~  The Actors  ~

Here's a little tale you might enjoy.

My identical twin brother Zander joined a drama troupe a couple of months ago, which was kind of a change of pace for him, as a not insignificant number of our friends and relations commented. Personally, I couldn't have felt differently. I mean, it's not as if he's never been the artistic type. And he's always loved having a spotlight upon him. But if this character trait is muted, it's probably because he's a little bit shy. Well, maybe shy isn't quite the right word. Reserved, perhaps? Shy, reserved, whatever. At any rate, there's a latent narcissist lurking within him like a butterfly struggling free of its cocoon.

Me, I like to give free vent to my feelings. It's caused no end of tricky situations over the years, but then Zander and I have a little ace up our sleeves to help each other out of any little entanglements arising.

But let's get back to Zander. After all, this story's about him, isn't it? So, Zander had joined this drama troupe. I reckon the real motivator was that break-up. Came as a big shock to all and sundry, I understand, not least of all him. Everyone thought they were absolutely perfect for each other - everyone that is, except my aunt Carol. I really like Carol. She married my mother's brother a few years ago (first marriage for both). She was a couple of years older than him, and he was 43, so if ever there was a case of two confirmed bachelors finding something explosive, this was it. They're separated now, amicably, I believe, and we all still keep in touch. She's a worldly woman, Carol, and when she phoned Zander to chat about his split with Kacey, she knew just how to make him feel better. "I never saw you two as a couple," she had said. "You were just sowing your wild oats."

This was the same Carol who seven years earlier had told the twenty-one year-old me (quick arithmetic: that makes them, er, twenty-eight) that I needed an older woman. She was right, as it happens, but I digress.

Anyhoo, Kacey and Zander split up on New Year's Day and, frankly, it was a big relief to him. He can speak sanguinely about it now with the benefit of hindsight and a little time to gather his thoughts. They were both too young, and the engagement was a mistake. Neither of them really wanted to be married. That was my opinion as well, coincidentally enough, but I'd held my tongue (against my usual instinct) because they were so happy together.

To be honest, sometimes Zander's near-nuptial bliss could be a real pain in the ass. Everyone would ask me when I was going to follow my twin's lead and settle down as well. Nothing was further from my mind. I'm quite contented with my unattached status, thank you very much.

When Zander got back to London he decided, with his usual resilience, that moping would be counter-productive. He'd been too inhibited in his endeavours for too damn long; it was time to start expressing himself. One Saturday night, our hockey team's post-match drinks at the local pub became one of those drunken all-nighters. I'd been hitting on Claudia, a German girl in our ladies first team, with a spectacular lack of success when the karaoke guy arrived. Well liquored on a few shandies, alcohol being one drug we don't handle well, Zander and I murdered I'm Too Sexy by Right Said Fred to great applause, mainly by half-speaking the lyrics and totally making asses of ourselves in front of three girls at the bar. We can't sing, you see. We're tone deaf, apparently. Been told that all our lives and, after a while, you start to believe such things.

Now, you know how these karaoke nights go. There're usually a couple of people at the pub with passable voices, maybe one genuine chorister, and the rest constitute some sort of tone deaf drunken rabble. That's how it usually is in my experience, anyway. Well, on this particular Saturday, there happened to be a group, more or less my age, who none of us had seen before. (It's usually just the hockey club plus a few regulars at the Bell.)

Anyway, each one of these newcomers had an exceptional singing voice. I was really impressed. Take Sasha, for example, a petite dreadlocked blonde, who performed a freakily sexful version of Fever. She's got that deep, throaty, totally sexy tone of voice that really gets my pulse racing. She followed up with Love Is The Drug. Wow. Zander was especially rapt. Then Tom, a tall, really good-looking guy, also blond, growled his way superbly through Come Together. Lawrence and Nicola did Phantom Of The Opera as a duet, which may sound a little cheesy, but it's a difficult song to sing and they carried it off brilliantly. Then Nicola sang Woman In Love. You can say what you like about Barbara Streisand, Cartman, but she's a brilliant singer. So is Nicola, all five feet nine inches, eighty-five kilograms of her. So she's large. She's also a midwife and a lovely person, and conclusive proof that all the astutely managed bimbettes that come our way via Pop Idol hide their disgusting lack of talent behind manicures, pedicures, coiffures and wardrobes.

Zander and I have always been drawn to beautiful things, so it's only natural that we should get talking to this crowd of songbird strangers. And lo and behold, it turns out they're all members of an amateur dramatic company. "We do musicals," said Nicola, "and we've just started rehearsing our next production. It's Carissima, a romantic comedy set in Venice in the thirties. You two should come along. I saw you behind the mike earlier," she added with a smirk.

Now, people who know Zander and me will tell you that we're rather multi-talented guys, so not being able to do something has always galled. It's like a shortcoming. We'd both wanted to learn to sing for a long time, but neither of us ever found the opportunity. And now, here it was, offering itself up to us on a plate. Unfortunately, the Thursday night rehearsals clashed with my oboe lessons, so I told Nicola I'd have to hold off for a few months. But Zander had no such timetable problems, so next Thursday he turned up at the rehearsal hall and joined the cast.

It didn't take him long to suss the clear fringe benefits of his new pastime. The company is about 60% female, and most of the women are in our preferred age bracket. (18-50, since you're wondering - which, admittedly, includes practically all pre-menopausal females of legal tender but, you know.) Moreover, as you'd probably not be terribly surprised to learn, most of the guys are gay which, quite naturally, makes for some fun banter across the hall. Apparently, a few camp quips too many from the directors, a pair of queeny 70 year-old former RAF flyboys, spurred Zander on to demonstrate his sexual orientation in no uncertain means - as if getting over Kacey wasn't motivation enough. Okay, so maybe shagging five of his cast mates was a little bit self-destructive, but I should talk. I mean, I'm so horny I'll fuck air sometimes. And while we're on the topic, I think promiscuity has got a really bad rap lately.

Anyhoo, all the man-hungry women in the cast (most of them are single, and two are locked into loveless marriages by little children) are just looking for an outlet for their passions. Actors are demonstrative people by nature and, London life being the essentially lonely thing it is, this drama company is a goldmine of oestrogen-fuelled hi-jinks.

Zander's good-looking, if I do say so myself, and, as you know, he's a natural narcissist, so all the attention this hunk of fresh meat was getting from the girls of the cast was just the fillip he needed to forget about Kacey once and for all. Well, that's probably not true. I mean, you can never push someone completely from your mind. But you can push them to a part of your mind from where they no longer command especial prominence. And that's what happened. Before long I was learning all about the relative merits of Maria vis-à-vis Suzy vis-à-vis Lena vis-à-vis Simone vis-à-vis Shelly vis-à-vis Taryn vis-à-vis Melanie vis-à-vis Gin vis-à-vis Tania et cetera et cetera, blah blah blah, bling bling blah blah. Oh man, talk about a guy with options.

But casual sex, truly casual sex, is a very rare thing actually. Somebody invariably gets hurt. When I asked Zander about this he deflected the question, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he knew these girls better than I did. Besides, all this talk of all these horny females had got me more than just a little curious and, frankly, I wanted to sample some of these thespian treats too. Who wouldn't? Well, the gay directors of the company for starters, but I digress.

Carissima's curtain was going up in the last week of May, and Nicola was hosting the after-party that Saturday, which I reckoned would be the ideal venue for what I had in mind. I know how these after-parties go. Everybody's euphoric at how well the performance went, lots of liquor and sundry other social narcotics, and so on and so forth. So I booked a ticket for the final performance. I arrived just before curtain up and took a seat right at the back of the hall, ostensibly keeping out of sight of the performers on stage. This was just a little James Bond fantasy to help me get in character for the subterfuge that would follow. After all, they'd all be meeting me soon enough. And, in a sense, they'd met me already anyway, know what I mean?

The show was mildly entertaining: excellent singing (as I'd expected, having seen some of the crowd in action at the karaoke night) but the acting was a touch amateurish for me, although a couple of the cast were very good. I was really impressed with the set design and the costumes. The storyline itself was a fairly formulaic rom-com, but altogether acceptable. I carefully scanned the program's cast list against faces and bodies on the stage to compile a shortlist of those skirts I'd most like to lift. I was rather amused to cross-reference my hit parade with Zander's list of conquests to date - the age-old "looks v personality" debate. Since I didn't actually know any of the cast, my list was compiled strictly on aesthetic criteria, whereas Zander would have had the benefit of some legwork. It should be remembered, though, that any grand designs a man ever has must always be tailored to whichever women are making themselves available to him. In sex, as in most things, women are smarter! (It's a factoid of which I need to keep reminding myself. I am forever being bamboozled, bewildered and bewitched.)

Anyhoo, once I'd prioritised my preferences, I sat back and watched my twin on stage. And guess what: the boy really can sing. Score one for that brother o' mine. He seemed to have a good chemistry with a couple of the girls up there, as well. Being a late arrival to the show, he didn't have a speaking role, but he certainly took every opportunity for some silent upstage chorus line ad-libbing, and whichever young maiden happened to be next to him would respond. It was a lot of fun to watch. And gladdening too. I guess he'd finally moved on from Kacey.

After the show, we made our way over to Nicola's house. It was a clear May night, so Zander suggested we walk - a gentle twenty minute stroll would give us time to exchange notes in a fraternal sort of way.

"So who's the lucky girl tonight?" I asked my twin.

"I'm really keen on Suzy," he replied. "Tall, blonde, slender..."

"An excellent choice, sir," I pronounced. And then, thinking back to the show, "She played the love rival, right?"

"Uh huh. We've been flirting a bit these last couple of weeks, so I think I might be in there. I stole a kiss tonight backstage between scenes."

"I reckon you're definitely in there," I laughed. And me too!

"How about you, bro? Anybody caught your eye?"

"Natch. I thought I'd make a play for Maria tonight. She has breasts of note."

"Uh, I wouldn't go there."

"Why not? Herpes?"

"Nope. She's fifteen, bro."

"Ah. Well then," I said in my most business-like manner, "we'll have Maria to be phased in over the next eighteen months. How about Sasha, then?"

"Oh yeah, she's as kinky as all get out."

"Ehhhh-xcellent," I mused in my best Monty Burns.

"May I propose a little gambit?"

"The usual?"

"The usual."

"Ah, you most certainly may."

"Ehhhh-xcellent," returned my brother, in his best Monty Burns too.

*       *       *       *       *

It had been a while since I'd enjoyed a party as much as this one. I should think it was the people there - artistic types, you know? All these naturally expressive people, all looking to cut loose after a couple of months of hectic rehearsals and biting of nails. There was much drunken singing and dancing in the kitchen - Nicola's husband Paul had set up his PC jukebox on the little pinewood table, so we all took turns to load a playlist. And, yes, there was karaoke in the living room - mostly Abba, it should be noted, though I'm not necessarily complaining about that. For my part, I hung out in the little garden, chatting to Zander's new crowd of friends, and getting to like them all. Even more pleasing, I made some good time with Sasha. There was a definite connection between us as we shared a discreet reefer in the corner of the garden beneath the milky light of the pale full moon. The tilt of her pelvis as she looked up at me was just the sort of body language signal that speeds my pulse, so I leaned down for a kiss. She responded with a full-mouthed embrace, her serpentine little tongue flicking naughtily between my lips and onto my own organ of taste. My hands had found their way, almost uncommanded, to her hips and I pulled her closer as she wrapped her arms around my neck. Her tight little abdomen squirmed into my stomach and I could feel the gentle contour of her pert little breasts against my ribs. Now the kiss was becoming more searching. Then she pulled back slightly, looking me playfully in the eye as she dropped a hand deftly to my crotch. It closed around the bulge in my pants, simultaneously verifying my excitement and signalling her intent. Sasha's gaze darted from my left eye to my right and back again as she murmured an invitation. I kissed her again with a smile, gave her left nipple a playful pinch, and we stepped back inside to find a little nook for our nookie.

Nicola spotted us picking a meandering way through the dancing bodies in the kitchen and guessed what our ignoble intentions were. "Main bedroom's occupied," she advised with a wink, "but I think the guest room's available. Better be quick, though, or you may end up with company."

Judging by the necking going on in the kitchen, chances of that were pretty good. Always a reliable indication of a successful party on the, er, swing.

Sasha scampered up the stairs and I followed, thoroughly enjoying the sight of her tight little ass woggling in her jeans. At the final step, she made a beeline for the nearest door and pulled me inside. She closed the door and pitch darkness swallowed us up. There wasn't much room to move and the proximity was getting me really worked up. Sasha's perfume, her sex pheromones and the hint of beer on her breath conjured a seediness that was getting me totally horny. I hadn't wanted a woman this badly in ages.

Sasha flipped the light switch, revealing our little hide to be the linen closet. "Well, this is cosy," remarked I. She giggled, gave me a little kiss, and then turned around and started wriggling out of her jeans. I did likewise, then stripped off my shirt and, in a flash of inspiration, grabbed some towels off one the shelves and dropped them on the floor as cushioning. Then I sank to my knees to commence my oral worship of this little chanteuse standing legs akimbo before me, pert ass presented before my lustful eyes. I pressed my nose and mouth to the sky blue silk panties, a cool film over the heat rising from her core, and breathed deep. I pushed my tongue between her cheeks, forcing the smooth material onto her pussy and then massaging the gentle resistance with the tip of my tongue. Sasha sighed and peeled off her tank top. She looked down at me from over her shoulder with a sluttish leer that said, "Carry on, you smug bastard," and I quite happily obliged, first tugging her panties down to fully denude her pristine posterior and reveal that exciting trim of fur over the core of her womanhood.

"I see you're not dreaded everywhere."

"Oh, shut up. You talk too much."

She thrust a purposeful hand down to grab a fistful of my hair and pull me forcefully into her tail. I could see nothing but the smooth curve of her ass, flowing into the plane of her lithe little back, so I let my tongue guide me like a mamba, master of its terrain and perfectly adapted to its needs. My reptilian little organ told me that Sasha's pussy lips were already dilated, plump and slick with her girl juice. A touch more insistence in my probe was sufficient to work my tongue between her labia and into her pussy. Sasha's response was to widen her stance, thereby pushing down on my face and enabling me to penetrate still further.

I've always loved cunnilingus. (So does Zander, for that matter; we tend to trade notes as friends do.) Maybe it's the kinky paradox of control exercised from a submissive posture. Maybe it's the closest a stud can come to actually crawling head first into a cunt and pulling those delicious lips over his head like a warm, loving eiderdown. Maybe it's the deliriously heady mix of aroma and taste, right up there before your very eyes. Maybe it's the notion of paying tribute before the Mother Goddess while she marks her territory with her wet woman scent. Maybe it's just pure, unadulterated lust.

Ah, screw it - let's just do it!

After a couple of minutes, Sasha was beginning to writhe on my face. She'd released the back of my head by now and was using both hands to brace herself against one of the shelves. I had a firm grip on her lithe flanks, between her hips and her lower ribs, from which I could pull myself slightly up and into her pussy, which was now flowing like a river gorge. Now and then I would have to swallow some of her pussy syrup, all too greedily. And then I would continue my oral ministrations, working my tongue purposefully from her clit - a rock hard little nub - through her pussy, stretching for maximal penetration as I reached the channel of her cunt. After a while I focussed my attention on her clit, gently cupping it with my pursed lips and sucking to deliver a mini-blowjob. This really pushed Sasha over the edge and she started moaning softly. I sucked with more intensity in response, then paused to flick my tongue across her pleasure nub. I could feel the quivers jolting through her body as she started to come; I quickly thrust my middle finger into her pussy and my thumb into her ass, holding her core in one hand as I massaged her belly with the other, and with her climax I felt her anus and vagina clamping down over my digits in time to the bass line of Dancing Queen, reverberating up from the living room beneath us. Sasha sank down onto my face, all strength drained by the power of her orgasm. I sat back against the shelves behind me, cradling Sasha in my arms as she cooed contentedly.

*       *       *       *       *

We were in no hurry to go anywhere. Not being in a bedroom, we reckoned we were relatively safe from discovery, so we just sat and cuddled for a while. And then...

"Do you hear that?" asked Sasha.

"Uh..." I strained my ears, "yeah. Sounds like... well, somebody's having some fun next door."

Sasha giggled wickedly and planted a kiss on my cheek. "Shush," I admonished her with a pinch of her nipples. She reacted with a little squirm and settled down obediently.

Somebody was indeed having some fun next door, which must have been one of the bedrooms as the bed in question (or possibly the chest of drawers) was creaking most rhythmically. The wooden percussion was punctuated at staccato intervals by grunts (tenor) and moans (soprano) with the voice accompaniments definitely increasing in frequency and volume as the operetta progressed.

"Who do you think it is?"

"Um... I have a feeling..." Another grunt confirmed my suspicion. "Yes, that was indeed my brother. Now I really feel dirty."

Sasha snickered. "Who's he with?"

"Maria, I think."

"What??? She's a kid, the naughty devil. Bet she's learning a thing or two."

"Uh, I mean Suzy. The tall blonde one?"

"Yes, that's Suzy. She landed her mark, then."

Now I snickered. I love hearing women acknowledge their own predatory schemes.

The creaking was speeding up now, and Suzy's intermittent moaning had become an uninterrupted banshee wail of helpless pleasure, which a girly chorus of Does Your Mother Know? from the karaoke room downstairs must hopefully have hidden from all ears other than ours. Suzy must have come then, judging by the satisfied Aaaah that followed through the paper-thin wall.

"I knew there was a benefit to this cheapshod construction," murmured Sasha. She had swivelled slightly on her rump so that she could reach down to my cock and stroke it gently with her supple right hand, her head resting against my chest. The handjob felt really good. Meanwhile, one suspected Zander and Suzy had switched positions too: her moans were now silenced and it was he who was making the most noise - "Mmmm" and "Oh that's good" and "Ah yeah" and such like. Yeah, brother.

Sasha had dextrously manipulated me back to full strength now, and she was clearly getting turned on by the audio show from next door. She bent down to run her tongue lasciviously along my cock, and then nibble gently at the helmet, all the while watching me like some naughty little nymph. Then, with serendipitous timing - just as Zander was apparently blowing his wad with a grunt of note, and downstairs the Monkees, with most everybody else joining in, were singing "now I'm a believer" - Sasha swiftly bobbed her head and swallowed me whole, enclosing my cock in the warmth of her mouth and suck, suck, sucking with the self-assured joy of a consummate blowjob queen. Her serpentine tongue wrapped around my shaft and over the head, giving me a tickle-stroke sensation that just pushed me over the top. I was already well turned on by the extended foreplay of cunnilingus and handjob, and now this sexy sprite had me completely in thrall, those wild blonde dreads bobbing over my crotch like a sex-crazed octopus wanking over a coral garden outcrop. I couldn't hold back any longer and the spurt of my guy juice signalled the apex of my climax, an exquisite release from the crescendo of sensation that coursed throughout my body. It's so strange how just three seconds of bliss can have such an effect on you, but I was completely spent. I flopped onto the towel-strewn floor, a loopy grin creasing my face, and Sasha, with a lick of her lips and a flash of that wicked smile of hers, lay down beside me.

~  End of part one  ~

So what happened next?  All is revealed in Part II, dear reader!

© Basil von Geusau 2007

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