Amateur Theatre

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There are any number of ailments that affect older adults. I have been pretty luck to make it to sixty and not have anything life-threatening. However, a gradual hearing loss finally got to the point where I knew I was going to have to dish out the money to get hearing aids.

Google searches gave me a decent idea of the type of features I wanted. A friend recommended a local business that sold good ones and I made the phone call.

A woman who sounded less than excited about doing what she was doing took my information, scheduled the initial appointment, and informed me that my audiologist would be Amy.

Amy is a nice enough name and I envisioned a bubbly young thing right out of college, eager to make her monthly quota by selling me the most expensive hearing aids they had. So, I was pleasantly surprised when Amy turned out to be a somewhat reserved, totally professional woman of about forty. She was no more than five- and one-half feet tall, if that, with the most incredible shoulder-length, darkish blonde hair. Several lighter highlights made it even more striking.

The hair framed a face featuring large, dark eyes, a little turned up nose, and thin lips on a small mouth. I love petite women and her body was just my style—not at all curvy, with just a hint of average breasts and a perfect ass accentuated by her tight, black pants.

Long before we even began the hearing tests, I was convinced I would buy whatever this girl was selling. I felt my pulse go up even as she stood near me, adjusting the headphones I had to wear. I suppose the tests were not entirely accurate as I could not take my eyes off Amy on the other side of the glass. Still, I dutifully raised my hand when I heard the beep, even while imagining what those breasts looked like under her sweater.

Once outside the testing booth, it was time for more questions.

“What environment do you have the most trouble hearing in, John?” she asked.

“Noisy ones like restaurants and coffee shops,” I answered. “All the background noise makes it hard for me to understand people I’m talking to.”

Amy nodded and gestured aimlessly at her computer screen. “Yes, the test results indicate that. I recommend you get hearing aids that are directional. By that I mean, the phone app you will use allows you to virtually point the hearing aids forward, blocking out the surrounding noise. I’ll show you that when the time comes.”

“Cool,” I replied, more than already sold.

The rest was just picking out the exact model and color, as well as getting a mold of my ear canal for the personalized domes that came with the devices. All of this was fine as it extended my time with Amy. I was proud of myself that I got out of there without putting my hands on her even once. No small feat.

A couple weeks later, the call came that my hearing aids had arrived. Another appointment with Amy was necessary to make sure everything worked. I was psyched.

I sat impatiently in the waiting room until the door opened and a semi-smiling Amy called for me. She wore black pants again, which I assumed was an unofficial uniform. I took my seat in her office and Amy opened the small box containing my hearing aids. The molded earpieces fit perfectly and I laughed out loud when she asked me how they felt and her voice reverberated loudly in my ears.

“Oh my God! I don’t EVER remember hearing this well,” I exclaimed.

Amy smiled broadly and said, “Is it too loud?”

I shrugged and said, “I’m so happy that it’s clear that I can’t say if it’s too loud or not.”

“Let me show you the phone app so you can adjust it.”

It took about twenty minutes to download and install the app, sync it with the hearing aids, and make the fine-tuning adjustments I wanted.

“Better?” Amy asked.

“Yes. But the test will be when I’m in Starbucks trying to listen to somebody talk.”

“OK. Let me know how that goes when you come back for your two-week checkup. That’s a free visit, of course.”

“Or you can just meet me for coffee on your next day off,” I said.

Needless to say, I was fully expecting an instant rejection to THAT idea. Instead, Amy grinned and shyly looked at the floor. When she looked back up, she said, “I’m off Thursday.”

I think I was more shocked by her statement than she was by mine. I said, “Nine AM?”

“The Starbucks at Main and Third?” Amy replied.

“I’ll be there.”

I had two days to wait and I do not think a moment passed that I was not thinking about her. What, exactly, persuaded her to accept an offhand invitation from a man she did not know? Two hours or so of casual conversation centered around hearing aids hardly qualified as getting to know someone. My dazzling personality alone surely was not enough. Was she THAT desperate? Perhaps married and still desperate?

Thursday morning finally arrived and I anxiously waited for nine to arrive. When I walked into the Starbucks, I found Amy sitting in a secluded corner, showing me that Mona Lisa-like grin of hers. She was out of uniform, dressed bursa escort in cut-off shorts and a Nirvana t-shirt.

“You beat me,” I said.

“I’m a morning person. Was up early.”

“What do you want to drink?” I asked.

“Grande skinny caramel Frappuccino with whipped cream. Hot.”

I love no-nonsense women and Amy was one-by-one checking off every item on my list of what makes a woman perfect. If her personality matched her physical assets, I was going to be irreversibly smitten. I placed the order and returned to the table, sitting across from Amy.

“Thanks for coming,” I said. “You may have gathered that I was a little surprised you accepted.”

She shrugged. “Why not? Day off. Nothing planned. You don’t strike me as an axe murderer.”

“Fools them every time. It’s when I invite you to dinner at my place you have to worry.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Not going to accept that one. Not yet anyway.”

“Married?” I asked bluntly.

“Not anymore. Used to be…to an abusive addict,” she said. “Put up with it far too long. It’s really quite refreshing being on my own.”

I sensed—perhaps incorrectly—that Amy’s blunt approach to almost everything was lingering anger or frustration or something. Yet, an underlying wisdom came through. She was still shy with me, but I could work on that.

She asked, “How about you?”

“My wife died of cancer a few years ago. Still single.”

“I’m sorry. Do you ever see yourself married again?”

“Maybe. Not soon,” I said truthfully.

I heard my name called at the counter and picked up the drinks. Amy sat with her tanned legs crossed when I came back, comfortably sitting with her arm on one corner of the chair. It was a relaxed, confident pose.

We chatted and sipped our drinks, establishing that, yes, the new hearing aids were helping me in that environment. I also learned that Amy had one sister she rarely saw and parents on the other side of the country. She knew how to take care of herself.

“I do my own thing,” she told me. “People at work probably think I’m a little stand-offish, but I don’t trust a whole lot of people. I’m an introvert to begin with and after a terrible marriage I found it easier to limit the number of friends I have until some of the memories are gone.”

“You must get offers for dates, though?”

She chuckled and said, “Thanks. Not as many of you might guess. My personality turns most guys off, I suppose. They aren’t looking for the scholarly type.”

“How long were you in school?”

“Undergrad plus four years. So, I was an old maid by the time I got out.”

“Hardly,” I assured her, watching her take a drink and run her tongue across her lips afterward. “What would you be doing if you weren’t selling hearing aids?”

She paused for only a second. “I’d be an actress.”


“Yeah,” she responded calmly. “I was in plays in high school and even college. I enjoyed it a lot. I was told I was rather good, but I was so convinced I didn’t have the looks to make it that I never pursued it.”

“You were wrong.”

She grinned. “Thanks. It worked out OK.”

I took a drink before saying,” You’re wrong about the looks…and the body. Would you have done nude scenes, either on stage or on screen.”

Once again, a potentially awkward question did not phase her.

“I’ve actually thought about that,” she answered. “It’s strange, but I think I would have been more uncomfortable with the stage crew or film crew seeing me nude than the audience. I guess it’s just the idea of them being so close versus someone in an audience. But, yeah, I would have done it…for sure.”

“Interesting,” I said. “You enjoy watching it?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“If I told you that you had a chance to either watch or participate in something similar, would you be interested?”

She took a long drink. “Something similar?”

“In a private group setting. A couple dozen people.”

“An orgy?”

I frowned. “That’s such an ugly word. It denotes a lack of control. No, this is a much more organized setting, designed to simulate amateur theatre. Some people only watch; some participate. Your choice.”

“But there’s sex?” Amy asked.

I nodded. “Erotica at its best.”

Amy leaned back in her chair, her eyes like lasers as she looked at me.

“You expect me to be offended,” she said. “Maybe throw this drink in your face.”

“I expect you to consider it for as long as you want and give me an answer.”

“If I went one time, could I just watch?”

“Absolutely. Rule number one is that nobody gets pressured into doing anything they don’t want to do,” I told her.

“Excuse me for asking, but that’s just me,” she said. “What’s the average age and would I find the people attractive?”

I smiled. “Average age is forty to forty-five and I’m the runt of the litter. Youngest is probably thirty and I’m near the other end of the spectrum. These are professionals like yourself. We don’t invite unappealing people.”

“And the acting bursa escort bayan angle? How does that fit in?”

“We have a couple act out a scene each time we meet,” I explained. “Consider it improv more than anything else. Sometimes it’s damn funny…but always erotic.”

Amy leaned forward and said, “I’d be interested in watching once. I’ll let you know after that.”

“Perfect,” I said with glee. “We meet this Saturday evening. Can you go?”


“You won’t be disappointed,” I promised, after getting the address to pick her up at.


I have only tried to recruit one other friend. I should say, one former friend. She did not appreciate the overture, to say the least. So, Amy was becoming increasingly intriguing. This highly intelligent, well-educated woman with a distressed background accepted my offer with little hesitation. Granted, she left the door wide open for making one appearance, never to be seen again. That was fine. It would not be the first time.

Amy had my phone number at work, so it did not totally shock me when she texted me on Friday, asking what to wear. I told her she would see all forms of dress, but suggested a skirt and blouse if she felt comfortable in that. She replied that she did and signed off with, ‘See you tomorrow.’

Saturday lasted forever, it seemed. I was still confident Amy would enjoy the evening, but the wretched memory of my last attempt at this was never far from the front of my mind. I refrained from trying to imagine how things would progress if Amy DID love the show. Time would tell.

When the time ultimately came to pick Amy up, I was stunned by her appearance. Her short, denim skirt highlighted her slender legs and the silky blouse hung open invitingly. More makeup than she wore at work made her face even more appealing to me.

“You look great,” I told her. “You will get lots of attention tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said with a hint of a blush. “I was kind of hoping to just blend in and not be noticed.”

“I’ll do my best to make that happen.”

It was a twenty-minute drive to the rural farmhouse owned by a local company president. I explained to Amy that the man initially made his money from the farm, but transitioned into the corporate world mid-life and prospered even more. An unused barn was completely refurbished into a party house and it was the frequent home of the club.

As we pulled onto the narrow road leading back to the barn, Amy stated, “Look at all the cars! It looks more like a crammed restaurant parking lot.”

I laughed and said, “Yeah. We might get thirty people tonight. That’s alright. Easier for you to blend in.”

I led Amy to the entrance of the converted barn and let her step inside before me. She stopped immediately after I closed the door.

“Oh my God,” she muttered.

She gazed at the two-story interior with its dark wood walls and ceiling, the loft with its wood railing, and especially the ground level with the bar at one end, seemingly endless numbers of love seats and couches, and what appeared to be a combination dance floor and stage at the other.

A low hum of voices saturated the interior. People stood at the bar, sat in pairs, or wandered slowly about the massive room. Almost instantly I noticed eyes begin to focus on my guest.

“Want something to drink?” I asked.

“Just a Coke for me,” Amy answered.

She followed me to the bar, receiving a welcoming smile and ‘Hello’ from the young man behind it and a couple people lingering nearby. I paid for the two soft drinks and suggested we walk upstairs so she could see the loft. A spiral staircase in the corner took us there.

The long and narrow space had couches of various sizes interspersed with small, round tables. Amy leaned on the railing, looking down on the crowd below, saying, “This is fantastic. They did a tremendous job redecorating, yet maintaining the feel of a barn. I love it.”

“I couldn’t even afford all the furniture in here,” I admitted. “I thought you might like it up here if you felt uneasy in any way.”

“No. I’m fine. But it might get weird if I see any other customers,” she said with a laugh.

“Most of these people are far too young to be seeing you,” I told her. “Also, whatever happens in this barn stays in this barn. The unspoken rule is that we never discuss this in public.”

“Unless you are inviting someone,” Amy said with a wink.

“Yeah. Well…,” I stammered.

We sat on a loveseat nearby and it only took a moment for others to want to be introduced to Amy. I knew, then, that if she decided to become a ‘member’ her acceptance would be unanimously approved by the others. Her reserved speaking style, combined with her obvious intelligence and wit, won them over at once; not to mention the plentiful show of skin when she crossed her legs. I was uncertain, but was leaning toward the belief that she was braless. Either way, she was making new fans by the minute.

A short time later, I looked at my watch and said to Amy, “We should be getting escort bursa downstairs for the show. Or do you want to stay up here?”

“No. Let’s go down,” she replied.

“I should tell you, I guess, that the theme tonight is mother and son. If you find that offensive…,” I began to say.

“C’mon. I want to see the show.”

When guests like Amy are brought for the evening, a couch close to the dance floor is ‘reserved.’ As we approached, Amy and I saw that a bed was near the back of the floor and a partition was in place on one side. We were seated only a minute when the lights dimmed and a soft spotlight lit the floor

“Wow,” Amy whispered to me. “This is better than most plays I’ve been in.”

I smiled and nodded.

Light applause and a few cheers rang out as a man in his thirties rounded the partition into view.

“That’s Tommy,” I said into Amy’s ear. “The women love him. And the woman playing his mother isn’t his real mother.”

Amy’s full attention was on the muscular man walking to the bed. He pulled off his tank top to another short round of golf-like applause. When his shorts fell to the floor, a woman behind us gave her muffled approval. I sneaked a peek at Amy who was gazing at the large bulge inside Tommy’s briefs. This was going to be the perfect night for Amy’s introduction to the club, I thought to myself. There were few men in attendance who could match Tommy.

He flopped onto the bed and picked up a cell phone sitting on the covers. Tommy propped up the pillow against the headboard, lay back, and began to tap the phone’s screen while stretching out on the bed. A few taps later, his free hand moved to his crotch and started to gently rub his cock through the underwear. Even the audience in the loft had to see the length and width of the imposing erection.

To the delight of the women, Tommy reached inside his briefs and began to stroke his cock. Seemingly on purpose, he refused to give anyone a good glimpse of it, just yet.

At that moment, a woman peered from behind the partition. Linda, playing Tommy’s mom, was a fifty-ish woman dressed in a football jersey and no pants. Her large breasts contrasted with her otherwise diminutive physique.

Linda secretly spied on Tommy as if around a bedroom door. Tommy, facing away from the door, was more vigorously stroking his cock. Linda lifted her jersey and massaged her pussy through bright pink panties.

I risked being rebuffed by placing my hand on Amy’s bare thigh. She hardly seemed to notice and certainly did not react negatively. I rubbed the soft skin gently.

Linda moved out from behind the partition and snuck up on her ‘son.’

“What the hell, Mom!” Tommy shouted when he noticed her presence, yanking his hand out of his underwear. Just as quickly, he put the phone face down on the bed.

“Are you looking at porn, Tommy?”

Linda picked up the phone before he could stop her and smiled.

“So, you like mature women,” she said calmly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why are you spying on me, Mom?”

“Why did you leave the door open? Did you want to get caught, Tommy?”

Linda sat on the edge of the bed. She rested a hand on his crotch, encasing his balls and the bottom of his cock in her fingers.

Just as Linda’s hand slid farther up Tommy’s underwear, I slid my fingers under Amy’s skirt and further down the inside of her thigh. She parted her legs slightly. I could feel the hint of warmth on my hand emanating from her pussy. Still, she stared straight ahead at the scene in front of us.

Linda pulled off her jersey, receiving the support of mostly male voices. She leaned over and placed a tit just above Tommy’s face. Linda took one of his hands and put it on the tit. Tommy did not hesitate to give it a squeeze, followed by several licks of the nipple. Then he took as much as he could into his mouth.

“That’s it,” Linda moaned. “Just like that.”

Soon, Linda was pulling off Tommy’s underwear to the obvious, and vocal, approval of the audience.

“I’m impressed,” Amy murmured.

“He never fails to please the ladies.”

Linda took the cock in her hand just one time before letting it go, standing up, and stepping out of her panties. Her tight ass had my full attention, as always, and I saw Amy looking at me out of the corner of my eye. Having not been halted yet, I moved my hand onto Amy’s pussy. I pressed on the soft fabric of her panties and felt the outline of the fleshy lips underneath. She reclined a little. I rubbed harder.

When Linda returned to the bed, she crawled between Tommy’s legs on her hands and knees, her face just inches from his crotch. You could hear a pin drop in the room so I refrained from informing Amy that this was what Linda was famous for. Her blowjobs were epic.

She began with long, sensual swipes of her tongue up the underside of Tommy’s cock. She cupped his balls while stopping to lick the bulbous head of the cock. Linda encircled the tip with her tongue and then put it between her lips.

That was when I saw and felt Amy’s hand move to my crotch. I was still very softly kneading her pussy, concentrating on her clit the best I could through her panties. Amy found the outline of my ever-hardening cock and put her palm on it.

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