Thursday, October 22, 2009

The Green Room, a Story

A theatrical interlude... The result of another Alison Tyler flasher contest -- this piece is roughly 1,000 words -- where inspiration was an artistic rendering (above) by Mr. Naked Chicks on Post-it Notes. This tale is also the companion piece to Fucking Green, a lustfully verdant palate-cleanser hosted by the most hospitable Donna George Storey. Ticket, please!

The Green Room
© 2008-2009 by EllaRegina

I've always been a sucker for Broadway. Some productions appeal to me more than others and so it was with WICKED. As it happens I also had a crush on the woman who played the Wicked Witch of the West, otherwise known as Elphaba. I didn't know her actual name—despite my devotion to show business I never look at a PLAYBILL—but it was love at first sight. I simply had to have her.

I went to matinées almost every week. I attended nightly performances on a regular basis. I hung around stage door and finally got her autograph. She wasn't green then, except for her eyes. The long nose was off but she was no less dazzling. And, when she signed my PLAYBILL with her green Sharpie and looked straight into my baby blues, I knew and she knew it, too.

The next week there I was, Thursday night, ten to eight, center Orchestra, ninth row: just perfect. When Elphaba came on stage she looked directly at me and I nearly lost it. According to legend, after the Beatles performed on the Ed Sullivan Show the audience seats required re-upholstering, so copious was the collective female effluvia. I was producing quite a stream myself, leaving behind a sopping bouquet for whomever would be sweeping up gum wrappers post-curtain.

Right before intermission Elphaba gave me a special wink. I knew what it meant and I knew what to do. It was going to be a longer break than usual that night. Something had gone wrong with a gobo light filter—green of course—and they needed extra time for its repair. I snuck backstage. I knew this theater like a blind man knows how many paces take him to the bus stop. I found Elphaba in her Green Room, sitting on the make-up counter, pointy boots swinging, drinking Coca-Cola from a bottle, the old-fashioned kind, made with thick green glass. Everything in the room was green: the walls, the daybed, the flowers, stuffed animals from fans... And, Elphaba.

She motioned for me to come closer. We would never exchange a word. I knew she was capable of speech—and of singing!—but we communicated in other ways. She started taking off her costume. Even with her nose she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. She threw her black dress on a green vinyl armchair and undid several more layers until she got to her flesh—all of it green. I had read somewhere that she was a Method actress and liked to stay in character while costumed. She demanded the full body coat of green, though most of it would not be visible on stage. She was regal, like the Statue of Liberty, only naked and in a different hue—more of an emerald, like her eyes. She even dyed her pubic hair for the role. Never was there a more dedicated actress.

Elphaba gestured that I disrobe and I did. When my clothes were off, none of them the proper color, she put her soft green-nailed fingers over my eyes and gently slid the lids shut.

It felt funny at first—like having your teeth cleaned with that mini-sandblaster—the paint sprayer going over my body. Elphaba was good at this. She did it every day. And it was easier airbrushing someone else. I dried quickly and was all hers. She drew me close, her green lips meeting mine in a verdant kiss. It took a few seconds to adjust to the nose—it was all in the angle. If I'd had pants on I would have peed in them. I had to lie down, it was far too much for me. I was shaking.

Elphaba sensed my nervousness and led me to the daybed where we lay down together. We continued kissing, our red tongues the only things out of order color-wise, though with red being the complement to green maybe not. I wrapped my green legs around hers. She took me in her green arms. She smelled like a Granny Smith apple, like grass, like basil, like cucumber, certainly nothing like a witch. The paint tasted of kiwi, of springtime, of lime all-day suckers. I couldn't stop licking her. She couldn't stop licking me. Fortunately the paint was saliva-proof; she needed to be onstage in a half-hour.

Elphaba's face found its way to my pussy, or the other way around, and there I was, sitting in a Green Room at the Gershwin Theatre on West 51st Street in New York City, with a green nose fucking the life out of my green-sprayed pussy. She was talented, Elphaba was. The best lover a girl could have. It was a shame she had to take the nose off each night—it had magical powers—but I bet she had other tricks. I came on her face, my juices making the paint glossy. Then I put my head between her green legs and spread them wide, putting my tongue inside her, finding the one place that made her wiggle. With the help of a few fingers I located it. Perhaps they named the G-spot after the color green. I made her come with my hands and mouth and she arched her green body in delight. It's funny—in the theater world wearing green is considered bad luck, but for Elphaba and me it was anything but. The clock seemed not to be ticking but I knew that it was. Soon there was a knock on the door and an announcement: curtain going up in ten minutes.

We put ourselves back together. I hoped I would see Elphaba again, like this, but who could be sure? I know I'm not her only fan. In five minutes I was reinstalled atop my damp seat, not concerned in the least that everyone was staring at me and probably wondering why I was green. I bet they could figure it out. But I didn't care who knew. And shortly, after the orchestra tuned up for the final time, the curtain rose and there was my green girl, looking me straight in the eye. She smiled—her emerald skin framing luminous white teeth; a marquee lighting up the theater—and I knew we were the luckiest girls on Broadway.

Copyright 2008-2009 EllaRegina. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without prior written permission from the author.

Monday, October 5, 2009

BLIND TASTING, a Story. (Complete Menu.)

The editors of Sliptongue Magazine, with their most discerning and refined palate, have chosen my "culinary" exploration, Blind Tasting, for permanent display within their eternally-revolving virtual dessert showcase.

All courses, a full meal. Bring your utensils and an empty stomach.