by Lori Perkins
“What do you think they’re doing?”
“How should I know?”
The two men and the woman had moved to the far wall and stood facing the room. The one with the black box stared, first at Mrs. O’Leary, with her coifed grey hair and wrinkled face, then at Mabel Osterburch, whose head was buried in a book. Mabel licked her bottom lip, oblivious to the man watching her. His attention shifted to Mabel’s right and rested on Robin Koots, who sensed his gaze, looked up from her newspaper, and smiled so wide you’d have thought he offered her the world. He nodded ever so slightly, then looked at the box and gently ran his finger across the side, as if caressing a lover. I swallowed hard. Shifted my gaze from his finger to his face, locked my eyes on his piercing blues as he looked directly at me. Smiling. Teeth so white. I couldn’t help but smile back, my lips opening so far it was almost embarrassing. Lacy kicked me under the table as the man strode toward me. The other man and the woman remained in place.
It took him only moments to cross the room, but it felt like forever. When he spoke, it was as if his deep voice broke the silence, yet noise surrounded us. “For you,” he said, holding out the box. It was velvet, approximately five inches by three inches. No markings. Just pure black velvet contrasting his deeply tanned hand. Strong fingers. No ring. Small scar across the knuckle on his thumb.
“What…what is it?”
“Just take it. You won’t be sorry.”
I hesitated, then reached for the box, felt his warm skin against mine. Lingered to savor the moment. He touched his free hand to my cheek – it felt like fire branded my skin – then he left the coffeehouse without saying another word and his friends followed. I tracked them through the window until they passed out of sight.
“Hurry up. Open it,” Lacy said.
“What do you think’s inside?”
“How the hell should I know? Just open it.”
“What if it’s a bomb or something?”
“You got to be kidding me, right? Besides, it’s too small. If you don’t open it, Samantha, I will.”
Gently, I flipped up the small metal latch on the side then eased off the lid to find red silk lining the inside of the box. A shiny piece of paper sat on top of the silk. It resembled a theater ticket and said: “For you – our special customer – one extraordinary night only – this Saturday – eight p.m. – Be prepared for the experience of a lifetime. Free admission to the Mystery Theater with this ticket. Good only for the bearer. No exceptions. Go to the clearing in the middle of Grouse Woods and be on time. No late entry permitted. Park at the Conestoga Spring.”
“Let me see that,” Lacy said as she grabbed the ticket from my hand. “I don’t believe it. You’re so lucky.”
“What do you mean?”
“He gave you a ticket to the Mystery Theater.”
“I never heard of it.”
“You got to be kidding me, right?”
I shook my head.
Lacy leaned forward and whispered. “It’s this secret traveling theater that goes all over the country. No one knows where it’s going or what exactly it’s about, but it’s supposed to be the most incredible experience you’ll ever have in your life.”
I took the ticket back from Lacy. “If it’s so secret, how do you know about it? And if no one knows what it’s about, then how do you know it’s so incredible?”
“I read about it on the Internet, but they swear you to secrecy when you leave the theater.”
“You mean to tell me no one’s ever broken their promise? I find that hard to believe.”
Lacy took a sip of coffee. “Believe what you want, but I’m telling you that everyone who has gone says it’s absolutely fantastic…if you don’t want to go, I’d be happy to take the ticket off your hands.”
I considered the idea for a moment and then remembered the man’s touch. Even if I could just get a glimpse of him again, it would be worth it. “No…I’ll go. What do I have to lose?”
“You’re so lucky,” Lacy said, smiling. “You do realize that, don’t you?”
I shook my head.
The hike into the woods took a good fifteen minutes from where I was parked with three other cars. The evening air smelled of pine and that clean water smell I love. Electric lanterns lined a path into the woods. Near silence greeted me, broken only by scattered twigs and leaves crunching underfoot.
For an instant, I considered climbing back into my car and heading home, but a nagging feeling ate at my gut and told me to risk it. I figured I had nothing to lose. Hell, here I ‘d been complaining I wanted adventure, and when it stared me in the face, I hesitated. No, that wasn’t the way I wanted to live my life, and I’d be damned if my fear would get the best of me. I took a step forward, followed by another, until I found myself in the middle of a clearing facing a towering black tent. No sign. No people. No lights. Nothing.
I heard music from inside, soothing but with an upbeat undertone to it – the melody inviting, yet erotic in some way I couldn’t quite figure out. I pushed aside the tent flap and stepped inside. A soft female voice spoke in my ear. “May I see your ticket please?”
I turned and looked at her but was unable to see anything in the pitch black. I handed her my ticket. She flicked on a penlight; the minute amount of light revealed nothing more than the tight-fitting one-piece black outfit the woman wore.
“This way, please.” She turned off the penlight, took hold of my hand, and led me through the tent. I could not imagine how she found her way without anything to guide her. I heard breathing and the rustling of clothes as we passed someone on my left. “Here you are,” the woman said as she turned my shoulders and helped me into a plush recliner. “We’ll be starting shortly. Just relax and enjoy the music.”
It was five minutes, maybe ten or twenty. It was difficult to tell with nothing to guide me but unending music. The notes increased in tempo and volume until they vibrated and danced off the walls of the tent, encasing me in a cocoon of joy. Drums joined the fervor as did a guitar, then a soft voice eased in under the music singing a melody that drew the notes to an ever-increasing quiet and steady beat until they were no more, leaving only the woman’s voice to gently fill the air. It felt as if she were singing to me and no other, the darkness my only companion.
Upon the last note, a cool breeze swept my skin, raising goose bumps across my arms, the sensation again magnified. Then, the chair began to warm, ever so slightly, and I felt something soft caress my skin – feathers maybe or cotton. My breath caught in my throat as the object moved across my cheeks and down my arms, stopping at my fingers before making its way back up to my face. I struggled between my desire to experience the sensation and my need to see who provided it, although I knew I wouldn’t be able to see a thing. Another cool breeze followed, then nothing.
All I could do was anticipate what would come next – my senses were on fire.
Again, it felt like a long time until something happened, but the wait only increased my pleasure. Five soft pink spotlights now bathed five gorgeous men, each dressed in nothing but identical shorts, cut high and tight. Bare, muscular chests glistening in the light, smiles plastering their faces, hands planted on hips. I could see the shadows of lounge chairs near each man and assumed a sixth man stood near me. I wondered what he looked like. How he felt. How he smelled. How he tasted. I turned my head to look, but the lights extinguished before I had a chance.
Something soft pushed against my lips and juice ran down my chin. I opened my mouth to take it in, the strawberry so sweet and exhilarating, as if I were tasting one for the first time. His breath warmed my skin and then his tongue licked the juice clean in one full, drawn-out stroke. I ached. Every bit of me. And I craved more and more of these wonderful sensations. I didn’t know it could feel so good…that I could feel so good.
Fingers found the buttons on my shirt, opened them, and gently spread the fabric to my sides. Again, I felt warm breath on my skin, then hands swept across my nipples, not stopping to
satisfy the aching buds on the way down to my thighs and to my ankles and back up again. But this time, fingers pushed aside my bra strap and freed my breasts. A short beat, then ice on my nipples. I moaned. The cold was delicious against my heat. I reached out for him in the dark, barely able to stay still, but he pushed my arms against the chair and held them there for a moment. I dared not move again, not wanting to give him reason to stop.
A soft, high-pitched bell clanged once, twice, followed by a warm shower from above. The water drizzled against my skin, each drop like needles yet so invigorating. After about a minute, the bell clanged again and the water stopped, leaving my saturated clothes plastered against my skin. The pink spotlights turned back on, this time casting a wider swath of light that illuminated each chair in addition to the men standing next to them, the men’s bodies now glistening from the water, their shorts clinging to their skin. I turned my head again, but the man ducked behind my chair and pushed my face forward. “Watch them and enjoy,” he said into my ear, his voice creamy and smooth.
I recognized his voice from the coffee shop – the man who gave me the ticket – and my stomach felt like it rushed into my throat but then quickly settled. “But…what?”
“Life is not to question why, but to enjoy.” With those words, he pushed me upright, removed my shirt, and unhooked my bra, all the time caressing the back of my neck with his lips. I knew the other women in the room watched me. I felt their eyes, their stares, didn’t care – only focused on the men in shorts attending to them and on the man attending to me.
His mouth found my waiting nipple and sucked, then he bit it gently with his teeth as his hand teased my other nipple. His tongue trailed down my stomach, paused at my waist, then made its way back to my breast. I watched another man do the same thing to a woman directly across from me, turned my attention to the side and saw the same thing again. It only served to increase my excitement. I wanted him to take me right then and there. I didn’t care who watched. All I could focus on was the burning ache and wetness between my legs.
The tent went dark again. I shivered, but not because I was cold. I felt hands on my hips pushing my pants to my ankles and over my feet. A finger pushed under my panties, teased me for a second, then disappeared. Ice again on my breasts. Warm mouth on mine. Fingers in my hair. I reached out to him. Felt the rock hard muscles of his chest. Ran my hands down to his waist, across his shorts, over the bulge, lingering for a long moment.
He pushed aside my hand. I heard his zipper. Only wanted to reach for him. Hold him. Take him inside me. But I knew the rules.
Again, the lights. This time a little dimmer, mixed with purple. Soft music and a cool breeze blowing directly on my skin. He moved into view. Naked. Sculpted like one of those famous statues I’d seen in museum pictures somewhere. “Please,” I said.
He smiled and drew a vibrator out from behind his back, turned it on. The buzzing alone almost made me orgasm. I glanced across the way, saw another man holding a vibrator against a woman, joy plastered across her face. My man pressed the vibrator against my clit, sending ecstatic bolts of electricity through my body. I arched my back and spread my legs, desperately wanting it inside me, wanting him inside me. He knew it too. He smiled a wicked grin and stopped just because he could, right when I was on the brink of orgasm.
He reached behind him, and I felt cold water hitting my skin again followed by that cool breeze and then his mouth on my neck. His oh-so-warm mouth. He straddled me with his thick muscular legs and leaned toward my chest and kissed me. Hard. Hands clamping my head. Fingers nearly digging into my scalp.
Lights out.
He left me. Alone in the chair. Craving his touch. Needing him like I’ve never needed anyone before. I touched my breasts and ran my hands down my stomach, but it wasn’t the same. Where was he? “Please.” I said again. “I want you.”
Music now – so quiet I could barely hear it.
He climbed back on top of me and I reached for him, wanting to guide him inside me. Again the damn rules. He pushed my hand away. Bit gently on my nipple, then spread my legs and took me at the same instant the lights turned back on.
I stared at his face, our hips moving together, slowly at first then faster and faster until I thought I would die from the pleasure. Someone screamed, someone else moaned, and I came fast and hard. Not once, but twice. The orgasm was so great, it ran down to my toes and up into my hands. I felt him come, and I smiled.
The tent was plunged into blackness again. He kissed me on the lips, then kissed my breasts and said, “Such exquisite pleasure.” With that, he disappeared. I fished for him with my hands, and couldn’t find anything but the chair on which I sat.
“Here are some dry clothes,” a woman said and pressed a sweatshirt and sweatpants into my hands. I think it was the same woman who had led me to my chair. She turned on her penlight so I could see to get dressed, then led me from the chair back through the tent. I tried to glimpse the other women, see the men who had been wearing the shorts, find the man who had pleasured me so, but I couldn’t see anything beyond the small beam of light.
At the exit, the woman pressed a piece of paper into my hand and said, “Thanks for coming. I hope you enjoyed the Mystery Theater.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded and headed back to my car with the paper clenched in my fist. Halfway home, I pulled to the shoulder and cut the engine, not believing what had happened. I grabbed the paper from the passenger seat where I had tossed it and then unfolded it to reveal a rose. Underneath the rose, the paper said: “Keep what happened here tonight a secret. If you speak of it with anyone, you will spoil the magic for other women like yourself. It is the not-knowing and the surprise in life that makes everything so incredibly exciting.”
Dirty Little Boxer Boy
by Ryan Field
During my freshman year of college, I took a part-time job as an attendant in a small tanning salon. It was a rather unfortunate place with depressing brown carpets, but good, clean work that allowed plenty of time to study between customers, most of whom were middle-aged men and women with too much time on their hands. I would have preferred a part-time job in a men’s clothing store, helping young guys choose the right socks and underwear – I’d always been into loose boxer shorts; there’s something so hot about the way they fall on men – but the tanning salon was close to the dorms and the job didn’t require much thought.
Aside from all the painfully addicted-to-sunlamp customers, it wasn’t a bad gig, except that there was often too much free time. The months of September and October were slow; I was lucky to have two or three customers per day. And it was almost unthinkable to see a great-looking guy in his early thirties decide to sign up for a month of tanning before a trip to Belize, Mexico.
But that’s what happened. It was a rainy Monday morning in late September when Rick walked into the empty salon. I’d been studying for a chemistry quiz when I looked up to see a tall guy with short, black hair, wearing a navy jogging suit, standing before me. His appearance was military, with spiky dark hairs stuck to his temples from perspiration, five o’clock shadow in an almost greenish color, and strong hands that moved in graceful motions when he spoke. He’d obviously just come from a morning run; there were perspiration marks between his legs.
“I’m interested in tanning for about a month,” he said. “I’m a doctor, going to Belize on research, and I don’t want to burn down there. I’ve never done this sort of thing before. Do you think I can get a decent tan for the trip?” His voice was deep and soft. I noticed he had large hands with thick, long fingers.
I instantly dropped my chemistry notes and began to explain the tanning process to this hot guy. He had a rugged expression, but soft brown eyes that reminded me of a puppy dog. Though his jogging suit was loose and it hung from his tall, rigid body, I knew there was really good stuff underneath. And I liked the power he gave me: a young college student who knew nothing – except maybe how to suck dick to perfection –
explaining something to a mature man of the world.
When I was finished with the sales pitch and I knew he was going to sign up for a month of tanning, I said, “You really should buy a tanning lotion. It will help you get a better tan, and it will moisturize your body. It’s really an important factor with indoor tanning.” I honestly did believe the lotions helped too.
“Can you recommend something?” he asked. “You seem to have a great tan. I want what you use.” His eyebrows went up and he shrugged his wide shoulders.
“I use this,” I said, pulling a basic tanning lotion from a display on the counter. “It’s not expensive and it does the job, as you can see.” I stretched out my tanned arms. I only tanned about once a week, but I had the kind of skin that absorbed sunlight; just one twenty-minute session made my ass as soft and brown as someone who’d done five of the same sessions. My skin was the main reason the owner of the salon had hired me. Though born and raised on the East Coast, people always said I had a West Coast surfer look.
“And I just apply this like any other tanning lotion?” he asked, handing me his credit card so that I could finalize the transaction.
“You try to get it all over your body,” I said, noticing that the head of his penis made a slight outline on the fabric of his jogging pants. “And it’s very important to spread it all over your back, too.” Then I reached forward and gently ran the tips of my fingers over the back of his right shoulder.
When the tanning sessions were charged to his credit card, and he’d filled out a customer record sheet, I told him to follow me to the tanning booth so that I could show him what to do. Though I was clearly attracted to him, it was all very businesslike.
