Lucrezia Magazine

I deny the notion that I’m a control freak. Just because I think that actors should keep to the script doesn’t mean I’m unreasonable. There is a reason the words are crafted as they are. The actors bring depth, but the playwright crafts the scene..

Enter Jodi...

Jodi is an actress, and an exceptional one. It isn’t just her profession, it’s her passion, and she carries it in everything she does. I’ve benefited from this for two years. Still, Jodi does not turn heads in a crowd. She’s skinny and has only the slightest of feminine curves tickling her sharp angles. Her hair is a matted light brown and her oval face is fairly plain. Her pale complexion is not so much porcelain as clay. Only her oversized violet eyes are truly remarkable. She plays each attribute like a first chair violin for The Vienna Philharmonic. On stage, she can become a stun gun beauty or a repulsive crone – an innocent teen or a wise old woman. Though just twenty-three and barely “on” from “off-Broadway,” some say she will be a legendary star of the stage.

Off stage finds Jodi in plain, floppy Bohemian clothes and no make up. When the footlights blaze, she is a butterfly of shape-shifting chameleon wings. It’s almost proudly that she declares she has no imagination of her own.

Enter Colin. That’s me.

I’m a playwright, with surplus imagination. Our common love of the stage brought us together. But our common love of sex is the true crazy glue.

Night after night, I cast Jodi. Cheerleader, waitress, construction worker – that was fucking hot – business woman. Her range is limitless. I craft settings, script the scene and she devours each role. So often I fuck a different woman, and each time it’s Jodi beneath. I swear to God, her skin transforms, her breasts change size, her pigmentation changes. Her vagina feels different.

Recently Jodi completed an impressive collection of wigs then she took to shaving her whole body, top of her head to the base of her bony legs; every spot, except eyelashes and brows.

When she said she had one request, one kinky little play she’d like to produce in our apartment, I had to say yes, sight unseen. Jodi sat at her end of the small dinner table and twirled the spaghetti around in marinara sauce. She smoothed her hand over her nude scalp and studied me. Her most recent role was beneath her talents, but she was poring everything into it as if she was the lead.

I was absorbed in a re-write that was beating me to shit, so we hadn’t had sex in a week. When I couldn’t script it, it didn’t happen. We both shone best when the bed became a stage.

“Colin, I love to play the parts you create.” She gave me a sweet wink.

“Thanks Jodi.”

“But there’s one part I’d like to do.”

It can be hard to tell when Jodi is not acting, but she wasn’t now – no makeup, no wig. I finished a bite of spaghetti and washed it down with cheap Chianti. I nodded. As she explained in detail I leaned back and folded my arms across my chest. I share Jodi with one hundred to five thousand people nearly every night. I wasn’t sure I could do this. But how could I deny her?

My heart thumped like horse’s hooves, as I stoically nodded my agreement.

***

Marc was an actor Jodi had worked with in the past. Handsome, tall and muscular, Marc was the sort of man who could make a room full of women go quiet just by walking in. My concerns about our play grew once I met Marc. But there was no rehearsal. I had two choices: see the play through or turn up my nose at the role like a primadonna with second thoughts on opening night. Marc’s dazzling smile shimmered in the florescent hallway lighting.

“You must be Colin.”

“Yeah.” The front of his faded jeans bulged and the concertina wire tattoo on his thick left bicep stretched as he moved a bag from his left hand to his right. His left nipple was obviously pierced and poked at the shiny black Lycra tank top painted to his strong chest. He held out the bag: Maker’s Mark whiskey; a weakness of mine that I can rarely afford. I waved him in and he placed the bag on the slit of a bar between the living room and the galley kitchen.

I walked over and pulled the bottle from the bag. My hand lingered on the waxy drip texture of the bottleneck.

“You want a drink?”

“You gonna have one?”

A drink might make this thing go down easier. But this was Jodi’s play, and I couldn’t take the chance of ruining it. I wanted to do this in one take.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Marc shook his head, “Me either.”

I asked Marc about the part he was playing now. He asked about the script I was working on. He flattered my last project. Theater small talk to fill the long chasm until the bedroom door opened. I watched Marc’s eyes widen as Jodi came out. She was dressed in a tiny white skirt. Her small breasts were rendered shapelier by the thick cables down her dark purple skin tight tank top. She wore a bright red wig tied off in pigtails that looked so natural that I forgot she was bald underneath it. Her violet eyes glistened as she entered the room and held out two simple brown uniforms. She looked like something out of a Manga cartoon.

According to my script, Marc and I had captured her and were to question her, taking turns trying to get her to talk. When all else failed, we were to take her together.

The coup de grace: a wicked double penetration.

The bulge in the front of Marc’s pants thickened. He smiled. Jodi smiled. I paused then forced my lips into a crescent shape and took the uniform built for a skinny man and with lieutenant’s bars. Marc took the thick-chested, narrow-waisted one with sergeant stripes and we went into the bedroom to change. I had always hated the locker room after Physical Education in school. I was skinny and hairy and awkward, and I was one of a very few who were uncircumcised.

Now I considered going into the bathroom to change, but what sense would that make? Very soon Marc and I would be exposing ourselves to each other to the extent that we’d both be fucking my girlfriend.

Marc pulled down his tight jeans and his semi-erect cock spilled out from a shaved groin. It looked like a dragon. I recalled thinking it odd that Jodi had bought a box of Magnum condoms even though we had a fresh box of the regulars in the nightstand. I held in a sigh.

Marc’s shiny musculature was worthy of a body builder. I recalled fondly – perhaps a moment of escapism – my brief relationship with a muscular woman named Lauren, how I had loved her strong back. It was from being with Lauren that I’d learned my rather impressive skills at massage.

Marc paused as he took the uniform from the hanger.

“Look, Colin, uh—” he paused and combed his fingers through his wavy blonde hair. “I mean, Jodi said you were okay with this, but I’m— I’m getting the feeling that maybe—”

I was still fully clothed, holding my uniform like a fashionista holding a set of Dickies. I could see why Jodi had wanted Marc to play the other part. I did my best to exorcise my jealous fear that once Jodi had felt Marc’s cock in her, she’d lose all interest in my average offering.

“No, it’s cool, Marc. I mean, I even wrote the script.” I quickly shed my shirt and pants, and then paused on my underwear. Marc seemed not to be looking as he buttoned his shirt. I stripped my underwear down and quickly dressed.

The play started quickly and surely. Marc played his part like summer stock. He donned a booming, menacing voice as he tied Jodi’s wrists behind her back and led her into the room.

“Caught her snooping around, LT.” Marc sounded war movie approved.

I mustered all of my meager acting chops and approached Jodi. I snapped a riding crop in one hand.