Role of a Lifetime II
By: Kenneth Kirk
(© 2023 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

kkirk@tickiestories.us

Chapter 1

Tuesday before Thanksgiving, when I’d just gotten home from a long day of filming Lunar Base 1,   my cell started chirping as I flopped into my favorite Strato-lounger in the immense den at the back of our new house in the Malibu Hills.  For a moment I looked out at the backyard that sloped down a few yards to the cool-deck around the massive pool, then the sounds of the electronic chirping reminded me I had a task at hand.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sky,” said a vaguely familiar feminine voice.  “This is David Dawson’s assistant Tammy.”

I was glad to hear from her.  It had now been about nine months since Laying Low was released and my life had changed completely, many thanks to that movie.   Although both Brant and I got regular emails from Tammy updating us on the viewing stats regarding the film, she and I had not actually chatted since our wedding in July.

“Hi, doll!” I shouted with renewed energy as I wondered what reason there might be for the call.

“I don’t think I’ve had a chance to tell you what a spectacular time Amy and I had at your wedding.  It was beautiful and, since I’d been at the cabins with you guys at the beginning, it was really exciting to see you two gorgeous guys taking such a huge step.”

“Thanks, Tammy.  Sometimes I still can’t believe it.”

“No doubt,” she chuckled.  “The guy who not only turned Brant Kimber gay but snagged a ring, too.”

I laughed at that.  “How succinctly you encapsulate my own bafflement.”

She snickered some more.  “As much fun as it is to just chat with you, I’m calling in a professional capacity here.”

“Uh-oh.”

“It’s all good.  Actually, David would like to set up a meeting with you and Brant if he’s in town.”

“He’s due in from Miami tomorrow about 3, I think.”

“Great!”

“He would like to invite you to a casual poolside lunch at his house.”

“Super.  When?”

“It could be either Friday or Saturday, whichever works best for you guys.”

“I’m not sure if Brant has any business to do while he’s in town, so let’s say Saturday just to be safe, in case he has a Friday appointment I’m not aware of.”

“That’s great.  How’s one o’clock?”

“Perfect.  Can we bring something?”

“Just your Speedos.”

I chuckled.  “We never leave home without them!”

“Why am I not surprised?” she joked.  “Okay.  See you around, Sky.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Tammy!” 

********* 

“Why does he want to meet with us?” Brant asked when we got home from LAX and he had taken advantage of the prime piece of ass I gave him for coming home to me.

My cum was still drying on my abs while his dripped from my asshole.  “Wha-a-a?” I said.

Brant laughed, tossed me a trick towel, and apologized.  “I’m sorry.  I should wait until after I tell you that’s the best sex I’ve had in a month before I get down to business.”

“Uhm, since we haven’t been together in nearly six weeks, it had better be the best sex you’ve had in a month,” I teased.

“Point well taken,” he whispered as he kissed my swollen lips.  “So?” he asked pointedly.

“I don’t know.  Tammy gave no indication.  Maybe David just wants to thank us for giving him the best performances of the year.”

Brant chuckled.  “He’s already thanked us for that.”

“Well, my philosophy is that when an award-winning director invites you to lunch, you ask no questions except when and where.”

“Good philosophy, sweetheart.”  He kissed me more passionately this time.  After a few minutes of dueling tongues, he said, “Do you want to go out to dinner or would you prefer a hotdog made from my wienie and your buns?”

I reached down to stroke said wienie for a moment.  “I think it entirely possible to enjoy that hotdog now and a dinner later,” I purred.  “Don’t you?”

He grinned sensuously.  “Absolutely!” 

Brant rolled me onto my belly, so I spread my legs in invitation.  He stopped for a moment, looking along my body to focus his attention on my buns.  I think he was admiring them.

I stared at him and growled, “What’re you waiting for, stud?”

Always quick to follow a cue, Brant slipped into position above me with his knees on the mattress between mine.  Then, with no further delay, he shoved his wienie right into my buns!

********* 

We had Thanksgiving dinner the next day at the mansion belonging to famous acting couple Brodie Ford and Rachel Hughes, which had been my home until a little over a year ago.  In addition to the four of us, my grandmother Gertrude Ford had driven up from San Diego with Uncle Robert and his new fiancée Kathy Yee.  It was an intimate family gathering, both relaxing and quite vocal, since it was the first time the relatives had seen Brant and me since our wedding in July due to our caution regarding COVID.  Of course, everyone was interested in how filming was going on Brant’s new picture Mariel to Miami and my TV series about King Ludwig, The Gay King.

Being in Hollywood themselves, Brodie and Rachel (better known to me as Dad and Mom) were well informed about our activities thanks to the high level of interest the trades and tabloids had taken in our careers since we had bared all (repeatedly, passionately, and with the exchange of a lot of bodily fluids) in Laying Low.

“Here,” Mom said as she passed Grandma a copy of Hollywood Insider with this photo of Brant, captioned, “Hot star of Mariel to Miami Caught On Set in Provocative Costume.”  The accompanying story complemented his amazing physique and rugged good-looks, emphasizing how masculine he is in this production and comparing it (not unkindly) to his “brave and emotionally challenging” performance in Laying Low.  Grandma tsk-tsked about the public’s fixation on a little skin, though admitting she has not been brave enough to watch our screen debut together.  Rachel looked a bit askance at me while commenting she didn’t consider it brave to eschew salacious movies, although she had to admit “that sex-a-thon” had obviously done our careers good so far.

“Of course,” Dad quipped, “I don’t think they can get nominated for President now, even as Democrats.”

“Maybe as Libertarians,” Uncle Robert added.

“More like Libertines,” Rachel sniffed before breaking into unladylike guffaws.

Brant and I just held hands and smiled during all the banter because we were sure it was all in good fun. 

Just to be sure we knew that, Dad looked us squarely in the eyes and said, “You know we’re just teasing.  The movie provides such fertile ground for teasing.”

“I know, Dad,” I smiled.

“Just, please, Brodie, don’t ever participate in a roast of either of us,” Brant pleaded to a voluble round of laughter. 

********* 

Later, after Uncle Robert’s group had started south towards San Diego, we sat with Dad on the deck to enjoy a cool twilight while Mom called her parents in Sandy, Utah.  Over a tray of whiskey sours, we conducted an in-depth discussion of our current projects.  Dad often provided wonderful guidance to us “young” actors based on his two decades in the business.  He’d had quite a bit of success and was a popular guest on late-night talk shows before the pandemic.  He’d been nominated once for a supporting actor Oscar (2012’s beach blast Incident at Ipanema) and had 3 Emmy noms for best actor for Lunar Base 1.  He had several Golden Globe noms, including a win in 2019 for Lunar Base 1.  He had successfully made the transition from youthful hottie (a la The Olympians where he played a diver and when he played an underwear model on a short-lived series) to a handsome leading man.  So, Brant and I listened to any advice he gave us either directly or indirectly.  The best was that we knew he loved us a great deal and actually thought it was cool that we had found enduring romance together.  I knew he was slightly turned-on to us, too, having observed his bulging pants at the conclusion of the screening of Laying Low.

Given Dad’s great insider success and his devotion to us, we shared openly all the details of our work and practically hung on his comments when they came.

“So, Brant,” Dad said over his whiskey glass, “how are things progressing on Mariel to Miami?”

“Rather well, I think, Brodie.”  Brant grinned.  “We should be finished with principal shooting before Christmas, so I’m very pleased about that.”  He glanced at me with a sweet expression.  “I’m looking forward to being home again.”

“That’s great.  How is working for Alberto Marin?” 

“Marin is an interesting director.  Did you know he actually came to this country in the Mariel Boatlift in 1980?”

Dad was impressed.  “I did not know that.  So, he knows what he wants in the story, I’d guess.”

“Very much,” Brant nodded.  “He has very specific ideas and it’s sometimes challenging to get it exactly the way he wants it.  But, at the same time, he’s able to help you if you’re not sure how to play something and he is forgiving when you need another take or two.”

“The best directors are those who can successfully accommodate the limitations and the mistakes of the crew.”

“The crew is pretty good, too.  Of course, most of the actors and crew were hired in Miami since there is an abundance of Cubanos there.  I think Hector and I, an assistant director, and a couple of cameramen are the only LA people.”

“How is Hector doing, by the way?” I interjected.

Brant took a sip before answering.  “As an actor, he’s doing well, I think.  His experience to date is with bruiser parts or dumb hotties, but in this role he has the emotions of losing his homeland, leaving his family, and coming to a strange and scary place.  He’s struggled a bit at times, but the end result is far more subtle than he’s ever done before.”

“That’s great,” Brodie said.

“Juanita is nervous about how well his career will develop,” I noted.  Seeing a puzzled look on Dad’s face, I explained, “Hector and Juanita Montez have been dating for a year and a half or so, so she is naturally wanting him to achieve some good success.”

“Having her on his side can’t hurt,” Dad noted.

“That’s true,” Brant agreed.  “I think she really helped Laying Low by having me on her show several times.”

“Anything that helps the movie helps all who are involved in it, too.”  Dad refilled our drinks from a pitcher he had made.  “And, for the record, Brant, you were an amazing guest for her with how well you interjected suggestive ideas into your answers to her questions.”

I laughed, remembering the look on her face when my beautiful previously heterosexual matinee idol had proposed to me on her Valentine’s Day special.  “Proposing on camera helped her ratings a lot.”

“She thinks that’s the main reason her show was bought for syndication right afterwards,” Brant said.

“She’s probably right about that,” Dad said, “especially when they looked at other episodes you were in.  You and she both did a wonderful job of creating suspense and ‘ohmygods’ in the viewers.”

There was a quiet moment as we all sipped our whiskey sours.

“It’s been very interesting being in Miami with Hector,” Brant said with a hint of suggestion.

“Why’s that?” Dad asked.

“Well, he grew up there and only left about five years ago.  In our off-hours, he’s dragged me to family dinners and beer busts on the beach with his buddies.  We’re working out at his old gym on South Beach, where he seems to know at least half the people.”

“That’s a little unusual for a location shoot,” Dad nodded.

“I’ve gotten to observe him a lot and how the people who knew him before Hollywood feel about him.  He’s very popular amongst his crowd to the point that some of the guys almost seem to, uh, worship him.”

“Really!?”  I wasn’t sure quite how to interpret that.

“What do you mean?”

“He has quite a few guy-friends he’s known since they were kids.  Of course, he’s the gorgeous one with the great body and the super-hot Hollywood girlfriend.  Most of them are just normal working guys.  You know, landscapers and mechanics and waiters.  But Hector is glamorous and seems to have everything going for him.  They just flock all over him like they can’t get close enough.  Of course, Cubanos are very affectionate anyway, so it seems like some guy has always got an arm around Hector.  They’re always hugging him, feeling his bicep, ruffling his hair, and buying him beers.  I have to monitor the alcohol to keep him from getting into trouble.”

“I guess that all makes sense,” Dad said.  “They think he’s the big success story from all the people they know so they’re clamoring for his attention.”

Brant nodded.  “Yeah, Brodie, I think that’s right.  But the really curious thing is how Hector eats it up.  I mean, he doesn’t seem overly ego-driven.  At least not to me.”

“Not to me either,” I said.

“But he just, I don’t know, glows when he’s getting all that attention.  When we go back to our hotel after a night out, he’s high on the adulation.  There are no drugs involved except alcohol.  But he seems like he’s on some kind of upper, like Ecstasy maybe.”

“Damn,” I said, “it almost sounds gay to me.”

Brant smiled at me.  “I’m certainly no expert on gay behavior, but I’ve wondered the same thing.”

“Why do you think that, Sky?” Dad asked.

“The way Brant is describing it seems very physical, almost like the guys are sexually drawn to Hector.  And in a way he must be encouraging it.  At least he doesn’t seem to be rejecting them.”

“That’s it, babe.  It’s as if everyone is flirting with him but without any real expectation they’ll get lucky.  But it’s still flirting.  And he’s acting like some macho version of Marilyn Monroe or one of the high school sluts on Elite.”

“Elite?” Dad asked.

“It’s a Spanish high school soap opera on Netflix, Dad.  It has gorgeous guys and gals who are filthy rich, drink and do drugs, and fuck each other all the time.”

He grinned.  “Well, I can see why you like it.”

“Oh, it’s delightful,” Brant said.

“But all the girls act like felines in heat and the boys are sniffing at them constantly,” I laughed. 

“Except all the boys who are sniffing after each other,” Brant noted.

“Our favorite parts, huh, sweetie?” I snickered.

Brant just laughed as Brodie rolled his eyes.

After a moment, Brant continued, “Anyhow, I get similar vibes from Hector and his band of Cubanos.”

“Fascinating,” Dad said as he drained his glass.

Looking at my watch, I said, “We should get going, Dad.  We have to get our rest so we look good for lunch tomorrow with David Dawson.”

“Oh,” he looked impressed.  “What’s that about?”

“Ask me tomorrow night because right now I have no idea.”

“Fair enough.”  He stood, then leaned down to plant fatherly kisses on each of our foreheads.  “Good-night, boys.  You can let yourselves out.”

“Good-night, Dad.”

“Good-night, Brodie.”

Having imbibed a bit too much to be safe on the road, my husband and I spent the night in my childhood room, too sleepy to even mess around before we nodded off. 

To be continued...

Posted: 02/03/2023