We were just about to go on stage for the final scene of the final performance of _____. It was a community theatre piece, written by my co-star, Jackson. It was a two-hander, just me and him onstage for about an hour. He played a crooked cop determined to put my character – a troubled but mostly-innocent young man -- behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit.

There was a short break while Jason, the stagehand, changed the set. In the dark of the wings, I heard Simon’s voice softly through a headset hanging on the wall behind me.

“Standby cue 28. Break a leg, boys.”

Simon was our stage manager, up in the booth above the audience. He had a great voice. Calm, even, confident. For a second I pictured him up there in that dark control room. Dark hair, strong body with a little meat on his bones, sitting relaxed and ready. And for another second I thought about how easy it would be for him to be sitting there naked. Watching us. In control.

Settle down.

I couldn’t get excited right now. The last scene was an interrogation: Jackson’s character coming down on me hard in the climactic scene of the play, while my character was tied to a chair centre stage. I was supposed to be worn down and helpless, stripped of everything except a pair of thin, grey jogging shorts and a lingering defiance. Those shorts were the problem. If I got an erection now, there was nowhere to go. I’d still have to walk out on that stage and take my place. The show must go on.

“Break a leg. Thanks, Simon.”

Jackson was back from his costume change. He was right behind me, talking into the headset. He seemed excited, more electric than usual. The wings weren’t very big, so we were standing close, waiting for the scene change to finish. I could feel his heat on my bare back. I pictured his athletic, muscular frame just inches away from mine in the dark.

Settle down. Focus.

I felt him lean in close to my ear. “I’ve got some friends in the audience tonight. Going to do things a little bit differently. Just play along.”

I turned my head toward him and our faces almost touched. I felt my dick swell up in my shorts, just enough that only I would notice. I’d been attracted to Jackson since I met him, but our relationship was strictly platonic. I’d only known him for a month or so – and I wasn’t even sure if he was gay. Now, the magnetic force in the couple of inches between us made me ache.

I nodded slightly. Last-show pranks were frowned upon, but Jackson was the playwright, so I was willing to go along with whatever he had in mind. He’d probably already let Simon know what to expect.

“Cue 28… go.”

The dim, pre-scene lights came up on the stage in front of me. I willed myself into character and stepped out into the makeshift interrogation room. The set was simple, with only a single, metal folding chair, front and centre. I sat down and put my hands behind my back, behind the back of the chair. Jason, dressed as a guard, came over and tied my wrists together. Maybe a little tighter than usual.

I could feel the audience in front of me. It was a full house. People had seemed to like the performance so far tonight. They’d laughed and clapped at all the right places. Now I thought we had them right where we wanted them – on the edge of their seats. My heart was beating quickly but luckily, at the moment, my semi had relaxed. My shorts weren’t showing anything, so long as no one in the front row was looking up the legs.

Suddenly, right on cue, an intense spotlight blazed down on me like an interrogation lamp. I felt the heat from the light against my skin. Tiny beads of sweat formed on my chest and shoulders. I moved as if to try to reposition myself and get more comfortable in the hard chair. Jason had definitely tied my wrists tighter than usual.

Focus.

Jackson was on stage now, moving through the opening lines of the scene. His blocking was all behind me. I could only hear him, upstage. The spotlight almost blinded me and I couldn’t see the audience. I – my character – was alone. Vulnerable.

I didn’t have many lines. My character was only reacting to Jackson’s. My job as an actor was mostly physical at this point, showing what my character was feeling through the small movements I could still make while tied to that chair, staring into the bright interrogation light. I squirmed in my seat, my character wanting to get away but knowing he was trapped.

Then the light was blocked. Jackson stood in front of me, facing me, with his back to the audience. His character’s frustration was coming to a boiling point. The script called for us to fake a vicious, back-handed slap – and we usually did it so well the audience gasped. I got ready for Jackson to make his move.

But he didn’t.

Instead of bringing his right hand up to hit me, he leaned over and put his hands on my thighs so that his face was just inches from mine. My heart jumped into my throat. He kept saying his lines but all I could think about were his hands on my legs. The only thing separating him from me was a thin layer of cotton. I felt his warmth on my face, the heat of his hands on my lap. My cock started growing again in my shorts.

I stared into his eyes, aroused and terrified. He must have known what was happening. He continued his lines intensely, staring right back at me, as my dick helplessly jumped and filled up. I could feel it pushing against my shorts, holding them up. And then I felt my pre-cum seep from my tip and absorb into the material. In a few seconds, Jackson would move away, leaving me sitting alone in a spotlight with a huge erection in front of 150 people.

I was breathing fast. My chest was heaving as I looked helplessly at Jackson, hoping he would understand. There was nothing I could do, but if he stayed where he was just a few moments maybe I could get things under control. Jackson flashed a smile that the audience couldn’t see. Staring into his eyes I suddenly knew what he wanted to do “a little bit differently.”

A surge of adrenaline went through me. My heart pounded in my chest. I quickly glanced down at my dick, aching and oozing under my shorts. And then I looked up again into Jackson’s dark brown eyes. He was waiting. I moved slightly so the audience couldn’t see. I nodded.

I felt his hands move quickly up to my waistband. In the next second, he pulled my shorts from under me and over my massively erect cock. I was helpless to stop him even if I’d wanted to, my hands securely behind the chair. He stepped aside, and I was suddenly naked, with my shorts around my ankles – not just erect but fully exposed to the audience.

Time stood still. I didn’t hear a sound from the audience, but I could feel them in front of me. I waited, staring into the lights, thinking Simon would cut them. He didn’t. Now their warmth bathed the rest of my bare skin and made me even harder. The sweat on my chest and shoulders shone in the light. My character struggled in the chair, straining against the ropes. He still wanted to get away, but I wanted to stay.

Suddenly there were two hands on my shoulders. Jackson was continuing the scene. His strong hands held me down while he said his lines, stage-whispering plot points into my ear. His deep voice was so close, even closer than the audience watching us. The aching returned and I gave in, my dick throbbing in front of me as I felt his breath on my cheek.

The scene moved on. I sat there, exposed, while Jackson gave the performance of the season. His voice intensified as the scene neared its climax. I tried to play my part but my heart was racing and the blood rushing through my body made it hard to think. All I could think about was Jackson, the audience I couldn’t see, and my thick cock pulsating and oozing pre-cum.

As he started his final speech, Jackson crouched down at my side. He put his hand on my knee and I nearly exploded. My head rolled back as he moved his hand up the inside of my thigh. My cock twitched and jumped. I didn’t care about the lights, or the play, or the audience. All I wanted was for Jackson to grab my cock and make me cum. To stop the torture and release me.

And then suddenly, in front of everyone, I felt his hand close around my throbbing erection. My back arched in the chair and I groaned as cum erupted out of me and flew into the spotlight around us. I strained against the rope around my wrists and the back of the chair as my body rocked with the public orgasm that was consuming me.

When it was over, I sat slumped in the chair, my chest heaving as I recovered, sweaty and spent, in the warmth of the lights. Jackson, unphased, moved upstage, behind me. Leaning close over my shoulder he delivered the final line of the play, pregnant with a meaning it hadn’t had before.

“You’ve already told me everything I need to know.”

Up in the booth, Simon gave one last command, and the stage went dark.