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.
