Playing the Part

Actor son rescues mom from sex party

A special thanks to ChiefHal for helping to proofread and ensuring the story is in good shape.

Playing the part

"Trey, I need you now!" the female voice spoke from my phone.

I was tired, and it was late, but the tone of my mom's voice brooked no fobbing her off.

"What's up?" I asked, as I looked into the large mirror of the dressing room. A tired looking costume lady was sorting through discarded clothing, from the other actors, in a hurry to go home.

With luck, mom had fucked up something on her laptop again, and I could fix it over the phone.

"I can't really talk now. But it's urgent you come and get me." She blurted out an address, and I groaned. It was a good hour's drive away.

"How urgent?"

"Code Red." I blinked in surprise. "Look, I need my handsome and brave boy to stand up for me. But you'll have to be broad-minded."

"Why?" I was confused. The 'Code Red' was something we'd come up with, when I was a teenager.

If I called with a 'Code Red', she'd come and get me no questions asked. If I was somewhere that I felt threatened or pressured to do something I didn't want. I'd never needed it, and I knew the 'no questions asked' would not be true. But it signified something serious and a shorthand between us. I'd never expected her to use it on me.

"Where are you now?" She asked.

"I've literally just walked off set. I've not even had a chance to pee or change."

"Don't change. Your current role is perfect for this. Bring the mask and hide your phone. But use that fancy earpiece. I promise you; it really is important. Oh, and if you're stopped, tell them you are there to bowl with Barnabas." She hung up, knowing I'd do what she asked.

But what the hell was going on? Was she trying to make it a mystery?

She'd been a single mom at 19, and made it her mission in life, to do the best for me. And even though I am 30 now, I still felt I owed her for all her selflessness to raise me. It might have been a somewhat unusual upbringing, but it had helped me, to where I was today. An actor, stuntman and body-double.

Checking I still had the character's mask in my pocket, I grabbed the earpiece she'd mentioned and my keys and headed to the car. Not even pausing for that pee I needed. It was after 11 pm, but there was always traffic and I pushed it a little to get to her. A patrol car appeared in my rear-view mirror, and I swore as its sirens and lights flicked on. But it sped up and rushed past me.

The address was in a very high-end part of the city, with homes in the $10 million plus bracket. But my mom was a fancy lawyer and would know clients with that sort of money. Then I remembered my mom's request for the mask, earpiece, and to hide my phone, and smiled. If she wanted 'cloak and dagger', then I was her man. Especially as I was currently filming a spy movie, if only as a stuntman and body-double.

I swapped my phone in the dashboard cradle with the prop one in my pocket. Turned on the earpieces and slipped them into my ears and waited for them to pair with my phone. Because I often had to wear ear protection, on set, for gunfire or explosions. We'd talked a studio into paying a small fortune for tiny Bluetooth earpieces, hardly bigger than a pair of peas. It would never be made commercially. One ear listened, and the other was a microphone. Each would cancel background noise. But I could get vocal prompts for things that might be unseen or added in post-production. They both beeped twice at me, to prove they were working. But had a battery life of less than 60 minutes.

Slipping my phone into a concealed pocket in the suit at the small of my back. I saw two large security men at the gates of one of the largest houses and remembered, at the last moment, to slip on the mask.

A twinge of worry crossed my mind, that I might get Arthur into trouble, if this was something dodgy.

I should explain a little history and why Arthur might be affected by my actions. My mom grew up with doting parents that instilled in her, she could be anything she put her mind to. Which isn't always a good idea. She wanted to be famous. Didn't really care if she was a pop star, a movie star, or just a plain old TV star.

As a kid, she took acting lessons and singing and dancing lessons. And I've seen the old videos that showed she was quite good. But quite good doesn't take you over the finishing line. At 18, she met a talent agent; that told her he could make her a star, in return for some payback. I think that 'casting couch' summed it up better, than going into the seedy details. She is my mom, after all.

She got pregnant with me, and he threw some money at her, to make the problem go away. I think he underestimated her, as she could come across as some gorgeous airhead, with nothing between her ears. She's not, in fact, she took the money and, with help to raise me from her parents, put herself through law school.

She freely admitted, at the time, she intended to sue my dad. And that was a way to avoid massive lawyer bills. Plus, the bonus of proving him wrong about her. But by the time she passed the bar, she discovered not only a love for the job, but a real talent for it. Her looks and men's assumption she was a bimbo, won her many cases, before her opposition wised up. While she'd given up on her dreams of being a star, it didn't mean she didn't push them on to me.

My upbringing was anything but conventional or boring. Few 8-year-olds had a party where they were the entertainment. It was slack rope walking and juggling flaming clubs. Although I remember wanting to show off popping balloons, with my knife throwing skills, my grandparents stepped in. And said the other kids might try to copy me and hurt someone.

As with the truly dedicated, my mom would work a full day in the office, then come home. And spend 6 or 7 hours teaching me just about every skill that might come in useful. Acting and singing, obviously, but martial arts, horseback riding, stunt motorcycles and so on. While my school friends talked about slobbing out after school, and watching TV all night. The only TV I watched, was to aid in my acting skills.

Because it was all I knew, I didn't know it was unusual until much later in life. I had personal trainers and dietitians, by the time I turned 16 and that helped, when mom finally let me play regular sports. From time to time, I'd walk into a room to see mom and one of them giving off a vibe that something was going on.

When I confronted her, she admitted to sleeping with both men occasionally. Pointing out that she spent so much time with work and looking after me, she had no time for conventional dating. I let the matter drop and avoided asking if she meant she'd slept with both, or both at the same time.

The only time we had any serious friction between the two of us was when I was 18 and she pulled me from sports. Wanting me to start another series of special skill training. My coach said I had plenty of talent, and could make a career from sport. She put her foot down and pointed out the odds were poor that I'd make it, and my career would only be 15 years at best. Some jocks never get as far as professional, as the injury rate was alarming.

As an actor, I could have a career for 40 years or more. All of which was true, but it rankled me, that she controlled so much of my life. As an 18-year-old, it's hard for introspection; to see how much she'd given up for me. But she won me around, when she realised she'd neglected one aspect of teaching me.

Each time I started something new, like parkour. I'd hit it like an express train. Concentrating on it with complete focus, until I was proficient and enjoying it. Then she'd push me into something else. Which meant my social skills around making new friends were poor actually, nearly non-existent around girls.

It was a painfully awkward conversation when mom sat me down for dating tips and general advice. In the end, the first girl I asked out, I only managed it, by pretending it was acting. It worked, and we dated. But I let it go to my head, and I fucked up and lost her. I might have simply gone on to the next girl... and so on. After all, I was handsome, and super fit; which, I'll freely admit now, made me a little cocky.

But mom knew better again, she forced me to approach the girl who'd dumped me, and apologise to her. Unfortunately, it was in front of half the school. I had to admit it was my fault, and I was immature, etc. All true, but hard to say. Afterwards, with prompting from her friend, she asked if I thought that was enough to bring her around to date her again. Mom had predicted this, and I told her that was not my intention. Simply to clear the air and to hope she found a better boyfriend than me next time.

I must admit it was my biggest audience for my acting, to date. But I appeared sincere, because it was. Method acting, I suppose.

I went on to an acting school, where my tutor said that he'd never seen a skill list like mine. If I really could do all that, it would be amazing. It was a little insulting, but I suppose lots of people pad their skill list. He also commented in private that it might have been better to have spent more time on my acting over the other stuff.

I wasn't bad, but when Arthur joined the class the following year, I suddenly saw my deficiencies. And to make matters worse, he looked like my kid brother. We might have been carbon copies; except I was more muscled. I wanted to hate him, but he was so charming. Hell, he could walk into a room and smile, and nuns would wish to throw their underwear at him.

It was a little weird at first, but we became close friends and that led to wild adventures. Often with the ladies.

His dad had been a big screen actor and so had his mom. His stepmom was a retired supermodel, and I wondered how he coped with her around the house, in nothing but a string bikini. I only knew that because a few months after Arthur joined the class, he invited me to meet his parents.

I thought it was just to meet the guy their son was hanging out with, but I was wrong. I'd come to terms that I'd never be the actor he was, and with him going to be a big star. I'd need to change my looks entirely to even get small jobs.

However, his dad had other plans for me. After a great meal, with the hostess mom wearing very little and trying to tempt me with booze, cigars, and some milder narcotics. All of which I turned down, Arthur's dad finally got down to business.

He'd put a lot of time, effort, and money into his son's career. Lining up favours to get him into the big time quickly. And I could be a very useful part of that plan. He'd checked me out and, unlike our tutor, knew that all the skills I'd claimed on my resume were genuine. It was a bitter pill to swallow, when he came out and explained my chances of making it as purely an actor, were slim.

His olive branch was to work for him and partner Arthur's career. I'd be his body-double, stuntman and bodyguard when he was rich and famous. I'd hang out with the stars, but never quite be one myself. He'd pay me from his own pocket and see to insurance and whatever added training I wanted. I'd help his son bulk up some and we'd be sold as a package.

Studios hated trying to find people that were similar enough to the stars for stand-ins or stuntmen. But wouldn't invest into this type of arrangement. Arthur's dad would, as he knew his son had a gilded career coming. We knew each other, and I could already mirror his posture and body language. If we worked and trained together, we could save studios millions in training time, and postproduction CGI, to fix things. Of course, some of those millions would come to us as a premium package.

It sounded good, but persuading mom was hard. She had her heart set on one thing, and this wasn't it. But when I took her on the red carpet at my first big Hollywood film, she admitted it was close enough.

Which brought me back to the guards at the gate of the mansion. Too many publicity shots of Arthur in the mask and suit circulated that I doubted the guards wouldn't take me for him. That was my job, after all. I pulled up and got out of the car. A valet rushed over, and I handed him the keys.

I saw the guards recognised me, or Arthur, but asked why I was there.

"Bowling with Barnabus." I replied, and they relaxed.

They asked if I had a phone, and I gestured to the dashboard of the car as the valet started the engine. The fake phone was in place, so they never frisked me, but opened the gate for me.

Inside the mansion, a scantily clad waitress handed me a glass of champagne. She gave me a look, that suggested she was open to offering me whatever I wanted. If I'd just give her the nod. The entrance hall was large and elaborate, gaudy to my eyes, but different people have different tastes.

Two dancing girls were writhing around each other on a low podium, and nobody seemed to care, that they wore enough clothing, for only one person. One tiny person, like a pixie. I walked casually past them, and gave them a nod in recognition of their work. Which was a mistake, as one's expression changed in recognition of me. Damn.

The next room was darker and had a bar and booths. More suited to a nightclub, than a home. A pole stood in the middle of an unused dance floor, and I noticed couples kissing. Then I did a double take at what I saw. A mature man was kissing a much younger girl. She looked like she was dressed as the dancer from the dance floor. Not that unusual in Hollywood, you might say. But he had her top up to her chin and was groping her naked breasts, in front of anyone who cared to watch.

I'm not a prude, but it caught me a little off guard. Which was only worsened when I realised, I could see a woman kneeling partially under the table and she appeared to have her hand up the younger girl's skirt. As I walked past the booth, I saw she had the skirt pulled up and was alternating, between fingering the girl, and licking her pussy.

What sort of party had I walked in on, and what the heck was my mom doing here? Did she know?

I downed my drink, put down my glass, and headed to the toilets. Inside one cubicle was a couple, obviously in the middle of fucking. So, I dialled my mom's phone and slipped the phone into the regular pocket of my jacket. I peed, as the phone took a few moments to be answered.

"Am I at the right place? I just saw an old couple groping a young woman."

"Sorry, I should have warned you. Where are you now?"

"In the toilet next to the room with the pole on the dance floor."

"Which one? There is more than one."

"Next to the entrance lobby."

"OK, work your way to the back of the house and look for the Hawaiian room. That's where I am. I'm wearing a playboy bunny costume. Kinda..."

"Care to tell me what's going on?"

"I promise to tell you everything later. But get here ASAP, or I'm in serious trouble." She hung up, and I swore, zipped up, and left the room.

I followed the corridors and noticed several rooms where the sounds of sex, or spanking, revealed what the dim interiors held.

What the hell was my mom doing here? Had she come unknowing and panicked and was hiding out, to avoid seeing what was going on? A shiver went down my spine, at the thought she'd take part. I'm not unaware that even at 50, my mom was hot. I had eyes and wasn't naïve enough to think she didn't have some sort of sexual side, but this was beyond what my head space could fit.

After my career took off and I got my own place, we kept in touch, and I'd visit her place once or twice a month, provided I was in town. And there was never any sign of a man in her life. I'd once teased her about this, and she countered by saying it might be another woman. That took the wind out of my sails and made me vow not to tease her about her love life again.

I spotted the Hawaiian room, but as I approached, I saw a mature woman kneeling in front of a guy 20 years her junior. He had a smug look on his face as she was sucking his dick right there in the corridor. My dick twitched.

Not that I found her attractive, but my shooting schedule, and training, had left me no time or energy to spare for one of my occasional bed mates.

Then I spotted mom a moment before she turned to see me. I could now see, why she said her bunny costume was only kind of. Shiny black high heels, fishnet stockings, a pair of bunny ears in her hair, but it was the body of the costume that took my breath away. If you could overlook how low cut the top was, and how huge her cleavage appeared, or just how high cut the legs were. It was that it was made of skin tight PVC, very shiny, and tight.

I know, I said it was tight twice, but I felt it was worth repeating. As a kid, I grew up and saw her in bikinis, many times. But it was just my mom. By the time I turned into a teenager, and horny for girls, she opted for more clothing. Now I was looking at her as a grown man, and the loving son part of my brain seemed unable to filter out her sexiness.

I had to admit she looked better at 50 than I could ever have imagined. She was curvy in all the right places. Damn, if it wasn't my mom, I certainly would have welcomed her into my bed. OK, that made me feel weird, but her smile as she spotted me...threw that train of thought away.

She gestured me over urgently, then threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. Only it wasn't a 'mom and son' kiss. But that of long-lost lovers, on the lips, with her body crushed up against me. Shocked and confused, I reacted on an ingrained response. I gripped her hips and kissed her back; for about a second. Then my brain caught up with what we were doing.

I broke the kiss, but she clung to me and with her high heels, her mouth was close to my ear.

"Sorry Trey, but I really need to make the others think you're my husband. Or at least my lover."

"Excuse me?" I whispered back.

"Grab my bum." My hands seemed less reluctant than my brain, as they slipped from her hips to her backside.

I'd always had a bit of a thing about shiny PVC. Not a real kink, but still it was sexy.

"Like you mean it." She added and squeezed me tighter. "It's important."

She turned us around so her back was to the room, and I wondered why, as the other people in the room would see my hands on her bum. But that seemed to be her goal.

"Are you going to explain why?" I asked, and she nodded, then gave me a look that I should play along.

Struggling to understand why, but trusting her implicitly, my hand gripped her ass more fully. Half my hands rested on the PVC, but the rest were directly on her flesh. Flesh that was certainly not, in the 'mom/son' safe zone. But if she wanted me to do it for some reason, I did. Holding her bum firmly and squeezing it. Groping my mom's ass at a party, was not how I expected my day to go.

Two hours ago, I was shooting bad guys in the head and now I was wondering if I'd been shot in the head myself. And this was how my brain was dealing with dying. Had I had a 'mom' fantasy all this time? Nope, I was sure I'd not.

Mom was writhing against me and kissing my neck and nibbling at my ear. I knew she was projecting this act, for some reason that I didn't understand yet. But my body could not tell the difference.

"See the guys near the door?" She whispered.

I nodded, assured that the mask over my eyes would rob them of the ability to tell where I was looking. She turned us a little.

"And the 2 more next to the piano?"

Again, I spotted two more men paying a lot of attention to mom. Which made sense, except I got a predatory feeling from their looks and posture. Almost like they were trying to decide, if they wanted to interrupt mom and me.

"You've already figured out this is not a regular wine and canapes party, right?"