Double Take

by Nom de Plume

© 2003

  

Episode Six: Hard Ball, Soft Touch

  

Sandy and Ashley switched off the television and stared at one another in disbelief. Normally, they didn't stay up to watch the network telecast of Wet Girls, which came on at 10:00 on the west coast. After all, they had to get up at 5:00 the next morning. But they knew the entire country would be talking about this episode, and they had watched it with dreadful anticipation.

The phone rang before either one of them could speak. They were spending the night at Ashley's house in the Hollywood Hills, so she picked it up, grimacing as she listened. "I know, Mom. I know. Yeah, it's terrible. Uh, no, that was me playing both roles. Special effects. Tell Daddy hi for me. Love you."

Sandy watched as she collapsed onto the sofa. "Even my own mother thinks the show stinks now. 'How could they kill millions of people like that?' she asked me. And to make it worse, I had to lie about who played Coral and who played Pepper. What a disaster!"

Sandy, who was wearing a short pleated skirt and knee sox, pulled her down onto his lap. He brushed her hair away from her face as she snuggled up to him. "Let's go to bed," he said. "I'll make you forget all about the show."

Ashley slid her hand up Ashley's skirt and started to play with the hem of his slip. She loved it when he dressed up in something sassy. Ashley herself was wearing jeans and a sweat shirt, but Sandy was still afraid to go out in public in anything that might give him away as a guy.

He had reluctantly agreed to tag along when she asked him to go out with her after they got home from the set that afternoon. Los Angeles was a whirl of non-stop parties as the Holidays approached, and Ashley had some serious shopping to do. She was invited to dozens of events, including an A list party at the home of one of Hollywood's hottest producers, and a C list party being thrown by Ben and Robert Prik, the co-executive producers of Wet Girls, that same Friday night. For the hundredth time, she begged Sandy to take her place at the network party.

"No way," he said.

"Pleeeese!"

"Just tell them you can't make it. It's going to be like a wake anyway, after what we just saw on TV."

"Darla told me I'd better not miss it. You know Darla."

"So go."

"I have to go to the other party. Especially after tonight. Wet Girls is going down the tubes, and I better start hustling for parts."

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll be your slave for the rest of the year."

"The year's over in two weeks."

"Pleeeese!"

"What do I have to wear?"

"Yea! The green velvet skirt I just bought will be perfect on you. So you'll do it?"

"I guess," he sighed. Before he could change his mind, she pulled down his panties and began to tease him, caressing his cock with his silky slip. He wasn't getting hard like he usually did, which surprised her.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, nibbling on his ear.

"I'm so pussy whipped."

"Don't I make you happy?" She quickened her strokes. Faster and faster, Ashley slid Sandy's slip up and down his shaft, driving him wild in spite of himself. The delicious sensations overwhelmed his resistance, although he was still soft when he lost control. Sweet surrender.

* * *

On Friday afternoon, Ashley fussed over Sandy for hours, experimenting with different hairstyles and makeup to give him the proper look. The last thing she needed was for guys to start coming on to him. His hair was just long enough to fasten in the back with a scrunchie, and his face looked convincingly feminine with very little makeup.

Decked out in a long velvet skirt, white ruffled blouse, and dainty shoes, Sandy watched uncomfortably as Ashley dressed to the nines for her Beverly Hills party. Her teased hair, short red dress and fuck-me heels made him look and feel like a schoolmarm by comparison.

"Trying to get some ass tonight?" he asked as she applied a final coat of gloss to her bright red lips.

"Don't be such a prude," she said as she surveyed herself in the mirror.

"Then why did you dress me up like one?"

"Look, I've had a lot more experience fighting off guys than you have. You're the one I'm worried about tonight," she said as the doorbell rang.

Sandy had never worn a long skirt, and he felt ridiculous taking baby steps as he minced down the driveway to Ashley Vaughn's waiting limousine. "Good evening, Miss Vaughn," the driver said as he opened the door. Sandy clutched at his long skirt and pulled it up as he struggled to get into the back seat.

As they drove up Laurel Canyon towards Toluca Lake, Sandy thought sadly back to the last time he had agreed to pinch-hit for Ashley at a society event. At least then he had Toby Goodfin to run interference for him. Tonight, he would be sans escort, in a shark tank full of network executives and Hollywood hangers-on.

What have I come to, he said to himself as he took in the glimpse of stocking between his velvet skirt and his suede pumps. Two years ago, I was a professional athlete at the top of my game, getting laid by a different girl every night. Now I'm sitting in a stretch limo in a freaking skirt, on my way to a party where I've got to pretend to be a girl in front of a bunch of total losers. Where did I go wrong?

He thought back to all the nights with Ashley Vaughn. To the incredible sex with a girl who loved him with every ounce of her beautiful body, who knew about the rush he got from wearing women's clothing, and who shared the secret thrill he experienced every time he passed in public. Sandy lifted his skirt and crossed his legs, reveling in the sensation of nylon against his smooth skin. A song from The Producers, the insane musical featuring a crossdressser as Adolf Hilter, brought a smile to his pretty face. Where did I go right?

The sight of the long driveway leading to Lakeside Country Club snapped him out of his reverie. When they pulled up to the clubhouse, the driver gave Sandy a pager so he could buzz him when he was ready to leave. "I won't be long," Sandy said as he dropped the pager into his clutch purse and got unsteadily out of the limo.

He exchanged air kisses with a few familiar faces as he ran the gauntlet of network suits in the lobby. Most of the guests were already there, crowded around a buffet table and an open bar in one of the club's larger meeting rooms. Sandy was waiting his turn at the bar when Darla Palmer came up to him.

"Ashley, I'm so glad you came," Darla said as she pressed her cheek against Sandy's. "Did you come alone?" she asked nervously, looking around the room.

"Yes."

"Oh good. I love Sandy, but it's best for the two of you not to be seen together, for obvious reasons."

"What makes you think I'd want to bring him?" Sandy asked, unable to resist the opportunity to mess with her mind.

"Come on, Ashley, I've got eyes." They worked their way up to the bar, and Ashley ordered a glass of white wine. Darla was drinking straight vodka.

"I like him, but not in the way you think."

"What do you mean?"

"We're just good friends, almost like sisters."

"Sisters?"

"Exactly. I mean, how could I get turned on by a guy who wears lipstick and nylons?"

"Are you telling me he dresses like a girl when he's off the set?"

"Didn't you know? How do you think the poor boy gets through the weekends?"

Darla was shaking her head when Sandy excused himself and walked out of the room, down a narrow hall lined with photographs of long-gone entertainment legends playing golf at Lakeside. Abbot and Costello…Martin and Lewis…Laurel and Hardy…where were Vaughn and Lane? He found himself at the entrance to the deserted billiards room. What a perfect place to kill some time! He racked up and was taking aim at the cue ball when he heard a man's voice. "Mind if I join you?"

Sandy looked over his shoulder to see a paunchy network suit with a bad comb-over. It was Ben Prik. "Why not," Sandy said, as he dropped a ball into one of the side pockets after a clean break. Sandy was a good pool player, and he held nothing back, maneuvering deftly around the table despite the confinement of his long skirt and the nuisance of the gold pendant around his neck. He sank four in a row before he missed a tricky bank shot.

"You're good," Prik said as he pressed his fat belly against the table. Although he was far from an athlete, and he had obviously been drinking, Prik had excellent hand-eye coordination, and he sank three of his own before the turn went back to Sandy.

Sandy had to lean over the table to line up for the next shot, up on the toes of one of his feet. He stopped to hike up his skirt so he could balance himself by raising his other foot in the air. He was lining up his shot again when he felt Prik's hands around his waist. "You're so lovely," Prik said.

At first, Sandy didn't know what to do. Prik had enormous power at the network, and he obviously had a thing for Ashley. "Thanks," he stammered, still trying to line up his shot.

"You do something for me," Prik said, nuzzling the back of Sandy's neck. "I want to get to know you better."

"Mr. Prik, please…" Sandy started to say.

"Think of what I can do for your career," Prik said, sliding his hands down to Sandy's ass.

Sandy fought to get away. Prik used his enormous weight to pin Sandy against the table, pushing him down on the green felt surface as balls scattered this way and that. The next thing Sandy knew, he was being spun around onto his back, and Prik was on top of him. Sandy could hardly breathe as Prik started to pull his skirt up and fumble with the waistband of his control-top pantyhose.

Sandy tried to cry out for help, but Prik smothered his mouth with a fleshy hand. Desperate, Sandy flailed around on the table, and his hand found the cue ball. Without thinking, he clutched it in his fingers and smashed it against Prik's mouth. Prik pulled back with a start, and Sandy smacked him with it again before he was able to wriggle away. He rolled off the table and fell onto the floor, kicking off his shoes as he tried to get up. Prik was bleeding through his broken teeth, towering over Sandy in a blind fury.

"You little bitch," Prik swore. "You're finished in this town."

Sandy spied his cue stick on the floor, and before Prik could react, he picked it up and rammed the handle into Prik's privates. Again and again, he swung the wooden stick up between Prik's legs, pounding his testicles through his baggy trousers. Prik fell to the floor, and started to disgorge his indulgences from the buffet table.

A member of the club came running into the pool room, attracted by the commotion. He saw a beautiful girl smoothing down her skirt and stepping into her heels while a fat man threw up on the tartan plaid carpet. "What happened?"

"He tried to eat a cue ball," Sandy said as he picked his purse up off the floor. He buzzed for his driver and slipped out a side door.

* * *

Sandy was waiting up for Ashley when she returned from her party. Grateful to get out of his long skirt, he had washed away the memories of Ben Prik's assault with a long, hot shower before putting on a knee-length cotton nightshirt. "You're home early," Ashley said as she kicked off her heels and joined him on the sofa. "Did we have a good time?"

"We did, until we were almost raped by Ben Prik."

"What?"

Sandy took her through the whole sordid story. "I had to take him out," he explained matter-of-factly. "Another few seconds, and he would have discovered that Ashley Vaughn has a dick."

"You poor thing," Ashley said as she took him into her arms. "I'm so sorry I got you into this."

"Are you kidding? I'm just glad it was me instead of you."

"Are you going to call the police?'

"No way. I've seen enough of them lately."

"What a creep. Now I hope they do cancel the show."

"How was your party?"

"It was wonderful! I met so many people. Everybody was talking about Wet Girls like the show is past history already, and asking me if I'd be interested in this series or that movie. Oh Sandy, I wish you'd been there."

"Someday, maybe. Right now I just want to go to bed."

"How about an early Christmas present?"

"What?"

"I got something special for you. I know you'll just love it! After the night you've had, I want to give it to you right now."

Before he could say anything, she disappeared upstairs, only to return a minute later with a box from Victoria's Secret. Ashley's eyes were bright with anticipation as Sandy tore off the ribbon and pulled back the tissue paper.

It was a matching camisole, garter belt and real silk stockings, all in a beautiful shade of baby blue. "I knew you'd love them!" Ashley gushed.

Sandy had to smile. "You know, once upon a time I gave something like this to a girl I was dating for her birthday. I never heard the end of it. 'You got that for you, not for me!' she told me. Now I know what she felt like."

Ashley was crestfallen. "Oh Sandy, I'm so sorry! I really thought you'd like them!"

He pulled her against himself and hugged her. "I love them. I can't wait to put them on. And I can't wait for you to take them off me."

"Are you sure."

"Positive. And now I'm going to give you a present."

"But you already got me the ring."

"Yes, but this is something extra. Wait here." He walked over to the coat closet and fished something out of the pocket of one of his jackets. "I haven't had time to wrap it, but why wait? You can use it when I put on your present," he said as he sat back down beside her.

Ashley opened the brown paper bag and gasped It was an enormous, strap-on dildo, painted realistically, complete with bulging veins and a purple head. She started to laugh hysterically, turning it this way and that as she tried to imagine herself strapping it on.

"Do you really want me to use this thing on you?" she said.

"Sure, but you'll have to get me good and drunk first."

"I didn't know you were that kind of girl."

* * *

Ashley woke up a few minutes after eight o'clock on a beautiful Sunday morning. The bed beside her was empty, which meant that Sandy was out for his usual morning surfing session.

Whenever possible, they spent their free weekends at Sandy's place in Redondo Beach, away from the smog and frenzy of the Hollywood Hills. She lay back on the down pillows, and relished her memories of the night before. Sandy had been absolutely ravishing in his camisole and stockings, and she had brought him to his first orgasm while she was showing him how to fasten his stockings to his garter belt. Again and again, they had climbed to new heights of ecstasy, amusing themselves with the ridiculous dildo while Sandy built up steam before each go-round. How he was able to get out of bed and surf after the night they had was beyond her.

Although it was December, the day was sunny and bright, and Ashley puttered about the kitchen, dipping some bread into her secret recipe for French toast. It was his favorite breakfast, and he was always ravenous when he got out of the water. After she poured her first cup of coffee, she sat down at Sandy's computer to kill some time while she waited for him to get back. Idly, she logged onto Variety's website to check out the latest show business headlines. She froze when she read the top story:

PRIKS NIX SURF CHICKS: Wet Girls, once the hottest show on network TV, wiped out yesterday. Network execs announced the sudden cancellation of the series following its disastrous New York tidal wave episode. According to one studio insider, the real reason was "creative differences" between executive producer Ben Prik and the show's up-and-coming star, Ashley Vaughn.

Ashely was staring at the screen when Sandy came through the front door, dripping wet and holding a blood-red towel against his face. "Call 911," he said before he fainted onto the floor.

* * *

Five hours later, Ashley finally got in to see Sandy at the recovery room at Torrance Memorial Hospital. His nose was bandaged, and he had a shiner under one of his eyes. He looked up at her and smiled weakly as she squeezed his hand.

"What happened, Baby?" she asked.

"My board broke in two, and the top half hit me in the face."

"My God, you're lucky to be alive."

The doctor standing beside his bed nodded his head. "It's a good thing he had a nose guard on that board, or he might have been blinded."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes. Other than a broken nose, he's going to have nothing to show for it."

"Can you fix his nose?"

The doctor gave them both a reassuring smile. "We've already set it. One of the nurses found an old copy of Surfer Magazine with Sandy Lane's profile in the waiting room. Talk about good luck!"

* * *

Sandy was released from the hospital later that afternoon. Ashley had been so preoccupied with his condition that she hadn't had time to think about what it might mean to their relationship. As she was driving them back to Redondo Beach, it all hit her at once, and she started to cry. Sandy looked over at the tears streaming down her beautiful face, and tried to comfort her. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Oh Sandy, they cancelled the show!"

"What?"

"It was in Variety this morning."

"Shit." Sandy always knew it was too good to last – the money was ridiculous – but as the news started to sink in, he realized why Ashley was so upset. "You lost your job and your twin sister in one day."

Ashley said nothing as she stared straight ahead, blinking back the tears.

"Ashley, this is a big break for you. Now that you're out from under Darla Palmer's contract, you can really do something with your career."

Ashley knew this was true. When she checked her cell phone while Sandy was in surgery, she had six messages from her agent telling her about calls from different studios, production companies, even a Broadway play. What scared her most was the prospect of losing Sandy, now that their fantasy world on Wet Girls had come to an end.

Sandy read her mind. "This doesn't change a thing between us. Okay, so maybe I don't like like you any more, but I'll still gonna look like a chick, even if I'm not your twin sister. Always did. You saw my driver's license."

Ashley started to laugh through her tears.

"Think about what this means! I can go back on the pro tour, reestablish myself, make a little money, and still do the girl thing whenever we want to. Only now when you take me home to meet Mom and Dad, they won't disown you."

Ashley was laughing freely now. "You haven't met Daddy. He's having enough trouble with his only daughter being an actress. Wait till he finds out I'm engaged to a surf bum." Here eyes were brimming with happiness through her tears. "I can't wait to show off my ring!"

* * *

The Banzai Pipeline on the North Shore of Oahu is the setting for the final event on the men's pro tour. In the wintertime, outrageous western swells refract onto a shallow flat lava reef eighty yards offshore, resulting in an intense, short ride that demands perfect timing. Basic surfing skills - getting in early and placing the first turn just right – count the most, along with the self-control needed to make things work when the ocean is roaring like a liquid locomotive.

Sandy Lane's late entry into the tournament had stunned the surfing world, which wrote him off for dead after his confrontation with Buster Cruz. Sandy was a sentimental favorite, but nobody expected him to do much, given his long absence from competition surfing. When he made it through the qualifying heats and earned a place in the four-man finals by a tenth of a point, record crowds gathered around the colorful tents and pennants on the beach to witness the event.

Ashley had seen Sandy surf many times, but never in conditions like this. The first time she saw the monstrous waves pounding against the reef, she begged him to withdraw from the competition, but the faraway look in his soft blue eyes told her she was wasting her time. She was almost too nervous to watch the four surfers paddling out through the thundering shorebreak after the siren signaled the start of the championship round.

Ashley watched Sandy's red singlet bob up and down on the frightening swells, as one by one the other surfers tried in vain to catch the crashing waves. The first two wiped out almost immediately, and Sandy continued to bide his time as the reigning Masters champion dropped down the treacherous face of a raging barrel, only to be crushed by tons of water before he was pounded against the reef. Sandy seemed serene as the first two surfers struggled to get back into the lineup while the third paddled in with a broken board.

Keen observers on the beach that day thought they noticed something different about Sandy Lane, something impossible to describe. To be sure, he was thinner, and his shaved body enabled him to slide through the water like a dolphin, but there was something else. He seemed more fluid, more passive, almost…feminine as he sat on his board and waited for the right wave to come to him.

When it did, he got up to speed with a few swift strokes, and dropped down the face with amazing grace, as if he were saying to the wave, "Where you been, big boy? Take me for a ride!" The crowd on the beach, and the television audience around the world, stared in disbelief as Sandy Lane toyed with the massive wave, shredding it playfully as he flirted with its power again and again.

Only Ashley, standing alone on the beach, understood what was really happening.

 

By the author of The Jessica Project, www.geocities.com/thejessicaproject/author

  

  

  

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