Jack and the Beanstalk

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On my job application I hummed and hawed over my curriculum vitae. I’d filled in all the mundane stuff about education, qualifications and that, but I knew these people were interested in whether I could put myself out there, stand up and be counted, not be afraid to make a fool of myself in front of others.

So, after ‘stage backdrop design assistant’, I wrote ‘back end of a cow’.

Then I clicked on ‘send’, shrugged to myself and thought, well, I probably won’t hear from them again.


When Mum said she was going to show me her costume for this year’s pantomime show I had trouble containing my enthusiasm. This was because I still had vivid memories of last year’s outfit where she’d played, among other non-speaking parts requiring a quick change of costume, a belly-dancer in the local repertory’s slapstick version of Aladdin. For a bit-player, her performance had certainly impressed, and the lead actor admitted later he’d almost forgotten his lines while trying to control his hard-on. In rehearsals, she’d played it straight, but, come the show, it was almost as though she was giving the poor Genie a lap-dance. Mum certainly knew where her talents lay.

So this year, her reward for that performance was…

My jaw dropped.

“Well, Mikey?” asked Mum.

Her voice was a bit muffled, since her head was covered with the rolling eyes, the lolling tongue, and the misaligned horns of a black and white cow. Her legs were encased in pants made from the same colour, held up by braces, ending in oversized hooves at the bottom.

At that moment, Dad came downstairs, holding a long, tufted tail over his arm as you would a handbag, and sporting huge udders dangling from around his waist.

“I feel a right pillock.”

“So you should, Dad.” It was hard to control my laughter, so I didn’t.

But this was part of life in my family. I’d been brought up to appreciate the way Mum eagerly took part in every production of our local am-dram society and succeeded in dragging my ineffectually complaining Dad along with her. Her enthusiasm was so infectious that even I was drafted in with my do-it-yourself talents to help with building the scenery. What she lacked in stage skills was made up for by her unwavering commitment. No part was too small, and I guess you could say that playing the pantomime cow in this season’s production of ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ might be considered a small part.

“So, how does this,” I indicated the joining of the two of them by bringing my index fingers together, “work then?”

“It’s fairly easy,” said Dad, as though taking me through a particularly difficult algebraic equation, “Your mum stands more or less upright as the front of the cow, while I bend over, holding her at the waist, and act as the back half…”

He showed me by bending over, grabbing hold of Mum around her middle and resting his head on the upper edge of her ass. He jutted his own ass backwards, flicking it to make his tail swish.

“…then we just have to co-ordinate leg movements and away we go.”

“Umm, okay, but doesn’t it offend your masculinity that you’ve got to be the one with the…” I mimed milking a cow.

“I saw that,” said Mum.

I wondered how she saw it through that head, but said nothing.

“I’m offended that you should impugn your father’s artistic integrity…besides which, it’s totally sexist.”

We all laughed. “Yeah Mum, you’re right. It’s Dad wears the udders in this house. And, Dad? You wear them so well.”

He whipped me one with his tail.

When we were all ready, we piled into the car and I drove us across town to the theatre. This was to be their first rehearsal at the venue where I’d already been kept busy for a few weeks now helping to construct the backdrop. While we drove, Mum kept her cow’s head on just for a laugh and we drew some remarkable double-takes from other drivers along the way.

“I’ve got to get used to looking out through this fine mesh by the nostrils – this thing’s not really constructed very well at all, it’s so clumsy…and all these buttons and things make it difficult to get out of when I’ve got to change costume.”

“Oh,” I looked round hopefully at my bovine passenger, “you’re playing other things as well…?”

“Yeah, I’m also ‘second buxom village wench’, and after Jack climbs up to the giant’s lair I’m in a cage in a bikini waiting to be prepared as dessert for the Giant’s lunch. I’ve got a feeling I might be ladled with chocolate sauce for that one since I won’t have to change costume again. The director mentioned something about us acting out some kind of a wrestling match in jelly.”

My mind, not the car, went into overdrive.

When we got to the theatre we went our separate ways – me to the scaffolding of a half-erected giant beanstalk, while Mum and Dad joined the group of actors and director in a semi-circle of chairs to discuss the performance.

From my viewpoint up at the top I was able to survey istanbul escort most of the action down below. There were dressing rooms for the main actors, but those bit-players who had to perform quick costume changes in between scenes had to do so simply behind any convenient bit of scenery available. For example, Jack’s mother’s house was obviously not actually a house, but rather just three strategically arranged rectangles of plywood serving the purpose of a façade. So when the actresses, my Mum included, chose a hidden place to change, they did so behind the walls of the house. The house without a ceiling. Open to the view of anyone sitting on a giant beanstalk. Like me…

But amongst actors, even amateur actors, there’s no room for embarrassment when shucking off their costume to replace it with another, because while you might have only a minute or so to get ready for the following scene, the rest of the cast are working to their own similar time restraints as well.

And this is what seemed to be bothering our autocratic director today. He was shouting at the cast in general, while waving his arms around, that the action must flow smoothly, no awkward pauses between scenes. So it was to my good fortune that he insisted on going over the scene changes several times, holding a stopwatch to eliminate wasted seconds during the changeovers. I took a timeout on my perch to sit and marvel at how the four bit-playing ladies, my mum among them, would run behind the scenery, lift their dresses, unzip their skirts and, ooh, shake off their bras and be practically naked for a few wonderful seconds before pulling on their next costumes, straightening themselves out and jumping back onto the stage to perform some version of a hayseed Can-Can. I just loved the theatre…

Our director, Bernard, seemed to be having a few problems though with Daisy, the cow.

“Ellen, dear,” He called everyone ‘dear’, “we’ve still got to shave a couple of seconds off that costume change into the cow. Now I know that’s difficult for you because you’re just coming on after the busty wench scene, but perhaps you and David can help one another out there…mmm?”

It was not a question, it was a command.

“…and the two of you, I want to see a bit more action from the cow. Remember we’re playing it for laughs. A little skip from the hind legs and a jump and a wiggle won’t go amiss. Let’s take it from where Jack’s leading you downstage along the road to market shall we..?”

So Jack entered, stage-left, lamenting the fact he had to take his beloved dear old Daisy to market, while Daisy for her part made a game struggle against the rope, even pulling Jack back over onto his backside which got a few laughs. She stopped to nibble some grass here, listen to the twittering of the birds there, and skip to a tune that was being played by the roadside over there…

“More lively, Daisy, try doing some sort of jig, you’re a happy old cow..!”

It was their first attempt at this, so there were no markings onstage as to where exactly they should perform their impromptu dance. So, to the urging of, “More lively, get into the rhythm..!” Mum swung her front round, Dad followed suit behind her and promptly dropped off the stage and into the orchestra pit.

All action stopped at that point, with the ridiculous sight of the front half a cow looking behind her in surprise, others peering down from the stage into the depths, and yet others who were taking a break leaning forwards from the stall seats to get a better look.

Then a load groan came from below. People, including myself, quickly clambered down to Dad who was lying in a grotesque position on the floor. It was already obvious from the way he was lying there prone that at the very least he’d broken his leg. While an ambulance was called and while the director fretted, and while Mum, having taken off the head, leant over him, her face full of concern, black humour was already making its way to the surface.

“Maybe we should call the vet…?”

“…a good piece of sirloin for supper…”

“I think we should put Daisy out of her misery. Anyone got a shotgun?”

Mum and I escorted the paramedics and the stretcher out to the ambulance and, since I wasn’t involved in the rehearsals as such, it was decided I’d accompany Dad to the hospital.

After a couple of hours of X-rays, discovering that as well as a multiple fracture of his leg he’d managed to break his arm as well, and after making sure he was comfortably tucked up in a ward bed, I made my way back to the theatre.

I found that rehearsals had just finished for the day and Ellen and Bernard were left sitting huddled in urgent, whispered conversation, centre-stage. I’d already phoned ahead to inform them of Dad’s condition, so, hurrying towards me, Bernard left out the small-talk and got straight down to business.

“Michael, dear, I’m so awfully sorry about David and all that, but you must realize this has put us into rather a quandary izmir escort regarding the part of Daisy the cow, and I’m afraid time is very much of the essence. We’ve got a couple of understudies, you understand, but they’re for the main parts of Jack and the giant. We’ve got no understudy for the part of Daisy. So…we were just wondering, Ellen and I…”

I glanced behind him to where Mum was anxiously chewing at her thumbnail, looking at me imploringly. I knew how much this meant to her.

“So you want me to replace Dad in the cow?”

“Well, you know all the scenes, and with a bit of practice at home to catch up…”

The two of them were now biting their thumbnails.

“…and it’s easier for me to find other help in building the scenery, or, if you might want to do both…maybe…perhaps?”

Bernard raised one eyebrow. Mum raised both.

“Yes, of course I’ll do it, I mean, the show must go on and all that…?”

Bernard heaved a sigh of relief and Mum grinned at me widely, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Good. That’s very good. Michael dear, you’re a trouper, and that’s the highest accolade anyone can give. It’s the equivalent of a medal for valor. Now I won’t keep the two of you, you’ve got your costumes, so, go..! go…! the curtain is about to rise, applause awaits you! I’ll see you both tomorrow at ten sharp…”

Then he made a show of crossing the fingers of both hands and knocking on the wood of every piece of stage scenery he could reach. A bit over-the-top, but, well, actors…

We went by the hospital on our way home, but Dad was out for the count, I guess on pain suppressants. A kind nurse assured us that he would be fine but they’d have to keep him in for at least a couple of days since the leg break was not so simple, but that he should be out by the weekend.

A relieved Mum and I drove home. She smiled across at me and stroked my cheek.

“You’re an angel. I love you.” and she leant across to my seat and planted a kiss on my ear before snuggling closer and wrapping an arm round mine. She rested her head on my shoulder.

“I think your dad did that on purpose though,” she giggled.

I looked round at her and found my mouth was in her scented hair.

“He never wanted to do the acting bit anyway; he only did it so I wouldn’t keep nagging at him…” She giggled again. “So, can I now call you ‘Michael Backend’?” Our family name was Townsend, so it had a certain ring to it.

“Only if I can call you ‘Ellen Frontend’..?” I’d just called her by her first name, possibly for the first time ever, but…

“I’d like that.” She reached up and kissed my ear again.

I leant over and kissed her hair. She squeezed my arm. We remained like that until I drew the car into our drive and we both got out, each of us pulling part of a cow corpse behind us.

Mum was eager and chatty as she prepared us a light meal, and it was as though she’d completely forgotten her mangled husband lying in the hospital.

Then it was time.

“Let me just freshen up with a shower and we can get down to business…”

“Okay. When you’re finished give me a shout and I’ll have one as well…”

After my shower I come back downstairs in clean tee-shirt and shorts, to find Mum waiting for me on the sofa…in a bathrobe.

“Okay, Mike, Mister Backend haha, if we’re going to do this we’re going to have to do it properly, okay?”

“Sure, Mum, I mean, Mrs. Frontend. What happens now?” I went to put on my part of the Daisy suit.

“No, not yet…” She stood up, undid the tie at the front of her robe and slid it off her shoulders and let it fall onto the carpet. She stood there in just her bra and panties. I gawped. They were only semi-opaque, and I could see straight-off the dark outline of the areolae and the press of her nipples against the thin silk fabric of her lacey white bra, the top of her ample breasts bulging tightly over the top.

Down below, her matching panties were equally ineffectual in hiding the dark vertical landing strip of her neatly shaved pubic area. She stood there with a half-smile.

“Take it in, Mikey, get it over with. Don’t tell me you’ve not already had an eyeful, I saw you voyeuring from up there on that beanstalk, don’t say you didn’t.”

Damn! It hadn’t been as dark as I’d thought…

“I…I…umm…” I hadn’t taken my eyes off her body.

“…and when you’re comfortable with your old mum, we’ll start rehearsing our part…oh, and by the way, take off your shirt and pants…”

I raised my eyebrows.

“You don’t know it yet, but it gets very hot inside that costume, and under the floodlights we’ll be sweating like pigs…or cows…”

I took off my shirt and dropped my pants. Mum admired me standing there in just my boxer shorts, my dick semi-hard because of…oh hell…my mum.

The only time I’d taken my eyes off her curvy body was to pull the tee-shirt over my head, and izmit escort that was only a split-second.

She looked me up and down with a satisfied smile on her face, her gaze flickering only momentarily as it passed over my crotch.

“Mmm, maybe we should have persuaded Bernard to let us play a horse instead…”

I didn’t know what she meant by that, but before I had chance to reply, she stepped forward and took both my hands in hers and placed them onto her hips. Her own hands she put round my neck. Her breasts were pressed up against my chest…and my dick was jutting out into her lower belly. Without acknowledging that fact, she kissed me on the nose and said,

“Alright then, your poor, crippled old dad showed you earlier how to position yourself, so…” She released her hold on me and spun round so she was facing away, but with my hands still on her hips. I took in her lovely fragrance. “Okay, Backend, reverse until your head comes down to reach the small of my back…”

I did so and, oh God, as my head came down I saw that her panties were hardly covering the cheeks of her ass and the beginning of her crack was visible a couple of inches above the waistband.

“Okay, you have to rest your head down there, it’s important you have good contact so you know what moves I’m going to make and so you can follow me, because you won’t be able to see a thing…”

My forehead rested in the small of her back which left my nose to nestle comfortably between the beginning swellings of her cheeks. And my mouth…no!…Mikey, don’t you dare stick out your tongue and lick her…!

Her own hands she brought up to her waist to cover mine.

“Alright then, let’s try a little trot round the room, shall we? I’ll start on my right foot and you on your left, otherwise it’ll look, umm, even more strange than it is…maybe close your eyes?”

We did a few successful circuits of the living-room, Mum indicating with the pressure of her hands when she was going to turn left or right. A double press was to stop or go. I did as I was told and really did keep my eyes shut, but doing this only increased the sensations of her perfume and the indescribable pleasure of the rhythm of her ass cheeks against my face. When she stopped abruptly though, my mind was understandably elsewhere, and I fell up against her, almost toppling her. My hands released their hold on her waist and went around to the front to catch her by the stomach and my lower body pressed into her back.

“Umm, sorry…”

“That’s okay…”

Her hands covered mine, and for a moment she pressed them into her belly before taking each one and wrapping them tightly round herself so we were standing with no space at all between us. I felt her bottom momentarily push back onto my cock. Then she brought one of her hands up behind her and stroked my cheek.

“Looks like this could be a long evening, Mikey. What say we break open the wine and lighten the mood…?”

I spoke softly into her neck, “Yeah, that’d be great, Mum…Ellen…Mrs. Frontend…”

She laughed and released me and without looking behind, sauntered out of the room, her ass bobbing along hypnotically. I followed her through to the kitchen to find her bending over with her head inside the open door of the fridge. Her pantied ass jutted out behind and I was free for that moment to simply stand there and appreciate its wonderful contours. She wiggled it twice and then straightened up and turned, a bottle of the white in her hand.

She was smiling, and glanced down at the tent in my boxers.

“You voyeur, you…”

She walked across to me. Did her hips always swing so much? And she held the chilled bottle against my protrusion.

“Maybe that’ll cool you down a bit…?”

“I…I…I’m sorry, Mum, I can’t help it, it’s just…Mum, I’m sorry, it’s just, you’re so lovely, you’re gorgeous, you really are, I never realized, you’re…”

Mum was standing there with such a warm smile, patiently watching me getting redder in the face and blabbering on, then held one hand behind my neck and drew my face in towards hers. Our lips met and already her tongue was pushing its way urgently into my mouth. I wrapped my arms around her and pushed my whole body up against her wonderfully soft being. She giggled into my mouth as the chilled bottle was pressed tightly between us like an intruding iceberg, and we tottered to one side so she could extract it and place it onto the work-top.

With that hand now free, she brought it back and clasped the length of my rod and a guttural moan escaped her throat. While our tongues excavated one another’s mouths, she jerked at my dick through the boxers, but, not satisfied, started to tear them down my legs before pulling at her own panties. My hands came round the back of her and helped in pushing them down over her ass cheeks. I continued to push them down and bent at one leg in front of her in order to loop them off her ankles. My mouth found itself opposite her lower belly. I started to work my way back up again, with the help of her fingers tugging through my hair, my hands enveloping her breasts and my tongue making darting explorations around her navel up to the underside of her bra where I tried vainly to insert it through the extra space offered between the two cups.

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