IMMORTALITY

He kissed her on the inside of her thigh, his tongue brushing slightly along her skin, as he slid his hands down the small of her back and over the curves of her ass.  With two fingers of his right hand he slid inside her and looked up, seeing and feeling her warm and smooth and enfolded, unleashed.

*   *   *

The damn wig itched him horribly.  A job’s a job though.  Playing Falstaff at the Plymouth wouldn’t pay anything. 

“Hold still please.  And tilt the hat slightly again please.”

He shifted the flat black hat on his head for the photographer.  Again.  They never know what they want, they just keep trying things.  At least they wanted him – he should be happy for that.  Not much call for ‘portly’ these days.  Not sure why Judy even wanted him; that way.  She really lived her roles.  I wish I could be more like that.  Her husband’s car dealership made money and she had the luxury of turning down jobs like this.

“If you be not too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will continue the story.” 

Slight chuckle on the humble: “our huh-huh-humble…” 

Playing characters has become a strong suit.  No more leading man him!  Except with Judy; leading with his cock!  She respected his art—she called him the "amoral immortal", meaning something like that his talent was unfair.  She said she had seen his Romeo and then even his Richard.  Her surprising jokes about ‘hump’ (instead of hunchback) and ‘limp’ were the first suggestions he had from her that she would sleep with him. 

That first, furiously fuck in full view of the stage-hands, if they had bothered to look, between scenes had been followed by regular sessions in her dressing room.  He adored her body; just seeing her in the morning would set his mind racing imagining how to negotiate her skirt, her blouse, her shoes.  He was her servant.

He could feel the sweat collecting under the white wig under these lights.  It was the suit and tie that overheated him.  What was this ad for?  He couldn’t remember--something to do with food.  He would have to shower before seeing Judy later, although she was unlike any woman he had ever been with.  She was so passionate physically and even after a night’s performance almost craved his body, his sweat.  She made him feel more alive than he ever had in his life.

“OK, once more in profile please.”

Did he actually have to wear the boots if they were only shooting him from the waist up?  What was it, breakfast cereal?  Something like that.  His stomach lurched and growled now with hunger. 

“Hold still please.”

She kept reminding him what an artist he was and it was like she loved him for who he was.  It was the way it should be.  She loved him inside, where he wasn’t ‘portly.’  I will never again doubt myself.  Even as a character actor I can make my mark.  Judy made him believe.  I will be remembered.  No one does Shakespeare like I do.