JBB Presents
 
At the time, it had all seemed like a pretty mundane spring break. Too mundane, really. Tedious – that was more like it. And frustrating. He might have called the whole thing a tedium cake, iced in a rich frosting of frustration – if he were the sort of no-talent hack who stooped to banal metaphors. No, not James Beecher Brazell. He was going to be the best of the best.
The way he saw it, his humble beginnings were only a part of his origin story, a quaint bit of trivia that would feature as a few lines on his wikipedia page, right above his education and work writing the biggest franchise of Hollywood blockbusters since Fast and the Furious. Having to spend his senior spring break with his loser family had seemed nothing more than another hurdle for him to clear on his path to stardom.
Uncle Ollie was chiefly to blame for it, followed by James’ parents. Back from some third world nowhere with more bullshit tales of archaeological “glory,” like he was Indiana Jones come to life or something. His dad, having not seen his brother in close to a decade, had dragged James and his mother off to his uncle’s ranch (on a slightly more local slice of nowhere, an hour outside Boise) along with the rest of the clan. He’d been forced to spend his final spring break from Valley High School hiding from his relatives. Worse, the closest thing to privacy the ranch’s cramped accommodations afforded him was a room he’d had to share with three of his cousins, each two to a bed, while Uncle Ollie basked in the rapt attention of his siblings and in-laws as he regaled them with the fictitious tales of his adventures and acquisitions.
That was the tedium.
The frustration was twofold, and it began with the company he was sharing a room with. First up was cousin Barry. Barry had struck a deal with James on day one to split their bed 50/50 and take turns going top and bottom of the sheets. James didn’t share in his homophobia, but given that Barry weighed in at oh, say, half a beluga whale, the split was more like 80/20 with James trying not to fall out of the bed as his cousin sprawled out leisurely beside him. Valley High may be home to the Pirates, but it was Barry who was plundering all the bed space.
James didn’t know which of his aunts or uncles had determined sleeping arrangements. Whoever had done it, rather than divide the rooms by gender, had divided them by age, like they did with the table place cards at Christmas dinner. As such, with Barry’s corpulent form sprawled out behind him, that left not the logical presence of his Aunt Vicky’s sons Bobby and Tony, eleven and nine respectively. Instead, James was left sleeping face to face (across about three feet of suitcase-cluttered floor space) with Stacy and Tracy.
There wasn’t much to say about Stacy and Tracy. They were six months older than him, just enough to see him as a perpetual child. They were twins, and though fraternal, they may as well have been identical. And they were each identically, precisely, hot as hell.
Seven days. And seven nights. A whole week of trying not to notice the twins casually strutting around in bikinis as they came and went from the pond in front of the house. Then trying not to notice them going about their evening and morning routines, in which it seemed tank tops, sports bras and underwear were their preferred PJs. No need to bother with cumbersome shorts or sleeves when, as Tracy put it, “Jimmy and Barry are just kids, and anyway, they’re family!” Then she’d giggled and bent over the adjoined bathroom’s sink to apply lipstick, the left side of her panties riding halfway up her crack.
That was half the frustration. On its own, it would have been adequate to ruin his break. However, his cousins were not the only source. James was also supposed to finalize his write-up for the big senior talent show. After rejecting his script for the spring play, and the fall play, and last spring’s spring play, the new drama director Miss Ergenbright had finally let him get a foot in the door by writing and directing the annual senior talent show.
It might not seem like much, and in most ways, it wasn’t. All that was required was to write a little material to introduce each act, and transition between them while the stage crew set up and tore down as needed. Still, James was not going to let an opportunity to finally show everyone what he was made of slip by. For weeks, he had been churning out draft after draft of the night’s spectacles, rejecting each as its imperfection revealed itself. Sometimes too cliché; sometimes too high-brow; sometimes it simply didn’t have that James Beecher Brazell je ne sais quoi. 
So he’d had all week to get it exactly right. With less than no interest in socializing with family, James meant to make the most of his isolation. Uncle Ollie had a computer, albeit an older one; computer access had been one of the conditions James silently imposed for his not having a meltdown when informed he had to go. The machine was running Windows XP and had some creepy stone idol Uncle Ollie claimed he’d found in the crypt of the personal scribe of some moldy old king of Persia glued to the tower, but at least it had a word processor. That was all a young man of his remarkable talents required.
Of course, the meltdown had come anyway, when despite his best efforts, he didn’t meet Miss Ergenbright’s deadline and received an email informing him that she’d gone ahead with her own version. The woman had even attached a copy, as if to mock his efforts. It was abysmal, all witless quips and unearned praise. It bespoke a young woman at the onset of her career striving desperately to gain approbation by doing nothing more original than being kind and letting the presenters hog the limelight. Simpleton. With her at the helm, the senior talent show was going to be nothing more than students performing for the entertainment of their peers and members of the community. Who in the hell wanted to see that? There was no whimsy, no showmanship, nothing to mark it as the high point of their young lives.
Livid, he’d swiped a bottle of Jack Daniels from Uncle Roger’s stash and gotten blackout drunk on the final night in Idaho. The next morning, as James was struggling against his first ever hangover, Barry who asked him if he’d heard back from his teacher yet; when James asked what the hell he meant by that, Barry told him he’d been laughing up a storm about the revision to her program he’d sent back at her and asked if he could read the whole thing. Uh, oh.
Mortified, he’d rushed to send her an email to disregard it, but there was for the tenth time that trip no service. He hadn’t been able to get back to Miss Ergenbright until he’d arrived back at home. After a brief but scalding shower to wash away the vestiges of his redneck family, he found it was too late, that she had simply replied that she enjoyed his sense of humor and looked forward to seeing him in class.
James had heaved a sigh of relief and considered that maybe Miss Ergenbright wasn’t so bad after all. She was fresh out of college, so youthful that she was often mistaken for a student by visitors and staff members. Besides, he knew how hard it was for young women, especially attractive young women, to be taken seriously as artists. To the extent that he considered her a fellow artist, James empathized.
The next day it was back to school, and as friends and acquaintances asked time and again how each other’s breaks had gone, he had responded quite honestly, “Pretty mundane. Too mundane. Tedious, really – and frustrating.”
The frustration, in fact, wouldn’t seem to go away. Stacy and Tracy posted daily updates to their instagrams with pictures from their trip, for some reason even tagging James in a lot of them, even if he wasn’t in them. Leave it to his stupid redneck cousins to publicly tag their own cousin in shots of them wearing bikinis. He would have told them to knock it off, but the only thing more awkward than them doing it was to have to verbally acknowledge that they were.
The ensuing week did turn out to be pretty entertaining, by the low bar of what passed for entertaining among high schoolers. Rumors were circulating wildly about numerous members of the jock clique being caught in the proverbial closet at a party over the weekend. Clearly made up, but it was the sort of vicious and uninspired bullying that was probably the result of some popular girl deciding to take them down a peg for her own inscrutable reasons. More power to her – those ogres were a menace. In even more salacious rumors, even more obviously untrue, people were even entertaining the notion that Madison Beer, internationally famous model and trendsetter, was transferring to Valley High. Because that’s what teen millionaires did – pack up everything and move to a crappy suburb of Minneapolis two months before graduation. She had already finished high school herself, for crying out loud. Still, it was fun to have something to gossip about. James had followed her career for years, in fact. He had quite a lot to say on the subject, and was outspoken in reminding his provincial classmates how unworthy they were to breathe the same air as such a creature. Someday, he’d find a role for her in one of his blockbusters – though by then, he may well be dating a supermodel himself.
All in all, not a bad week. The weather was growing more tolerable, and teachers more lax. James was ready to settle back into his routine. Six more weeks of Valley, and then his real life could begin.
It was Thursday before he realized anything was amiss, and he very nearly didn’t. In fact, if Miss Ergenbright hadn’t stopped him on the way out of Brit lit, he might never have suspected before it became obvious. He hardly paid attention in her class as it was, more so than usual this week with the scatterbrained way she’d been carrying on. No doubt the woman was distracted by her work on the talent show. As for James, he was rushing out the door to keep up with Melanie DeLongis, his presently platonic friend but with luck soon-to-be prom date. His friends mocked him, insisting that she was out of his league, but he’d been laying on the charm pretty thick the past semester.
“Just a reminder that dress rehearsal starts right after school,” she said, tapping James on the shoulder on his way past.
She seemed as though she meant to say no more, but he didn’t understand. “Um, what?”
“Dress rehearsal. Today. After school.”
“No, I heard, but–”
“You didn’t forget, did you? Some of our acts are only performing for the first time tonight, so we need to make sure everyone’s up to speed.”
“Why would… look, I gotta go,” he said, seeing Melanie waving at him to hurry up. A girl like that should not be left waiting.
He only had an hour to wonder why she’d passed along the reminder. He wasn’t performing, after all, and the foot in the door he’d been offered had nearly been crushed when Miss Ergenbright had slammed it shut. She was probably trying to be nice. Teachers were like that, assuming inclusion in their lame extracurricular events was a salve for every manner of social ills.
School ended, and though he was fearful he might choke on his pride, he decided to at least swing by the rehearsal and wish everyone well. After all, they wouldn’t know James was the bigger person unless he stopped by and demonstrated it for them.
The auditorium was in a state of chaos, with performers both solo and in small groups milling about, practicing, goofing off, and otherwise reminding him how glad he ought to be to have washed his hands of the whole sordid affair. Miss Ergenbright was on stage conversing with a trio of thickly muscled male students; at least a dozen more were waiting nearby. That was new. Since when had the football team had an act? Those meathead morons could barely handle football, much less theater!
James would have been content to mill about and socialize, but scarcely had he entered the auditorium when the English teacher turned drama coach noticed him and stopped her discussion to wave him over.
“James! So glad you’re here. Are you ready? We can’t do this without you.” He tried to ask what it was she couldn’t do without him, but in true teacherly fashion, she left no room for her student to get a word in. “We’re hoping to do two run-throughs, one real-time so we get to make sure the acts are all ready to go. Then we’ll do another where you’ll just introduce the acts, and we’ll do setup and breakdown to make sure it’s smooth.”
“Introduce…? What? You mean, you want me to host…?”
She laughed. “You’re so funny, James. Now if you’re ready to go, we’ll get this show – or rather, these shows, ha – on the road!”
“Err, I’m happy to host, but I don’t even know where to begin. Sorry, but I actually deleted the email you sent me with your version of the script.”
“You won’t need that! I’ve got a copy of the revised version right…” She looked around, settling on a clipboard on a seat in the front row. “There. Go grab it, and as soon as you’re ready, we’ll get started.”
“Uh, all right…” What the heck? Miss Ergenbright was springing hosting the senior talent show on him out of the blue? It was a little too hands-on for his brand, frankly, but since he’d nearly been ousted from the production altogether, he’d have to take what he could get. To think last weekend he’d worried he’d run afoul of her, and here she was thrusting him into the spotlight! Maybe whatever he’d written in that drunken blur had actually demonstrated his talent – he must be better than he’d thought!
As she resumed her instructions to the football ensemble, he retrieved the script and took a gander.


Senior Talent Show: “Screw You and Screw Your Family and Yes I Mean Screw You in Particular”
by James Beecher Brazell


What the hell?! James gaped. Was Miss Ergenbright screwing with him? He read on, and was soon certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the script he’d typed up a week earlier. He cringed as he read on.


[ENTER yours truly, looking fly af]
JBB: Good evening, slack-jawed morons! I’m your host, James Brazell, and tonight, I’ll be here introducing our so-called talent while you idiots sit there laughing and applauding like trained seals. Practice for me, would you?
[Pause for applause, laughter]
JBB: And to think, I was almost forced out by that dumbass Miss Ergenbright. Say hello to the people, Miss Ergenbright!
Ergenbright: gO0d eVeNInG eVerYoNe! i’M a DUmBa$s! Durrrrr! Durrrrr!


Oh god. Oh GOD. He’d never gone back and read what he’d written. He could hardly stand to look over his work that came from real effort; stewing in his mistakes was simply not his way. But now here she was, trolling him with his own insolence! Wow, was he going to owe her a world-class apology for this. Oh god.
Heart in hand, he ascended the steps. “Miss Ergenbright…”
She held up a finger as she continued addressing the jocks. “So if you don’t have a background in dance, you’re going to have to fake it the best you can, all right? The point is to show people a good time, so try not to stress. Nobody expects you to look like you’re on Broadway, OK?”
Nick Delabarre, one of the team’s starting linebackers, sighed. “OK. I mean, I feel a little stupid doing this, but I guess we can’t really back out now. Right…?”
“Right. C’mon, you guys are up first, so let’s line up and get ready.” She gave them a reassuring smile and turned back to James. “OK. You ready?”
He grimaced. “Look, I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I’m just sorry. You made your point unequivocally clear.”
“My point?” She cocked her head to the side, frowning.
He held up the script. “This. I get it. I was upset, and I lashed out.”
Miss Ergenbright shook her head, blonde curls bobbing. “No, I mean… what does that word mean? The one you used?”
James tried to think. “Oh, you mean unequivocally?”
She nodded.
“It means…” He stopped himself. “Oh. I see what you’re doing, the ‘dumbass’ thing. Right. Look, again, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, sweetie. I am a dumbass – you wrote so yourself! I’m glad you boys are learning all those big words somewhere. So come on, let’s get started! Just read the script.”
Man, she was really good at doing that thing where you lay on the sarcasm so thick it almost sounds like sincerity. Cutting. “But…”
“Now, please. We have a lot to cover tonight, so let’s get a move on!” she shooed him towards the center of the stage.
James sighed. He felt bad about what he’d written – what little of it he’d read, and he was afraid to read more – but making him read it aloud, in front of everybody? That was a harsh punishment. He looked over to where she stood, gesturing impatiently, and took a deep breath. 
Fine. Time to get it over with.
“Good evening,” he began in a barely audible mumble.
“Louder!” called someone in one of the small groups clustered around the auditorium.
He raised his voice, but only enough so that his teacher might hear him twenty feet away. “Good evening slack-jawed morons–”
Miss Ergenbright cut him off this time. “Louder, James! They need to be able to hear you all the way in the back! We need all our microphones for performers, so you’re going to have to simply use that big voice of yours.”
She sure was pushing it. “FINE,” he huffed, and this time he employed the loudest volume he could while still conveying his sullen demeanor. “Good evening, slack-jawed morons. I’m your host James Brazell, and tonight I’ll be here introducing our so-called talent while you idiots sit there laughing and applauding like trained seals. Practice for me would you.”
He scowled through the clipboard right into the floor, unwilling to look out at the students in the auditorium. He did hear some forced laughter, some tepid applause. Great. They’d actually listened. How had he been cursed to go to a school full of jerks?
Suddenly, Miss Ergenbright strode onstage, waving confidently to no one. “Good evening everyone! I’m a dumbass!” Her voice scathing in its self-mockery, and she followed it up with two noises like a donkey braying.
He stared. Why was no one else staring?! Did she really expect him to…?! So be it, he thought. You want to play it that way, we’ll play it that way.
James lifted the script and read on, putting a little showmanship in it this time. “That you are Miss Ergenbright that you are. So are you ready to see a bunch of losers humiliate themselves I know I am.” He didn’t bother with inflection, breaks, or any attempt at delivery. This was punishment, plain and simple.
The students, to his surprise, once more applauded, and Miss Ergenbright recited her next line. “Hey, I have nowhere else to be because I don’t have a boyfriend and I make so little money that I can’t even afford to eat out!”
He eyed her askance. She really was selling it. Oh well, only a couple more lines to get through. “Don’t worry about her, folks. She’ll be working her second job on the corner by the main lot after  the show. Speaking of shows, it looks like it’s time for our first act…”
He stopped, and when she stood waiting for him to keep reading, he lowered the script and put his free hand on his hip. “I’m not saying that. You’ve taken this far enough, don’t you think?”
She blinked. “What do you mean? James, we really do need to get moving here. We have all these acts lined up, and I still have to get to the corner before my pimp takes it out of my ass!”
He gritted his teeth. She really was making this so difficult! “... time for our first act. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give it up for the Valley High football players performing to their original song, ‘We’re All a Bunch of Gay-Boys’!”
He was about to add, there, happy now? when, to his profound and lingering shock, out rushed the football team. 
The host and teacher had to dart to stage left to avoid being trampled. Music started over the speakers, and before James could fathom what was happening, they began to sing. He even recognized the tune, “I Want It That Way.” He pulled up the script, and sure enough, they were working right from it.


Asshole football players (singing): 
We are huge douchebags 
We dress up in drag
Believe when we say
We are all so gay


Oh GOD. It was coming back to him, barely, at about the rate they were singing. His Aunt Mary had turned up the stereo too loud again, and for some reason he’d found the idea hilarious. He winced at his drunken self’s casual employment of an f-bomb, though granted, it set up the lines about their tiny balls would never sag perfectly. Miss Ergenbright had already walked away, ignoring the fiasco unfolding on stage as a bunch of two-hundred pound linemen tried to flutter around like a flight of hairy fairies.
He looked around the auditorium. Some were watching, some even laughing, but the laughter sounded much more like people laughing at authentic jokes than the way his classmates snickered when a teacher told them to turn to page 69. In the audience, he could see Camilla Dupree, one of the most outspoken LGBTQ advocates he knew laughing and lightheartedly clapping as the team reached the refrain.


Tell me why 
Love cocks so much we ditch class
Tell me why 
Can’t get enough in our ass
Tell me why
The football team’s a cock buffet
We are all so gay


Homophobia was not normally in him; while he couldn’t speak for his drunk self, sober, it struck James as more of a satirical rebuke of all the homophobic dudebroing endemic to the jock cliques. Soon, he couldn’t help but laugh to himself. How was this happening? It didn’t make sense at all. Miss Ergenbright would never – could never – take a punishment for a flippant student this far. He knew plenty of these guys, and they uttered a hasty “no homo” if they so much as ate a banana. 
Was he dreaming? But no, no matter how many times he closed his eyes or plugged his ears, they confirmed what he was perceiving: his drunken rage script was somehow actually being enacted by the staff and students of Valley High!
Oh, SHIT.
Only as  their act was ending did James’ brain start frantically trying to jumpstart neurons dulled by their brief whiskey soak. No no no. No, he hadn’t. He couldn’t have. No. He flipped through the pages, searching for something he couldn’t even remember but was worried he had–
“James? I think that’s your queue. No breakdown for this one, so you can go right ahead,” called Miss Ergenbright. The football players were clumsily pirouetting back where they’d come from.
Panicking, he did what came most natural and complied with a teacher’s order. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for Pirates football!” he called, then stopped short. “Uh, yeah, skipping that line.”
He froze. James tried to skip the incredibly crude joke that followed, but every time he opened his mouth, no sound came out. What the hell was happening?! He cleared his throat, even took a swig from a water bottle someone had left near the stage, but it was nothing doing. 
Oh no. Oh hell no. He was not saying that. James took his first step toward the door, ready to run to the parking lot and drive away from this bizarre spectacle – and suddenly, his feet were anchored to the ground. He couldn’t have moved them if the auditorium caught fire. (Oh shit, he hoped he hadn’t written that the auditorium would catch fire!) People were starting to stare, and Miss Ergenbright was looking concerned.
“I need to see the nurse,” he tried and failed to say. Oh no – what if somehow this bad karma that was playing out, or whatever it was, had paralyzed his vocal cords?! He tried one last time, this time sincerely, but to no more effect.
There was only one thing left to try.
“Yeah, so…” He stopped. His voice was working fine. He wasn’t even reading from the script, but he’d been about to, and evidently that had been enough. He tried to ad lib lines around it to dodge the words on the page, but once more, nothing came out. Looked like there was no choice. With a sigh of resignation, James returned to the script. His script.
“Right. Where were we. Aha. Let’s hear it for Pirates football!” He cringed preemptively. “Or should be call it Butt Pirates football? Coach Caprasetti, you can print up the t-shirts, but I get a cut of the sales, OK?”
At the far end of the auditorium, Coach Caprasetti suddenly opened one of the doors and waved to the stage. “You got it, James! I do love me some male booty.” He laughed, the students in the seats laughed, and the door closed with him on the other side. Appeared and disappeared for his one line.
James introduced the next act, this time, mercifully, one of the acts that had been originally planned, a piano number by Jia Yuan. His introduction was still pretty awful – “now let’s hear from someone who actually has talent at something other than sheer barbarism!” – but it was a step up from the previous act. Plus, it gave him time to glance ahead at the script and see what else was in store.
Little by little, James began to relax. It looked like despite his rocky beginning, he had stuck pretty closely to the original act. He made fun of a few people whose acts weren’t very good, and Miss Ergenbright regularly came on stage to remind everyone how jealous she was of him for being smarter and more talented, as well as miscellaneous self-inflicted insults. He’d really hammered on that point about her turning tricks, and he hoped to god the script wouldn’t affect anything outside the performance. Still, as the first couple hours passed, it was gradually less mortifying, to the point where he stopped bothering to read ahead and simply let himself enjoy scoring some inconsequential zingers of the school’s bullies, philistines, and miscellaneous haters.
He did feel a little bad when, on page eleven, about a half dozen acts in, he had targeted Danielle Eaker, who had broken up with him the week before a school dance sophomore year. Her talent, performed with a proud smile and surprising theatricality, was to list off all the STDs she had gotten after sleeping with anybody who’d say yes. He’d even made up a few. (Chronic incurable coochie pox? Seriously?)
Soon, James was simply sitting back and enjoying the show, following the script in real time. In fact, James had in fact gotten so relaxed – drunk again, but on power, however inadvertently wielded – that when he took to center stage after Misty Frankenbach’s flaming baton routine, he was once more robbed of his powers of speech.


JBB: Great work, Misty, and by the way, between you and me, a big thank you for sitting two up one over in art history. That cute little ass of yours is the only thing keeping me awake in there.
Misty: Thanks, James! You’re welcome to stare at it as much as you want. Heck, come on over to my house and watch me shower if you like!
JBB: I just may, Misty. I just may. Next up... 


James could almost read his drunken mind, starting by venting a little, and then going back to a more casual approach to the real task of script writing. But by now, he must have realized this was a pointless endeavor, and reverted to simply amusing himself with the words he’d put on the page. This wasn’t the first overtly sexual thing he’d written. He’d been attracted to several of the female performers thus far, and over-complimenting had happened. It was, however, the only time the girl had reciprocated. In point of fact, as his eyes were irresistibly drawn to her butt by the power of suggestion, she smiled back at him and froze in place for him to admire it.
Which could have been awesome, had it not jogged his memory about the night of the script writing.
Uncle Ollie’s computer was normally situated in his living room, but as a favor – and to keep the gloomy teen out of his hair – he’d erected a card table in the corner of James’ shared guest room. It had consumed a lot of space and the table wobbled too much for comfort. Still, it had been situated right next to a window with a glorious view of the yard, which had made him feel like less of a shut-in. At night, of course, there was nothing to see in the window but the reflection of the room behind him.
Hey Jimmy, Barry’s hogging the bathroom and we have nowhere else to change. Mind stepping out for a sec?
Oh, let the guy work, Stace. Just don’t turn around, OK? Honor system. Don’t make us tell Aunt Rose!
No way I am having that conversation with Aunt Rose if her son turns out to be a perv. You turn around and I’m gonna kick your ass myself, hear me?
Come on, he’s our cousin, not like he’s just some guy. You’d have to be a huge creep to check out your own cousin. Now come on already, quit making a fuss. Ugh, I cannot wait to get this bra off!
He didn’t remember it in such precise detail, of course, but he remembered the basic nature of the scenario. It was easy, in fact, because he’d dreamed about it three nights since it had happened. That he remembered. Probably more.
Neither of them had seemed to even consider the reflection. Of course, usually girls didn’t change in front of open windows anyway, but Uncle Ollie didn’t have any neighbors for acres, and it had been super late by then, so nobody was going to be out in the yard. Just little cousin Jimmy, on the honor system.
He didn’t have a conscious memory of their bodies, but in his dreams… fuck. They had been perfect. It was one of those dreams where bodies don’t have faces and faces don’t have bodies, so they simply became sets of completely interchangeable asses and pussies and boobs, flipping back and forth between those and two flirty, giggling, gorgeous faces. James may not remember much about that night, but he remembered that he’d looked. He would have looked if he’d been sober, and he had very much not been sober by that point.
Right around the time they’d come in and invoked their honor system, he was now surmising, was when he’d been transitioning between the intro and the send-off for Misty Frankenbach.
And, it seemed, it had had something of an effect on his psyche.


JBB: I just may, Misty. I just may. Next up, speaking of asses that are out of this world and just make you wanna play the bongo on them [plays air bongos], let’s hear it for Adrianna Venegas!
[ENTER Adrianna, but with no pants on :D]


He got over his freeze faster this time, but it was still a pause that would have reflected poorly had it come in a live show. Heart in his throat, he sputtered out the words, even pausing to do some awkward drumming mid-air as indicated once it became clear it wouldn’t let him skip it.
Then there was Adrianna. And there weren’t her pants. In fact, as she took her place beside him, waving like a pageant queen, he saw that the bright yellow panties she was wearing had emblazoned on the back of them a colon and capital D, one character per ample cheek.
James couldn’t help himself. He stared. He’d been fantasizing about Adrianna since at least freshman year. Who at Valley High hadn’t? He’d caught male teachers looking after her as she passed in the hallway. Probably would have caught more of them if he hadn’t been staring so hard himself. Though it was only in her side profile that its full glory became apparent. Not only was its shape incredible when viewed from behind, two casually jiggling buttocks, twin pairs of parentheses with just the right number of spaces between them, but the way it thrust itself behind her… It was… 
“Um, Jimmy? I think you’re supposed to say something,” she whispered.
“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat and, with no real choice, went on. “So I can’t help but notice that you have an incredible caboose. What’s your secret?”
She affected a stage laugh. “Secret? I’m pretty sure everybody in school knows what a choice piece of fuckable tail I am!”
The audience laughed. Clapped. No differently than they had at Danny Walden’s juggling routine, or Judy Clower’s blindfolded painting. 
“That you are, Adrianna. So, what’s your talent? What do you have in store for us tonight?”
He read the script as she parroted it, wincing at how much his inebriation had impacted his style. So much for wit and sophistication.


Adrianna: So, do you remember that party last summer at Gwen Smith’s house, where that hard techno song came on and some of the girls started twerking, and people started chanting my name trying to get me to join in, and I gave everyone the finger and left the party?
JBB: How could I forget? I jacked it to the mere though of that dance for like a week.
Adrianna: Well, if you like jacking off thinking about my ass, you’re going to love getting to jack off actually watching me go!


They delivered their scripted banter, even including his misspelling of “thought.” Really? I can’t even correct obvious typos? Thank goodness he was usually still a strong speller when he drank, or the talent show might take the recital of Paulina Lerner’s original song “Words of Tyranny” and transformed it into Paul Lerner’s “Words of Tranny.” 
A song with a fast heavy beat and no words beyond vague high-pitched moans started playing, and James took a few steps back. He didn’t look at the script – how could he with this happening right in front of him – but if he had, he might have found it encapsulated her performance quite accurately.


[Adrianna starts to twerk. Her panties ride way up and she has to keep tugging them back out but she gives up halfway through. Her ass shakes like it’s being hit with a jackhammer. She twerks like she was born for it, because omfg she totally was. Everyone can see how horny she gets showing off her ass because her panties get soaked with how wet she gets and it’s really really obvious. She fucking loves it.]
Adrianna: Oh my god I love shaking my booty for you, James. I’m so horny for you. My ass is yours. Don’t be shy, go ahead and spank it. I love being spanked like a bad little bitch. All my teachers love to spank me for being a little bitch slut with a perfect ass. I’m so fucking horny!
[Halfway through her dance, Adrianna starts grinding on JBB. She loves it because she wants his cock so fucking desperately.]
Adrianna: I love your big hard cock, James!
[James kneels down and she keeps rubbing herself on his face. Then she lets him tug her panties off with his mouth and keeps dancing like that. She is so wet and horny and keeps moaning because of how much she loves twerking and being spanked. She begins masturbating as the crowd chants her name and she has the biggest orgasm she’s ever had as the song ends, right in front of JBB’s face.]


Somehow, it was ever so slightly less mortifying not being the only one coming on stage.
Adrianna picked herself up off the dirty wood of the stage, brushing her knees off self-consciously with her discarded panties. Once more, the crowd politely applauded as she and her hypnotically undulating backside made their way off stage, moisture from her pussy gleaming on her inner thighs. James tried to spank it again before she left, but apparently that wasn’t in the script. His wrist failed him. But at least his dark blue jeans succeeded at concealing what had just happened in his pants.
Holy god. That had been the hottest thing he had ever seen, and there were still over half the acts yet to go. James didn’t recall much about the night of the script writing, but he remembered waking up to use the bathroom around six in the morning, and he’d still had his hard-on from seeing Stacy and Tracy changing. That mood had not subsided.
Spelling might have remained a strong suit for James’ drunken writing, but as he glanced at the next act, he saw that his diction had gone from snappy and clever to a blunt force instrument of pent-up teenage hormones splashed out haphazardly across the keyboard.
Case in point…
“Up next, we have something that frankly, I’ve been waiting to see since the time in eighth grade when we had to take placement tests for what swim class we’d be in at the high school. Come on down, Katie Perrineau!”


[Katie comes on stage, wearing the same type of blue swimsuit she wore that day, except of course her body fills it out way better. Her nipples are hard and she still has a major camel toe going on, just like back then.]


“Hi, James. Thanks for this walk down memory lane! Or should I say, swim?” Katie delivered a scripted kiss. It didn’t specify where, so she went for the cheek. 
“Why don’t you thank me after the show with a nice wet…” James took a breath. The fact that no one seemed to be offended helped, but only so much. “A nice wet blowjob. Say, I hear you sucked off every guy on the homecoming court. Is that true?”
She shook her head, giggling. (The script specified giggling, not laughing, so she giggled.) “No it’s not, actually. I do love sucking cocks, but you know how those football guys are a bunch of donut punchers.”
“Ah yes, how could I forget. So, what’s on the menu tonight, Katie? You, I hope!”
“Basically, James! Hey everybody! Who’s ready for moooooore twerking?!”
He wanted to groan. Must have really had that on his mind that night. Of course, Stacy liked to sleep on top of the covers, so naturally incredible asses had been an issue in the moment. The script didn’t specify a tune, and so the same one began to play, and once more, one of Valley’s hottest hotties starting shaking her ass for a crowd that was mostly too preoccupied with stretches, voice prep and reviewing choreography to notice. Lots of them were simply sitting around playing on their phones.


[Katie uses a pair of scissors to cut her swimsuit off, tossing the tatters into the seats. Her pussy is bare, just like JBB imagined it. The crowd isn’t as excited as they were for Adrianna.]
Katie: Hey, who wants to see more of Adrianna?
[Everyone does, obviously. Adrianna comes back out and twerks some more, with Katie beside her. They rub their asses together.]
Adrianna: James, how about you come between us and let us sandwich your face between our asses?


“I’d love to, ladies!” Would he ever. One of the stagehands rushed a chair out to him – precisely the correct height for the act – and for the next couple minutes, two of his fantasies gyrated their naked asses in hi face. His creativity was still taking a back seat to his libido. Even without reading the script, he could tell that there was more of the same. Arousal, moaning, masturbating. Katie actually had some pretty long fingernails and grazed his cheek a couple times. He worried she’d cut him, but once they finished and Katie jiggled off the stage ahead of Adrianna, he confirmed it was nothing but a scratch.
All right, what did the script have in store next…
He almost groaned. Seriously? Man, his drunk self had gotten on a one-track mind. James introduced them, his voice disdainful for his own script, and then took his place in the center of a circle formed of the school’s varsity volleyball team, who were – guess what – twerking. This time in skimpy volleyball shorts. The two girls he’d found to be on the ugly side of things were absent, replaced by clones of Jenna Amelio, the team’s captain and unquestionably the hottest of the lot.
He really hoped Valley wasn’t about to be plagued by three Jennas. Her gorgeous face and willingness to dress to display her dynamite body barely made up for being one of the most vicious bullies in school, to say nothing of that gratingly nasal voice of hers.
“Sorry if my pussy is dribbling on you, James,” said the three of them in unison, though somehow with minor distinctions in inflection that let him hear each distinctly. “But you make me so unbelievably horny that I just can’t help it! There’s something about you that just turns me into an insatiable little slut!”
“Sounds like you’re setting a great example for your squad to me, Jenna,” he said, awkwardly directing the response to each of the three pussies wiggling around his face. He wasn’t even sure which ones were the Jennas now.
The song eventually came to an end, and though it had originally struck him as the most generic possible implementation of dance-worthy beat and rhythm, James was actually starting to dig it. The volleyball squad, Jennas and all, lined up shoulder to shoulder and placed hands on each of the adjacent girls’ asses as they walked awkwardly offstage as a unit.
James gave himself a moment to make his heart stop racing, and to thank the powers that be that he didn’t jizz in his pants again. It had been close.
“So how are you feeling about it so far?” asked Miss Ergenbright, aside.
“It’s, um, different.” He grimaced. Different was one of those words he strived never to use. But what else could he call it?
“It’s definitely going to leave its mark,” she agreed. “In hindsight, we probably could have separated similar acts better. Maybe swap the second Adrianna segment for Mikayla’s topless jumping jacks, or have the volleyball team and the swim team join up to do their parts at the same time since the substance is pretty much the same.”
James looked at the next page of the script. Sure enough, it promised he was about to have a dozen dental floss bikini bottoms jiggling in his face. His first reaction at seeing his choice of target was surprise, as there were plenty of less appealing girls on that team – but then he saw his note that both he and the audience were surprised at how insanely hot the girls actually turned out to be. James had never in his life thought of Holly Dickerson as remotely attractive; suddenly she had gigantic tits nearly bursting out of her skimpy bikini top, flawless skin and legs at least six inches longer, and he had to admit she was looking pretty damn fuckable.
The booty-jiggling, however enjoyable on his end, was definitely beginning to wear thin from a program design perspective, but James was pleased to see that he’d at least given it some shred of originality near the end of the act.


[Swim sluts are so horny now that they all remove their bikini bottoms so they can finger themselves. When they near orgasm, they can’t do it without James’ permission and whine and beg for him to let them get off.]
Bailey Roberts: Oh it’s so hot how you can control our pussies and provide or deny us pleasure whenever you want. 
Jen Gray: Please, James, we’ll do anything to be allowed to come! We’re so horny we can’t stop masturbating until you let us come!
[Other girls in squad agree, still frigging their bare pussies like crazy.]
JBB: What do you say, folks? Should I throw the sluts a bone?
[Pause for audience responses. JBB goes along with apparent consensus. Fade music. Swim sluts exeunt.]


It wound up being more than a little distracting, having a dozen naked swim team members jilling themselves off in a side aisle, but apparently the audience hadn’t been feeling generous that evening. Distractions, in fact, were getting more and more plentiful as the program wore on. Adrianna and Katie had taken a space in the rear of the auditorium to practice their choreography. More than one duet of football players was passing the time with a more than slightly risqué “team-building exercise.” The three Jennas were joining forces to bully their teammate Lexi Johns for trying to steal their spotlight merely by virtue of how huge her boobs were. Miss Ergenbright was plainly fielding a call from what could only be her pimp, apologizing for not making it to the corner yet and promising to let him take the shortfall out of her ass. 
Hopefully, thought James, the twins had gone to bed and let his poor libido recover, before things got any wilder.
Then, as if summoned by his thinking about them, a side door to the auditorium opened, and in walked Stacy and Tracy, copper skin and golden haired. The clipboard tumbled from numb fingers. If their presence here, four hundred miles or more from their home, wasn’t as shocking as certain other developments of the evening, it was still rather shocking.
“Stacy? Tracy?” he asked, dumbfounded, as they made their way right for him.
“Heya Jimbo,” said Stacy. “So this is your little talent show you were stressing over all last week, huh?”
“Um, yeah. Or at least I think so. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming all this.”
Stacy made a face. “Ew!”
“What?” said Tracy.
“I’m pretty sure our cousin just said he was dreaming about us.”
“Oh, he was only kidding. Lighten up.”
James held up a hand from some school-based reflex. “Hey. So, um, what’s going on? Do you… do you two have something to do with all this?”
Stacy arched an eyebrow. “No, we just happened to be in the Minneapolis suburbs this afternoon, browsing high school talent competitions, and coincidentally yours made the list.”
Tracy giggled. “You can be such a brat, Stace. James, of course that’s why we’re here. You didn’t think we were gonna let down our baby cous, did you?”
His eyes widened. Since the world had turned upside down a few hours ago, most of his attention had been preoccupied by the spectacles unfolding before him. However, some small part of the back of his mind had been pondering how it all had come to pass. Dreaming remained his most likely option, though he hadn’t yet ruled out the possibility that he was dead and had somehow done something grandiose enough to be sent to heaven. But now… could it really be that his cousins had somehow played a role in all this? Had they seen his script and… what, used witchcraft? A generously donated wish from a magic lamp?
“James? Come on, let’s get going,” called Miss Ergenbright, done with her phone call.
“Right. So hey, Stacy, Tracy, if you guys wanna just hang out – um, like maybe at my house, we can talk about it after.”
“That eager to get rid of us again?” Stacy asked with a smirk.
“No, but this is kind of–”
“James!” said Miss Ergenbright, this time with a bit of a scold to her tone.
“I gotta go,” he said. “But we’ll talk later, OK?”
Tracy patted his shoulder and the two strode away as he retrieved his clipboard from where he’d dropped it in shock at their arrival.
“Let’s give it up for the Valley High swim sluts,” he read after finding his place. Unenthusiastic applause followed, some of which came from the still desperately masturbating swim sluts – err, swim team members – themselves.
“Those girls sure do know how to get wet and stroke,” called Miss Ergenbright. It was her only line in the segment, so she hadn’t bothered coming onstage. She appeared to be trying to give Katie a few tips for her act, shaking her own cute little posterior demonstratively.
“No doubt about that. And hey, speaking of stroking wet sluts,” he went on in the least subtle transition of his writing career, “we have a real treat for you with this next act.”
James flipped the page, accidentally going ahead two, then fidgeting to get back to the right place. He could hardly wait. What was next? Valley High was a big school, and there were plenty of students he’d not mind seeing–
He dropped the script again. And for nearly the same reason. They weren’t here to watch the rehearsal. They were here to… 


[ENTER My cousins Stacy and Tracy, wearing nothing but those partially see-through tank tops and tight little panties.]
JBB: I’ve waited a very long time to say this, but fuck, you two are so hot.
Tracy: And slutty!
Stacy: Yeah, don’t forget slutty.
[S&T straddle JBB’s lap, each taking one leg. Their pussies are soaking wet because they’re hornier for him than he is for them, as impossible as it is to imagine. They can’t help rubbing themselves on him and pawing at him and kissing him and licking his ears.]
Tracy: We’re sorry for teasing you, Jimmy.
Stacy: It was so selfish of us to parade around in our little bikinis and PJs.
[Stacy changes into a bikini, like her pink one but way skimpier. The bottoms are a thong.]
Tracy, giggling: No peeking, okay?
Stacy: Yeah, honor system!
[JBB covers his eyes, but is obviously peeking between his fingers. The twins don’t care because they love being ogled by him and by the audience.]
Stacy: There, that’s much better. I feel so much sexier in this. 
[Tracy licks her sister’s tits. Stacy moans.]
Tracy: Your big fat titties taste really good, Stace! How about mine?
[Tracy lifts her tank top over her tits. Stacy sucks one of her sister’s nipples into her mouth and plays with her tits.]
Stacy: Yours are delicious, Tracy! But how can we know whose tits are better?
JBB: Well now, I don’t know if it would violate the honor system, but I do consider myself an impartial third party...
Stacy: Fuck the honor system! Suck my titties, Jimmy!
Tracy: No, suck my titties! Please? Pretty please?
Stacy: You can suck all four of them, but just do it already!
JBB: Wow, who knew you two were such total depraved sluts! But hey, who am I to leave such incredible boobs high and dry, right folks?
[Audience laughs. S&T squeal in delight. They have wanted JBB to suck on their tits and fuck their pussies all week. They take turns have JBB lick and suck on their tits, and it soon becomes a competition. The girls argue, trying to make JBB declare a winner, but he is having too much fun to want to stop.]
Aunt Mary, from the audience: If my daughters big round fuckable titties aren’t enough to decide which one is the hottest little piece of ass, try out their pussies!
S&T, embarrassed: Mom!
[Audience laughs]
Tracy: But you should seriously fuck us, Jimmy. My pussy is so wet and tight and hungry for your huge cock. Stacy could never satisfy you like I could.
Stacy: The hell I can’t! My CUNT is every bit as tight as hers, plus it’s ten times as easy! You can fuck it any time you want, forever!
Tracy: But he won’t, because he’ll be too busy fucking mine! Tell her, Jimmy! Then please, please, oh fucking god, please, pretty witty please fuck my slutty little pussy!
JBB: Well, I guess I could at least give them a try...
[S&T are so grateful they orgasm. James takes turns fucking them in a bunch of different positions. They can’t stop coming. JBB comes on their tits and their faces, and they come so hard they pass out.]


“Looks like we’re gonna need a cleanup on aisle five,” James managed between ragged breaths. His cousins, unconscious and drenched in his cum – he’d produced more than he ever had in his life by a factor of ten – were dragged offstage by some of the stagehands. At first their asses were sticking too hard to the stage to drag them, but someone came up with the bright idea to flip them over and use James’ cum as lubricant.
“Catch your breath, James,” said Miss Ergenbright, crouching over him. Her shirt was off, for some reason. He couldn’t even guess why, except that writing that scene in the confinements of Uncle Ollie’s guest room where he couldn’t jerk off to alleviate the pressure in his balls had only elevated his arousal to the point where his script simply started sexualizing anyone and everything in it.
His head was still swimming as she helped him to his feet. “I’m gonna be OK. Nice rack, by the way, Miss Ergenbright.” He wasn’t lying. He hoped he’d written a scene with her later, because those things had serious potential.
“Thanks, James. So next up we have our big guest,” she said, gesturing to where none other than Madison Beer was standing offstage, signing an autograph for one of the Jennas. Because of course she was here. “Are you ready?”
Madison saw him looking, and waved politely, shedding a trenchcoat to reveal that she was wearing two pieces of diagonal electrical tape on either nipple, and a g-string so revealing that the front of her slit could be seen in front. It would have been less slutty if she’d been naked. Nearby Melanie, his hopeful prom date, was naked on the ground with her legs spread wide, seeming to be practicing masturbating. A big pink bow was wrapped around her torso, carefully placed so as not to conceal two mouth-watering boobs.
“Ready,” he said.
“Good. And between you and me, I wanted to apologize for trying to rush you on this. If our rehearsal is going this well, I can’t imagine how great the show will be! Honestly, this might be the most exciting, clever, and engaging talent show Valley has ever had.” Miss Ergenbright patted his shoulder. “I just know you’re going places, James. You’re an amazing writer.” He allowed himself a moment to watch her tits bouncing as she strode away before finding where he’d left off in the script.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen – who’s ready to see me fuck some other hot stupid cum dumpster?!”
The audience laughed. And clapped.