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to Janes room, I thought dirtily, getting even hotter.
I could smell Masha: some kind of sandal woody fragrance, the wine on her breath, the peppermint soap she used. I tried not to notice the pressure of her fingers on my stomach. I was starting to sweat. Finally, I felt her shift.
"Kelsey, I dont think I can do this," I heard her whisper. Then I felt her tongue on the back of my neck.
"Mmm," I said.
She started kissing the back of my neck and reached under the t-shirt to slide her hand slowly up my ribcage.
"I wanted to just hold you," she said. "To prove I wasnt after you for your body. But youre warm and so edible." Her hand came closer to my breast. "I just cant do it."
She cupped my breast, and my nipple grew hard in her palm. I tried to roll over and face her, but she wasnt letting me. She pressed herself into my back even harder, reaching under me with her right arm and pulling apart my legs. Her fingers trailed along my spread thighs as her other hand tweaked my nipple. I gasped as she nibbled my neck.
I tried again to face her.
"Stop," she commanded. "Just let me."
Her fingers reached my labia, and I gave up. She teased me, barely brushing my outer lips and then retreating to drag her hand up and down my thighs. I was so wet I knew she could feel it, even though she hadnt reached up that far. I moaned, and she made a beeline for my pussy. When she reached it, she bit into my neck and pushed her finger into my slit. I spread myself as open as I could for her, and pushed my cunt onto her hand. Her thumb found my clit and she rubbed it gently as her finger pulled out of me. I whimpered in protest, but she came back inside with two fingers this time, her thumb still stroking. She fucked me slowly, her thumb dancing on my clit until I came. After my orgasm, she let me roll over.
I kissed her into submission, and we made love all night. In the morning I didnt know what day it was.
Several weeks into rehearsals, the cast met with the costume designer. I was shocked to see I would be wearing a pink teddy for several scenes, though in all but one I would have a satin robe on over it. The teddy did a better job of accentuating what I had than of covering me. Also, I could see from the design of the robe that it would always be falling open.
What concerned me most, however, was the scene in which Id be without the robe. We hadnt rehearsed it yet. In it, Id be alone on stage, waking up from a nightmare. From the script, I knew it would be difficult. There was virtually no dialogue, and the stage directions were vague. In about two minutes I had to go
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from a dead sleep to a crying hysterical mess. I knew that Josh wanted to give me time to figure it out before working on it with me, but I was terrified. Id put off even looking at it because I didnt know where to start. Now that I saw Id be almost naked, I was even more reluctant.
I tried to argue about the teddy, to no avail. Even Masha sided with the designer. Her name was Sydney, and she was a cute, butchy feminist. We had some friends in common, and she was the last person Id expect to design a needlessly revealing costume.
"Look," Masha said, in Sydneys defense, "it was the 50s. This is what 20-something women slept in."
Still, I whined. I glared at Sydney across the table.
"Rose is young and vibrant," Josh piped in. "Thats the whole point of her—that she escaped from the Holocaust seemingly unscathed. Shes romantic. She wants to live. She wants a man. She wants to look like Marilyn Monroe."
I sighed and rolled my eyes. I looked at Masha, who was trying not to laugh.
"Cant she just wear a nice dress?" I said. "Something with a slit up the side?"
"To sleep in?" said Sydney. I looked at her. She gnawed on her pen.
"Well, what else did women wear to bed in the 50s?" I pleaded.
Sydney pulled her chair around to me and got several sketches out of her portfolio. She sat backwards on it and began to show them to me while the others talked about the rehearsal schedule over Thanksgiving. I realized I was monopolizing the designer, but since no one else had a problem with costumes, I figured it was okay.
"When researching the time period," she began patiently, "I found seven basic styles of sleepwear for women." She flipped through the drawings slowly. She was so close her knees were surrounding me.
I tried to look at her sketches but was noticing her mussed hair, which was black and short. Her eyes were gray, and she was wearing baggy, olive green cargo pants and a white t-shirt. Her forearms were tanned and muscular. I imagined them getting that way from her drawing for hours, propped on her elbows, outdoors somewhere. When she got to the last drawing, she leaned in, her eyes meeting mine.
"I think youll agree," she said quietly, "that none of these other six is anything Rose would wear."
I looked at the pictures. I could hardly think, but knew she was right. All of the other styles were either too old or too masculine. It had to be a teddy. But pink?
"Most teddies were pink," Sydney answered before I asked. "White was also an option, but white works horribly on stage. It gets dirty too easily; it makes a glare with the lights; it tends to be transparent." She met my eyes with a lopsided grin. "Plus," she said, "Rose seemed pink to me."
I knew defeat when I saw it. I thanked Sydney, pushed her knee aside, and got
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