Double Duty

The following fantasy is a work of fiction. It definitely contains coarse language and sexual situations, but that's the whole point, isn't it?

This is a new storyline, and I suppose there could be some debate about which category to post it in, but since none of the characters involved are actually celebrities, I put it in Erotic Couplings.

I hope you enjoy it. Please, let me know your thoughts, and if these two should continue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm such a putz.

No, really, I always end up agreeing to do things I don't really want to do.

That night in the bar, for example. I don't even drink, so what the hell was I doing in a bar. I hate bars ; they're loud, smokey (even though they're not supposed to be), and full of idiots who think the only way to have a good time is to get wasted enough that they can't remember anything anyway.

I know, I know... I shouldn't pussyfoot around it, and tell you what I really think, right? Well, I guess I should be happy for the way things turned out, but at the time... Not so much.

I work with a bunch of guys at my office that tend to socialize together. Because I don't drink, I tend to be on the periphery of their circle of friends. Not far enough away from centre to avoid being drafted as designated driver, however, and not confrontational enough to decline their thinly veiled invitation.

At least it wasn't going to cost me anything, except an evening of time. The bar of choice for my 'friends' had a policy of providing designated drivers with complimentary non-alcoholic beverages. They gave out an I. D. card, which you just showed the bartender, and you were all set.

So, here I was, sitting in my chair, nursing a large Coke, and watching my office cohorts hitting on every woman in the joint (unsuccessfully, I might add) and getting blotto. This was fun, right?

I heard a slurp from my glass, and looked down to see that I had sucked up the last of my drink. Time for a refill. I weaved my way through the crowd, and flashed my 'keep your friends out of jail free' card, from arms length. The area around the bar was crowded, but I slithered through a crack in the mob, and got into a pocket right in front.

I reached for the glass the bartender put on the counter, only to find it snatched up by the delicate hand of a blonde woman. She had her back to me, letting me check out her ass, which appeared quite nicely shaped, firm and athletic. Actually, her arms and shoulders had the same strong, toned quality. Her blonde hair, softly wavy and lustrous, contrasted against the snug black of her tank top.

"Excuse me," she said, loud enough to be heard over the din without sounding angry. "I think this is regular... I asked for diet, please?" she asked handing the glass back. The bartender looked at me, knowing it had been my glass, and his eyes flicked back to her for a second.

He was right. Without saying a word, he'd told me I should talk to her, and had given me the perfect conversation starter.

"I think that was mine," I said, leaning closer to her ear from behind, so I wouldn't have to yell.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, finally turning to face me.

Funny, when I got up this morning, the last thing on my mind was what I'd say if I came face to face with Scarlett Johansson.

Talk about poor preparation

.

Okay, I'll admit I was staring, and she smiled.

"I really hate to burst your bubble," she laughed, "but I'm not her." She held her hand out to shake mine. "I'm Bailey... Bailey Lewis."

I took her hand clumsily, still staring and searching for my power of speech. A big, burly guy stepped in behind her, and glared at me.

"Is this guy bugging you, Bails?" he growled. He was a side of beef with feet, and had the muscle tone of a marble statue. I now knew why my friends had avoided this area of the bar.

Here there be monsters

.

"Too early to tell, Keith," she giggled, still shaking my hand, "he hasn't said anything yet."

The bartender pushed a glass of pop in front of each of us, about the time I recovered my senses. I took my glass, and held it up.

"Very nice to meet you, Bailey Lewis," I said. She picked up her glass and clinked it with mine, raising her eyebrows in an unspoken question. "Oh, yeah... Eddie Morrison. You know... I think you're prettier than she is. You have the most beautiful blue eyes." She was still holding my hand.

"No Keith, he's not bothering me at all," she said, turning her head to wink at the behemoth. "Go back to your drink." She moved a little closer to me.

"That was a

really

good line, Eddie Morrison," she smiled.

"No," I replied, "that was the truth. The resemblance... Is it an act of nature, or cultivated?"

"Truthfully, a bit of both," she admitted, "but there's a very good reason for the cultivation. I don't know if I should tell you though."

"No problem. It was very nice to meet you," I repeated, "and I meant what I said about your eyes." I raised my glass again, and went back to my friends.

I was either playing it cool, or being an idiot, by walking away. Only time would tell

.

As it happened, time didn't take long to decide. My seat was facing in the general direction of hers, at the bar, but a constant swarm of patrons milling about between us made watching her impossible. Still, I kept casting glances in her direction, and was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of her through the crowd. Even more fortunate was the fact that she was looking at me when I did. The crowd parted long enough for us to make eye contact, and for her to smile, raise her nearly empty glass and tilt her head suggestively.

I'm no expert on women, but it seemed that I was being given an opportunity here. I chugged the remainder of my drink, and worked my way through the resurgent crowd. I was glad to see that she seemed happy to see me stepping into the gap beside her, and perching on the stool.

"So, Bailey Lewis, what's new?" I asked, with a smile. "Anything interesting?"

"I've decided to tell you my secret, if you still want to hear it," she laughed. "First, though, tell me something about Eddie Morrison. What brings you here tonight?"

I flashed my Designated Driver card at the bartender, who refilled my glass. She did the same, and we tapped cards together in a symbolic toast.

"Those are your friends?" she asked, gesturing in the general area where my workmates were trying to outdo each other for alcoholic consumption.

"Yeah, sort of. We work together, and I got drafted to make sure they get home in one piece, no matter how much they try not to," I answered with a grimace. "Similar story for you?"

"Pretty much. I'm not much of a drinker anyway, but I have a big gig tomorrow, so I definitely wouldn't be doing anything tonight. The guys knew that, and asked if I'd keep them safe, which is really kind of funny, given my job." The bait had been cast, and I was playing the role of the trout, while Bailey, the sexy angler, looked at me with a hopeful sparkle in those big blue eyes.

"Okay," I said, swallowing the hook, "You have a gig? Doing what? What's your job?" I didn't even get to the question of a 120 pound woman protecting a guy who easily weighed twice that much. Almost three times.

"Well, the answer to that also tells you why I look like Scarlett," she laughed, allowing me to figure it out.

Hmmmm,

I thought.

She could be a lookalike... a celebrity impersonator, but that wouldn't explain her reluctance to drink. That really only left one answer.

"So I will guess you're in the film industry?" I asked. She smiled and nodded.

"Very good. I like a man with a good head on his shoulders," she smiled, and leaned closer, "and another one between his legs!" A wink.

And I like a woman who says things like that!

"You're too athletic to be just a stand in. Stunts?" I continued.

"Ooooooo, you're good!" she giggled, clinking her glass against mine again. "Actually, I do both for her. I'm a couple of inches taller than she is... and a little bit, ahem, bigger," she said, pulling her shoulders back to display her chest, "but she doesn't mind looking better on screen. We've been together for several years now, and she always wants me on her movies."

I was listening, but my eyes had lingered for a few extra seconds on her chest, which was really quite nice. Usually one of the first things I notice on a woman, I can only assume it was her spectacular eyes that fooled me.

"So that was you kicking ass in Iron Man? And the Avengers?" I laughed, replaying it in my head. Mostly I was imagining her in that Black Widow catsuit. Holy shit, she looked hot in it!

"Yeah, that was me, the parts that weren't done digitally, anyway. Actually, the digital bits are me, too... at least, my movements, if not my actual body."

"That was some outfit!" I growled, smiling back at her. "Still have it?" I laughed, nudging her shoulder.

"Maybe," she giggled, giving me a coy smile, "I'm really popular at Halloween! Seriously, if you like that look, you'd love the Mo-Cap stage."

"Mo-Cap?" I asked, puzzled and intrigued at once.

"Motion-Capture," she clarified. "Big open stage, with these cameras all around that track the markers on our suits as we go through the motions. Computers use the markers to create a digital skeleton, then put the animated character's body on the skeleton. There's a lot more to it than that, but that's the general idea. Believe it or not, I didn't actually have a fight with an alien on a flying sled, racing through and above the streets of New York. That was a lot of work. Some actual footage, some Mo-Cap, all put together. Kind of fun."

"So, I'd like it there?" I asked.

"Yeah. Skin tight leotards, with green ping pong balls stuck on them as tracking markers. Sexy as hell, in a Tron kind of way." She leaned closer. "Especially the markers on the boobs. I swear the person who designed the suits was a man!"

Now, how can you listen to a woman describe that, without seeing it? I imagined her athletic form, wrapped in a second skin of black Lycra...that incredible ass...those delicious breasts...green ping pong balls on the nipples. Strangely erotic. I filed the image away.

"So these guys with you... stunt performers, too? Even the hulk?"

"I'll tell him you said that!" she laughed. "He'll take it as a compliment! No, Keith is with Set Security, but Stevie and Ricardo are fellow 'crash dummies'," she said, pointing to the other two well built guys at the table with Keith. He was chatting to a cute brunette, and she was pawing one of his gigantic biceps, obviously entranced by the beefcake.

I looked back to Bailey, who was licking her lips unconsciously, and looking at me with a hungry expression. Up close like this, she really didn't look like Scarlett, at least, not as much as she did from across the room. The hair, the lips and the cheekbones were very close, but the eyes were very different, and in my opinion, much prettier. I took a chance, and leaned closer, tilting my head as if to kiss her. Would she meet me halfway?

She smiled, and touched her lips to mine softly, a quick introductory peck that piqued my interest even more.

"What's your gig tomorrow, then?" I asked, staying very close to her. She didn't pull away.

"Ah, yes... Well, tomorrow, Ricardo over there is going to hit me with a car," she said, as calmly and easily as if she was discussing the weather. "Nothing I haven't done before. We will, however, make every effort to get it right in one take. I hate getting bounced twice."

"So what makes a pretty girl like you go into that business?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Sometimes I ask myself that same question!" she chuckled. "Started as a Production Assistant on local movies where I lived at the time, then somebody noticed me, and that led to some stand in work, then a few simple stunts. A stunt director took me under his wing, and now I'm here. Pretty cool, really. I get to hang out with some pretty neat people... Scarlett's a dear to me... I travel a fair bit, and the money's decent. Never a dull moment."

"I'll bet," I replied, still watching her eyes, which I found intoxicating. We were still very close together. Suddenly a massive shadow blocked out the sun... or the overhead lights, anyway...as Keith came up to order another round.

"Everything cool, kiddo?" he rumbled menacingly.

"Yeah, it's all good," she said, still looking at me. "I have an idea. What are you doing tomorrow morning, Eddie?"

"I had no plans, other than inspecting the inside of my eyelids. What did you have in mind?" I asked, hoping it involved being close to her again.

"Want to come watch me work? You might find it interesting, and we can talk more," she suggested. "Once I'm done doing my impression of a rubber ball, I'll be free for the day."

"Where and when?" I replied eagerly. She turned to her huge friend.

"Do you have a card, K?" she asked, and he fished one out of his pocket. She took the pen he offered, too, and scribbled a few lines of text on the back. She handed it to me. "Will you take care of him, tomorrow, big guy?" Keith nodded.

"Call me when you get there," he said, now smiling at me and extending a hand approximately the size of a canned ham, into which mine disappeared quickly. "My number's on the front. See you tomorrow." He slapped me on the back, a bit too hard for my taste, but probably as gentle as he could be, given his size. It appeared that I had been accepted.

We talked for a little while longer, until one of my friends wobbled over to us.

"There you are!" he slurred. "Hey! Who's the babe?"

"I'm sorry," I said quietly to Bailey, "but I think I'd better perform my job here. Designated Driver to the rescue!" I said with appropriate, superhero grandeur. She laughed, and crooked her finger at me. I had stood, but now moved closer again.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she whispered, "but I wanted to give you something to think about, until then." Those eyes sparkled again, and she planted another kiss on me, this one decidedly more than just a peck, with her tongue burrowing into my mouth eagerly. I heard my friend starting to make some comment that I was sure would kill the mood, and elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up. Bailey finally pulled back.

"Will that do?" she asked, batting her eyelashes. All I could do is smile, and nod.

***

I woke up early, before my alarm went off. Even my subconscious mind was eager to spend the day with Bailey. Shower, shave, dress and breakfast...I was out the door early, driving to the address she had given me. I parked nearby, and placed the call as I walked back.

"You got Keith," the voice rumbled.

"Hey, Big Guy," I laughed, "How's your hangover? It's Bailey's friend, Eddie...from last night, at Donahue's? Remember me?"

"Sure do. Where you at?" he growled.

"Walking in from a couple of blocks away. Can I get you anything on my way? You want a coffee?" Yes, I was sucking up. It never hurts to be extra nice, especially when the person in question is a fucking gorilla, and stands between you and a beautiful woman.

"Sure. Grande Americano with hazelnut syrup. Thanks. Call me again when you get close."

The phone went dead, thankfully before I could make any comment on his surprisingly girlish taste in coffee. I wasn't expecting the hazelnut thing.

Keith's coffee in hand, I waited until he parted the crowd at the entrance, to join him. He led me in, handing me a guest pass on a lanyard as he did.

"Thanks, bud," he thundered, taking the drink from my hand. "Bails is doing her safety prep and walk through now, so you can't talk to her, but she reserved a seat for you."

Keith led me through the labyrinth of cranes, dollies and other doodads, finally pointing to a folding chair parked off to the side of a camera rig the size of a Volkswagen. I took my seat. Bailey looked up from her planning, and smiled, giving me a finger wave. She was beautiful to watch, oozing confidence. This was her world, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

I had never actually been behind the scenes at a movie like this before, and it was fascinating. The thing I found most interesting was how much stuff... cameras, boom mikes, gaffers, reflectors, and all manner of cables...was just inches out of the camera's view, yet we as viewers, think that it's just us watching.

"Quiet on the set!" someone yelled, and the second-unit director pointed.

"ACTION!"

A bronze 1969 Dodge Coronet came speeding down the block, screeching into a four wheel drift as it flew around the corner, just as the character played by Bailey Lewis, playing the role of Scarlett Johansson playing the character, stepped off the curb. Bailey /Scarlett froze, then dodged the Dodge to the left, leaving a smashed passenger side of the windshield in her wake as she flew in a shallow arc over the car's roof . She landed in a pile of cardboard boxes, which hid the crash pad underneath. Dust, dirt and bits of glass flew wildly about, and the car continued on its way.

"Cut!" the director yelled, and the small crowd people on the scene, myself included, broke into applause. It not every day you get to see a pretty blonde woman bounce off the hood of a speeding car, and not end up spending the day giving statements to the police. Even better that the same pretty blonde rolls to a stop, stands up and dusts herself off, undamaged.

A few people stepped in quickly to check on Bailey, patting her on the back and exchanging high-fives.

I was still applauding when she walked over to me, and did a little curtsey in acknowledgement. She smiled, and waved me closer. I stepped in, and she took my hand. We hugged, and I could feel the layers of padding and armour under her costume.

"That was amazing!" I bubbled enthusiastically. "Doesn't it hurt to get hit like that?"

"Well, I could claim superhuman strength, but the truth is...it only looks like the car hits me. It's a glancing blow, but from the camera's point of view, it looks worse," she explained. "The landing is the hardest part."

The wardrobe people showed up, and collected her costume, which she shed without modesty in front of me, leaving her in her pads and a one piece undergarment that covered her from the neck down.

"Follow me, please," she chirped. "I need to ditch this protective gear, have a shower, and then I'd like to get some lunch."

I followed, watching her ass wiggle in the protective skin, and several people stopped us along the way to congratulate Bailey on her successful stunt. It took us about five minutes to reach her trailer.

"Have a seat, Eddie," she said as we stepped in. "There are drinks in the fridge, and some snacks." She vanished around the corner.

I had never been in a movie trailer before, either. Part lounge, part makeup room, part apartment, it had interesting stuff everywhere. I opened the fridge, and grabbed a coke, then took a seat. That's when I noticed the mannequin.

It was standing in the corner, and while it didn't have a head, hands, or feet, it certainly bore a striking resemblance to someone who had recently made my acquaintance. I had stood, and was taking a closer look, when Bailey walked in, wearing a robe, with her gear over her shoulder.

"Ah, l see you've met my doppelganger. She's where I customize my gear, as most of it is not made for a girl my size," she laughed. "I usually don't let people in here when she's naked. She's shy."

Well, I could only see one reason for that. Apparently, this was not a generic, stock item from the mannequin factory. The body molded in fibreglass before me was undoubtedly the twin to the one under the robe. Made me wish I'd noticed it right away. Staring at the fibreglass tits now would be obvious. So would fondling them.