Meet the Theater Group

Jessica stops and turns. Behind her looms the red double doors to the auditorium.

"In here," she waves a hand.

I step forward. "I know what a door looks like." Pushing on the flat door in front of me, it doesn't budge. Jessica sighs as she pushes on the handle of the other half, and it swings open.

"Didn't know they'd lock ONE of them..." As I trail just behind her, I mumble to myself. Then, shudder a bit. It's chilly. Because of course it is; they always crank the AC up to the max in here. I conjure a comfy jacket, and one instantaneously appears over my torso. Gold embroidery at the sleeve holes, and all. Did I just steal a jacket from an outlet off Beverly Hills?

"J-hay!"

"PoPo!"

Suddenly, a girl is running up to my sister's tight body and crashing into her with another tight body. Correction: tight and yet thick in a wonderfully slim, lithe way. And two of them. Together. Combined. Synthesized. Like pancakes.

"You're late, chica, jeez!" As the other girl withdraws, I nearly pop one right then and there.

Is that Penelope Gutierrez?

Penelope "Buttbank" Gutierrez?

She's in theater?

Oho. Ohoho.

Since when? Like yesterday?

After attempting to lean to the side to get a good look at her jeans-coated arse, I descend down the steps.

"Oh," Penelope draws her head back, looking me over indiscriminately as I walk up. "Who's this? Oh, wait -- John, right? Jess's brother?" She smiles, stretching out a hand while looking over to her blonde friend. "I didn't know you were bringing in guests!"

I accept her hand. "It was a last minute thing."

Jessica grumbles out a confirmation. Obviously, someone isn't thrilled about it. But I'm the owner of the world. Sorry, free will.

"Well, it's perfect," Penelope winks, turning as she begins strolling back to the stage, in turn providing a view of her behind that was better up close than any stray glimpse from a faraway point in the hallway could compare to, I mean, just look at them. Just look. Those buns were meant to hold meat links. There is no other reason she has that ass.

Other than to take that butt to the bank, that is.

Also, I'm gaping, now. I pull my jaw off the floor and clear my throat as Jessica and I follow. Or Jessica was, at least. I had to enter a quick jog to close the distance I let grow while I was ogling her cheeks. "Perfect?"

Penelope nods, causing her slightly wavy, rich hazel colored hair, which barely reached the bottom of her earlobe, to bob even more than it already is on the way down the aisle. "Yeah, we're wrapping up things with a semi-final rehearsal, and could use some fake audience members." She looks back with another smile. "Maybe even some encouragement, if you know what I mean?"

"Does that need to be fake, too?" Jest or not, I do plan to provide some encouragement to the team. Hard work could always use some morale boosting.

Oblivious to the wayward thoughts coursing through my humpty dumpty mind, Penelope laughs as she climbs up onto the stage, allowing her humble booty to stretch against the fabric like a heavensent gift right in front of me.

Once all of us are on the raised platform, sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, we make for backstage. Penelope pulls the curtain aside for my sister and I. With ducked heads, we head on through -- straight into an **** of amalgamated eep's, more squeaks on the hardwood, booming laughter, very awkward British accents, and a hazy sea of overlapping voices.

"Hey, it's Jess!" On the floor, on her stomach, was another blonde girl, dressed in blue overalls, with a black and white striped shirt underneath. Her face is an insanely cute, photogenic gem of a thing -- her short but substantial hair sweeped over the top of her head with a little pink, flower-patterned hair clip accessory on the left side, in adorable fashion.

Next to her, also on her stomach, lies a demure looking Asian girl in a black knee length dress with medium-length black hair, smiling and waving. Both of them seem to be working on a banner below, saying who knows what.

"Hey Amy, hey Ris." Jessica replies with a curt palm of her own, before being attacked by a paper plane.

"HA! You owe me 5 bucks, Duke!"

"Fuck I do!"

"That was smack in the center!"

"No, that was her temple! Stop trying to cheat your way to 5 bucks!"

As two guys, a somewhat moderately heavyset boy, and a head-shaved, tall black-skinned one, run past, my sister rubs the side of her head with increasing irritation. "OH my gooodd," foot stamp, followed by a guttural whine that is quintessential valley girl, "the day's JUST started, people!"

"Duke, Jerry," Penelope reappears, walking with that almost natural sway to her hips that make her long legs look even more irresistible in those tight solid blue denim jeeans. Organizing a sheet of papers in her hand, she looks over her shoulder while I try not to stare at the rounded circumference of her cotton-clad thighs. "You guys better not break any props again! Here's the script for the third act, Jess."

Jessica thanks her, leafing through it. "This monologue is the worst," she speaks under her breath. A look of concern furrows her brow as her pupils slide over the page. Sensing her distress, I chime up.

"Hey," I clap her on the back. "You got this, Jess."

Despite everything, a small laugh is choked out of her. "You have a way with words, bro."

"If you think so, I could play your part. Let me see... a runaway daughter of a king? Pft. Yeah. So perfect for it."

For the first time that day, she flashes a genuine smile, however brief. "Shut up!"

I spend the next 10ish minutes getting around, getting to know the theater group. I am formally introduced to Amy and Iris, the blonde girl and Asian chick on the floor (respectively), Duke, the bumbling cornball, Jerry, his towering partner in crime, Adam, the leading man, Kaylee, a slightly plump but still attractive, cocoa-skinned girl with an allegedly killer voice, Auburn, a slim, softspoken girl with long and straight brown hair and a near photographic memory, Dana, a tomboyish one with super short hair and some pretty funny quips, Matthew, a curly haired fella who could go for Justin Timberlake's long lost son who I recognized since I also had him in dance class once (if there was any, any reason for him to show off his six-pack at any point, believe me -- he was showing it), and Madison, a bespectacled girl with reddish hair that actually seems more orange-ish than anything, and who is considerably tall, actually the second tallest of the group next to Jerry. Taller than me, anyway.

"Nice to meet you."

Without tearing her eyes away from her cellphone, Madison nods. "...hi."

"So... how do you like this whole theater thing?"

"...fine I guess."

"Cool. So, who do you play as?"

Either she doesn't know, or I have lost her attention completely and have proven my existence to be as valuable as a penny, because she doesn't even bother replying. Not even a grunt.

I frown and look to Penelope, who shrugs, on her face a smile and downturned eyes that seems to say, 'Yeah, that's how it usually goes with her.'

'Ah, I see,' I reply back with my own pair. 'Aright then.'

"There's more of us," Penelope explains as I follow her to a long table. On it are plastic cups and some lemonade, other soda liters for the non-lemonade inclined, and dumplings? As I grab one all to myself, Penelope continues. "But they got some schedule conflicts. Troy is supposed to be our leading man, for example. And Shannon is dealing with some family stuff. Normally, she would be, like, head honcho around here. But since she's not around, I'm filling those shoes."

"Filling shoes, huh?" I bite into the dumpling and swallow. "Where did you get these?"

After taking a sip of lemonade, Penelope furrows her brow. "What, the dumplings? That's Iris's. She made them." Another sip.

Damn. These are pretty good. Another bite.

As I chewed, for some reason, this triggers a bout of reflection. For the whole time I'd been here, I realize, I was... just being a normal person. Normal, like everyone else. No world on the shoulders. No reality at the fingertips. No nudist mom with a hair-shaped pubic trim above her vagina. At least, for but a moment, everything seemed like... like it was just two days ago. Before any of this crazy universe warping business crashed in. Before the doors were laid open to a world of sex, and sex, and pranks, and sex, and more pranks, and... more sex, and, and man. I sure have been a **** of positive productivity. What a damn monk I've been.

But, yeah. To forget all that for a bit... it was refreshing, honestly.

...and with that done, it is time to get back down to business.

As Penelope and I chatted by the table, I decide to start off small -- in time, I will make my way through the group's routine and see what comes to mind. As well as who...

But for now.

Penelope, of course, well -- she needed an assfucking. Maybe. If not today, then maybe Wednesday, I don't know. But, again, anywya. Another whoop for another hour.

"So, Penelope, you've... like, been here? In theater?"

"Me?" Penelope waves her dumpling in the air. "Yeah, since last year."

"No way. I've never seen you!"

"Well, we only had one production last year, and I was in an animal suit for like the whole time, so," she laughs it off, despite the haunted look in her eyes, "yeah, I don't think anyone did."

"How about that one from earlier this year?" I refill my Sprite and bring it to my lips.

"I was in there. I was the leader of the rival gang?"

Sadly, I don't even remember if I saw it or not. All that lingers in my memory in in its pure, absolute form, unchanging, unflinching, is the perfect bottom half of Penelope's body. And how nice it must smell. And how warm it must feel.

"Of course I remember," I laugh, then clear my throat. Alright. Enough small talk. Time to quietly kick things into gear. "Hey, speaking of shoes, Penelope," I point to her footwear. The thought crosses through my mind, and then out into the free, material world, like an act of osmosis. "Aren't all the girls in here supposed to be barefoot for rehearsal?"

Penelope removes the cup from her lips. "Oh, damn," she snaps a finger, "I absolutely forgot about that." Setting down the receptacle, she looks to her sneakers and crouches down to untie them. Once she finishes peeling her socks off, she stands upright once more, and a shudder surges through her. "I-i-it was a complete oversight on my p-p-part." She rubs her arms as another shudder travels up from head to toe.

"You okay?" I watch as she bounces a little, the soft slap of one bare sole of hers after the other against the wooden floor littering the background.

"Y-yeah, just... oooohhoo it's a little chilly, going barefoot like this." A shaky laugh exits the hispanic bombshell's lips, even as she fails to keep both feet, toenails painted green, firmly planted on the ground, having to adjust her weight to the front of the foot to the back in a pendulous motion. "But still, it's one of the golden rules. I'll go remind the others."

I follow after her shoe-less self to the space behind the curtain, where most of the crew is gathered, and watch her announce to all the girls that they are required to remove their footwear while on-stage. Instantly, all of the girls, my sister included, bring their arms and hands down and over to slip their pairs out of those pesky flats and sneakers, letting them fall to the floor, or slide as they kick it to the wall. Several of the girls instantly react with a similar chill, teeth gritted as their feet touch the hardwood and flinch to and fro. I really don't know why the school sets the temperature so low in here, but I am enjoying the reactionary responses from my sister's theater friends at hand, so I chalk it up to a blessing in disguise. (And, frankly, I made the floor a little inherently chillier just beforehand for the fun of it.)

So far, so good. Innocuous enough. But also the inaugural point, after which there is no return. I nod to myself. Then casually, take another sip of my Sprite.

Plop.

Ahhh.

I wipe my lips with my fancy jacket sleeve, then let it fall back to my side.

Now...

Scanning the perimeter, I let my eyelids slightly lower.

With whom should I take to discussing about their role, first? You know. Some good old-fashioned intellectual insight into the art of performing. Understanding their character, their place in the story, what kind of story it was in the first place -- these things were important. And interesting to me. Of course. All about the plot. That's me. You know.

Just an innocent chat. 'Tis all.