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I was dating this girl named Wendy who was an actress. Or, she was trying to be an actress. I'd seen her in one of those way-off-Broadway productions where everyone runs around the stage yelling and the plot doesn't make any sense. A friend of mine was also in that show, and afterward I went to the bar where they all hung out discussing how things had gone during the performance. Wendy had asked me how I liked the show, and I told her she was the best part. This was somewhat true, because Wendy had been naked throughout the second act, and she looked very good that way.

Anyway, we'd been dating for about three weeks, close to a month. We'd had sex after our second date. We almost had sex on our first except neither of us had a condom. It was sort of a relief, not having a rubber that time, because we were moving awfully fast and neither one of us had the resolve to put on the brakes once our clothes had come off. I, of course, had seen her naked once before, so it was a big turn-on for me, to have her rolling around next to me now. I had noticed when she was onstage that she had a large mole just above her hip. It was kind of sexy and I'd thought, "I'd like to be up close to that." And here I was! It was right in front of me! I could lick it if I wanted.

Wendy had some kind of oral fixation and kept lunging down and putting my penis in her mouth. Like most men, I had no objection to this kind of thing, but it was making me a little nervous too. She was very enthusiastic and attentive and her attention to detail made me begin to worry she might find some kind of flaw down there. I'd never seen my own penis as up close as she was seeing it right then. That's when I pulled her up towards me and tried to have sex.

"Do you any protection?" she had asked.

"No, do you?"

"No."

We waited several awkward moments and then she went back to what she was doing before, the blowjob. On our next date I brought about twelve condoms. We used two of them.

So, like I said, we had been dating for almost a month and had been going at it like rabbits. It was exhausting. I was beginning to develop a theory about dating actresses, because I had previously dated another one and she was voracious as well. Come to think of it, both of them, Wendy and this other one, were what you'd call struggling actresses, and so I think my theory, which stated that all actresses have large sexual appetites, actually applied more to the struggling ones. Not that it was a very scientific theory anyway.

Wendy would literally take a running start at me sometimes and we'd both fly onto her bed and land with a flop. Her bed consisted of this big saggy mattress, and it wasn't an ideal platform for the things we were trying to do. Her poor neighbors must have hated us. The springs would squeak and every so often we'd roll sloppily onto the floor. I had bruises all over my knees and elbows. My penis was getting sore too, mostly from the sucking, which did not die down even though we'd moved on to sex as well.
One time Wendy told me her father was coming into town to see her in this new show she was in. She'd been rehearsing it for the past two weeks and as far as I could tell she was onstage for a total of forty-five seconds. She walked on, got hit in the face with a pie, and then said some line about a sinking ship and how it was better to stay aboard than live life as a coward. It was all some kind of avant-garde theater piece, so nothing was supposed to make any sense. At least I think that was the point. I was afraid to dig very deep because her explanation of the "thematic proportions" sort of irritated me. Wendy was very smart and attractive and I thought this type of theater underutilized her talents.

Her father's name was Mort, and he was a former Heisman Trophy winner. He'd played fullback for USC in the 1960's. He had agreed to marry Wendy's mother, a former cheerleader, only after Wendy was born, and the union didn't last. He tried to remain close to Wendy, though, or so it seemed. He would come into the city every time she was in a new production.

We all went out to dinner after the show. Mort had looked me over with a lot of skepticism when we met at the theater. I could tell he'd been through all this before, meeting his beautiful daughter's loser boyfriends and having to pay for their dinner.

Wendy leaned over to Mort after we all sat down and said, "So, Dad, what do you think?"

I was horrified for a moment because I thought she was asking about me, wondering what Mort thought of me, but she meant the play, which, by the way, was atrocious. You couldn't have paid me a thousand dollars to sit through that tripe again. Even the part where Wendy got pelted by the pie was poorly done. Her line about the sinking ship was inaudible because some fellow in a bird suit was chirping on the other end of the stage.

Mort said, "I liked it just fine, honey." I could tell he'd used that response before on many an occasion.

"I know it wasn't a traditional production," said Wendy.

"It sure wasn't," I said.