Pauline Nottee - Action backstage

On the farm, youth is fleeting. By the age of six, a farm boy is already taking on a man's share of the work. Rick Benton had worked hard on the farm, through necessity. When he had become old enough, he had left and come to California.

While his strong young body strained to carry the heavy equipment, he ran, not walked, with sandwiches and coffee, he watched and listened and learned. He learned gestures and speech, and he was learning to play a guitar, and how to phrase a song, how to perform. He would have done it all without a cent of salary, just to learn, and craftily, to meet people who might help him in years to come… the agency people, the booking agents.

Watching Rick, Candy Mullender could see the handsome youth was lost in some reverie of his own. She knew all his waking thoughts were on show business, and wondered if he had forgotten her presence. She studied him, and inevitably, her eyes moved to the crotch of his tight jeans.

What met her eyes was unmistakable! He was hard! The long outline of his youthful cock was throbbing against the tight fabric, and she could see a dark stain of preseminal fluid seeping through it. His balls were pushing out below, and she wondered if this was for her. Was he day-dreaming about making love to her?

Well, they all did, she told herself. And Rick Benton would be more likely to do it than most, imagine himself in the most erotic, even obscene and lewd postures with her than most others, because he was exposed to her so much.

Candy wondered what it would be like to be in his position, a teenager worshipping a sultry goddess created by the mass media, without any hope of attaining the impossible goal. She honestly wondered how some of them managed to restrain themselves, wondered how often how many of them got on a high watching her or hearing her voice, and then vented their sex frustrations on their teeny-hopper girl friends. With a quick movement, she raised her glass and drained it.

"Rick, I'm going to start dinner now," she said, combing her long raven-black hair back from her face with delicate fingers. "Then we'll have a look at the tape."

She had to get away, even for a few minutes. In the kitchen, Candy Mullender hastily ripped open packs of frozen vegetables, barely pausing to read the directions before dropping them into appropriate pots. She found two large Idaho potatoes and stuck them in the oven. She took two T-bone steaks from the cooler and smeared butter on them, then salt and fresh ground pepper and put them aside. A packet of minestrone soup mix went into a pot and onto the stove. Candy was not an expert cook, but she was efficient. She could take several dishes, each requiring a different cooking time, and get them all on the table at once. In less than ten minutes, dinner was on the way.

The potatoes would take an hour-the other things could be put on the heat in accordance. The time would be enough for her to audit the TV tape. She fixed a second drink for herself, after peeking into the living room and seeing Rick had barely touched his beer. She fed the video tape into the playback machine and settled down on the sofa to watch it with critical eyes. The scene which began to unfold in full color could be very important to her within the next few months, or the next year. It was the top late-night talk show, or a major segment of one. The host was casual, witty, and had magnificent timing. He could do more with a questioning glance than anyone else in the business could do with a five-minute monologue written by the top writers in the country. One despairing shake of his head, and careers fell apart. A smile at the right instant made millions.

Candy Mullender's segment was not part of a regular broadcast. She bantered with her host, but the bit was one of three which would be assembled at a later date in order to provide a show while the host was on vacation. It would all be put together so expertly that the home viewer would never realize that he wasn't watching one single show, but looking at bits and pieces which had been carefully edited together.

Propping her chin on her delicate hand, Candy leaned against the back of the oversize leather sofa and gave her image her most critical eyes. She didn't like the sound track too much from the start, but knew the technicians would fix it, and dismissed it from her mind. She was most concerned with her visual image and the way her responses to the chatter came through.

Her entrance went well. She was wearing a slinky black peasant dress, cut low in front to show cleavage, and with a slit up both sides, the sleek, well-turned length of her thighs. She decided her body language was good. And then, after making her bows to the audience, she saw herself striding beautifully to the guest chair beside the host's desk, and sitting down, crossing the long golden legs.

"Ooooh, nooooo…" she whispered.

The slit in the dress had been longer than she realized. When she sat, it rode up her thighs, exposing the rich, full hemispheres of her tight-muscled young ass-cheeks, and even giving a suggestion of her soft-furred cuntal slit in the fragment of time during which she was crossing her legs. Maybe only a tenth of a second, but it was there! She knew she should have worn panty hose that night, but the makeup guys had assured her there was nothing worth worrying about, that hose caught the light and looked artificial and she would come through much better with natural flesh tones. And she had believed. Well, she consoled herself, the legendary network censors, would catch the flash and chop it.

"What's the matter?" Rick had heard her gasp of dismay, and he reached out without thinking, covering her hand with his own. The contact with her flesh, sent an electric shock through his young body, and then he didn't want to pull away, because he was afraid she would think he was some kind of kid jerk. "I think it's great so far!"

"If you didn't catch it, I'm not going to rerun it for you," the distressed brunette whispered, suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of his hand over hers. "Maybe just my imagination, Rick."

He did not move his hand. She made no move to withdraw hers. There were no more glimpses of her pussy barely shaded by sheer panties. The chatter was not, so far as she could judge, objectionable, and her closing went well. All considered, she thought, it was a good taping, although she wished her skirt had worked a bit better. It was one of those which was perfect when she was on her feet, but as soon as she sat down, it went out of sight. Well, if that's what they wanted…

Candy glanced at her watch and realized it was time to get back to the kitchen, or the meal would bum. Unwinding her long shapely legs, the voluptuous brunette stood, and only as she moved did she realize that in concentrating on the videotape, she had unconsciously grasped Rick's strong young hand tight in her own slender fingers. She almost pulled him to the floor. Blushing, she forced herself to laugh as he stumbled.

"See how wrapped up I get in myself!" she said, forcing gaiety. He grinned and stood beside her, and for the first time she realized how tall he was-how handsome and lean and male. He was almost six feet tall, and through the thin fabric of his sports shirt she could see the trembling young muscles of his torso. In comparison with his narrow waist, his shoulders seemed wide almost out of proportion, yet she could see he was really snake-lean. His biceps were long-muscled-Rick Benton would never have his picture in any beefsteak magazines.

Involuntarily, her wide violet eyes dropped to his loins, and she saw the long, thick outline of his teenage cock was still bulging unmistakably. This brought mixed sensations to her confused mind. On one hand, as a mature, sensuous woman, she was overwhelmingly pleased to know she could arouse such a handsome young boy. On the other hand, she was deeply distressed when she admitted to herself that she wanted him to feel a sexual need for her, even though any such thing was out of the question. He was a mere boy, no matter how much of a man's job he did.