Snowblind

Chapter 17: A Momentary Lapse of Reason

Chicago, Illinois

October 20, 1995

Greg Oldfellow was well on his way to intoxication when the plane touched down at Chicago Midway at 4:33 PM, Central Time. Ordinarily he did not drink so much on airplane flights, particularly not when he had a film premier to attend later in the evening, even more particularly not when the premier in question was a film in which he was the star and all of the attention would be on him. But Mindy Snow had sat next to him on the chartered aircraft for this particular flight and Mindy had been in the mood to drink. Greg couldn’t really let her drink alone, could he? That would be uncouth.

It started with bloody Marys shortly after takeoff and then progressed to scotch on the rocks by the time they were cruising over the four corners region. No one expressed any sort of disapproval at the antics of the two stars. Neither Johnny nor Georgette, Greg and Mindy’s respective agents, were on the flight, and the director, the producer, and most of the supporting actors along for the ride were enjoying the festive atmosphere as well. Why not? The film had received solid reviews across the board so far and was already being discussed as a sure Oscar winner. And, though the official release of the project in theaters was not until the following Friday, it was projected to be a blockbuster, perhaps in line to break the highest grossing opening weekend of all time.

For the flight, Mindy had dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a burgundy sweater that showed the shape and outline of her magnificent breasts quite well. Greg was distracted by the sight of them bouncing about as Mindy moved back and forth in her seat, or as the airplane bumped a little in the moderately frequent turbulence. And Mindy was being more than a little flirtatious as well. Nothing gauche or risqué, but she did make a point to touch his hand or his arm whenever the opportunity presented itself, to laugh and smile at his words whenever it could be justified. It was a subtle flirtation, very much like what she had employed during the days and nights when they filmed the sex scenes for the project. It made Greg a little nervous at first, but after the second scotch on the rocks, the wariness was effectively buried, leaving only the sense of feeling flattered by her attention.

Limousines took everyone to the same hotel they had stayed in during the filming. Greg and Mindy each had their own suites on the top floor, right next to each other. It was well past five o’clock by the time they were checked in and they needed to be downstairs for limo pickup at 6:30 so they could make it to the Roughhouse Theatre in old Chicago by 7:00 to make their entrance. This did not leave them all that much time to get ready. Locally hired hairstylists were already waiting for them in their suites when they arrived.

Greg quickly showered and then put on a hotel robe over his underwear and socks. He then sat in the chair in front of the mirror while a flamboyantly gay stylist named Rory teased and combed his hair and then sprayed it with a half a can of hairspray to keep it in place, all the while talking about how fabulous he thought Greg was.

Greg tipped him a hundred dollars and then shooed him out the door. He then put on his freshly cleaned and pressed tuxedo, making sure everything was just so on it. By the time he was done with this, it was only 6:10. His buzz was fading, and he knew if he did not refresh it, he would begin to feel sleepy. So, he mixed himself a potent scotch and soda at the minibar and began to sip at it.

At 6:25 there was a knock on his door. He opened it and there was Mindy. Greg’s eyes widened as he took a good look at her. Her dress was a light shade of pink, falling well below her knees and covering her arms and shoulders to protect her from the chilly Chicago night air. But it was hardly a conservative frock. It was form fitting, hugging her body tightly and outlining her feminine curves very nicely. And it had a huge V-neck that dipped down nearly to her navel, allowing her breasts to practically spill out of it. Greg thought that if she moved in the right manner, one or the other of her areola, if not her actual nipples, would become momentarily visible.

“What do you think?” she asked him, giving a little pirouette.

“Wow,” he said, looking her up and down. “It’s very uh ... you know...”

“Sexy?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Very sexy.”

“You think I’ll turn a few heads then?”

“I don’t think anyone is going to be paying attention to the film once they see you in that,” he suggested.

She giggled and then entered his room, uninvited. She looked at the drink in his hand. “Oh good,” she said. “You’re keeping up with me. I had a whiskey sour while I was getting my makeup done. Still feeling good.”

“It seemed the appropriate thing to do,” Greg said.

“We still got five minutes,” she said. “Let’s do a shot.”

“A shot?” he asked, not quite sure what she was referring to. The first thing that came to mind was some sort of illicit drug use that involved a needle; the sort of thing that Jake’s previous bass player, Darren had been into.

“Yeah,” she said. “You know? A shooter? My bar had some Patron in it.”

Understanding washed over him. “A shooter?” he asked, appalled. “I’m sorry. I do not do ‘shooters’ like a kid in a public high school raiding his father’s bar.”

“Don’t be a prude,” she said, walking over to the bar. “Patron is the good shit.” She looked the shelves over until she found a squat bottle of clear liquid. She pulled it down and set it on the bar. “Here we go. One for the road, Greggie. Let’s do it.”

“I think not,” he said.

“I’m not going downstairs until you do a shot with me,” she warned. “You might as well get it over with.”

He sighed. He suspected she was not being serious, but it seemed the path of least resistance was to just do what she wanted. “Very well,” he said. “Set us up—I believe that is the proper terminology, right?”

“Right,” she said, smiling at him. She pulled two shot glasses out of the holder and set them on the bar. She then opened the Patron bottle and poured both of them full. “You’re going to like this shit. You don’t even need salt or a lime to go with it.”

“Wonderful,” he said. He walked over and picked up the shot glass closest to him. It was so full that a little of the liquid dribbled down onto his finger. He raised the glass in a salute. “To Us and Them,” he toasted.

“Us and Them,” she repeated. She put the glass to her lips and made the liquid disappear.

Greg drank down the shot. It was not as bad as he had been expecting. Patron was tequila, he discovered, but it was smooth tequila, not raunchy-tasting like what he had had in the past. The shot warmed him all the way down and he felt it going almost immediately to his head.

“Not bad, huh?” Mindy asked.

“Not bad at all,” he had to agree. “Though the ritual is a bit adolescent, wouldn’t you say?”

She reached up and caressed his cheek for a moment, her smile widening. “Sometimes adolescents have the right idea,” she told him. “Come on. Let’s get down there.”

“Right,” he said, feeling himself flush a little at her touch. “The limo should be here any time.”

They rode downstairs together in the elevator. In the lobby, they found the group they would be riding to the premier with: Jerry Lancing, the producer of Us and Them; Frank Graham, the head of production for Merrimack Studios; and Georgie Fletcher, the director. All were wearing custom-fit tuxedos and in a festive mood.

The five of them climbed into their limousine, settling into the comfortable seats.

“Drinks!” Mindy yelled before they even left the valet area. “Let’s get some booze flowing here!”

Nobody was in disagreement with this suggestion, so Greg opened a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt scotch. He poured everyone a healthy shot in the glasses provided by the limo service and passed them around. “To Us and Them!” he toasted for the second time that night.

“Us and Them!” everyone repeated.

They put away two glasses of Glenfiddich apiece on the trip to the 1930s era theater in old Chicago. There, they emerged into the sea of flashbulbs and video camera lights as the media and the paparazzi captured their images. Surrounding the media and the paparazzi were more than the usual amount of uniformed Chicago police officers. Many were providing security for the event; but some were invited guests. The project, after all, was about them and had been filmed with their cooperation and input. It would have been quite rude not to invite some of them to the premier that took place in their own city.

Greg and Mindy made their way inside the spacious lobby of the Roughhouse Theatre. The obligatory velvet ropes led inside and then ended. Three bars had been set up and the tuxedoed bartenders were already on standby. Champagne girls in short skirts were starting to circulate with trays of Dom Perignon in crystal glasses. The appetizer tables were all set up with steaming trays of hors d’oeuvres and other snacks. The two starring actors were supposed to set up at the end of the velvet ropes and greet each guest as he and/or she entered. But first, Mindy dragged Greg over to the nearest bar so they could get another drink.

“I think I’d better slow down on the alcohol a bit,” Greg whispered to her. “I’m starting to feel kind of drunk.”

“Isn’t that the point of drinking?” she asked him.

“Well ... yes, but this is a very public event. I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself.”

“You’re an actor,” she told him. “Just act sober.”

He thought this over for a moment and decided it made sense.

The other members of the cast and crew of the project entered the building, coming in between the velvet ropes in pairs, triples, a few foursomes. Greg and Mindy greeted each of them by name, shaking hands or sharing hugs with each and every one. And then the other special guests began to filter in. The Superintendent of Police of Chicago PD and his wife were the first, followed by Mayor Daley and his wife Maggie. Two of the deputy superintendents followed them and then Captain Miles Blinker, who commanded the 4^th District, where much of the filming had taken place. And then came some of the rank and files who had been particularly helpful with the project: Sergeant Mackle and his wife, who had graciously allowed the studio to use their home for filming Frank Haverty’s domestic scenes; Rick Brentfield and Robby Downs, the patrol team that had allowed Greg to ride along with them for two weeks as part of his preparation for the role; and a plethora of other 4^th District patrol officers and civilian staff that had ferried the crews around and provided security during the filming. All of the police officers were dressed in their class A ceremonial uniforms for the event, which meant, unfortunately for them, that they could not drink alcohol. Greg and Mindy commiserated with each of them on this while continuing to sip their own drinks.

Following the official guests, the entertainment media and local media crews entered next. Greg and Mindy did not bother greeting them as they entered. Instead, they let Fletch and Jerry Lancing deal with them. The two of them headed into the lobby to mingle a bit. Greg headed for the food tables. He had been drinking on an empty stomach and thought it might be a good idea to change that equation a bit. Mindy, instead of heading off on her own, stayed at his side. She was giggly and a bit uncoordinated from her own alcohol intake. Several times she had to grab Greg’s shoulder to keep from falling down. When they finally got their plates filled with a variety of snacks from the tables, they stood near one of the bars to eat. As they did so, Mindy kept close to Greg’s side, close enough that he could feel one of her breasts pushing into his arm whenever she turned to talk to someone. It was not really an unpleasant sensation, but he could not help but wonder if it was deliberate—and if it was, to what purpose?

They were able to consume two glasses of Dom Perignon before it was time to enter the theatre for the screening. Greg was feeling pretty drunk as he sat down in one of the chairs in the back row—the kind of drunk that he got when he was hanging out with Jake Kingsley. Mindy sat next to him on his left side. Fletch sat on his right side. The aisle seat on the other side of Fletch remained empty for the moment.

Once everyone was seated, Jerry Lancing, the producer, stood up at the front of the room in front of the red curtain that covered the screen. He gave a brief speech, thanking the City of Chicago, the mayor’s office, and particularly the Chicago Police Department for their cooperation and assistance in making the film a reality. He thanked several people by name, including the mayor himself, the superintendent, Captain Blinker, and Sergeant Mackle and his family.

“This film belongs as much to you as it does to us, maybe even more so,” Lancing said in conclusion. “We tried to be as realistic as possible, both the good and the bad, so ... please ... let us know how we did. Enjoy the show, everyone. Let’s get started.”

Applause rolled through the room as Lancing turned off his microphone and trotted up the center aisle of the theatre. He took the seat on the right side of Fletch. No sooner had he sat down then the lights dimmed down and the red curtain began to rise. The Merrimack Studios logo appeared and then the film began.

Us and Them was one hundred and forty-seven minutes in length, from logo to the end of the credits. This was enough time for Greg to metabolize some, but nowhere near all, of the alcohol he had consumed. He would have started to feel a little sleepy under normal circumstances, but the presence of Mindy next to him served to keep him awake. The chairs in the old theatre were not very large, not very wide. As such, Mindy’s body was continually pressed into his left side. Her leg often rubbed against his and he could feel the silky fabric of her dress. Her shoulder was constantly rubbing against his. And whenever she turned to whisper something to him, or to Fletch on the other side of him, her breast would push deliciously into his arm. She seemed unaware of the contact she was making, was certainly unconcerned with it even if she was aware, but Greg felt every touch, every bump, every slide of the dress. He felt himself becoming more and more aroused as the film went on.

And then the first sex scene came on the screen.

“Mmmm,” Mindy whispered into his ear, her breast pushing his arm again, her hot breath making him flush. “My favorite part.”

Greg swallowed but said nothing. He did, however, start to spring an erection as he watched he and Mindy doing the nasty on the big screen. He remembered what it had been like to feel those naked breasts in his hand, to taste her nipple with his mouth, to feel her hands on his bare ass.

Steady, he told himself, willing his member to return to normal operations. We were just acting. It’s over and done with now.

But his member did not want it to be over and done with now. It remained quite interested in the goings on of the scene and the memories of filming the scene. And when Mindy suddenly reached over and squeezed Greg’s thigh, just a little north of the knee, it became even more interested.

Jesus Christ, Greg thought. What was that all about? He did not know, could not begin to guess. Had that just been a companionable squeeze of affection? Had it been a drunken grope? Had it been nothing at all, just an unconscious gesture? It could have been any of the above, or all of the above, or none of the above.

Greg’s erection had almost entirely deflated when the second sex scene occurred. This one, while not as graphic or as involved, did feature the best and longest view of Mindy’s bare breasts. Her nipples were hard in the shot, sticking up alluringly. Greg remembered how Mindy had deliberately played with them in front of the entire crew and himself just prior to action being called so she could achieve that mouth-watering state for the shot. His erection reversed direction as blood began to collect once again. Mindy did not help much by dropping her hand to his thigh again—a little higher this time—and whispering into his ear: “This is my second favorite part.”

This time, however, she did not remove her hand from his leg. It remained there, still, unmoving, as if she had just simply forgotten to pick it back up again, just inches away from his now-throbbing tumescence. Greg took in a deep breath, looking around to see if anyone had noticed what she was doing. The theater, however, was very dark and no one seemed to be paying any particular attention to them.

Mindy’s just an affectionate person by nature, he told himself. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. With that rationalization in mind, he did not make an attempt to remove the hand from his leg. There was no sense hurting her feelings, was there? Or making a scene? And besides, another, darker, more primal part of his mind whispered to him, it feels kind of nice there, doesn’t it?

The film rolled on, going into the darker, more depressing part of the story. Mindy’s hand stayed on his leg. Greg’s manhood remained firmly erect. And then, without warning, that hand gripping his thigh rolled inward, seemingly in a random shift of posture, as if she were finally reaching up absently to touch her hair or scratch her nose. As it did so, her knuckles came into contact with the swelling inside of his trousers. The hand stopped instantly, remaining in contact. Greg drew in a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh my,” Mindy whispered, a hint of teasing in her voice. Slowly, the hand rolled over and her fingertips were gently squeezing the outline of his erection through his pants. “What have we here?”

Greg reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from him. “Sorry,” he whispered back. “Natural reaction.”

She put her hand back in her own lap. Even in the dark, Greg could see the teasing smile on her face. “You gotta love biology, huh?” she whispered.

She kept her hands to herself for the rest of the showing (though not her boobs, they continued to press into his shoulder every few minutes). Greg’s erection slowly, and with great reluctance, returned to its nominal state just in time for the funeral scene and the rolling of the credits. When the lights came up and the audience gave their standing ovation—and the actors and directors stood to acknowledge it—the embarrassing bulge in Greg’s trousers was no longer prominent.

Greg and Mindy exited the theatre together and took up position near one of the bars, where they could graciously accept the gushing accolades of the guests, who were bound by the rules of film premier etiquette to each approach the stars and the directing team to offer some. Mindy dashed over to the bar and got them both scotch on the rocks—doubles, no less—before they got started.

Greg downed his first scotch rather quickly, as his mind was troubled, and he was still trying to put Mindy’s actions inside the theatre into perspective. The alcohol did not help much with the perspective part, but it did wonders for the troubled part. It helped so much that he did not even argue when Mindy stepped away to score the two of them second and then third doubles as the evening progressed.

It was close to eleven o’clock when the party finally started to break up. By that point, Greg was quite hammered, as Mindy had stayed at his side all night, making sure he always had a fresh drink in his hand. She made no mention of what had happened inside the theatre, neither directly nor in allusion. Greg, however, could not stop thinking about it. She had actually touched his erection! With her hand! Something she had not done even during the most intimate stages of filming the sex scenes for the project. What did it mean?

At eleven thirty, most of the guests had gone home and those who had not were all waiting in the limo queue. Fletch and Lancing suggested to the stars that it was about time for them to get in the limo and return to the hotel. It was a plan they agreed with. The four of them climbed into their limousine and headed back in the direction of downtown. No sooner had it pulled away from the theatre than Mindy was pouring them all shots of bourbon.

“To success!” she toasted.

The three men dutifully repeated her toast and shot down their bourbon.

Once at the hotel, Fletch and Lancing declared they were going to go to the lounge for a little nightcap and asked if Greg and Mindy wanted to join them.

“Not me,” Mindy said with a giggle. “I’m pretty fuckin’ drunk now; not ashamed to admit it.”

“Yes,” said Greg, hearing himself slurring. “I’m in the same boat. And we have to be at the airport by ten o’clock. I think I’m going to go upstairs, climb into bed and die.” After I pleasure myself and blow off some of this steam, he did not add.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mindy said, her voice loud. “I’ll walk you up there.”

“That’s okay,” Greg said. “I know the way.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said. “But since we’re going the same way anyway...”

She did have a point there. “Okay,” he said, giving her a little smile. “Let’s do this.”

While the producer and the director headed in one direction, Mindy took Greg’s arm and they stumbled their way over to the elevators. Once again, Mindy’s breast kept bumping into his shoulder, although now it did not seem quite as accidental. Greg, in his drunkenness, just went with it and enjoyed the sensation.

The elevator arrived and they stepped inside. Greg pushed the button for the top floor. The doors closed and the car began to rise.

“I’m gonna feel like shit tomorrow,” Mindy prophesized, “but goddamn if we didn’t have a good time, huh, Greggie?”

“Yes,” Greg said, his eyes taking surreptitious glances at her cleavage. He thought that, for just a second, he had spotted some areola on the left one. “Although I’m sure I too will be paying the price in the morning.”

They reached their floor and the doors opened. They staggered out into the empty hallway and made it about fifty feet or so before they realized they were going the wrong way. This caused a giggling fit and they drunkenly turned themselves around and headed back in the direction from which they had come. As they passed the elevators once again, Greg said, “This looks familiar”, causing another outburst of laughter. Mindy, who was still holding tightly onto his arm, pushed her body against his once again, letting him feel the press of her breast again, the silkiness of her dress, the feminine curve of her hip.

“Come on,” he said with a mouth that was suddenly dry. “We’re almost there.”

“Right,” she said with another giggle. “Almost there.”

They came to Greg’s room door first. He started to walk by it, his intention to walk Mindy to her own door and see her safely inside. But Mindy made him stop.

“We need to have one more shot!” she declared. “A nightcap to put an end to a successful premier.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Greg said. “I’m already pretty hammered.” And having you inside my room right now is a bad idea. I can feel how bad it is even through the booze.

“Don’t be a pussy,” Mindy teased. “Have a shot with me.”

“No, Mindy,” he said. “Sorry, but I think it’s time to say goodnight.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Well ... well ... you don’t have a fuckin’ hair on your ass if you don’t do one last shot with me,” she declared.

Greg raised his eyebrows. “I don’t have a hair on my ass?” he asked. “That’s something that Jake says.”

“I know,” she giggled. “Who do you think I learned it from? Now, do you have hair on your ass, or what?”

“You just saw my ass up on the big screen a few hours ago,” he reminded her. “You tell me.”

She laughed again. “It’s a great ass,” she said. “You know that right? And it has just the right amount of hair on it. So, open the fuckin’ door and let’s have that shot.”

He sighed. Once again, it seemed just doing as she asked was the path of least resistance. And besides, one last shooter would probably help him drift off to sleep, wouldn’t it?

“All right,” he said, pulling out his key card. “One shot and then I’m going to bed.”

“You got it,” Mindy said.

He opened the door and they staggered inside the room. They stumbled their way across the sitting room to the bar. The bottle of Patron and their shot glasses from earlier were still sitting where they had left them.

“Set us up!” Mindy ordered, finally letting go of his arm.

“Right,” Greg said, taking a moment to steady himself. He then opened the bottle of tequila and poured the two shot glasses full (spilling at least another shot’s worth on the bar in the process). He handed one to Mindy and took one himself. “What should we drink to this time?”

She smiled. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “we’ve drank to success, and to Us and Them, how about we drink to me and you?”

Greg nodded and raised his glass. “To me and you,” he toasted.

They clinked their glasses together and poured the tequila down their throats. Greg felt it burning all the way down, but in a pleasant way. He felt his drunkenness almost immediately kick up a notch or two.

“All right,” Greg said. “How about we get you back to your room before I pass out?”

“Do you wanna hear a secret?” Mindy asked, ignoring his question.

“Uh ... sure,” he said.

She gave him a naughty smile. “I’m not wearing any panties with this dress,” she told him.

He felt himself flush as mixed emotions spread through him, a combination of embarrassment, danger, and arousal. “Uh ... really?” he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

“It’s the truth,” she said. “When I wear these fancy-ass dresses, I never wear panties with them. It’s too much of a pain in the ass when I have to pee.” She giggled. “The garter belt, you know. The panties always seem to get caught or twisted in it. It’s easier just to go commando.”

“Uh ... wow,” he said, his mind now picturing her in a garter belt with no panties on. It was an enticing vision to have. “I never really ... you know ... thought about that.”

“It’s also sexy,” she said next. “Walking around, talking to people, hugging people, being part of a big production and knowing that I have no panties on. It kind of turns me on, really.”

“I ... uh ... can see how it would,” he stammered. “Listen, how about we...”

“I mean ... doesn’t it kind of turn you on, now that you know that I’ve been sitting next to you all night without panties?”

The sense of danger continued to rise; but so did the sense of arousal. Yes, it really did turn him on to know that she had been sitting next to him all night without panties. His manhood was, in fact, stiffening up very nicely at the very notion. But he needed to stay in control of the situation. Needed to take charge and take charge quickly before things got out of hand here.

“Uh ... yes,” he said. “It is a very enticing thought, but I think now we had better call it a night.”

“It’s a night, all right,” she said softly. She reached out with her hand and slid the back of it up the growing bulge in his groin. “Mmmm, you’re getting hard again. That’s sexy, Greggie.”

Greg pulled himself back out of her reach. “Mindy!” he said sharply. “We are not going to do this.”

“We don’t have to do anything big,” Mindy said. “Just something little, something between friends.”

“No,” he said. “You need to go back to your room.”

“Are you sure?” she asked teasingly. “I am quite willing to give you a blowjob right here and right now. I understand that you’re a man who likes a good blowjob.”

“Every man likes a good blowjob,” he told her. “And I’m a married man, as you’re well aware.”

“Every man does love a blowjob,” she agreed, “but not every man gets to have them the way they should be. Isn’t that right?”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“I have it on good information that your wife, the lovely and talented Celia Valdez, will put it in her mouth and does a good job of making it feel good, but that she only does it for foreplay; that she won’t let you come in her mouth.”

Greg was astounded by what she had just said, mostly because it was true. Celia was very talented with her mouth when she wanted to be, and she did enjoy sucking on him as part of the warmup routine in the bedroom, but she had a very strong aversion to completing the act. But how did Mindy know this? Celia sure as hell had not told her. And, being a very private person, the only other human on Earth he had shared that particular piece of information with was... Oh my God! “Cheryl!” he said.

Mindy chuckled. “That’s right,” she said. “Your little makeup girl from So Others May Live. She ended up being my little makeup girl on my last project before Us and Them. Small world, isn’t it? Anyway, she and I got to be close with each other... very close, if you know what I mean.”

“Uh ... no, actually, I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered.

“Maybe Jake told you about my little fetish,” she said. “I like girly hands on me sometimes. Cheryl likes to put her girly hands on other girls on occasion. She almost got her entire fist up inside of me once, but, alas, her hands weren’t quite small enough.” She shrugged. “What can you do? Anyway, she told me about the conversations you used to have with her ... as well as what the two of you did that infamous night in Alaska. Poor girl. She blames herself for the whole thing.”

Greg was now beyond flabbergasted. Yes, Jake had told him about Mindy’s fetish when he had warned him about how devious she could be, but to actually hear her talk about it so casually, to envision Cheryl trying to put her fist up inside of Mindy’s body ... Jesus Christ!

“Anyway,” Mindy went on. “Back to the blowjob discussion. I like to suck a nice dick. In fact, I love it. And, unlike your wife, I quite enjoy the sensation of a man coming in my mouth while I suck him. I love the way his body trembles, the tensing of the muscles, the blast against the back of my throat. Mmmm, I’m soaking wet just thinking about it. Why don’t you pull that thing out for me so I can suck it, Greggie? Pretty please?”

“Mindy,” he said, almost pleased, “I can’t do that.”

“Can’t is such an overused word,” she told him, stepping closer to him. He did not back away. Slowly, deliberately, she sank to her knees before him. She looked up at him. “I notice you’re not running away from me.”

“Mindy ... I ... we...”

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, reaching out with her hands. “I can be discrete. No one will ever hear about what we do here.”

Her fingers entwined around the buckle of his belt. She slowly pulled the end free and then tugged on it, releasing the tension. She then unbuttoned the snap on the front of his trousers. When he continued to make no attempt to stop her, she slid the zipper down, tooth by tooth, revealing his dark blue underwear, which were bulging with his erection.

Stop her from doing this! a part of Greg’s mind screamed at him, but he made no move to obey. Another part of his mind kept thinking about those lips, and that mouth, and how she said she liked men to finish in her mouth, and how she said that no one would know what they did here. If no one knew what they did, was there really any harm done? His drunken, confused mind thought not. And she was right there in front of him! On her knees, ready to do it! Mindy Snow! On her knees about to suck his cock!

He felt his pants drop down around his feet. He felt feminine fingers inside the waistband of his underwear, pulling them downward. They slid down his legs and his turgid erection sprang free into the air. He looked down to see Mindy staring at it, smiling lasciviously.

Her head came forward, her mouth opening. And then he felt warm, wet lips sucking him in. Felt her tongue swirling around his head, wetting it thoroughly, felt her suddenly plunge down on him, taking his entire length into her throat.

“Ohhhh, God,” he moaned, letting his hand drop down onto her shoulder. He slid it around to the back of her neck and pulled her tighter against him.

“Mmmm,” Mindy moaned. She then went to work in earnest, bobbing her head up and down upon him, her hand stroking the shaft at the same rhythm.

It did not take very long. Between Greg’s hair trigger status and Mindy’s considerable skill at the act, it was just a little more than a minute before Greg felt the machinery of orgasm kick into gear. His legs began to wobble and he had to hold onto the side of the bar to keep from falling down. His breath began to tear in and out of his throat. Drops of sweat formed on his forehead and dripped down, landing in Mindy’s hair. And she continued to suck and jack at him, increasing her speed.

“I’m going to ... going to ... come,” he groaned.

“Mmm hmmm,” she encouraged, increasing her efforts.

The orgasm exploded through him, one of the most powerful he could ever remember having. He shot a pent-up load of semen directly into Mindy’s sucking mouth, blasting out shot after shot, seemingly forever. She moaned with delight as he did so. She did not spill a single drop.

She licked him clean and then stood up before him, her smile still on his face, his pants and underwear still puddled around his ankles. “That was fuckin’ fab,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. He could taste the essence of himself there. She then stepped away from him. “Hopefully, that will help you sleep tonight.”

“Uh ... yeah,” he said softly. Now that he had released the tension, guilt was starting to worm its way in. Had he really just let Mindy Snow suck his dick? Had he really just come in her mouth?

Mindy turned and walked to the door of the suite. Just before leaving, she turned and looked back at him. “See you in the morning,” she told him. “Maybe we’ll catch some breakfast down in the café before we head to the airport.”

“Yeah,” Greg said. “Maybe.”

Mindy gave him one last smile and then she stepped through the door and was gone.

Greg stood there for a moment, still trying to make sense out of how it had all happened. Finally, he pulled up his pants and underwear and headed for the bedroom, hoping that getting some sleep would lend a little perspective.

Greg got perspective, but not the kind he really wanted. He received his wakeup call at 8:00 AM and slowly sat up in bed. He was nude and he felt absolutely horrible on multiple levels. His head throbbed with the beating of his heart. His mouth was dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Nausea rippled through him, making him feel like he was going to simultaneously defecate and vomit. Most of all, however, the overwhelming feelings of guilt, doom and shame competed for top billing in his mind.

Though he had been about as drunk as he ever got, he had horridly clear memories of what had happened between he and Mindy. He could not even begin to tell himself it had been a dream, or a drunken delusion. Mindy had opened his pants, pulled down his underwear, and sucked him to orgasm last night. And he had not made even a token attempt to stop her. He had just stood there and let it happen ... had ... truth be told, enjoyed it immensely.

“I’m a scumbag,” he told himself as he painfully stood to his feet. “An absolute scumbag.”

He looked at the phone on the stand next to the bed. It would be six o’clock in Los Angeles. Celia would still be sleeping for another hour before getting up and starting to get ready for tour setup duties. He wondered if he should call her right now, confess what had happened. True, it would not be news she would be thrilled to wake up to, but he had to tell her, didn’t he? Didn’t he?

He decided to put that decision off for a bit. The last time something like this had happened, he had confessed his sins and it had devastated both of them. She had flat out told him on one occasion that he should have just kept his affair secret, that his confession had actually been detrimental. Could that be the case here? But if it he did keep it secret, would he be able to face her? To talk to her like nothing was wrong?

“What a goddamn mess I’ve made,” he said, shaking his head sadly as he headed for the toilet to relieve his straining bladder. All because Mindy told him she would let him come in her mouth—something his wife did not allow him to do. Had it really been as simple as that to slip up?

He urinated, shaved, brushed his teeth and then had a bout of explosive diarrhea in the fancy hotel room toilet. He then took a shower and got dressed in his traveling clothes—a pair of slacks, a dress shirt, a tie, and a sports jacket. The shower had not made him feel much better; mentally or physically. He went to the bar—almost vomiting when he saw the Patron bottle and the shot glasses sitting there—and promptly drank six of the little plastic bottles of Icelandic glacier water, using them to wash down two Tylenol and four aspirin tablets. He then walked over and picked up the room service menu. Though food was the absolute last thing in the world he felt like having right now, he ordered a Mexican omelet and a large bottle of orange juice. He knew from previous experience that choking down some spicy, acidic food would ultimately be helpful to his cause.

It was a struggle to get the food down, but he managed it. By the time it was 9:25 AM, time to start heading down for the limousine ride to the airport, the headache had faded and his stomach had stabilized a bit. He still felt extremely tired and extremely guilty, however.

He found Mindy, Fletch, and Lancing all slumped down in the lobby chairs in front of the main entrance. All three looked considerably worse for wear. Mindy was wearing a pair of designer jeans and a long-sleeve blouse. Her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail and her eyes were red and blurry.

“Hey,” she greeted sourly. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Terrible,” he told her. “Absolutely terrible.”

“Join the club,” Fletch groaned. “This is what happens when you let Mindy talk you into drinking straight scotch on the way to the premier.”

“Sure, blame it on me,” Mindy said. “I don’t recall having to hold anyone down and pour the drinks down their throat.”

The limousine arrived and they stumbled inside. It took them to Midway Airport, where their chartered plane was waiting in the general aviation area. They stumbled from the limo up the boarding stairs and found seats near the front of the aircraft. Mindy sat next to Greg again. Greg cast a nervous eye at her but said nothing.

The flight attendant asked them if they would like pre-departure drinks.

“God, no,” Greg groaned.

“God yes,” Mindy countered. “We’ll each have a bloody Mary, extra pale.”

“Are you insane?” Greg asked. “Alcohol is why I feel so horrible right now.” Well, partially why I feel so horrible.

“Trust me on this,” Mindy said. “The best cure for a hangover is the hair of the dog that bit you. Have a bloody Mary now, another one once we’re in the air, sleep the rest of the way to New York, and you’ll be ready to kick some ass by the time we land.”

And, of course, Mindy was right. He had a little trouble choking down the first two swallows of the tomato juice and vodka concoction, but as he put more of it in his stomach, he did begin to feel better. And, by the time they were at cruising altitude over western Indiana, he felt almost human, although he could tell it was an artificial feeling.

“See?” Mindy said with a smile. “Hair of the dog. It works every time.”

“It would seem you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing?” Greg asked.

“You could say that,” she agreed, setting down her now empty glass. “And now, I’m gonna catch some sleep. Wake me up when we land.”

“Right,” Greg said, watching as she settled herself into her chair and closed her eyes.

She had made no allusion or other inuendo to what had happened between them last night. Not even a sly smile or a sideways glance. Was it possible she did not remember that she had orally serviced him in his hotel suite? That she had let him ejaculate into her mouth? She had been even drunker than he, having consumed more drinks and being considerably smaller than him. Could it be that she had no idea that she had even done that?

He pondered that thought as he settled into his own seat and drifted off into slumber land. Just before sleep took him, he concluded that Mindy probably did not remember the events at all. And if that was the case, he was the only one who knew it had happened, right? And there was no reason why anyone else needed to know about it, right?

Alas, Mindy did remember the events of the previous night. And she also knew now how to push his buttons in the right way. She managed to feed him enough alcohol to damage his defenses at the New York premier. At the hotel bar after the premier, what started as a seemingly serious discussion about what had transpired between them the previous night drifted into a discussion of other things that Celia would not do in the bedroom.

“No butt sex, huh?” Mindy asked slyly after Greg had volunteered this information.

“Not a chance,” he told her. “I know better than to even suggest something like that to her.”

“That’s a bummer,” Mindy said, shrugging. “I really like a nice cock up my ass. It makes me feel so full.”

“Uh ... yeah, I guess it would,” Greg said, starting to realize that they were well into the land of impropriety once again.

“At least you were single for a while before you hooked up with her,” Mindy said. “You got to do all that stuff with the little starlets and extras before you committed to one person.”

“Well ... actually,” Greg said, “I’ve never actually ... you know ... had the opportunity to perform that particular act before.”

She looked at him, seemingly shocked by this revelation. “Get outta town!” she said. “You never got to tap an ass?”

And he should have ended the conversation right there, ended it and gone up to his room. He should have stopped drinking as well. He did neither.

And now, here he was in his suite in the Plaza Hotel overlooking New York’s Central Park. The dress pants of his tuxedo were once again around his ankles and his throbbing erection was once more sticking out before him like a divining rod. Mindy Snow, still wearing her maroon formal dress, was bent over the couch in front of him, the hem of her dress pulled up, revealing her bare ass framed by the garter belt that held up her silk stockings. She was spreading her butt cheeks obscenely, revealing her swollen, slick vagina and her puckered anus to his gaze.

How the hell did this happen? Greg thought desperately as he stared at the alluring sight before him.

“Come on, Greggie!” Mindy demanded. “Put some of that lotion on and do it to me! Fuck my ass!”

In his left hand he held a bottle of hotel body lotion that had been in the bathroom. Mindy had retrieved it and handed it to him right before assuming the position she was now in.

Greg hesitated, a bit of rational thought trying to worm its way in. I can’t do this! it screamed at him.

But she already gave me a blowjob last night, another part of his mind spoke up (the part that Jake would have recognized as the little head asserting its views). What does one more sin matter? She’s right there, right in front of you, and begging for it!

He found this point of view made a lot of sense at the moment. He opened the bottle up and squirted some in his hand. “Do I just ... you know ... put it on my member?” he asked Mindy.

“Yes!” she said. “But get me all lubed up first. Put some in my ass crack and then finger fuck my ass for a little bit.”

The remaining doubts disappeared like smoke as she said this. He stroked his member a few times, getting it nice and slippery and then squirted another large glob of the lotion directly into her buttock crack. The lotion smelled strongly of coconut and for the rest of his life he would associate that smell with this moment and spring an erection.

He put the flat of his hand into her crack and smeared the lotion up and down, his fingertips touching the wetness of her vaginal lips on the downstroke. He then slid his middle finger into the round bud of her anus, pushing it in well past the first knuckle. The orifice was tight and slippery.

“Yes!” Mindy panted. “That’s it. Add another finger. Get me all loosened up and then stick that cock in there.”

He added another finger, pushing and pulling them in and out, twisting them back and forth. He was extremely aroused now, well past the point of rational thought. She was actually going to let him fuck her ass! One of the few sexual acts he had always wanted to try but had never been able to (a threesome was another). It is doubtful that he would have been able to stop himself at this point even if Celia herself walked in the door.

“All right!” Mindy said. “I’m ready! Do it to me. Fuck my ass!”

He pulled his fingers out of her and stepped forward. He put the head of his erection against her anus and pushed. The going was still a little rough—it was a very tight orifice that was not designed for this particular function—but he managed, after a few strokes, to sink all the way to the hilt inside of her.

“Yes!” Mindy cried. “Fuck yes! Now fuck my ass! Fuck it hard!”

He began to push and pull within her, picking up speed with each thrust. The physical sensation was pleasant, though not as pleasant as being in a vagina, he had to admit, but the mental sensation was sublime. He was doing it! He was actually fucking a woman up the ass! And not just any woman, but Mindy Snow! The woman he had (truth be told) lusted over ever since they first started working on Us and Them together, ever since he had found out that she had a crush on him. And, yes, he was betraying his wife, committing adultery (although, that little head part of him pondered, was it really adultery? There weren’t actually having intercourse in the traditional sense of the word, both yesterday and today) and would have to figure out what that meant later, but right now, the guilt and the sense of betrayal were actually enhancing the experience, making it better.

“Spank my ass while you fuck it!” Mindy demanded.

This just gets better and better, he thought, feeling another surge of lust going through him. He had never spanked Celia before, had never even tried, assuming she would get angry if he did so, would maybe even hit him back. He began to slap at Mindy’s pulsing butt cheeks, hitting first one and then the other.

“That’s weak!” Mindy told him contemptuously. “Fuckin’ spank me, you asshole! I’m a bad girl! A filthy girl! Make it hurt! Make it leave marks!”

He began to hit her harder, so her ass cheeks turned red in the shape of overlapping hand marks.

“Yes!” she cried with each hit. “That’s it! That’s fucking it!”

He did not last very long under these conditions. When Mindy put the fingers of her left hand between her legs and started to play with her clitoris, he lost control of himself. He began to pound in and out of her brutally, his hands now gripping her hips so he could pull her harder against him.

“Yes!” she cried, feeling him tense against her. “That’s it! Come in me! Come in my ass!”

He came in her ass, blasting out another pent-up load that had accumulated from a night of teasing and flirtation and guilt. Mindy moaned out in pleasure as she felt the outpouring into her bowels.

When the last spasm faded away, Greg pulled his rapidly deflating member out of her body. It was covered in a film of brown tinted whiteness with a few drops of blood mixed in. A similar appearing drool drizzled out of Mindy’s anus right behind it.

“Yes,” Mindy whispered, standing up and letting her dress fall back down around her legs. “Nothing like a good tap in the ass.” She leaned forward and gave Greg a long, lingering kiss on the lips, the tip of her tongue just reaching out to touch his.

Greg, still standing there with his pants and underwear down, afraid to touch his own penis because of the mess, enjoyed the kiss, enjoyed the aftermath of what he had just done, but started to feel the guilt worming its way back in.

“That was fab,” Mindy told him. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “It was quite enjoyable.”

“Quite enjoyable, huh?” she asked with a smirk. “You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“Uh ... sorry,” he said. He looked down at himself. “Listen ... uh ... I think I’d better go ... you know ... clean up a bit.”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “It looks like Little Greggie could use a bath all right. And I need to get back to my suite and ... well ... you can probably figure out what a girl has to do after a good ass fuck.”

It took him a moment, but he quickly picked up what she was laying down. “Oh ... right. Well ... I guess you know the way out?”

“I guess I do,” she said, turning to the door. “Goodnight, Greggie. It was fun.”

“Yeah. Goodnight, Mindy.”

She opened the door and looked back over her shoulder. “Maybe we’ll find some other kind of fun to have tomorrow night in New Orleans.”

Without waiting for a reply, she stepped out into the hall and closed the door. Greg stood there for a moment, wondering again how he had let things go this far. He looked at the phone on the desk for a long time, knowing that it was only 9:30 in Los Angeles. Celia would still be awake.

He made no move to the phone. Instead, he stepped out of his pants and underwear (having to fight a bit to get them off over his shoes) and then walked to the bathroom. He really needed to wash his hands and take a shower.

They flew to Baltimore just before noon the next day. There was no actual premier to attend. Instead, Greg, Mindy, Fletch and Lancing appeared on two of the Baltimore area entertainment shows, giving interviews and watching clips of the film. They boarded the plane again at 5:00 PM that same afternoon and flew for two and a half hours to New Orleans, where they checked into a hotel in the French quarter.

That night, Mindy came to Greg’s room wearing one of the hotel robes. She had nothing on underneath it. Greg put up a resistance but, by this point, he had already committed two nights of sins with Mindy and it was only a token one. Mindy, playing on another weakness she had managed to discern, seduced him by being the aggressor in the encounter. She threw him down on the bed in the suite, ripping his pants open and taking him into her mouth until she knew that no more resistance would be offered. She then slid up his body and pulled his face to her breasts, moving his head from one to the other, telling him to suck and bite her nipples until they bled. Once that was accomplished, she mounted him, sinking down on him and fucking him aggressively, giving herself two orgasms before he lost control and the machinery of orgasm began to take over.

“I’m ... I’m ... going to come,” he panted at her, his hands squeezing her beautiful breasts as she continued to raise and lower herself atop him.

“I know!” she panted back. “Shoot it in me! Come in my pussy!”

“But ... but ... is it safe?” he managed to squeak out.

“Yes, of course it’s safe!” she said, redoubling her efforts. “Now do it! Come in me!”

He came in her.

She left his room and returned to her own before the sweat was even dry on his body.

They spent the day in New Orleans, making multiple appearances at morning shows, afternoon shows, and signing autographs at a local video rental establishment. The entire group had dinner on Bourbon Street and then headed to the airport for their flight home. The airplane lifted off at 6:07 PM and headed east for the five-and-a-half-hour flight back to Los Angeles.

Mindy sat next to Greg again. She kept mostly quiet as they climbed out and settled into their flight path. He was drinking a glass of cognac and lost in a maze of tumultuous emotions. He wondered if anyone else in their party had any idea what he and Mindy had been up to? There was no reason to think they did, but there was also no reason to think they did not.

“I had a good time, Greg,” Mindy told him, sipping from her own drink. “I’m glad we were finally able to ... you know ... get together.”

“Yeah,” Greg said with a sigh.

“You okay?” she asked him. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’d think after the uh... fun we had on this trip you’d be in a better mood.”

“What happens when we get back to LA?” Greg asked her.

“Nothing happens,” she said with a shrug. “We go back to our normal lives. You go back to Celia and I go back to whatever I can dig up when I need some company. There’s no reason to think about it any further than that.”

“I wish it was that easy,” he said.

“It is that easy,” she assured him. “What happens on the promo trips stays on the promo trips. Everyone knows that.”

“I shouldn’t have done what I did,” he said.

“But you did,” she countered. “It’s over and done. You can’t un-fuck someone. That’s one of life’s great truths, you know. You’re just going to have to put it behind you, write it off as a good time and keep it as a good memory. At least, I hope it will be a good memory. It will be for me.”

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy what we did,” Greg said.

“I would hope you did enjoy it,” she whispered. “I don’t let just anyone into my ass.”

“Uh ... yes, of course,” he said. “But ... I’m not sure how I’m going to face Celia after this.”

“You face her like you’ve always faced her,” Mindy said. “What’s so hard about that?”

“I have a guilty conscious,” he said. “I’m afraid she’ll see what I did in my face the moment I step in the door. And if she doesn’t see it right away, she’ll certainly pick up on it when she asks me how the trip was. I can’t lie to her on that level.”

“Sure you can,” Mindy scoffed.

“What?”

“You’re an actor, Greggie, and a goddamn good one at that. You have been able to convince the world that you’re a rescue helicopter pilot and a hardened street cop. Why can’t you convince your wife that you’re the same old Greg she’s always known?”

“Well ... uh ... I never really thought about it like that,” he said.

“That’s how you need to think of it,” she said. “It’s a performance; a role to play like any other. You’re a method actor, just like I am. How hard can it be to simply play yourself in real life?”

“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “Maybe the best thing to do is just to confess what happened.”

“Don’t be a fool,” she admonished. “What will that get you? You did that after you fucked Cheryl, right?”

“Well ... right.”

“And how did that work out for you?” she enquired.

“Not very well,” he admitted. “I got the silent treatment for months and I’m pretty sure that Celia was on the brink of leaving me.”

“And how do you think she would react this time?” Mindy asked.

“I think she would leave me,” he admitted. “And immediately.”

“Right,” Mindy said. “So, what would be the point of confessing then? It would only hurt her and hurt you and destroy your marriage. That’s no solution.”

“But...”

“Look, Greggie,” she said. “What happened, happened. It’s over and done. I enjoyed it and I don’t regret it, but I’m not trying to take you away from your wife. This trip was just about exploring a little of the chemistry you and I had together. No one but the two of us knows what happened. There is no reason why anyone else has to know. I told you that the first night.”

She was making an awful lot of sense, Greg had to admit. There was no real reason to confess his sins and lots of reasons not to. “But what about...”

She was shaking her head. “There’s no buts,” she said firmly. “You go home and step into the role of Greg Oldfellow, successful actor with a blockbuster film about to premier and devoted husband. You play that role like you play any role. Get into character and stay in character and nobody will ever be the wiser.”

He took a deep breath and then nodded. “All right,” he said. “I find you make a good point.”

“I usually do,” she said.

The plane touched down at 8:34 PM, Pacific Time. Limousines were waiting at the general aviation terminal. Greg and Mindy shared a brief hug before they went their separate ways. Lancing reminded the two of them that they had another promo to attend next Friday night, when the film actually premiered nationwide.

The limo dropped Greg off in front of his home. While the driver got his luggage out so his servants could take it inside, Greg walked slowly up the path that led to the front door. He felt very nervous about facing Celia, but he took Mindy’s advice and got into character.

I’m Greg Oldfellow, successful actor, pompous ass, devoted husband who does not cheat on his wife. That is who I am.

And he felt the familiar calmness wash over him as he intoned this to himself, over and over.

He put a smile on his face and opened the door. Celia was there to greet him. She was wearing a pair of pink pajamas and no bra, her hair down around her shoulders. She had a smile on her face as well.

“Welcome home!” she greeted, coming up and throwing her arms around him.

He hugged her back, staying in character, and kissed her full lips with enthusiasm. “I missed you,” he told her.

“I missed you too,” she said. “How was the trip?”

“Tedious,” he said. “I think I can understand a little about how you feel when you’re on the road.”

She nodded knowingly, seemingly pleased at his insight. “Try it for two months at a time,” she suggested.

He asked her about how tour rehearsal was going. She gave him the rundown. They had apparently settled on a new violinist and were ready to start rehearsing in earnest now. From there, they talked a little more about the trip he had just returned from. He spoke for a long time about the Chicago premier and how the police officers had reacted to the film.

After a while, he declared that he was tired. His body was on east coast time, after all. They retired to the bedroom and made love in their usual fashion.

Celia never picked up on the guilt and shame he was concealing. He was sure of it.