Inviting Desire, Callback Audition Piece!

So, for those of you keeping track of these things, I've been invited to a callback audition for "Inviting Desire", the piece I auditioned for a few weeks back that explores women's sexuality, erotic personae and fantasy, created by a former Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts colleague of mine. At the initial audition I was encouraged to really push limits in terms of erotica and taking risks. I know that the creator and director has made some changes to her vision about this year's rendition of the show and is focusing on increasing diversity amongst the cast and their expressed experience.
The piece I plan to use is pure erotic fantasy and comes from a longer, either written or performance piece, called, "Bad leg, Nice Ass" about disabled women's sexual expression, experience, fantasy, reality and personae, that I've been working on, on paper and in my head for years.
I will include the piece here, because I know that you are all adults and can make choices about what kind of exposure you want to these kind of subjects, a warning- the piece I am performing at the callback audition is pure fantasy and fits the critique I was given at the initial audition to really push the limits and take risks, it is definitely racy and honest! The language is very explicit and meant for adults. If you think that you will be offended by the language and content, feel free to stop reading now.
I find it important to include the audition piece here as, having the courage to do so is the first step in my being able to perform it tomorrow evening, quite a risk indeed. It is important that I share all aspects of this process with you, my readers, my equals, my trusted community and confidants.

Of course I wish that you were here right now. I want to put your cock in my mouth, I want to make you come, I want to touch you everywhere, I want to kiss you everywhere, I want your tongue on my clit, I want to taste you, I want to leave marks...I want you to fuck me, I want you to fill me up, I want you to tease me, I want to not know what you will do to me next, I want to hold you...

I dreamt of you last night. I dreamt that we went to dinner somewhere that was far away and the whole time you were driving my hands were on your cock, my fingers lightly grazing the head, my whole hand sliding up and down on the shaft. I dreamt that finally, we had to pull over so I could put my you in my mouth, tease you with my tongue, make you explode with pleasure.
In my dream you had told what to wear, that dress from the other night with nothing underneath. At dinner you put your hand on my thigh, and slowly force my legs open so my pussy is yours under the table, your fingers teasing my clit, you are pumping in and out with your whole hand now, I am so wet I can't move, afraid someone will notice, not really caring anymore if they do but every time I make a sound you threaten to stop fucking me with your fingers. Finally, I come, violently, silently, so that my explosion is only for you, so that no one else can tell what is happening....

of course, I woke myself up, my pussy soaking wet and throbbing missing you, missing you inside of me, coming...
And now I've done it to myself again.
until tomorrow, I adore you...

Audition piece

Wake up in the dark. Listen to the rain mimic the song in the dream you were just having. Watch the new Winter light hatch the day, a coral polyp, purple in the bottom of the ocean- bursting. Remember what cold is. Remember the sound cold makes, the disgruntled sound of the faucet, feel that sound. Lonely and alone, the accentuated alliteration of feeling- the way the "L"'s role careless off your fingertips and collect in puddles on the floor. Forget about the puddles. Don't care about the puddles. Spread out like a starfish in the middle of the bed. Make the bed feel like home.
Stand in the kitchen, naked. Drink wine. Make coffee. Drink wine. Occupy both hands, all the time. Make your hands feel like home.
Imagine, just for a moment as you claim the hill to the side of the house, while carrying four bags of groceries and the Sunday paper that the man who pops onto his front porch in nothing but his dressing gown and and invites you in for a glass of water, or a cup of tea or- "anything you fancy,really" is just being neighborly. Entertain the thought of going in, just for a moment. Entertain the thought of saying, “This is what I will do to you.”
Sing all the songs no one knows you love. Play air piano as if you know what you're doing, no one can see you. Find yourself humming  bad disco or 70's porno soundtrack you've only just invented. Make yourself at home.
Ignore the ache. Ignore the way you've learned to recognize the sound of each individual eyelash.
Have lapses in judgment. Take them dancing. Take them to a bar. Wonder how many of the smug shiny people are building themselves a home, deep, somewhere hidden behind the spleen, working at being oblivious to the lithe limbs of lonely.
Consent to being set up on yet another bad date. Stop carrying the conversation, take up the conversation you had with yourself, earlier alone in bed, making sounds you'd forgotten you knew how to make- good thing you live alone. Wonder if you make him nervous because you just can't make yourself care about the silence emanating from his perch next to yours or the fact that his hand keeps lightly brushing your thigh and all you really want to say is "you've really got to commit to that or stop." The incessant buzzing  of a thousand gossamer mosquitoes. Wish you were home already. Start flirting with the waiter. Wonder what it will be like to wander home just slightly less then sober, stumble a little on your front porch, fish for your keys in the gaping hole of your pocket, take off one item of clothing for each progressive space between the front door and your bed, a bread crumb path for nobody, tonight- find your bed, the sound of your head on the pillow, the muffled crunch of one leaf under foot, one body carving itself a way to be whole, a way to be home.
And then suddenly, you...Wet and poetic and mine. This love like nothing I expected, like nothing I deserved...
 It happens to me all at once. Like falling from a great height. Not like puberty. Not like catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, both taken in and repelled by your new hips. Like the break of a half-pike off of a ten meter platform. Oxygenated, crystalline, whole.
The water making a sound you could cut fruit with.
What do I want from you? What do I want from myself?  A language, I want too much, I want everything. I want to be a beacon. The elegance of happenstance, the radiating undulating curve of a moan, or the moon.
 Take yourself apart. Start now, while your heart feels like peach flesh- gleaming, raw, the red-orange of a bad personal ad. This is no walk on the beach. The nubs around the pit like tiny thumbs imploring the oncoming traffic. Start here. On the greyest corner in the city, prototypical concrete glimmering in the late morning sunlight. Listen to the sound of the hose sluicing down the windows of the liquor store on the corner, the rivulets are giants tears washing away the splotches on the sidewalk, bruise purple, metallic.
What do I want? From myself?
Bruise purple, metallic. Thumbprints on thighs, I want to show everyone. But I don't. I hold in the memories, nurturing them in to the now, someday. Possible, I am fooled, the boy on the hill calling woolf to himself... What does love look like when it arrives? How will we know if we never open the door? Manifestation of pure ache. Right there on the concrete, waving from the heat. I want a way to express this moment.
Think. I could be anywhere. Trying to regulate my breathing, the raspy sound a thousand feathers.
Think. Listen to the men outside the liquor store argue in Arabic over rolls of red backgammon dice, clear like dime store candy, worthy of chipping a tooth on. Listen hard above the scuff of metal table legs wobbling precariously, flimsy like a baby animal on uneven ground. I am finished convincing myself I do not belong here, home arriving in my head every time you look at me, wet and poetic and mine, a secret code I am learning one character at a time...