Chapter 1

Caution: This Mystery Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation,

Desc: Mystery Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Waikiki PI Story #7. Joe is invited onto the set of a movie undercover to find out why it has been sabotaged. He meets the luscious star and finds love and a fluffer extraordinaire who demonstrates her skills. All in the line of duty for the intrepid private dick. Please read the rest of the Waikiki PI stories to understand returning characters.

I hadn't talked to Pat Bishop since he gave me emergency actor's training preparing me for auditions in order to meet the runaway Joan aka Penny. "Hey man, what's up? How's the acting?"

"Up and down as usual," replied a somber Pat through the phone receiver. "At the moment up sort of."

"What is it, some shitty part?"

"Actually the part's not the problem. The shoot's the problem. I've never been involved in a more fucked up production. Everything seems to go wrong."

"You think it's suspicious?" I asked, realizing he called for my expertise.

"I don't think I've built up this much bad karma," said Pat.

"Do you want to meet?"

"It's not my call. The Sony exec in charge of this television pilot is a friend from the old days. It's actually a small upstart production company called Opal producing with Sony and most importantly my friend in charge of footing a substantial part of the bill. He's on thin ice, some recent bad decisions, and this could be the last straw. He's got his bosses breathing in one ear and the insurance company chewing the other."

"Maybe he's the one with bad karma," I suggested.

"The thing is it looked like a no brainer. Opal's pretty young but its track record's impressive. They hire brilliantly to keep costs down and get results. They pick projects that are genre sellable yet manage to sparkle with unique twists. They discovered some real talent and gave them the best background to set them off. And they lure a major star on a downward career trajectory to attract audiences and give the star a boost. And it's all in this pilot. The script's solid, the director's second tier great and the acting's tight and ensemble."

"Who's the ringer?" I asked.

"Me. Just kidding. Rebecca Whalen."

"Really? Whatever happened to her?"

"Exactly. Thing is, she always struck me as gorgeous but cold. Seems she's had some hard times: a stalker that fucked up her fiancé..."

"Just like that horror movie..."

"Yeah. Creepy hunh? He lived but they broke up. Her father committed suicide. Her mother's a mess."


"Yeah. But the thing is she's worked hard maybe to get through it. She's in the best shape of her life and not just physically. She trained with the best coach in LA and worked the boards for a couple years doing Ibsen and Chekhov and Shakespeare and Mamet. She ain't cold no more."

"But still gorgeous."

"Yeah, but no, I'm not fucking her. My wife would cut off my balls and feed them to my five kids."

"Five now. Congratulations."

"Thanks. I love my wife and she gives me everything I need in a woman."

Thinking of Pat's wife, half Philippine and half white, a petite ball of energy and beautiful inside and out made me nod my head, a gesture invisible to Pat.

"And we've become a new family for Becky. Maybe because I never came on to her like men do and we talked easily on the set and she seemed kind of lonely, I invited her for a family dinner and my wife of course welcomed her into the family as only my wife can."

"Goddamn. Imagining your wife and Rebecca Whalen..."

"Fuck you."

"I'm sure you must have imagined..."

"Of course goddamnit. I'm a man. I've got five kids." We laughed. "Yeah. The equipment's fully operational. Anyway to somehow pull your head out of the gutter I'm asking if you're available."

"Sure. Sandy's on vacation for a week fucking her latest stud."

"So you haven't nailed her down yet."

"Not going to happen. Both of us are allergic to commitment except of course professionally. He's some millionaire she met at Harry's Bar and he invited her to Kauai for some hiking, boating and fucking. She couldn't resist especially when he insisted their time together ended when the adventure ended. When he said that, she nearly sucked his tongue out of his mouth in the bar and kept him up all night in his suite demonstrating her skills while making both his and her sex organs raw. She could only suck me off when she told me all about it the next day."

"Poor thing."


"So Mr. Brain in the Gutter, expect my friend Melvin Simmons to call. I'll pick you up at 5am tomorrow," said Pat before hanging up.

Less than a half hour later the business phone rang, surprising me. I'd dealt with film executives before working security for a couple location shoots and found them lax about returning calls. The guy must have been desperate or things had gotten slow. I expected a professional woman's voice saying "Hold for Mr. Simmons," but instead got the man himself.

"Joseph Solomon?" asked the baritone voice.

"Melvin Simmons?" I asked in return.

"Melvin's fine," he said.

"Call me Joe," I said.

"I hear you've acted."

"Local theater and, I guess if you can count it, undercover work. That I've done quite a lot."

"Pat said you've got some talent."

"I'll thank him for that when I see him. He trained me well in our brief sessions."

"No film work though."

"No, but I definitely think the undercover experience helps. You know, being real. Pat gave me insights and we shot some footage mostly because I wanted to. You have a role for me?"

"Pat does. The production company gets a little antsy when I try to put my foot in."

"I hear stories about artistic control, but usually the director calls those shots."

"Such directors are few, thank god," said Melvin, "especially in television. Artistic vision in this case comes from Opal Productions."

"Who is Opal Productions?"

"Bern Forough. He worked for Fox for a few years finding properties, you know, stories and screenplays. He had talent for unearthing gems from piles of unsolicited scripts and treatments. He got frustrated when the execs ignored him on one and quit and found a partner and bought the rights and turned it into a low budget success story. You heard of 'The Drovers?'"

"Of course. Didn't the director and the star end up big successes?"

"You know your trivia," said Melvin. "Same thing happened with his next one, 'Far Out.' No one wanted that crazy drug comedy. His partner even backed out. Bern spent all his profits from 'The Drovers' and put it in the Midnight circuit and it developed a cult following, got major distribution and made tons of money. And the director and star..."

"I get it."

"Yeah. The next feature, 'Hitch'...

"No shit. That was..."

"A box office smash. Helped start the new teen thriller craze. And..."

"Didn't that feature..."

"Yeah. He brought in a star. He could afford it. But..."

"The unknowns in it became well known."


"So what's he doing producing a pilot television movie?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe he got tired of working his ass off for everyone else's glory. Maybe he wanted to step away from features and develop a series he could coast on. Maybe it's another new challenge. But it's the same model: talented but unknown director; undiscovered talent..."

"And a ringer."


"I heard Ms. Whalen is doing great work."

"Pat told me," Melvin agreed.

"Haven't you seen the dailies?"

"Bern won't let me. The first glance I get will be the rough cut."

"So with everything going wrong..."

"To tell you the truth, since Pat's my spy, the one thing I'm not worried about is the quality of the dailies. He's impressed. Everything else worries me, but not the quality of the film."

"Okay, so what's gone wrong?"

"Faulty equipment, replacement equipment disappearing, film disappearing, staff getting sick, staff overdosing, the director nearly dying from an allergic reaction, and people disappearing."


"A couple. An actor and the script girl. They're lovers. Went to the Big Island and never came back. They have to reshoot the actor's scenes. It's a minor role. I think you'd be perfect."

"Why's that?"

"He's a private investigator."

"That'll help. Anything from the couple's disappearance?"

"Yes as a matter of fact. But it's weird."

"How weird?"

"The actor sent a postcard saying he'd had enough of the business. Said he and Marnie, the script girl needed to get in touch with their spiritual being."

"What's weird about that?"

"Roger loves acting. I've known him for a few years. He's a character actor. He loves popping up in movies creating interesting characters. He lives for it. And Marnie ... she and Bern supposedly had an ongoing affair."

"So how am I going to step into this role?"

"Pat will get you in. I have a cousin who has his SAG card who stopped acting. You'll be him. I'll fax you his data and overnight his card."

"I'll fax you the contract. I'm going to hire a friend to check out the disappearances of the couple so expect my fee to be a bit higher."

"If you can fix this mess, any money spent on you will be well worth it."

"I'll do my best," I said.

My next day began early to say the least. Pat picked me up before the sun hinted of its return and we headed to the North Shore. Pat handed me the script. He caught me up with his sister's life. Through her, a schoolmate friend of mine throughout our public school education, I met Pat, four years older than us. She moved to the Mainland's version of Hawaii, San Diego, and while attending the University studying anthropology met a Navy Seal and married and ended up popping out a couple baby Seals, becoming a stay at home mother. The conversation stayed brief. I needed to read the script.

Déjà vu made me look at the author. There were three credited. One I knew.

Chloe Burton had written the successful true crime book about the New Age Crazed case, generously giving me a percentage because of my coincidental investigation and assistance. Two more true crime books followed, less successful but with moderate sales and always well written, which she sent to me signed with a note asking my opinion. We corresponded every few months over the years.

The last I'd heard from her she visited and got drunk with Sandy and me at Harry's Bar until closing time a year before. She asked me about cases I'd referred to during earlier correspondences and I brought her up to date with a couple more. It felt like I'd been grilled by a professional, a detective or a hard nosed reporter, which in fact she was. I didn't mind. Chloe charmed when she interrogated at least to me. I enjoyed her company. The clever dyke witch picked my brain.

Characters mashed together and reconfigured. Sandy became me, the young apprentice, played by Ms. Whalen. Her mentor became Moe, the mysterious taxi driver from the little sister case, transformed into a recluse father lured back into the business by his spunky daughter. His name even remained Moe. Uncle Sam remained a tough but sanguine hapa haoli police Captain named Kai. Even the ethnic Japanese police detective genius Nakamoto appeared as a flirting, teasing, sexually intriguing presence in the script. Pat played him.

The character I took over resembled me at my worst, a sleazy pussy hound PI trying to get into Ms. Whalen's panties as well as the panties of one of the villains. She even gave the character my name sort of.

The story? A group of beautiful women revenge their rapes and their friend's murder. Sound familiar? Instead of successfully infiltrating and catching the villains, I become one of their victims. Laura, Ms. Whalen's character stumbles into the case via a 10th anniversary reunion of her high school class. She lives in San Francisco (her mother having divorced her father has a new age store there) and works at a large private investigation agency but gets no respect and hates it. She stumbles into the case because her friend in high school ends up being one of the villains. Out of it she decides to stay and start a partnership with her father; thus creating a series.

My laughter prompted strange glances from Pat. "The bitch stole my life!" I explained.

"Maybe if you sue her you could really fuck up the production," sighed Pat after I pointed out the similarities.

"She gave me five percent of her first book without me asking. Maybe this time I'll ask." A disturbing thought broke my amusement. "Is she there?"

"She's the new script girl," said Pat.


Pat shrugged. "You'll have to ask her."

"At least she won't be pawed by the producer."

"She's probably too chunky for him."

"I think she's cute, but yeah, she's got some weight on her. But more than her not being his type, he's not hers."

"Why's that?"

"He dangles too much between his legs. She only likes interior genitalia."

Driving a few hundred feet into the woods to a clearing brought another déjà vu. But instead of a burning shack this one had been demolished with large heavy force.

"Fuck shit goddamnit fuck!" the director yelled, scraping the earth at his feet like a bull ready to charge.

I planned to wait in Pat's old Volvo in case Chloe saw me and blew my cover. The sight though lured me out and drew me in. My description of the shack had gotten pretty explicit that night at Harry's.

I caught Chloe's eye or she caught mine. Luckily she needed to calm the director down. "We can shoot at the tower and have them rebuild," she suggested.

"I wanted ... I had her prepped. I wanted the emotions bared and felt before moving on."

"Have more faith in me," said Becky. The exquisite, svelte, wavy chestnut haired Ms. Whalen had been hidden behind the corner of the trailer before stepping towards the director. "I'm an actress."

"You're right," said Sid the director. "I'm sorry. It's just..."

" ... nuts," said Becky. For some reason they laughed.

The distraction allowed Pat to whisper into Chloe's ear. She nodded and smiled at me discretely.

Sid turned to the tech truck and ordered the crew to set up at the old water tower at the end of the small peninsula dividing one North Shore beach from another.

"Sid, this is Barry Jones I told you about," said Pat.

After taking a deep breath, the heavyset director waved me forward. I couldn't help feeling like he beckoned me rudely especially when he grimaced and waved harder and glared. My steps lengthened.

"Sid Griffin," said the director.

"Barry Jones," I responded. I shook his hand. Despite his size his shake felt limp. He walked around me as if appraising a steer.

"The gay bar scene Chloe," ordered Sid. Chloe turned a few pages in her script and handed it to me. I had three scenes in the movie. This introduced me to Becky.

I'd read it once and at least knew the situation. I shut my eyes and concentrated on intention and character. The guy ... I mean I wanted this woman. Easy. Becky looked luscious and intelligent enough to be fun. I wanted to leer but knew she had enough of that everytime a man got near her. I also knew she'd be a tough lay. She's heard it all and recognized every advance. She expected charm and respect. Conversation had to be shared. She'd be a challenge. She'd be work. I didn't like to work too hard to get laid. But fuck she was hot.

"You want to work on it?" asked Becky sweetly.

"I want it extempore," said the fucking director.

"Laura I presume," I said as casually as possible.

"Louder. You're in a bar!" said the director.

"Laura I presume," I said loudly. It actually felt good to be loud. "Joe Soul. I've met your dad. He was quite the PI. Can I buy you a drink?"

"I've got one," said Becky smiling. "It's full. Not much for details are you?" She sounded slightly amused but nevertheless not insulting. However I got the insult. "What's with the gay bar? Looking to score?"

"Actually yes," I said. "The hottest women in Honolulu come here, present company included." I didn't leer. I said it like I spoke the truth, which I did.

"And less competition. I'm sure that helps your cause. Problem is they're here to avoid you."

"Avoid me?"

"Your type."

"And what type is that?"

"Cocksure men on the prowl."

"Women like a man who's sure of himself," I said with a tinge of uncertainty.

"Good," said the director. "Go on."

"You sure about that?" said Becky.

"What's your trouble Laura? Why'd you call?"

"See the women over there? I came with them."

"Which ones?" I asked.

"The quartet of stunners including the tall voluptuous redhead you've been molesting with your eyes."

"Are you sure you're not projecting your own desires."

"I'm sure. But take it from me, they feel quite comfortable in a same sex bar."

"Okay. So what about them?"

"A couple of them play both sides. At least they'd like to. They've had a hard time of it though. They've all been raped."

"Damn. That's screwed up."

"Isn't it."


"No thank god. I'm very good at defending myself."

"I'll be sure and not find out how well."

"You do that."

"But ... I'd like to get to know the daughter of Moe Holden. You following in the master's footsteps?"

"Trying. Don't tell them that."

"Why would I tell them anything?"

"See the cute Japanese girl?"

"The one blushing?"

"Yeah. She said you're cute. No accounting for taste."

"Well, I'm a flavor that grows on you," I said stupidly.

"Like a wart?" said Becky. "Sorry. I'd like to be friends. I need a colleague. I need your license. But don't try your lame come ons, okay? Just be a comrade. Don't flirt. Am I getting through to you?"

"What about the cute Japanese girl?"

"Good boy. Come on. I'll introduce you. Don't play stud though. Be nice. Listen. She'll do all the work."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"They're killers, Joe. At least I think they are."

I laughed.

"I'm serious, Joe," said Becky looking into my eyes. They stunned me, deep brown pools, sad and yet full of life. For a moment I fell inside, but I quickly climbed out. "Are you cool with this, stud?"

"As a mountain stream, babe."

"More like a tall drink of water. Come on."

"You'll do fine," said Sid sharply. "Becky?" He walked with her towards the corner of the trailer from which she had first appeared. She turned and winked. I gulped.

At last alone with Chloe, she smiled tightly. "Sorry," she said quietly.

"When did you start writing fiction?" I asked.

"What's fiction?" she joked.

"I want my five percent," I retorted.

"I promise."

"Just kidding."

"No. I owe you. I figured you wouldn't get upset."

"I'm not. I'm kind of honored."

"Thought so."

"But how come I turned out so slimy?"


Before I could ask what she meant Sid returned. "Have Pat take you back to town to our headquarters to get fitted. We'll be shooting your scenes in a few days. Monday if things don't ... never mind. You got a contact number? Where are you staying?"

"A friend's couch," I lied. I planned on getting Penny in the loop.

"Nonsense. When RJ..."

A small cloud of dust arose in a line behind the hill the dirt road negotiated to get to the clearing. Taking the corner and finally in sight emerged its source. A denim and leather clad man hidden by a helmet, all black, slid his Harley to a stop beside Pat's Volvo. "The motherfucker finally decided to join us," muttered Sid.

I'd wondered who played the old PI. It seemed a difficult role to cast. The man removed his helmet. At least to me the coolest guy in Hollywood, RJ Armstrong, drinking companion to Peckinpah and Huston, a character actor specializing in tough hombre's with depth and a twinkle in the eye took his long and lanky strides towards us, stroking his long dirty blond hair back into place. If Warren Oates still lived, he'd have been the only actor I wanted to meet more. Awe stiffened my tongue.

"Sorry I'm late," said RJ in his patented Texas twang. "Oh shit." He saw the broken shack.

"We're shooting the water tower scene," explained Sid.

"Where's Bern?"

"Asleep," said Sid motioning to the trailer.

"No I'm not," came from inside. A most average looking man emerged from the trailer, a large remote phone, a fairly new contraption in the late eighties needing several years to reduce to the size of a credit card pushed against his face. Medium height and medium build with light brunette or dark blond hair cut like a businessman, the stubble on his face barely noticeable, wearing an aloha shirt and khaki shorts reaching his average tanned knees, his face neither handsome nor ugly, if I looked away I'd have forgotten him immediately. Except the eyes, the most intensely focused I ever saw.

"Mac, I don't care if you've slept or not. We need the fucking shack rebuilt. Now!" he yelled into the receiver, pulling it away from his face and finding the off button. "Why didn't you call Mac right away?" he said to Sid. For the first time I saw Sid taken aback.

"They worked on it most of the night," explained Sid. "Besides ... uhm ... It's kind of your job to get it fixed."

"You're right Sid. Who's this?" he asked staring at me intently.

"The new Joe Soul," Sid answered.

"Bern Forough," the producer said lifting his medium sized hand.

"Barry Jones," I replied. His shake threatened pain, but ended up being firm and assured. "It's an honor working for you."

"Thanks," said Bern seemingly pleasantly surprised about my gushing. It gave me an insight: The puppet man working all the strings but invisible. The puppets get all the praise for his genius.

"If you don't mind RJ," said Sid, "I'm going to have Barry replace Roger in your suite."

"Shit, I'd hoped you forgot," said RJ. "Just kidding kid. Glad to have a roomie." I shook the great man's hand. Firm and calloused as I expected.

"Can you hold this a second sweetheart?" he asked Becky handing her his helmet. She seemed nearly as admiring of him as me. Not a groupie glance, but one of admiration and respect, a daughter proud of her father. I wondered if she liked living her roles.

RJ removed his keys from his pocket. A chain attached them to his jeans. He slid off one and handed it to me. "Make a copy. I think I got the address written somewhere." He removed his wallet, also chained to his pants.

"I'm heading back to town," said Pat. "I'll show him."

"Fine. Where should we meet?"

"Do you know Harry's Bar?"


"It's in downtown Honolulu. I think you'll like it." I gave him the address which he jotted down on one of the scraps of paper in his wallet.

"They serve food?" asked RJ.

"If you like it charbroiled or fried," I replied.

"Meet you there at..."

"We should wrap by six," said Sid.

"Seven?" said RJ.

"See you then," I confirmed. I kept my amazement at bay until everyone headed to the peninsula. Then I stood frozen and shook my head.

I still managed to notice a couple things. Bern kept scratching a sore on his right palm looking like a blister. His hiking shoes had a light layer of dirt. When he swerved off in his Lotus sports car I could have sworn I heard a dull thunk from the tiny trunk. I might have imagined it.

Chloe remained behind with Pat and me telling Sid she'd have Pat drop her off garnering a wink from the director. Couldn't he tell she'd rather die a thousand deaths than make love to a man?

As soon as everyone else left I wandered to the broken shack.

"What do you think?" asked Chloe as I kneeled over a heavy medium sized shoe print. It looked like expensive hiking boot tread.

"You took the script girl position to find out what's going on," I said.

"Unfortunately my past life precedes me," she said. "No one of importance lets me interrogate them no matter how subtle I am."

"You subtle?"

"Fuck you Joe."

"Is it because I'm willing and you're not you turned me into a slimeball?"

"It's because of statements like that. And sometimes the way you glance at me..."

"Hey, I can't help it if you're cute."

"You can't seduce them all," said Pat.

"You can't blame a guy for trying," I said.

"Yes you can," said the devout lesbian.

I fondled a break in the wood and felt the sledge hammer indentation.

"What's the chance of you sneaking a peak into the trunk of the Lotus?" I asked Chloe.

"Pretty slim. You think Bern did this?"

"Seems the likely choice."

"Why?" both Pat and Chloe asked simultaneously.

"Fuck if I know, but I'll find out."

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Oral Sex / Anal Sex / Masturbation /