When the set was finished being built, it took up a lot more space than usual. Because the backstage area was already so small, there wasn't room left...downstairs for the usual dressing rooms. A compromise was worked out, though. The upstairs area of the stage wasn't being used for this play so makeshift dressing rooms were set up. Perhaps 'dressing rooms' is not the best term. You are probably imagining well-lit counters with chairs and mirrors, a tiled floor and lots of assistants to help the. One Hispanic man had what appeared to be an old bullet wound on his front deltoid. Her heart raced upon seeing each man’s organ freely hanging completely exposed to her sight. Only ten years ago, no women would have been allowed to regard such a spectacle as this, not even a female corrections officer. The rules and regulations had changed considerably.Each man was ordered to lift his penis and hold it upright so the officers could check for any small quantities of narcotics. One of the men was. “Let me just look at you for a minute. I love what you are wearing. You know you are already making me hard.”Becca took a sip of the champagne along with him. She recognized him given that she was a reporter for the newspaper of record in Washington, but she allowed no sign of that recognition. She watched him stretch out to make himself more comfortable and reach down to the crotch of his trousers. He traced the outline of his penis with one hand, and, after putting down the champagne flute,. “What? Why?” His brows drew tight over angry eyes. ‘Rafe brought a bunch of people over last night. I don’t want anyone knowing where I live. I need to get away from it all sometimes. I don’t want the fucking paps sitting on my doorstep every time shit hits the fan.” She nodded, understanding. The circus of media around the hospital was reminder enough of what he meant. She’d hated every second of it. “Yeah. I understand, but…” How to tell him? Her gaze strayed to the rolling waves surging up.