Stagestruck, Chapter 1

  • Posted on July 26, 2015 at 10:32 am

By Louisa May

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in January 2005 }

I’m 41, I’ve been a professional actress for almost 20 years; and I recently experienced the most intensely erotic adventure, I suppose you’d call it, I have ever had. Ever. And that’s saying quite a lot, actually, because I’ve been around the block a few times.

And all the names and places have been changed and re-arranged, because I don’t want to get myself or anyone else involved in this… thing, in trouble. Because it would, ultimately, out of the short-sighted, narrow-minded, hypocritical, squeamish… alright, none of that. It is just SO too bad… criminal, really, that something so unbeLIEVably powerful and good and… ohh, what the hell, I had a love affair with an eleven-year-old girl, and I want to remember it forever. So no specifics. But it really happened. So… amazing. If I never touch another human being, the memory of my moments with Julianne Smith, who liked to be called Jules, will provide me with all the company I’ll need.

She’d been cast late, one of the three little girls who comprised the Greek chorus-like group downstage during much of my own scenes. It was a new play in a relatively large midwestern professional theatre, and I won’t reveal the title, either, in case the thing sprouts legs somewhere else and becomes successful. One never knows in this business.

I was the lead, playing the main character at her peak; two other actresses played the same role as a very young, and very old version of the same woman. At first there were two smaller girls perpetually downstage, observers, basically. But the director decided he wanted a triumvirate of preteens, so Julianne Smith was hired. Her mother had worked in the costume shop the year before, and Julianne had appeared in a few of the theatre’s summer musicals, as well as playing Scout in the last fall’s acclaimed production of “To Kill A Mockingbird.”

She had a fierce energy all her own, as well as the capacity for a joy that seemed boundless. I had starred in a few plays there in previous years, and she had seen me in a couple of them. On her first day of rehearsal, I came into the studio to see, written large on the blackboard, her looping note, “The Middle Mrs. Todd (my character’s name) is My GOD!!” I smiled. Wacky girl.

It WAS nice, though, to watch her. So animated, and so pretty; her face and limber limbs in fairly constant and intriguing motion. It took a while, and quite a few angry shouts from the director, to get her to stop gabbing and buckle down. But once she did, she lifted her compatriots’ performances with her own steely concentration. During a break, or while the director spoke to a tech person, I’d catch her looking at me every so often. I’d smile, or wave, and she’d do the same.

Once, during a short break, she sidled up to me, grinned shyly and said, “You are so… Awesome.” And blushed.

Kind of melted a bit of my hard heart, and I told her, “Hey, Scout… you’re pretty awesome yourself.”

To which she blushed even more, grinned hugely, and covered her face with her hands. A Muffled, “Aww, Jeez… thanks.” And peeked at me. I aimed an index finger at her freckled nose, and touched it. She giggled. Break over.

During a good part of my time onstage, even when I wasn’t speaking, the Little Three, as we called them, sat at the foot of the stage, looking up at me (or whomever was speaking–usually me). They were all dressed in a kind of toga-like nightgown, and for the most part, sat there quite ladylike, watching. Except for Miss Smith, who, often, would forget herself, and sit, rapt, her legs apart, panties quite visible. In her attention, she seemed completely unaware of her posture. Indeed, there seemed no scheme to it; she’d flash me at any time, sometimes so openly that it would seem she’d have to be aware.

But I did discover how unaware she really was.

For once we’d opened, and developed our various routine, one of them was Julianne’s ritual of knocking on my dressing room door, and, when I opened it, leaping into my arms, hugging me, kissing both cheeks, and fervently wishing me a ‘good show’. Then, with my tacit permission, she’d sit in my extra chair and watch me finish my makeup and costuming.

And this, I think, was where I first discovered the odd, slightly illicit thrill of dressing, and undressing, before this girl, while we talked about everything under the sun.

And one day, for no other reason I think than that it was a beautiful day, I was feeling a bit randy. And when Jules hugged me, I felt her legs press against me more than usual (she was always toga-ed by then), and smelled her breath by my cheek. And when she looked in my eyes and told me to “Have a Good Show”, I saw how amazingly golden and clear and really gorgeous those big eyes were. I looked longer than usual before responding with my ritual, “And you too, Jules,” and her mouth parted slightly, and she reddened slightly. Then I responded, and she breathed, and jumped down to her chair.

Maybe, too, my extra lewdness came out of the fact that I’d bought a new pair of sexy thong underwear, and actually (child-flasher!) was looking FORward to undressing that evening before the eagle eyes of Miss J.Smith. Perhaps.

Either way, as she began telling me all about her new big plan (she had about 3 a week) to form her own internet theatre company, I listened, and began undressing. First, my shirt, which revealed my new satin bra; then I turned, as usual, and began taking down my pants. I took longer than usual, and as my largish but quite presentable butt cheeks came into view, I heard Jules’ monologue slow, stammer, and ultimately stop. That happened when I bent to remove the pants, and KNEW I’d shown her a glimpse of my bare puss. The thong was so tiny, it was floss between my cheeks, and barely became a piece of substantial material until it reached my pubes on the other side.

So when I stood bent over, taking my sweet time examining my feet, I heard breathing, swallows, then a soft, small voice: “You… you got new underpants, huh?”

I actually stayed where I was and just peeked at her from around my leg.

“Mm-hmm… sale at Victoria’s Secret.” A slight wiggle. “You like ’em?”

Upside down to me, she nodded. “They’re really… nice.”

“Thank you, honey.” I massaged my arch. “Yours are pretty nice, too.”

A pause. “Huh?”

“Your underpants. Yellow with purple hearts?” I stood, turned.

Her mouth hung open, eyes wide. “How… how’d you know that?”

I smiled, tilted my head. “I see all, from where I am onstage.” I touched her nose. “And you don’t!”

She rolled her eyes and blushed from her frilled neck to her golden-banged hairline. “OhmyGOSH!”

I reached for my costume. “It doesn’t matter, no one else can see.”

“But YOU can!” she wailed, dramatically clutching her palms to her face.

I turned, thought. “Umm… yes, I can.” I smiled again and started putting on the robe. “It’s actually nice sometimes, see a little color up there. All this GRAY…”

The PA box intoned. “Five minutes pleae… five minutes to places, five minutes.”

“Ohmygosh, I have to go,” and Julianne scrambled to the door. She turned to me sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Oh stop, I told you, it’s FINE. I just noticed. You noticed mine.”

She thought about that one. “Okay. See ya. Oh, Mrs. Todd?” She usually called me by my character name.

I turned to her. “Hmm?” And she’d flipped up her toga, revealing those same yellow/purple panties. She wiggled her little bottom, then opened the door and ran out, laughing. I shook my head, feeling a small glowing under my thong.

A few days later, she got me. Since our conversation, Juliannne had become, apparently more aware of her exposure, and I rarely saw even a glimpse of any underthings. I realized I missed it, and chastised myself for telling her.

But that Saturday night, with a full house, she got me. She was enough of a pro to know not to distract me while I spoke, but when the time came that I stood onstage while the action occurred to one side, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a splash of unfamiliar color. I turned slightly, and saw little Julianne, with a slight knowing smile on her face, sitting cross-legged, her toga opened below to reveal panties a vivid pink. I caught her eye and she grinned. I smiled slightly, and felt my innards warm as she slowly, so slowly scooped her toga upwards to more fully unveil the obviously new neon pink panties. It was as if a delectable piece of pink candy had appeared among the gray set pieces. And when the light hit me, I leapt into the part again, renewed.

A light knock on my door at intermission. “Come!”

Her elfin head poked through the door.

I turned. “Wow… you sure got me.”

She smiled. “Did I?”

“You know you did.”

She blushed, seemed to decide something. “Umm… do you have time for me to show you something?”

I put down my water bottle. “What?”

She looked down at her sandals. “It’s a surprise.” She looked back up at me, her big, hazel eyes full of mischief, and… what? Excitement? Fear?


A gesture of haste. “C’mere.” And I stood and followed her.

She walked quickly down the hallway, then up a flight of back stairs. It was darker here, and she climbed one more flight before stopping me at the landing. “Wait. Close your eyes.” I did so, amused, intrigued. New panties? A home-made fan artwork?

I heard her climb the short set of steps above me, then a rustling.

“Okay. Open.”

I opened my eyes in the half-dark, and saw her sitting on the top step above me. Her legs were open, and her panties, I thought, were different, strangely patterned. I drew closer, and with a melting shock realized that it wasn’t her panties. She wasn’t wearing any.

“Oh, Jules…” She sat there, her lower lip slightly trembling, a small half-smile on her cute face. And what I’d thought was a pattern was actually her bare, hairless little slit, with a wonderfully pendulous little set of labia protruding from her slit like petals.

I drew even closer, to the step right below her. “It’s so dark, it’s kinda hard to see…” Whereupon she opened her slim legs even further, and drew her toga-gown up above her waist. She half-whispered, “I just… I wanted to show you… to give you this…” Her smile was weakening, her resolve tremulous.

“Oh, Jules, honey…” I looked up into her shining eyes. “You are so beautiful, my darling.” And she took a deep, deep breath, and smiled. I held my arms out to her and she stood and embraced me. Her legs wrapped around my waist. She buried her face in my neck.

“Can I touch you, sweetie?” I whispered. She nodded in my neck, and I ran my hand underneath her gown, feeling thewarmtht of her smooth young bottom against my hand. My long fingers glided down her shallow crack, the tips kissing her surprisingly hot little anus. The fingers trailed lower, and she shifted against me, her legs parting around me to get a better purchase, and to open herself for me. A soft sigh from her, as I touched her damp little slit, the so soft petals of those fantastic little pussy lips. They seemed to move slightly, as a snail against my sensitive fingertips.

I leaned and kissed her golden, close-cropped hair, as I sank a finger gently into her seeping slit. A breathy mewing from her, and I felt her kiss my neck. Another finger touched the tiny, pearly nub at the apex of her slick little pocket, and her sigh told me the little clit was hungry for me, so I circled, and circled, and squeezed the lips, and drew my fingers in and out and through the quivering slit.

And she was now working her hips around me, her fresh little bottom squeezing and opening, her lithe thighs rippling against my sides, as she felt the urgent newness of orgasm rise inside her. Her mewing became panting, became a kind of savage moaning, soft, whispering shakily in my ear. I leaned down further and brushed my lips against her her temple, and she brought her flushed face up to mine, and we kissed. And kissed, and I drove my tongue inside her sighing mouth, as she really started coming on my rapidly moving fingers. Her huffs and sighings echoed, rustling, through the stairwell, as she held me tightly, tightly, and had her first orgasm with me fingerfucking her in my arms.

And all this took short, heartwinded minutes, and we kissed, and whispered, and knew we must be still as separate beings in our life, and knew as well we’d find the moments, somehow, to be ours.

Continue on to Chapter 2


5 Comments on Stagestruck, Chapter 1

  1. kim says:

    Read this a long time ago and really enjoyed this story.

    Kim & Sue

  2. Captain Midnight says:

    I haven’t seen the Edward Albee play “3 Tall Women,” but doesn’t it feature three women–one in her 90s, one middle-aged, and one young? Is this show the same one?

  3. Saroig says:

    Louisa May is one of the best writers of Lesbian litreture. I just love the way she describs love and sex relations between mature and imature females.
    So sad that Louisa May writes NO MORE.

    • JetBoy says:

      Not true! We posted a new story from her last year around Christmas time… and we’re working on another new one of hers right now. Louisa May is BACK, baby… and don’t you forget it!

  4. sue says:

    I miss Louisa May. Love this story. She was back and then gone again. This story is so hot!

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