I wrote this story back in May but never uploaded it. It is a tad unusual…
The Theatre
He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing in the theatre. Wandering aimlessly, peeking into rooms, lamenting the lack of effort put into the décor – he did those things just because he was there, but the reason he was even there in the first place eluded him. He put that thought to the back of his mind and continued to wander. Peering through a set of double doors he could see people rehearsing and made a mental note to come back later; there were balconies allowing for a better, more surreptitious view.
As he headed back towards the foyer, past the toilets, he noticed the entrance to a corridor hidden in plain sight. Had he not been dawdling around, inspecting almost every inch of the theatre, it would have gone completely unnoticed. The corridor was a dead end, completely empty but for the smartly dressed woman sitting on a tall chair. She sat close to the wall at the end, as though she were collecting tickets to allow entry into a room which was not there. He immediately noticed how beautiful she was. From beneath her tousled blonde hair her wicked green eyes fixed on him, her full red lips parted giving way to a blinding smile as she uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, allowing her to face him invitingly. He was drawn to her.
She immediately manoeuvred him onto her knee, facing the wall where a door should be, and began to gently caress his back. He found himself relaxing as she took his right hand and began to touch it playfully. It didn’t faze him as she took out a razor blade, smiling at him as she cut four lines into the back of his hand. He felt the blade penetrate his flesh, blood seeping out, yet only became more excited, especially when he realised that she had sketched a grid to play noughts and crosses. He watched with anticipation as she carefully carved a circle within the grid, not caring that he would have to cut himself to continue the game. His turn never came. He watched as she then carved a cross, playing the game by herself. All he could do was watch. He was paralysed by his own desire to be with her.
She was deep in concentration, her smile becoming more sadistic as she punished his raw flesh. As her game came to a close she turned towards him and burst into a fit of laughter. She snorted, tears were in her eyes, she was struggling to breathe and was staring at his crotch as her hysterics got louder. He looked down and could see that his cock was out, but it wasn’t his cock. This was like a bloated mushroom, with thick, pulsing veins. It was horrible to look at and she gagged when it began to drip. The sight of his vulgar erection jerked him back to reality and he somehow simply walked away.
Ambling through the corridors again, his feet took him up to one of the balconies overlooking the main stage. She’s here, he thought, feeling as though his dreams were coming true. Down on the stage was a girl practicing some routine – it appeared to be burlesque. He’d been attracted to her since he met her over a year ago, everything about her was perfect, even her imperfections. She was wearing a corset, perfect for showing off her hypnotic cleavage, yet it was clearly too tight for her. Her dark hair was tied back so tightly that her face was overly stretched, except when she screwed it up in concentration, resulting in an expression which reminded him of a dog’s arse. Her stunning smile was nowhere to be seen for the whole routine. It was like a car crash. He always knew that she was flexible, but she lacked grace and timing. Her spasmodic jerks did nothing to cause arousal. All he could do was cringe and keep watching.
As he left the theatre what seemed liked hours later, he looked down at his hands. The razor blade’s kisses were no longer on his right hand, but were on his left. He licked some of the drying blood from his hand – it tasted sweet, not the ferrous taste he expected. The pain had subsided but he knew that the scars would take a while to heal.
Shorts and Socks 