Performing Sex Scenes on Stage – Act Two: A Standing Ovation (29f) [FM]

As I found myself stood on stage in front of some two hundred or so people, bent over to simulate being fucked from behind by a man I found desperately attractive, feeling his ill-concealed erection pressing repeatedly into me with each almost comically over-forceful thrust, while I stared directly into the eyes of his laughing girlfriend in the audience, I fully confess to my inner monologue deploying a tired old cliche;

“You’re probably wondering how I got here…”

I day say you, fair reader, are probably asking much the same thing.

The answer in full can be found [HERE](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/q46shv/performing_sex_scenes_on_stage_with_inevitable/) But for those who find link clicking and/or backstory filling a tedious business, I’ll very quickly bring you up to speed.

During my time at University I joined a sketch comedy group which, in order to protect the innocent, I will refer to only as *The Soggy Biscotti.* Although participated primarily as a writer, over time I occasionally found myself appearing *in* sketches in addition to penning them. For one particular show I wrote a series of skits in which a couple find each other so irresistible as to be physically incapable of keeping their hands off each other, and as such they are found fucking in an increasingly bizarre series of situations – including cropping up randomly Python style in *other* sketches.

Thanks to irony, cruelty or perhaps an unholy combination of the two, *I* was cast as one of the pair, with the distractingly attractive Dave as my partner. Dave was so infuriatingly handsome that people would briefly attempt to join *The Soggy Biscotti* purely to spend time with him, only to promptly abandon the endeavour when they discovered he had a girlfriend.

Rehearsing comedy sex is in no way arousing. If anything, awkwardly simulating supposedly amusing sex in front of friends and colleagues is enough to kill a libido forever. Performing on *stage* with the bonus of added atmosphere, added adrenaline and an actual audience present is a very different story.

In short; we both became incredibly aroused. Both physically and mentally. Initially we were both apologetic, but it transpired anything we did to attempt to quell the arousal only made it worse. As such, we decided ‘fuck it. We’ll just go with it anyway’.

Which is how things started to escalate. In the blink of an eye we switched from apologetic to seemingly actively encouraging. If we were going to inadvertently turn each other on, we may as well have some fun doing it. He’d focus specifically on my nipples during a sketch in which he – ghost style – mushed my tits like clay. I’d no longer actively avoid contact with cock when simulating a handjob, instead bringing my hand down right upon it with each exaggerated ‘pump’.

But the tricky thing with escalation is; it’s near impossible to know where to stop.

Dave broke first. He denies it, but he’s not here to defend himself so I’m afraid you’re stuck with *my* version of events (I.e. the accurate one!)

Towards the end of the show I appeared in a sketch which appeared entirely unrelated to the ‘fucking couple’ saga. The jokes were terrible and it was a crap scene but the *punchline* was that it I’d stand up and it was revealed that I’d been sat on Dave’s face for the duration – Surprise, it was the fucking couple after all!

It’s a better visual gag than it reads written, trust me.

For this sketch I’m wearing a length skirt and sat on the end of an obscured bench, while Dave is positioned beneath me, obfuscated by both set and skirt. Usually I would position myself to be essentially sat on his chest, with him very much *outside* of the skirt – when I stand up it appears as though he was beneath it regardless, so it was felt there was no need so make him any more uncomfortable than was strictly necessary.

However, on this occasion, thanks to our ever escalating game of sexual chicken, he’d decided to go method instead. Rather than assuming the usual position, he adjusted himself so as to be actually *beneath* my skirt. Only some large and exceptionally unflattering ‘sturdy for quick changes’ stage underwear separated Dave’s face from where I’d spent every evening since the show had begun fondly imagining him exploring.

I was surprised, but took it in my stride. I briefly clenched his face between my thighs as a ‘I know what you’re doing’ gesture, and then like the true professional that I’m very much not, I got on with the scene, fondly imagining this was as far as this particular tease would escalate.

I was wrong.

Reader, I’d imagine that in literally any other circumstances on earth, being lightly nuzzled and tongued through thick and unflattering underwear would be near catastrophically un-erotic. But let me assure that it’s phenomenally difficult to deliver crap jokes while a handsome man does it to you on stage. While it’s true I could barely feel him – escalation aside, he was being subtle – the lightest of touches was all it took to send my head into quite the spin.

I survived the scene – missing only a handful of gags due to well timed caresses – and, despite the incredibly smug look on his face as we left the stage, decided to pass no comment. Nor did I reference it throughout the remainder of the show.

He thought he’d gone too far. Which meant he’d let his guard down.

I waited until the following show before I got my own back.

The second appearance of the Fucking Couple was a simple sketch in which the basic premise was ‘Why is it you only get people coming to the door when you’re in a towel?’

I’ll remind you now that this was written years ago. Comedy was simpler back in those halcyon days!

Dave’s character was supposedly fresh out of the shower and thusly only wearing a towel around his waist – a sight which never failed to elicit wolf whistles from thirsty audience members – only to have to deal with increasingly bizarre callers at the front door. One of them is me. Cue comedy erection. And then the scene needlessly continued with *more* callers, only now I’m seemingly wanking him off for the duration.

I’d say again this was funnier visually than when read, but in all honesty it reads about as well as it played.

Dave would wear his boxers beneath the towel to preserve his modesty backstage, and also held a spoon on a stick he would deploy to cause the comedy ‘massive erection’ upon my entrance. He’d then lie down, and I’d simulate a handjob beneath the towel while we took it in turns to fob off the absurd callers; Deliveries, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Charity Collectors, etc.

All very silly and innocent.

Except in the wake of face-sitting-gate, I needed revenge. And I knew precisely how I would get it.

The scene played out as normal – the only difference being Dave still looked somewhat more apologetic than usual after the previous performance – but instead of grabbing the spoon, I went for the kill.

I reached under the towel, pushed the spoon down, and grabbed his cock instead.

Through his boxers initially. But it didn’t take much in the way of exaggerated handjob motion for it to soon escape for real.

This was all masked entirely by the towel, and I didn’t so much as add an extra beat to a single line of dialogue for the duration. I simply continued the scene and the audience were none the wiser that I too had gone method, and was wanking Dave off for real.

Well, the audience might not have known from *my* performance. Dave’s was another story altogether. Apparently having his cock in my hand was enough to leave him fluffing lines left, right and centre. Thankfully the nature of the scene was such that his character is mean to be distracted and barely paying attention, so it all played as simply part of the act.

(It’s why I chose that scene in particular. For all I wanted revenge, I wouldn’t indulge at the expense of a bad show!)

After a minute or so of stroking Dave for real, the sketch was over. As we walked off stage he was both dumbfounded and speechless.

I wasn’t.

“Want me to finish what I started? We’ve got five minutes before we’re on again…” I said, aiming for coy and casual but almost certainly sounding more like one of the thirsty wolf whistlers in the audience.

He didn’t so much say ‘yes’, as simply grunt in a speechless yet simultaneously enthusiastic and affirmative manner. At least I took it to be an affirmative given he swiftly grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into the dressing room bathroom. Inside he finally spoke;

“We need to sort this out right now. There’s no way I’m letting you make me jizz in my pants on stage!”

Such a romantic.

Knowing time was very much of the essence I pulled down his trousers and boxers in one swift and well practiced motion, and got my first proper look at the cock that had spent five nights poking against me live on stage.

Sometimes in life you can encounter a disparity between the senses. You can make assumptions based on one which can easily prove to be entirely misplaced. I’d felt Dave prod and poke me from multiple angles on numerous occasions and as such had created an image in my mind’s eye as to what Dave Jnr would look like.

Reader, I had grossly underestimated. Not in length, but in *girth*.

At the peak of his tumescence Dave was – I exaggerate not – very nearly the thickness of my wrist.

It was my turn to be momentarily rendered speechless, much to Dave’s delight. He was wearing the face of a seasoned veteran to this near ‘deer in headlights’ reaction.

However, my pause was momentary. There was work to be done and the clock was ticking.

I was immediately gratified to see my on stage work hadn’t been redundant, as the tip of his cock was already glistening with pre-cum. So, without further ado, I took a firm hold and started stroking.

Three minutes in to the impromptu session, just as I was starting to build the pace and intensity, Dave apparently buckled to some internal pressure.

“I have a girlfriend,” he blurted, as though he’d been fighting back the urge to say it.

I paused the stroking, but still kept ahold of his cock.

“I know,” I said, trying to sound sympathetic rather than brutally disinterested. “If this makes you uncomfortable and you want me to stop you can absolutely say so.”

He did not want me to stop.

However the pause, brief though it was, did rather rob us of valuable momentum. The current on stage action was transmitted to the dressing rooms over a tannoy system, and we could hear that the sketch before our next appearance was just getting underway.

To continue at current pace felt like something of a hiding to nothing so I made the executive decision, gave a quick kiss to the tip of his cock, and stepped back, pulling back up his boxers in the same motion.

I’ve rarely witnessed such a visceral look of disappointment as that which crossed Dave’s face when he realised I was drawing this encounter to a close.

“Why rush? We’ve a whole show to get through. We might as well do this properly.”

And with that, I dashed out of the bathroom to quickly get changed.

The very next sketch was the tit grabbing pottery nonsense. I don’t think I’ve had my breasts grabbed and kneaded so furiously before or indeed since. You’d almost think poor Dave might have been a little frustrated…

As it transpired, opportunities for illicit backstage fun were minimal during the first act of the show. Either the changes were too quick, or one of us – usually Dave – was needed in other sketches. Equally we didn’t want to risk anything during the interval in case the cast cottoned on to our join absence from the usual audience analysis and breakdown.

Act Two was a different story, thanks in no small part to a colossal *ten minute* sketch that, during the writing and production process, I’d insisted was far, far too long and needed cutting at all cost.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

The sketch featured the entire cast except for myself and Dave, as we featured both before and immediately after. So this time we didn’t even need to restrict ourselves to the bathroom.

While our friends on stage performing their little hearts out in a terrible and overlong scene to an uninterested and near silent audience, I got on my knees and blew Dave’s enormous cock in the middle of the dressing room.

Due in no small part to the extended teasing build up, he didn’t take long to cum. Which, in all honesty, came as something of a relief. We still had a scene to do, and this would have been a terrible time to get lockjaw.

His cock felt as good in my mouth as I’d anticipated – albeit more filling, my tongue having considerably less room to manoeuvre to work it’s magic than I’d grown accustomed – and I sucked, stroked and lashed at it hungrily.

At some point during my time happily bouncing my head up and down his cock, he asked if I was interested in fucking. I didn’t dignify this with a response. *Of course* I wanted to fuck him. But I was damned if I was going to waste it on a five minute dressing room quickie.

He announced his imminent ejaculation with a declaration of “I’m going to blow!” which resulted in cum hitting my the back of my throat whilst I was near hysterically laughing for the then second time in my life.

I swallowed. He told me – somewhat breathlessly – that he didn’t have me down as a swallower. I told him we’d discuss that revelation at great length after the show.

A few minutes later we were back on stage simulating much the same event; I was on my knees in front of him seemingly providing a blowjob, while he explained how much he was looking forward to me meeting his parents. As they arrive I hurriedly stood and smiled, letting yogurt trickle out of my mouth and spill down me.

*That’s* why he didn’t have me pegged as a swallower.

Soonafter he ditched his girlfriend. He didn’t tell her it was my fault. As such we kept our backstage canoodling secret from the remainder of the cast. Which made things rather tricky when we took the show to a fringe festival, and found ourselves all sharing a flat for two weeks.

But, if Shakespeare taught us anything, it’s that tragedies should be held back until Act Three…

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/rfswkb/performing_sex_scenes_on_stage_act_two_a_standing