Mary Moore - Whore wife

She thought she might be able to use some subtle persuasion backstage with him, maybe of an erotic nature, without appearing too bold.

"Francesco," she whispered to herself, as she studied her program, squinting in the dim light.

The woman next to her looked at her sharply, and Linda realized she must have spoken aloud. She quickly closed her mouth and fixed her eyes on the play.

She actually watched only Frankie, as he was called in the program. He was born of Italian parents, the program indicated, but his stage name was Frankie… Frankie Antonelli. He'd done summer stock in half a dozen cities and was part of a repertory company in Chicago.

When the play ended, Linda asked someone who looked like a stagehand where Mr. Antonelli was. He looked curiously at her and nodded to a door. "Up the four stain, second room on the left."

Linda felt the man's eyes on her as she skipped up the stairs. She meant it to be a light-hearted action, but nearly tripped on the top step.

At his door, she paused, inhaled deeply and knocked. She heard voices inside.

"Came in," someone called.

Linda opened the door.

Inside was a small gathering, mostly unfamiliar faces. Linda was embarrassed. She blushed and nearly stammered as five or six pairs of eyes, including Frankie Antonelli's, turned to her. She caught her breath.

The three women present merely grunted and looked away. Linda sensed the intrusion of a pretty woman – herself – on their territory. The men smiled tolerantly. One was Mr. Hartman, the teacher and company director, whom she knew. He always smiled pleasantly in church, but now merely looked sharply at her. This was evidently his domain and one he was surprised to find her in.

Linda was relieved where Frankie himself came up to her. "Yes, my dear," he said pleasantly, extending his hand.

"You-you were terrific," smiled Linda. "I just wanted to tell you." She was trying not to have an anxiety attack in his dressing room, and decided quickly to make a firm exit before she did.

"Thank you, thank you, how nice of you to come and tell me!" He held her hand and escorted her over to the small group. They were sipping drinks and watching her curiously.

"May I have the pleasure of introducing…" he stopped.

"Linda. Linda Carney," smiled Linda. She looked around at everyone, careful to make brief eye contact with each one. The men, even Mr. Hartman, smiled pleasantly. The women just nodded. They did not want to displease Mr. Antonelli, Linda concluded.

At least one or two of them were making a play for him, she was convinced. She was nervous and excited. It had been so long since she'd been in a scene like this.

Eight or nine years, to be exact, since before her marriage. How strange it seemed again. Awkward. But exciting!

"Who are you? What do you do, my dear?" asked Frankie politely. One hand rested casually on her waist and the other held out a drink. "You're pretty enough to be an actress. Are you?"

"Oh, no," said Linda, blushing. "That's very nice of you, but I'm…" She looked at Mr. Hartman who knew she was married, and said, "I'm just a housewife, I'm afraid." She accepted the drink.

"Nothing wrong with that, is there?" Frankie's chivalrous manner disappeared for a moment. His stage manner was dropping. He was betraying his roots, Linda thought. That gave her more confidence.

She smiled up at him, though he was not much taller than she was, and began a conversation. As she talked, she studied him, his dark hair paying at the temples, his sideburns, his handsome features, and his strong arms. He was very at ease with himself and that made her at ease.

He asked nothing about her husband, and for that she was grateful. Surely he had noticed her ring.

She found him looking at her body, but discreetly. He didn't make a point of studying her tits or ass with wide eyes and open mouth as some men did. That was nice to notice but not make a point of noticing.

When he turned to refill her glass, her eyes dropped slightly to his crotch. His pants were tight. She could tell from the large outline there that he was well-hung.

Flashes of hot and cold went up and down her body. She found him very attractive. She only hoped there would be some discreet way of handling the situation. She didn't know where it all would lead. She only knew that she wanted him that very night!

Her gaze dropped to the floor. Mr. Hartman, tall, slender, and sharp-eyed, had been staring at her, as if reading her thoughts. Even though he was involved in theater work, he was still a religious man. She cringed inwardly and smiled outwardly.

"We better be going," said Mr. Hartman to no one in particular.

"Not so soon?" said Frankie, returning with Linda's refilled glass. He said to her then, softly so no one would hear, "You'll stay and finish this with me, won't you?" His gaze met hers warmly and she nodded.

The others gradually made their way toward the door. The women kept darting curious glances in her direction.

"Are you coming?" one of them said.

"I believe not. I think later," she answered evenly, "as soon as I finish this." She held up her drink and stared the woman down. Inwardly she was snickering and thinking, Well, Linda, you have more guts than you thought.

There were handshakes and good-byes and finally the dressing room door closed behind the departing group.

Frankie turned, held his drink up, and said, "Here's lookin' at you, kid." He sipped his drink slowly, staring at her. Then he smiled.

Linda recalled the line from somewhere, but she couldn't place it. She just pretended a familiarity with it. "That's sweet," she said, cocking her head sexily to one side.

Suddenly she was getting nervous. There they were alone. She looked at her watch. It was ten-forty-five. She'd never been out this late without Tim. She wanted to run out, jump in the car and drive home. But she stood rooted to the spot.

"You look like a frightened deer," Frankie said. But he was smiling gently. "I think I understand you," he added.

"You do?" Linda said. She wanted to jump into his arms and fall into bed, in that order. I better do it fast, she thought, or I will rim away.

Frankie took her hand just then, removed the glass from her other hand and took her in his arms.

Suddenly she felt his mouth on hers, and her own melted into it. She felt his strong arms around her and waist. It was the first man in her arms, other than her husband, in eight years.

Frankie was short, but broad-shouldered. He was older, probably forty. He was sweeter and more tender than in. At the same time, she discovered a she kissed him, he was much more sexual than her husband. It excited her terribly.

Their mouths and tongues dueled passionately, openly. There was no pretense, just desire. Linda let go. She couldn't help herself. She was dizzy from suppressed passion, from the drink, from the bright lights, from the confusion of the evening, and from being in a strange man's arms. She was dazed over having achieved what she set out to do.

She felt Frankie's hand grope her crotch automatically. She didn't mind.

Should she feel for his stiff dick? She longed to. But she didn't want to be too forward with him. Silly, she said to herself, you've been married eight years. She hunted down his leg for his hard cock, till her fingers rested there. She squeezed it and the stage was set.

Pinkie pulled her over to the couch. He sat her down and brushed her hair back over her shoulders, away from her face. "You're very beautiful," he said, breathing hard. He kissed her again. "I hope you know that. And I'm not just feeding you a line. Strange that you should come here, just when I was beginning to feel so lonely."

"Lonely for a woman?" Linda asked. "Being on the road is rather lonely."