Performance 4

This story features an undergraduate called Debbie, who we first met in later life in an earlier piece called "Tuition". It is narrated by a fellow student who shares for the first time some remarkably scandalous and, until now, highly confidential episodes from those formative years.

*************

It was at the beginning of my final year at Oxford that I first met her. I was climbing the spiral stair to Prof Jocelyn's study for the opening tutorial of the Michaelmas term and first saw those wonderful honey cream legs climbing ahead of me nicely profiled below a black mini in the style so resonant of the time. I followed her like a little puppy salivating over a bone until we both stopped outside the Prof's door and she turned and, looking me straight in the eye with a knowing smile, offered her hand:

"Hello -- I'm Debbie"

Hoping that my lechery had not been too obvious I nervously introduced myself. It was my lucky day for once. My contact with girls at Oxford had been minimal and that's overstating it! Being a working-class scholarship lad, I was too busy to enjoy the social delights. I never found the academic work easy and as a consequence became more introverted as the years passed.

Well, in the tight passageway outside the door I was in close proximity to a very lovely girl for the first time. She smelt of fresh mown hay and there was just a faint hint of an exotic perfume I did not recognise. The hair was long and naturally blond, her face was slightly plumpish with full lips and mischievous blue eyes and there was an unforgettable undefinable sexiness about her that suggested that anything was possible.

We entered and were bidden by the Prof into two easy chairs to wait for the third student of our group who never did show up. As we waited my eyes kept drifting from Debbie's thighs, as she sat with her legs crossed balancing her file on her knee, up to those beautiful fulsome tits outlined under her tight woollen cardigan. In those days, girls wore natural sheer bras and her nipples were sufficiently free to reveal their profile under her close-fitting top. Sitting nicely in the V of her jumper was a small glittering red stone on a gold chain which led the eye nicely down to the promised land.

Once the Prof got going, she proved to be a real star -- intelligent and clever -- knowledgeable and insightful. I had trouble keeping up and the Prof was clearly smitten -- I would need to up my game with Debbie.

As we finished the Prof found a reason to invite her back for a "one on one" -- and who could blame him -- and we were dismissed.

My wet dreams now featured Debbie in all her mischievous and tempting voluptuousness. I became obsessed but as I was off campus through that term and, despite a brief attempt at stalking before thinking better of it, our paths never crossed outside the Prof's apartment.

After several weeks the fire had cooled a little but the tutorial was still the highlight of my week. It was about now that the Prof let slip that he was coaching Debbie in preparation for an audition for the next Literary society production which he was directing. This was a modern re-telling of the story of Shakespeare's Hamlet adapted from the original by the Prof and his wife Angelica, but with Ophelia's doomed relationship with Hamlet and her subsequent madness becoming the focus of the play.

Debbie would be trying, at the Prof's suggestion, for the role of Ophelia and he suggested I might like to go for Rosencrantz or Guildenstern. I leapt at the opportunity and, on an inspiration, suggested to Debbie that I could read her scenes with her to help her learn her cues.

My place was out of the question as it was a dump and I was sharing with two other oiks so I fetched up at her room in hall, text in hand. She answered the door looking more beautiful than ever -- short black stretch woollen skirt and tight knitted top with bare arms and legs and no bra. You just knew there were no panties! This woman was "sex on speed" and I could feel the "little man" begin to stir and grow. This was much better than wanking over a dog eared "Penthouse" back at the flat.

Her room was a very cosy nest -- warm and homely with neat little vases of flowers, nice family photos, books -- mainly modern classics, and one picture portrait of a young guy with glasses looking very formal and un-trendy -- not with long hair and scruffy cords like the rest of us.

She got me a coffee and leapt on to the bed like a 10-year-old and faced me cross legged with her text in her lap so managing to artfully, or was it innocently, block my view. We read through her scenes and she was superb -- a force of nature in her developing madness with fingers pulling at her hair with an intensity that was a little scary in the confines of the small room. Finally, she was on her knees on the bed for the climax of the final scene and her contortions and enunciation in her agony were, well, truly orgasmic.

I burst into a round of applause and she broke into a broad smile. Of course, she got the part and so did I!!

We became good friends -- she was always easy to talk to -- and we began to take time out together -- pubs, concerts, coffees -- as well as rehearsals. The cast were a mixture of students, staff, young and old and all the men were smitten with Debbie and, in those days, were not afraid to show it. She enjoyed the adulation and seemed to blossom but always kept them at a distance. She smartened me up with a new wardrobe and when the invites to the Christmas Ball were delivered, she asked me to take her. I should say at this point that the physical side of our relationship was as yet non-existent! Pathetically I couldn't bring myself to make the first move and she gave me no encouragement in that direction.

The day of the Ball came and when I arrived at her rooms to pick her up and saw what she was wearing I was speechless. A very short black satin dress showing off those luscious thighs with thin shoulder straps dropping to a braless décolletage with her back and shoulders bare. Black patent strap heels with seamed black sheer tights and gathered hair bunched up with a silver choker around that very kissable vulnerable neck. Oh my -- fucka fuck fuck!!

Walking with her, arm in arm, into the great hall when all eyes turned to look at us -- well, actually, her -- was one of life's never to be forgotten moments. You could see the boys thinking - why him? Well, I had to agree on that one!! We spent the evening together and as the drink took effect, I took her in my arms to dance and couldn't stop my lips wandering over those shoulders and that gorgeous available neck. She did not object and pulled me closer. As my hard prick pushed against her she smiled and nuzzled into me before whispering in my ear:

"Do you want me to?"

I nodded hesitantly being unsure of her meaning??

"Let's go somewhere private."

We found a small closet behind the great hall. She dropped my trousers and released my prick and fell to her knees. Taking it in her hand she ran her tongue around the tip and just before I was about to erupt, she backed off and explored the shaft down to the root. Looking down on her I could see the tips of her breasts below the satin moving backwards and forwards in a sweet rhythm. I gently stroked her hair and neck and when she ran her ringed thumb and forefinger up and down the shaft in a rapid motion, I could take no more:

"Please Debbie .... Please..."

She took me to the sweetest of climaxes and beyond, continuing until I had no more to give.

"Debbie -- that was fucking brilliant -- I can't believe you just did that!!"

She smiled without saying a word.

Even in my innocence I could tell from her technique that this was not her first time and this added to the intoxicating mystery of Debbie. My overheated imagination went into overdrive with wild Debbie fantasies of debauchery and erotic discovery.

We cleaned up -- she fixed her make-up -- and re-joined the party. I couldn't comprehend what had just hit me and, to be frank, was in a bit of a stupor after my first and, to this day, still greatest blow job. She never mentioned it again and I delivered her back to her rooms early the following morning. She made it clear she did not want me to stay and I walked home in a haze of perfume, satin, blond hair and full cherry lips.

*********

We continued with rehearsals as normal and nothing more was said. I began to sense that she had relieved me out of kindness and that the act itself, for her, did not signify any change whatsoever in our relationship. We were still just good friends and nothing more.

Full rehearsals now came thick and fast with both Jocelyn and his wife Angelica sharing the directing. Ophelia was the focus of Angelica's attentions and she wanted to open up the interpretation to strongly suggest that Ophelia and Hamlet had been lovers. She encouraged Debbie to act the "mad wanton" and daringly suggested that, at the appropriate point, Ophelia should tempt Hamlet by self-touching and simulated masturbation. Debbie took this on enthusiastically and her performance, behind closed doors during rehearsals, became the talk of the college. I should add that I was now also part of this Jocelyn invented scene being the "Guard" who brings Ophelia on to the stage for the final act and physically restrains her in her madness before leading her away to the Nunnery. In the process Ophelia's ethereal nightdress is torn and dishevelled before the Guard manages to remove her.

As the scene developed through rehearsal it became more violent and, for me, more arousing. Laying hold of Debbie and almost wrestling her off stage gave me lots of opportunities to explore and get to know her body. She wore a diaphanous nightdress for the scene with flesh coloured bra and panties but her violent reaction against her restraint meant that my hands were everywhere. When Jocelyn suggested that Hamlet help me get her off stage it got even hotter. I began to harden as the scene developed and in my "Tudor" tights it was probably pretty obvious. It was here, on stage, in front of the cast and crew, that I found that I enjoyed being watched and I know, in retrospect, she felt the same -- to be in character in front of an audience released her and gave her a sensuous freedom to express herself without fear or reproach. She was not holding back and I saw that she was becoming increasingly obsessive about her performance.

Our tutorials with Jocelyn focussed increasingly on the madness of Ophelia and the sexual frustration which, with encouragement from Angelica during rehearsal, Debbie began to interpret as the prime motivation for Ophelia's condition. It was now that the invitations to her room dried up -- much to my regret -- but in rehearsal things were about to get seriously hot.

During the first lighting rehearsal, Angelica took Debbie away for a quiet conversation and, on the second run through, it was obvious to myself and the players that she was wearing nothing underneath her nightdress. The large dark areola around her nipples were clearly visible under the lights along with tell-tale swing of her breasts as she walked. Her cunt was a fuzzy dark shadow but her bum profile was very clear. The set was very quiet as she silently went through her positions and you could sense that the cast, waiting their turn in the auditorium, were totally captivated by her. When the time came for Hamlet and I to wrap our arms around her, the feel of her softness was deliciously arousing but I naturally backed off a little at the climax of the scene such that she could preserve her modesty but in her manic writhing it was almost impossible to keep her covered.

Word had got out and the run over seven days was a sell-out. In the college rag she was christened "The Sex Queen of Oxford" or "The hottest Ophelia ever" and in her interview she defended her exposure as being necessary and justified in the context of the production's interpretation of Ophelia's madness.

On the first night as I dragged her out on stage, she deliberately wrenched away from me briefly exposing one of her breasts which drew a gasp from the females in the audience. As she ran wildly across the stage, backwards and forwards in her agonies, I could feel myself growing and as I restrained her in a bear hug, she deliberately pushed her arse into my crutch. She had seen my predicament and, rather than hold back, she upped the tension and pulled her nightdress down so exposing her breasts to the audience for several seconds before Hamlet covered her with his cloak and helped me drag her off.

It was sensational and the reviews were full of praise for her performance and also somewhat scandalised. Apparently, an order came from the High Table to tone it down for the remainder of the run but the damage had been done. She was now notorious in college and kept to her room seeing no one. There was still no underwear for the remaining performances but there was no more tortured exposure of bare flesh.

At the last night party, she brazened it out and basked in the praise. Apparently, the RSC were interested and there was talk of a brief run in one of the satellite theatres in Stratford. Female nudity was a big draw at this time and would always guarantee a full house.

The fuss died down after a few weeks and student life returned to normal after all the excitements, but whenever I took Debbie for a coffee or a drink, she now attracted significant attention. Males would nakedly lust after her and females would huddle in corners pointing and giggling. She transformed herself and played up to her new daringly thespian image, delighting in her braless blouses and gossamer hippy dresses with boots or heels. The hair and make-up were becoming more exotic with long plaited tresses and she added various adornments including spectacular ear rings and lots of vivid silver pendants and bracelets. For me she was everything I wanted -- fiercely intelligent with that intoxicating vivacity and pride in her animal sexuality. I was unconditionally hers and I could not hide it.

*********

I saw much less of Debbie in the build up to Finals and I was beginning to plan for life after Oxford. It was therefore with great surprise that, over a rare morning coffee invite to her place, Debbie mentioned that they -- both him and her -- had been invited to stay with Jocelyn and Angelica for a week-end at their country house near Wantage. They had also invited "Hamlet "or, as I now knew him, Roger Forrester, one of Jocelyn's up and coming young men together with several leading academics both male and female from the Literary Society and the London scene.

I still lusted after Debbie and eagerly accepted the invitation hoping for one last opportunity to get into her bed. For our last tutorial Jocelyn invited Angelica and she brought a bottle of Pol Roger to toast our futures. She also opened up about their plans for the week-end.

"I'm so glad you could both come over to stay -- we are delighted. Now the forecast says it will be a hot week-end so we will open up the pool and we are planning, as always, a little entertainment for the evening in the garden. There will be several readings but, as the highlight, we would like you both and Roger to reprise the final "Mad" scene from the production!".

Debbie was very eager:

"That would be wonderful. I always felt that it could be improved if I were free to fully express myself in the part. If we read between the lines you can see that Ophelia is so desperate, she will do anything to tempt Hamlet to touch her and make love to her just one more time -- to make him jealous and realise what he is missing."

Angelica picked up the thread:

"Now -- how might she do that? Show herself to him?"

Debbie bounced back:

"I think more. The text could indicate that, in her frustrated condition, she attempts to seduce the Guard in front of Hamlet to provoke a reaction!"

Jocelyn was warming to the discussion:

"What effect does this have on Hamlet?"

Debbie countered:

"He recognises she is lost and is pitiless and dispenses with her. In effect he passes her on to the Guard."

Angelica continued:

"... and she uses the Guard as a kind of surrogate Hamlet to release her from her madness?"

Debbie nodded as Jocelyn developed the scene.

"Yes -- but how far would you want to take this -- between the two of you -- would the degenerate relationship between Ophelia and the Guard be consummated at the end of the scene?"

Debbie affirmed this conclusion:

"It's the only logical ending to the scene and confirms Hamlet's view that Ophelia is gone -- a lost woman whose only recourse is a forcible exile to a Nunnery. Without consummation Hamlet would be tempted to have her again but now she is spoiled and there is no return."

Angelica agreed:

"That is so powerful -- I would love to incorporate your interpretation into our playing of the scene. We can develop this approach when you come over -- yes -- on the Saturday morning before the performance in the evening."

*********

Jocelyn drove all three of us -- the Players -- down to Wantage on a very hot and sticky Friday afternoon. Thunder was brewing in the west but did not deliver the promised rain. It was clear from the conversation on the journey that Debbie and Roger were also good friends, which for me was not a good beginning in my final attempt to fuck Debbie. Whereas I was the skinny wimp from the masses, Roger was the intelligently charming strongly built product of the English Public School system with a muscular physique I could only sport in my dreams.

My feeling of inferiority was confirmed when both he and Debbie were put up in the main house along with the senior guests and I was despatched to a small room with a shared loo in the stable block. This was not going well!!

Once I was settled in, I wandered down to the pool and Debbie and Roger were already doing lengths. She was a great swimmer with her broad shoulders and powerful legs -- curvaceous but not outright muscular. Older men in Panamas and one or two middle aged women were congregating at the little bar by the pool, languidly discussing the latest sensations on the London Arts scene over glasses of Pimm's and now and again stealing a glance at the swimmers. Angelica introduced me to one or two people and, suddenly, I was able to perform. Before Oxford I would have shrunk away -- now I had something to say.

The guy I was talking to -- some high up from the BBC -- suddenly paused and looked over my shoulder. I turned and saw Debbie in all her glistening glory climb out of the pool. She was wearing a barely there yellow two piece, transparent in its wetness. The top was string tied with two triangles of yellow cradling those heavy tits and the bottom was a thong barely covering her pube. I had never seen her naked but this was the next best thing.

My companion gasped:

"Christ -- look at that -- is she yours?"

I had to admit that, unfortunately, she wasn't.

"To spank that arse -- can you imagine??"

My tastes were yet to move in that direction -- If I ever managed to have free roam over Debbie's body there were many, many things I would like to try but spanking was not one of them.

Debbie was making no attempt to cover up and came up to the bar for a drink leaving a trail of water droplets on the stones behind her. Angelica introduced her to two middle aged, rather blousy, lady friends and they were soon in animated conversation while Debbie was arching her back ringing out her hair on to the stones thereby putting the small triangles of yellow under even more strain and stretch. She had the most beautiful arse -- plump and upstanding with the view below to the inviting profile of the succulent lips of her cunt barely covered by the thin material.