Putting on a Show

Pete squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears away, then opened them again. The letter was still in his hands. Words jumped off the typewritten page: Demand. 14 days. Final. With a slight tremor, he folded the page and slipped it back into the envelope, then slipped the envelope into a pile on his desk. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the thick, bound sheaf of paper and ran his finger over the title. 'Summer Heat'. He folded it open on page two and looked at the column of neatly typed words on the page, scanning the characters' names.

Beth, his sister, had convinced him to get reacquainted with the world of amateur dramatics. He hadn't set foot on a stage in 30 years, and the idea of doing so filled him with dread. He understood his sister's concern, though. Appreciated it. She was worried about him. And the theatre made her feel useful, fulfilled, so why wouldn't it be the same for him. Perhaps she was right. This play, though... it was either trash or genius. It landed somewhere between Samuel Beckett and 50 shades. A surreal sex romp, the director had called it. Thankfully, his job was to be understudy and help out behind the scenes. A gentle reintroduction to the thespian life.

Beth was one of the leads in this strange concoction. It was a play in two parts. The first, borrowing heavily from Beckett, had the cast playing jack-in-boxes, performing their lines with only their heads visible from converted tea chests dotted about the stage. The second, more troubling act, had Beth and the lead actor writhing in bed performing fake sex while the cast wandered around the set, apparently oblivious. It wasn't his cup of Joe, but hey, he didn't have to do much.

Beth's opposite number was Ken Jackson. A large man in his sixties, both their senior by a good decade. How Beth could simulate anything with him but disgust was beyond Pete. That really was acting, he thought. The fact that they'd both be scantily clad only made matters worse. Pete had had a glimpse of the fat, hairy man pawing at his sister during one of the rehearsals and was pretty sure he seen the old man's tighty-whities tent out during it. Beth seemed happy, though, so he'd just go along with it.

Beth's husband was away a fair bit on business. Her kids had grown and flown the nest. This was her only outlet, and he wouldn't resent her that. This got him thinking about his own wife, Kay. She'd passed a year before and he was having a hard time holding his life together. His eyes flicked to the stack of demand letter again and he sighed.

In reality, he was enjoying the time with his sister. Over the years, they'd drifted apart. When Kay died, Bath had appeared at his door out of the blue and had been stuck to him like glue since, maternal and worried for him. Pete and Kay hadn't been able to have kids, so Beth really was his only anchor in the world.

Opening night was rapidly approaching, and the demand on their time was increasing exponentially. Pete sat close to Melissa, the writer and director, as she watched the rehearsal from the stalls. Pete had a growing thing for her. She was in her mid-thirties, a voluptuous redhead whose touchy-feely theatrical ways could be easily misinterpreted by an old fellah like him. But he enjoyed them nonetheless.

The morning before opening night arrived and Pete woke to fifteen text messages and his phone blaring. Beth.

"Hey, sport. How you doing?'

"Ok, sis. Where's the fire?"

"Hmmm. Funny you should say that. And you a fireman."

"I'm not a fireman, Beth. I'm sound engineer. An out of work one at that"

"I meant it metaphorically."

"Oh, right. How so?"

"It's Ken."

"What's Ken? Is he ok?"

"I thinks so. But he's out."

"Out, what?"

"He had a doctor's appointment yesterday. Just routine. They plugged him up to an ecg and now he's gowned up and waiting for someone to stick a stent in his heart."

"But the play?"

"Exactly. Hence, fireman Pete."

"No. No. No." Pet said, his heart suddenly identifying with Ken's.

"Oh, come on. Melissa's counting on you. We're all counting on you."

"Melissa can swing." Pete snapped.

"She'd be very grateful if you saved the day. Very."

Pete sighed and felt his cock twitch. Melissa had been a major player in his fantasy life of late and little Pete, he knew, had already agreed.

Beth asked him to drop everything and meet her at the theatre at 2. They'd run through the play again and make sure Pete was ok with the lines and blocking.

"Christ, I'm either in a box with you or in a bed with you. Not too much to work out, is there? As for dialogue, it's mostly grunts and groans."

"See. You're halfway there already."

The theatre was dark when Pete arrived, he'd seen Beth's car outside so correctly guessed she'd be in the dressing rooms backstage waiting for him. Pete knocked on the door of her room, and Beth cheerily called out "Enter."

Pete opened the door and felt his mouth drop open and water.

Beth, his 50-odd year-old sister was facing him, all smiles, wearing a skimpy white t-shirt and men's tighty-whities. Now, Beth wasn't bad looking, but her love handles had spread into quite a belly, and her once pert breasts had doubled in size and drooped so her massive, dark brown areolas could be seen through the white material just above her belly button. Her hips were wider than they once were and had rolls of fat on them. Her thighs were tree trunks and the flesh between them squashed together in the opposite of a thigh gap. He was also disconcerted to find he found it hard to drag his eyes away from the dark patch being pressed tightly against the front of her underwear by her abdominal fat. And were there tufts of pubic hair sticking out the sides of the crotch? Oh my, his sister was a knock-out, albeit a 50-something, plus-sized knock-out.

Pete had never thought of his sister as anything but a sister, so he was non plussed by the tightening in his own underwear.

"Sis!" He exclaimed. She did a twirl, revealing her sizable backside to him and giving it a little wiggle. He trousers suddenly felts two sized too small. Pete blushed at the stray thoughts passing through his mind. He'd always been an ass man.

"Come on, lazy bones. Your costume's on the chair. Pop it on and follow me on stage. I just want to set up so we can run through Act 1."

Pete took a deep breath after his sister left and began to feel a little calmer. He wasn't being turned on by his sister, he thought. He was being turned on by the first woman he'd seen scantily clad outside of his laptop. Who just happened to be his sister. Deep breaths. He'd get through this, somehow. Then he spotted the costume. A wifebeater and a pair of old man's white cotton underwear like his sister was wearing. "Oh, god." He groaned.

Taking a deep breath, he stripped, thankful there was no one about to have to hide from. He pulled on the wifebeater -- a few sizes too large and examined the underwear, trying to sort the front from the back. Just as the door opened and Beth reappeared.

"Come on slowcoa-" The words died on her lips.

Pete looked up at his sister standing in the door. She was staring at him. To be precise, she was staring at his crotch. He looked down, blushing, and saw that he was sporting a semi erection. His normal grower was now most definitely a shower, although thankfully still hanging downward. It must have been a rather happy 6.5 inches. He looked back up at Beth as he covered his manhood with the underwear. She was blushing and appeared to be finding it hard to swallow.

"Be there in two seconds." He said, as casually as he could. Beth bolted.

On stage, Pete looked at the box dubiously.

"We're both supposed to fit in there?" He said incredulously.

"It'll be fine." Beth said, biting her lip, brow creased like she was thinking exactly the same thing. The box was four feet tall, four feet wide and about two and a half feet deep.

"It'll be a squeeze. And very warm." Pete said.

"Just as well our costumes aren't too heavy, isn't it? Come on." Beth opened the latch at the back of the box and squeezed herself inside, head poking out through one of two holes in the lid. Pete followed suit and found they did fit, albeit requiring them to be squashed up against each other, knees pressed against knees. It was extremely uncomfortable, but he found he rather enjoyed the feeling of Beth's flesh against his.

"You did want us to be closer." He joked.

Beth ran though the very few lines they had from the box, then discussed how they should appear while the other actors were doing their bit. "Nothing worse than actors disengaging when the action is elsewhere." She said.

They talked through some reactions and actions they could perform, telling their own mini story while the main story was going on elsewhere. Pete found himself thoroughly enjoying himself and really getting bitten again by the acting bug.

Just then, Melissa appeared from the wings and all thoughts of a non-animalistic nature left Pete's head. Melissa was wearing a camo t-shirt without a bra and her nipples were like magnets for his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn't drag his gaze away from them.

"Ah, good, out two leads. Thanks for filling in at the last minute, Pete."

"Delighted to help out, Melissa." Pete smiled from the box, hoping his lack of head movement would look like it was caused by the restricting aperture.

"Right. Act two." Beth released them from the box. Pete was conscious that his erection hadn't subsided fully and made him look rather well hung. Quite uncharacteristically, he stood in front of Melissa, hands on hips, willing her to cop his bulge. Melissa's head, however, was buried in her notes.

Beth, meanwhile, pulled the bed on wheels on stage for the second act.

Pete had forgotten about this bit and dreaded the prospect of having to roll about on it with his sister, pretending to be in the throes of ecstasy. "Come on, sport." Beth called out, crawling across the mattress with her massive ass in the air. Pete felt himself stiffening more.

'Shit.' He thought. 'Have to hold it together.' He knew that it had been years since he'd even had a sexual thought that didn't involve a computer, let alone been in a position to have had one reciprocated. Not that rolling on a bed with his sister was in any way reciprocity! He told himself quickly.

He awkwardly plonked on the side of the bed.

Melissa, distracted from her notes, wandered over.

"Right, Pete, you need to embrace Beth, do the kissing scene, roll on top of her and basically make like you're making the beast with two backs."

"For the whole second act?"

"Yes. The climax of the play is encapsulated by, em, the two protagonists' climax. Relax, Pete. It's called acting."

Pete reddened.

"Let's see you." Melissa ordered.

Awkwardly, Beth and pete embraced, or at least, held each other at arm's length.

"No, no, no." Melissa shouted and walked over. She began grabbing arms and legs and placing them here and there until Beth and Pete were properly coupled. Pete ran through every score of every world series he could remember.

"Oh, put some effort in." Melissa chided. Thankfully, at the moment, the producer arrived with some issue and Melissa had to sort it out.

Beth and Pete disentangled, and Pete said he was going off in search of some robes. In reality, he was going to hide in the dressing room and never come back out.

A few minutes later, Beth appeared, and Pete handed her a robe.

"What's up, bro?" She knew him too well.

"What makes you think something's up?" he replied defensively.

"Because I know you. It's not Melissa, is it?"

"No. It's -- eh -- actually -- you --."

"Me? What have I done." She looked horrified.

"Nothing. When I say you, I mean me."

"What are you talking about?"

Pete sat there desperate for the ground to swallow him whole.

"I'm, eh." How could he explain this to his sister?

"I --"

"What, Pete? What's the matter?"

"It's just I didn't expect the closeness. The physical closeness."

"What? Oh, the box?"

"Well, yeah, a bit. But more the..."

"Oh, my god. Sorry. I've rehearsed so much with Ken I never even thought how awkward it must be for you. But it's just acting, Pete. And I'm your sis, not some floozy!"

"Yeah..."

"What?"

"Sis, you have to remember. I haven't been intimate -- or even physically close to another human being in years. Let along a woman. Suddenly, I'm virtually naked and squashed against a woman in a box. Then expected to simulate sex with her on a bed."

"Oh. Right. I didn't think of that. Ah."

Beth bit her lip again. "Hmmmm."

"Right. Ok. Here's the thing..."

pete nodded.

"If anything pops up, it's perfectly natural. Like you said, you're craving physical contact."

"I didn't exactly say that."

"Shut up. I'm saying, I will understand and not hold you against it. Or it against me."

"Ha ha. I don't want to be getting an erection from my sister."

"Oh, what you don't find me attractive."

"You're my sister."

"I'm also a woman, thank you very much."

"I didn't mean that. I'm aware that you're a woman. And frankly a very attractive woman to people who aren't your blood relative. Trust me, that's what's causing the problem."

Beth went bright red.

"You think I'm attractive?'

"To -- eh -- other people."

"Nah, you do need to get out more. I'm just a gusty old bag of potatoes. Full of lumps and bumps. Nothing here to get horny about, lil bro."

"I'm not getting horny."

"So, you don't find me attractive? I'm confused here."

"Oh, Beth. Stop teasing me."

"I will. I promise. Listen, let's get through this and I'll buy you a bottle of -- what's that stuff?"

"Glenmorangie?"

"Galenorangy, it is!"

"Glen. More. Angy. Sis, that's like a hundred bucks!"

"I'll literally do anything to get you through this play. Ok?"

"Ok."

"So just think about your whisky and forget all about the person you're acting with."

"Ok."

"Right. We've an hour before first positions. I need a quick snooze. Kindly hop it or shut up."

Pete sat down in the chair opposite the one she'd deposited herself in and gathered his thoughts.

In fairness a bottle of Glen was a fair exchange, he thought. With his sister's eyes shut, he had an unrivaled view of her in the chair in front of him. Her robe wasn't tied up and had fallen open. She had a beautiful face, he decided. Yes, he could see a little of himself in there, but it was closer to their mother's. Her neck was slender, if a little wattled from age. Her skin was amazing, just dusted with light freckles -- a throwback to the old country roots. Her breasts were magnificent, large and pendulous. He remembered them being a knockout back in the day. Now, he could make out the shadow of her incredibly dark areolas through the cotton material of her t-shirt, and the two little pinkie-tip shaped nipples at attention through the fabric. Her stomach was extended, more of an outie than an innie, but you really couldn't call her fat. Large, lived in, maybe. His eyes drifted down to her underwear. He marveled at the strong thighs sticking out the leg holes, flabby and white as she lay there but strong when she needed them. He also saw that the underwear were a few sized too big for her. He could make out her bush and the hint of her lips up the leg hole on one side. His cock immediately stood up at the sight.

Jesus. Was he really having dirty thoughts about his own sister? The one he was about to hop into a tiny box with? Reflexively, he scratched his fingernails across his nipples. A habit from watching porn. The stimulation to his own chest buttons became intense when he was sexually stimulated in general.

His eyes flicked guiltily back up to his sister's face. Her eyes were open, and she had a curious smile on her face. Pete gulped and tried to think of something to say by way of apology. She sat up and pulled the robe shut, tying it this time.

"Come on, sleepy head. Time to get into first positions."

She stood up.

"You can keep your robe tied until we get to the wings." She said with a devilish wink and disappeared out the door. Pete followed, embarrassed and confused.

He found her standing in the wings, just as she let the robe slide off her shoulders and into the hands of a waiting stagehand. His eyes fell to her amazing backside again. Then she turned to him and he caught sight of her crotch before he reflexively flicked his eyes northward. Unless he was very much mistaken, her crotch had shown a distinct wet patch.

Then, his own robe was being removed, and the pair were being ushered to the boxes on stage.

This time, he was immediately aware of the closeness of his sister. Rather than sit side by side, the box had been turned ninety degrees so they now sat one in front of the other. Beth had gotten in first and Pete squeezed in behind her.

"Just imagine it's a bobsled." One of the stagehands laughed at his discomfort.

Squeezing into the box, he discovered, that in order to fit properly, and be facing the audience, the stagehand's advice made sense. He had to put his knees bent either side of his sister's thighs and push up against her back, like they were about to go down a waterslide together. His chest was pressed against her back. The last time they'd done something like that, they were kids, and not getting a hard on had been the last thing on his mind. Now, it was paramount.

From the wings, he heard a whispered countdown, then the curtain swished open, and the lights came on, shining in his face. Thankfully, they blocked the audience from sight. Now, he just had to concentrate on not freaking out his sister.

This was easier said than done. Beth's speaking role was mostly up front. Almost immediately, she began to perform her lines and he heard other people in other boxes around the stage respond. Just towards the end of her big monologue, in her excitement, she half leaned forward, strengthening the bobsled analogy, then standing slightly, dropped back down, wedging Pete's not entirely flaccid member against the crack in her butt. The feeling of his inner thighs against her hips and outer thighs was already a cross to bear. This was almost impossible. Try as he might, he felt his member stiffen and unfurl along her ass crack.

He prayed she wouldn't notice or be too caught up in the play to realize what was happening. Nothing happened for a while, and he began to relax. Beth's speaking part was pretty much done. His own few utterances were as part of the chorus, and he managed to concentrate enough to get them out. His cock slowly began to soften slightly. He was still unbelievably aware of the flesh on flesh and the pressure pushing back against him, but it was easier to concentrate on the show around him.

What he didn't count on, was when the cast had to try to make their boxes move on stage. This was achieved by shunting one's weight, planting the feet and, essentially, thrusting with the bottom. When the first movement was required, Beth did the heavy lifting, and he didn't move at all. He still was incredibly aware of her ass lifting along his cock and then settling back down along it. What little hope he had of losing his hardness was being reversed.

"You have to move too." She whispered, half angrily at him.

The next move, he half-heartedly shunted inside the box, feeling it move slightly on the stage. It also felt remarkable like he was trying to thrust into his sister's ass. He made a conscious note to not try so hard on the next one. As if she'd read his mind, Beth spat another whisper over her shoulder at him.

"Harder."

"Christ." He mumbled. Ah, well. On the next cue, he gave his all and felt his cock, not standing fully to attention but not far off, push right along and lengthwise into her voluminous crack. He was beyond shame now, and decided he would make amends later. He had warned her after all.