Brightlights

We didn’t find out it was a story telling competition until John and I got to the front door to check in. Once inside there was a sign-in sheet and next to that a sheet for contest participants to sign up with the prizes listed at the bottom. The list made me grin. Adult themed toys and accessories provided by Passional Boutique. Passional is well known for everything from sex toys and lingerie to fetish wear and other BDSM paraphernalia as well as sex education classes about any and everything sex related you can think of.

The theme for the night was “What I didn’t know was,” it had to be a true story told from memory and you only had like 5 minutes to finish the story. At first I wasn’t going to compete but my fiancé wasn’t hearing it. He hyped me up telling me how good of a writer I am etc. Unconvinced I rolled my eyes so he pulled out the big guns and told me that if I entered the contest he would too. You could’ve bought me with a barrel of crab apples and six wooden nickels’. I couldn’t wait to hear the story he would tell. Despite the fact that he was only four months and one day older than me he’d been way more sexually experienced. 

We took our seats and sat through the first half of the contestants stories. Some of them were pretty good, others not so much. Although I’m sure for most of them the issue was stage fright and more than a little embarrassment. There was no alcohol to grease inhibitions so you had to get on stage sans liquid courage in front of a bunch of strangers and expose your naughty’s to the room at large and be judged to boot.

My heart lurched every time the M.C. said “And next up is,” then sunk back into my stomach when the name called wasn’t mine. Relieved I would take a deep breath and rub over my pounding heart. John would pat my leg or rub my arm trying to comfort me. 

Admittedly it had helped some, then frustration would seep into my brain, reminding me that now I would have to wait through yet another story and contestant selection. Talk about nerve wracking.

The latest contestant finished their story the M.C. told a few risqué jokes about the tale just recited then announced intermission. I wanted to throw something but I was too eager to get the hell out of there.

John and I had stood in the little courtyard in front of the Rotunda deciding where to eat. As we bickered the M.C./judge walked up to us. She’d remembered us from her performance the previous night. Asked where she could grab a bite nearby. As usual throughout the exchange John did all the talking. 

Finally she’d gotten around to asking if either of us were contestants, my fiancé said that I was. The woman (it was over ten years ago so I don’t remember her name anymore sorry) turns to me and starts asking me questions about my upcoming performance. Her lips had moved. I'd seen them. But to my panic addled brain might as well have been one of the grown-ups from the peanuts cartoons. Whomp, whomp, whomp, whomp, whomp.

My mouth had opened but not a single syllable left my throat. Not my name, or that I was born and raised in Philly, or that I’ve been writing since my Green eggs and ham days in elementary school, nada. It was bad. I mean if someone had come up to us with a 45 and said tell her your name or I’m gonna shoot your boyfriend, John would’ve died that night cause I was stuck. After a minute or so my fiance and the MC realized that I really wasn’t going to talk so he took over. Telling the MC how talented a writer I was, how sweet and sexy my voice was etc. She smiled and nodded “Well good luck, I’ll see you inside,” the M.C. said then left. I was so humiliated I nearly cried feeling like such a freak.

It would have been easier if I’d been born a leper. Then at least people could see I was afflicted and not think I’m just some rude weird chick that thinks she’s too good to talk to them. I’d whined at John as we’d walked back from McDonalds. He assured me that the MC was a professional and had seen stage fright before and didn’t think I was a freak or weirdo. That I would nail it on stage and to stop worrying. John's belief in me not only helped but felt good too.

 I swear the MC chose me next just to see if I would choke on stage. Now that’s not to say that my future husbands’ high praise had nothing to do with stoking her curiosity. Or it could have just been a coincidence and I was next on their list anyway. Whichever way the cosmos had set it into motion my name was called and I headed up to the stage.

I looked out at the thirty or so people sitting in plastic folding chairs surrounding the stage. I could feel their eyes boring into me curious maybe even a little judgmentally as they applauded politely. 

Ironically being on stage felt good, reminiscent of my late teens acting in plays. It’s funny the things you remember after not being on stage for ten years. Like the stage lights, I’d forgotten just how hot those freakin’ things get. I literally felt like I was melting as sweat beaded on my face and everywhere else on my body.

 Fear crowded me, an insidious voice in my ear whispering RUN RUN RuuuuN. Doing my best to ignore it I take the microphone in my hand. I imagined I was a sauceress I was holding a powerful scepter. The stage lights glinting off the silver mesh of the mic’s head, glittering as if it were infusing me with a magic that held my panic on the fringes of my awareness.

I’d taken a deep breath, scanned the room once then began. I would have been shocked my darn self but I was too wrapped up in the memory. In my mind’s eye I could see myself. Young, shy and uncertain letting myself get swept away in urges and the directions of the two bold personalities of my partners for the evening.

I felt the audience’s mood shift as my voice changed. Becoming husky and soft ensnaring their imaginations pulling them into the tale with me. The way she responded. How big he’d felt cradling my body as he’d guided my every move. The symphony we three created in moments of selfless giving and exploration. A beautiful experience to share.

When I was on that stage, time seemed to warp. Those few minutes flying by at a snail’s pace all said and done before I knew it. So caught up in the retelling I’m startled when the absolute quiet of the room is disturbed by the judges’ cell phone alarm blaring. My time was up. The audience had been so engrossed I got an extra two minutes to complete my story.

  All three judges and the entire audience erupted in a round of applause. Grinning happily I thanked them, gave a small bow then returned to my seat. John hugged me so tight. The MC took the stage complimenting me on my unexpected performance. Naturally they called on my fiancé next. I swear we hadn’t planned it, pointedly didn’t talk about the stories we would share for the contest. John got up and told the same story from his point of view. I’m not gonna lie, the way it played out was fire. I loved sitting in the audience blushing and reminiscing as he told his version of those beatific moments.

The remaining contestants had taken their turns at the mic. I’m not gonna front, by the time it got down to the last two contestants I was feeling pretty cocky about my chances of taking home the first place prizes. Still I sat and listened fascinated by the diverse tales from a myriad of love styles. After the last stories were told the audience members were given ballads to vote for their favorite. Followed by a five minute break while the judges conferred. Now while I was low key cocky. My fiancé was very vocal that I was the best one that night and I was a shoe in to win first prize.

 After she’d given props to everyone that had participated. The M.C. started announcing the winners starting with the audience's favorite which wasn’t me. Followed by first place who was yours truly. Second place was my fiancé and third place was another lady. There were rumbles that we both shouldn’t have won, that we’d rigged our presentations etc. I’d been a little offended. It had taken a lot of courage for me to get up on stage and perform. I’d just shared things that I’d never talked about with anyone except my future hubby and the lady that had shared that night with us. Then I’d thought who cares let them hate, I was the one taking home the glass rose massager with leather case along with two bags full of fun grown up stuff from Passional’s.

As the auditorium cleared some folks lingered to talk, congratulate, and discuss how affected we’d all been by the very stimulating stories shared that evening. The M.C. came over and personally congratulated me shaking my hand confessing what we’d both thought that I was gonna take the stage and become  a statue. 

One of the judges had been Dr. Susana Mayer the creator/M.C. of The Erotic Literary Salon (E.L.S.) Dr. Mayer had not only invited me to read at the next E.L.S. meet up, she’d also invited me to contribute to her latest book project. Sensensual 2 an anthology of erotic short stories collected from amatuer writers and E.L.S. participants. In that moment, Miss America couldn’t have been prouder. Once that book was published I would officially become an Author. I’d been so happy and proud I’d nearly cried as I gushing to my fiancé high off the night's triumphs. One of the first challenges of many where my bravery won out over my anxiety.