   Marlene leaned down again.  Holding her thumb where it was, she kissed
Sally on the spot on her neck just below where her lips had touched before.
"Right there?" she whispered.

   Sally swallowed dryly and gave a little nod.

   Marlene didn't pull back.  She kept her lips where they were, just
tracing the bottom edge of that ear.  Without any noticeable change at all,
her hands slipped down, running across the tops of Sally's breasts. 
Reflexively, Sally breathed in, her chest expanding and moving out into
Marlene's touch, even feeling a flush of quick disappointment when the
hands drew back up and one again went away.

   Sally reached for her own glass.  It was half empty again; it'd seemed
full a moment ago.  The wine was so smooth, so rich; she'd never really
drank wine at room temperature before.  She'd never done any of this
before.

   Marlene's lips came back, this time at Sally's other ear.  Sally could
smell the unique bouquet of the wine flavored by Marlene's breath, and
something else, something feminine, something warm.  Those hands, both of
them in league with the other, they worked lower, kneading those tight
muscles in her chest just above her breasts.  She'd worn a camisole rather
than a bra, now so glad she'd finally settled on the soft and silky
garment. The feel of the silk moving over her nipples, mirroring the pass
of Marlene's hands had her nipples standing on edge, tight, stiff, erect.

   "Everything still okay?" Marlene whispered.  "Do you want me to stop?"

   Sally didn't want to even reply.  Somehow she knew she didn't have to.

   Marlene's hands slipped down lower, embracing Sally's breasts
completely. Her nipples felt so alive, irresistibly taunt below the subtle
brush of Marlene's palms.  Almost as alluring was the touch of Marlene's
tongue, tracing the edge of her ear, so slowly, so softly, rippling the
small hairs on her neck with her breath so close and hot.  Another sigh
escaped Sally's throat.  Marlene's touch was so light; she would now and
then just skim the bottom of her breasts with the tips of her fingers.  Men
always just grabbed on, but Marlene's feminine touch was maddening.  It
wasn't just her nipples, but her entire breasts, the plump curves of the
sides, the tracing of the crease along the bottom; Sally was so very aware,
so very entranced.  Then deeply, Marlene's hands truly touched her now, her
palms pressing in, not squeezing but fondling, exploring, feeling; but not
feeling just for herself.  It was more; a subtle difference in shared
sensation, causing Sally to know the mutual pleasure of sharing her
breasts, all under the curious spell of such an artful caress.  Delicious,
that's what it was, delicious.  Maybe the music had stopped.  Maybe the
world had stopped.  Sally didn't know, didn't care.

   Turning, somehow it was like Marlene knew she would.  Her lips and hands
drew back as Sally came around on her knees, rising to face Marlene.  Hazy,
glassy, the air was as thick as water, the space between them nothing. 
Sally came forward, leaning in, her hands on Marlene's knees, slow, sultry,
as inevitable as the dawn.  Both closed their eyes at just the exact same
moment, and they kissed, full and long.  And oh, how Marlene kissed her;
the passion flowed syrupy hot and just as sweet, just as sweet.  Slow, it
was maddening like this, slow and long, a first kiss spiced with eagerness
and anticipation.  But her heart wasn't slowed.  Sally's heart was
thumping, caught up in her throat, pounding, just pounding.  The throb of
it was apparent in the tips of her fingers, her toes, and in that secret
spot, deep down, where the madness was only beginning to take hold.

   Marlene broke it off, gasping for breath, her eyes anything but green.
"Oh, Sally!" she said in two breathless gasps.  She seemed on the verge of
something like a wild-eyed panic.  She was shaking, her cheeks and throat
flushed a crimson red.  But Sally wasn't about to stop, she couldn't.  She
knew she'd never be the same if she did.  She looked to Marlene.  It was
all in their eyes; that's where the grip of the passion truly had hold. 
Like some fever, the consequence of exposing their ardor had infected them
both.  Had Max been there to catch that look; the essence of the passion
which passed between these two women, such an image, if captured and
released on an audience would have set the screen ablaze.

   Sally came up off her knees, pressing in, Marlene going over, back and
down.  Her skirt had come up as she did; Sally was between her legs,
oblivious to anything except continuing that kiss.  And they did, more than
just breath and the touch of their tongues passing between their lips.  It
was everything, the light brush of their mouths, noses and cheeks over the
other's, woman to woman; a blend of desire, spiced so richly feminine, so
fierce, so fiery, neither could control nor stop the obsession.

   The air all about was hot, steamy, smack you in the face, take your
breathe away, deep in the heart of the jungle hot.  Each woman was slick
with sweat, their clothes sticking between their bodies.  Marlene was on
the bottom, somehow pulling Sally's blouse off.  Dropping it, it simply
disappeared.  Then the camisole; Sally had risen up, breaking the kiss to
let Marlene peel it from her skin.  Her breasts naked, Sally couldn't help
but press back down, and Marlene couldn't help but acquiesce to another
kiss.

   Sally's thoughts flowed, merging with physical sensation into some kind
of intoxicant, a hallucination of both flesh and mind.  The differences of
how they touched one another were so subtle yet so powerful; it was
frightening, thrilling, almost overwhelming, the sex of another woman.  The
cure and plunge between Marlene's legs, so taboo, yet so enticing.  The
softness in Marlene's panties was crushed against Sally's thigh, what a
forbidden and exotic feeling for Sally, so different than the press of the
excitement of a man.  A flash came to her: "Is this how I feel to Mark when
he's on top of me?" The crush of her own naked breasts against Marlene's,
still trapped under the fabric of her dress, the lightness yet strength of
a woman's arms around her back pulling her down, the smell of a woman's
breath, the taste of her lips, such a cascade of fear and delight stoking
the madness, deepening the wetness she felt in her own sex.

   Marlene broke it off, pushing Sally back as if for dear life.  It was as
though she couldn't breathe.  But that wasn't it.  Her hands were
frantically working at the buttons on the side of Sally's velvet slacks. 
But before she could finish, something else took over, and Marlene sat up
burying her face in Sally's breasts.  Sally hanging on, gripping Marlene's
hair, threw her head back.  Sally could look out, see the room, but nothing
was real, and nothing could ever be the same.  Marlene was ravenous, yet
not frenzied, not out of control; the languor with which she worked her
tongue and lips so slowly from nipple to nipple, sparing no crease no
curve, pushed Sally over the edge, causing her to shiver as the orgasm
came.

   Marlene looked up, so much more than a smile on her face.  "Is that
good?"

   Sally looked down, the spasms of pleasure still ringing, the shock and
surprise naked in her eyes.  "I've never felt anything like that before,"
she gasped.  "It just happened." She ran her hands up own through her hair,
then all the way up spreading her fingers and stretching out.  She then
brought her one knee around, backing off the couch as she stood.  Holding
her hands out, she helped Marlene to her feet.  "Let's get you out of that
dress."

   Marlene, standing shakily retrieved her glass of wine and turned her
back.  For Sally the hazy dream vision seemed to swim in the room.  Reality
was so unreal, as she pulled the zipper down, watching the fabric spread
apart.  She peeled the dress from Marlene's shoulders and watched it
crumple to the floor.  Then she simply unhooked the bra and spreading the
straps from behind, ran it down Marlene's shoulders and off her arms.  For
the briefest of moments, the flood of passion began to subside, maybe a
reaction to the natural fading after the surprise of that quick, little
orgasm.  Momentarily rationality intruded, and she saw herself for what she
was doing.  "I'm undressing a woman," she thought.  "It's a woman, not a
man, a woman.  What am I doing?  Is this really me?"

   Wearing only her panties, Marlene turned.  There was a softness in her
eyes, a vulnerability revealing the essence of what makes first sex always
a risk, a dare, a chance well worth the perils.  Sally couldn't help it;
all pretenses, all inhibition melted, and she pressed in, wrapping her arms
around Marlene, holding the other woman's body to her own.

   In moments they were kissing again, and somewhere, somehow, by the time
they were atop one another on the futon again, Sally's velvety slacks and
panties had disappeared.  In the fog, she saw her own fingers pull
Marlene's panties down, the close up view of another woman's sex so beyond
belief.  Marlene's curls were thick and jet black, only just revealing the
crease below.  Looking down, Marlene just smiled, running her fingers
through Sally's hair, shivering and parting her legs with the touch of
another first kiss.

   As though a spell had been cast, parting their legs, the deliciousness
of the abandon left them more than just naked but truly exposed.  For
Sally, Marlene's little knot she uncovered, so vulnerable, so wanton, it
seemed to radiate to the pleasure of her own.  The slow sultry manner in
which Marlene returned the intimate tracings of Sally's tongue caused a
truly molten fervor to take hold between them.  The smell of musk was thick
in the air, as wet as the sweat shimmering on their skins.  Marlene
returned each kiss, each daring little lick until both the women were
driving themselves moaning and shivering, quaking and crying out.  The
effects of mutual culmination were devastating again and again and again.

   Then some ages later, at least once Sally's breathing had returned, she
found herself turning about to lie face to face with Marlene curled on the
futon.  Now they touched, using only their fingers as they kissed.  Tasting
herself on Marlene's lips Sally let herself go, reveling in another
explosion of mutual joy.  Marlene's orgasm under the tips of her fingers
and the tip of her tongue set off another chain reaction.  Her muscles
squeezed, throbbing again and again, gripping the curve of Marlene's
probing finger.  All these things, these taboos, the forbidden stiffness of
a woman's nipple bending under her tongue, the sticky wetness hidden
between her legs, fed the fires until Sally was so engulfed there was no
right no wrong, only pleasure as a give and take.  She came so many times,
some cascading in quick, almost terrifying succession, every muscle ringing
with the intimacy of coming while looking into another woman's eyes.

   When they were spent, though not nearly done, they lay together, just
breathing, kissing lightly, at times passing their fingers through one
another's hair.  What they said to each other was simple, no false pillow
talk, no pretense; they had been much, much too intimate with each other
for any shallowness such as that.

   "I'll have to be going," Marlene whispered at last.  "It's late."

   "What time is it?" Sally looked over but couldn't see the clock.

   "After one," Marlene came back.  "At least the last time I looked." She
leaned up, then looked down at Sally who was still curled on her side. 
"Any regrets?"

   Sally couldn't help but laugh, a reaction which surprised her.  "You
mean like that neither one of us has a penis."

   Marlene had to shake her head, laughing herself.  "I thought we did just
fine without one."

   "But you're going home to Randall, aren't you?"

   Marlene's wry grin stretched out.  "I'm gonna fuck that boy's brains
out. He's not going to know what hit him." Marlene got up, standing and
stretching out her arms.  "That is if I don't pass first out on the way
home."

   Sally sat up, looking down at herself, suddenly pressing her knees
together.  She noticed her panties were clear across the room.  The wine
bottle was lying on its side, empty on the table.  At least there was just
a little remaining in her glass.  She picked it up and drained it,
surprised at how shaky she was.

   "Marly, you'll be careful on your way home?"

   Marlene was clipping on her bra.  "You know they say the reason drunks
live when they're in a wreck and sober people don't, is because drunks are
so relaxed they just flop around like a rag doll." Marlene reached under
the coffee table with her toe and retrieved her dress.  "The way I feel
right now I could run head on into a 747 and not get a bruise."

   Sally picked up her blouse but didn't feel a bit like putting it on. 
"If you're that wasted, though," she offered, "you should stay."

   Marlene stepped into her dress and turned her back.  "Zip me up?"

   Sally rose, swaying and having to catch herself on Marlene's shoulders.

   "I told you I'm not drunk, not anymore," Marlene continued, fluffing at
her hair, while Sally zipped her up.  "At least not on wine.  Hell, I'd
like to see 'em come up with a breathalyzer test for what's really in my
system right now.  I could hear the cop saying: 'That's right judge, she
registered a sixty-nine, obviously felony orgasm abuse.'"

   Sally couldn't help but smile and then even laugh as Marlene cocked her
eye and winked.

   Marlene was dressed; Sally couldn't believe how quickly.  "Where's my
purse?" she asked.

   Sally pointed to the table by the door.  "Over there.  You put it on the
table when you came in."

   Marlene was slipping on her shoes, half hobbling as she walked.  Sally
got up and followed her over.  There was a mirror on the wall just above
the table.  Marlene fished about in her purse, produced a brush, and gave
her blond hair a few cursory swipes twisting her head back and forth.  She
could see Sally in the mirror.  Marlene said to the image in the glass. 
"Amazing how much we resemble each other.  I remember when Randall first
told me about you.  I didn't believe it."

   She turned around when she put the brush back, leaning her butt back
against the table.  "I have to thank you for a wonderful evening," she said
with a purposely snobbish accent.  She delivered the line just as though it
had come from some poorly written dinner theatre play.

   Sally yawned, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth.  "Sorry,
Marly. I'm beat.  I bet I'll sleep 'til noon."

   "Star's prerogative," Marlene came back instantly.

   There was a long pause, Sally naked, the blonde woman in her chic purple
dress and little gold toed shoes, so similar, yet such a stark contrast to
each other.

   They both spoke at once, then laughed together nervously.  Sally
couldn't find a place for her hands, and Marlene was twisting the straps on
her purse.

   "I guess this is the time in the script when we have the goodnight
kiss," Marlene said.

   For some reason Sally found those butterflies had returned to the pit of
her stomach, an odd sensation considering the places she'd recently kissed
and been kissed.  She didn't want to look up.  "I love those shoes," she
said.

   Marlene stepped up and took Sally's chin in her hand.  "Don't worry
about it.  We had fun.  It was everything I had hoped it would be."

   "I had fun, too," Sally came back.  "I think that's the problem."

   Marlene still had her hand cupping Sally's chin.  "So you signed a new
deal yesterday.

   Sally was taken aback.  "Did I tell you that?

   Marlene shook her head.  "You forget.  I know everybody in this
business. You're going to be doing that thriller that's being directed by
Bill DeForest.

   Sally nodded.

   "You're going to be the sister, Jennie.  The one locked in the house
with her maniac evil twin."

   "That's right." Sally was impressed.

   "Come on, give me a kiss before I give you my news."

   Sally let her face be drawn in.  Surprisingly the awkwardness she'd been
feeling a moment before evaporated with the touch of Marlene's lips, and
there was no difficulty in returning the soft sincerity of the kiss.  It
was slow, with just the right amount of lingering before they parted lips.
Sally's eyes focused on Marly, her eyes bright, and a very definite green.
   Marlene's wry smile spread across her face.  "Meet your evil twin."