I'd wanted to do this sooner but was having trouble finding the time. I appreciated the comments from the initial thread and rewrote the story, incorporating those comments as best as I could.
I'm interested in the reaction to this. Nasha, Jenny, fcdc....if it's not too much to ask and you don't mind, I'm interested in how you'd compare this to the first draft. Here's the link back to that one with all our comments....
https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=516932
I also tried to heed the advice on showing vs telling. If you pick out where I might still be "telling", I'd be interested in how you might edit it to be more "showing".
But as I said, any feedback I get is most welcome, thank you!
------------------------------------------------
How do you lose 20 bucks in Beverly Hills in five minutes? First, be a hopeless stargazer whose closet brush with celebrity was a baggage handler at LAX who sorta looked like Regis Philbin. Next, find yourself next to Map of the Stars' Houses Guy sitting on the corner at a complete loss as to what to do or where to look. Then, let him convince you his magic maps hold the key to a glimpse of seeing Paris Hilton or whomever taking out the trash (almost forgot, Paris is in the slammer now!). Finally, hand over the 20 clams to Map Guy, only to find out the most recent "star" on the map list was Morey Amsterdam, who died ten years ago.
Oh well, musta been the B-list section of Beverly Hills . Disappointed, I made a half-assed effort to pick out what turned out to be the former houses of the likes of Soupy Sales and Tom Bosley, then opted for an outdoor café on Rodeo Drive for lunch. There a gum-smacking waitress met me with near complete disinterest. Understandable. I was, of course, no movie star.
"How you doin', darlin'?", I asked her, on vacation and overly full of myself.
"What'll it be, sir?" Her "sir" was more of the Server's Handbook variety than the "I've got a least a modicum of respect for this person" variety.
"Cheeseburger. Medium well. Side of Fries. Michelob Light."
"How do you want that done?"
"Med…"
"Right, right, medium, you said that. Sorry."
"Aren't you going to chastise me for what I just ordered?"
"Why?"
"This is California . You know? Health conscious? I'm surprised a cheeseburger was even on the menu!"
"No, I wasn't. It's not too busy, this oughtta be up in just a few minutes."
"Hey, do any famous people ever eat here?"
Sigh, her subtle exhale and roll of the eyes said. "Yeah, sure. This is Beverly Hills. It's no big deal. If you want to see celebrities when you're done eating, you can buy a, whatever they call it, Map of the Stars' Houses, and you can find where people live. I hear they're a ripoff though. Haven't been updated in a while."
"Hey, thanks for the local knowledge", I said with a wink, and feeling like a total dumbass.
I got a call from my pal Freddie who'd seen Laker Coach Phil Jackson at dinner before. We'd split up since he had plans to visit his sister while we were on the West Coast. He was in the middle of explaining how he thought he'd just seen the Gubernator and wife Maria until he realized they were celebrity impersonators, when SHE came into the café and sat down at a table across from me.
"……..and so they were opening up some car wash. Hilarious. People actually believed they were the real thing."
"You did, didn't you?" Gorgeous blonde hair, deep green eyes, pouty lips. Staring at…….MOI? "Hey, Freddie, I gotta go. My lunch just got here and…."
He didn't wait to let me tell him who I just saw. "OK, later, dude."
"Bye". Why was she staring at me? Looking a little pissed off to boot? Feeling a little bit ballsy, I met her gaze, cocked my head, and shrugged.
"Whatchoo lookin' at, Willis?" After all, what's more charming than an impression of an undersized, washed up actor who didn't even rate a mention on my map?
That earned a nod and the hint of a smile. She suddenly looked unmad, but something was lingering. Sadness, maybe? I suppose gorgeous, famous people were, well, people, too. As the waitress came over to take her order she waved her off, got her sexy self up off her chair, and came sauntering over to my table.
Don't drop, jaw. I reached into my pocket for my trusty Sharpie. Gotta have the autograph, you know. That stopped her in her tracks. "No, no", I said. I laughed. "Just getting a pen out of my pocket." I could see why she might be a little jumpy, though. "Have a seat, I guess."
She'd yet to say a word to me. She sat down, a bemused look directed at me on her face. I was some kind of diversion. Something was weighing on her mind, I was sure of it. I didn't want to seem nosy, but found myself asking her, "Is something bothering you?"
That seemed to have struck a nerve. She bit her lower lip ever so slightly. I couldn't help but think how adorable it was. But she quickly regained composure, and put her finger to her mouth. Seems she didn't want me speaking, either. Just as well, I can hardly imagine the awkward conversation I'd be trying to make. Before I resumed digging into my cheeseburger I motioned to her to see if she'd like some, but she made a face like I'd offered her a pile of dogshit from my plate. Then I remembered she'd be voted World's Sexiest Vegetarian on some PETA online poll. Now who else but a "big fan" would know that?
Despite the gag order, I started feeling more comfortable with my Hot Hollywood Actress lunch companion, even giving her one of my "swave and deboner" looks into her eyes as I reached for my beer.
Bad move. My beer was about three inches closer to me than I thought it was and before I knew it, a little less than 20 ounces of Mich Light covered the tablecloth and were quickly making their way to ruining somebody's pretty outfit.
No harm, no foul, fortunately. She was out of her seat in a flash, long before the first drop dripped onto her chair. I lifted the gag order, stammering like Hugh Grant trying to explain to the cops why some hooker named Divine was giving him a blowjob in his car. "I…I…I'm so sorry, God, w-what a mess….."
She waved her hand and laughed, taking the chair right next to me. Fuggedaboudit, her face said. Again, she was enjoying the break from whatever was on her mind.
Well, Hugh Grant spilled orange juice on Julia Roberts/Anna Scott in Notting Hill . I got his stammering bit down. Maybe it's my lucky day. I finished my lunch. In silence, I needn't say. When I took my last bite, she gave me the universal "Let's go" cock of the head. While I probably should have said no, I wasn't about to.
I gave the Indifferent Waitress a wink as we left the café. She remained disinterested and unimpressed. Meanwhile, my date took my hand as we hit the sidewalk.
So where are we going?, my face said, self-imposing the previous no talking rule.
No answer. Instead, I got an adorable Cher Horowitz crinkle of the nose as she started swinging our hands back and forth. She was either genuinely having a great time or totally fuckin' with me. Rather than question the moment I went with, swinging my hand in hers as if we were off to see the Wizard or something.
Great fun, I thought. I was starting to feel a little giddy. Somewhere between "I just hit the game winning homer in the bottom of the ninth" to the time my gay brother scored front row tickets to Ricky Martin. What could possibly spoil this moment?
Oh, I dunno. Maybe your Rocky Balboa "Gonna Fly Now" ringtone? Great timing. I looked over, as if to get permission to answer my phone. Of course, her look said.
Text message from Freddie. just saw barry scheck oj atty at b king he got a whoper c u
I quickly replied. Kewl ask me about AS l8r.
I flipped my phone shut. Started thinking, thought, as we resumed our skip down the Yellow Brick Road. Barry Sheck. OJ. Is she married to someone? If so, who? And is he a psychopath? Am I the next Ron Goldman, the "male companion" in the wrong place at the wrong time? Just where are we headed anyway?
She sensed my discomfort. Probably since I quickly went from hand-swinging idiot to paranoid statue, now the one stopped dead in my tracks. What's wrong?, her furrowed brow asked me.
What do you want from me?, was my look back to her. Maybe I was overthinking, not ready to allow myself to simply enjoy this for what it was. Maybe I felt I was taking advantage of someone who might be vulnerable despite her celebrity. Maybe I WAS simply paranoid.
I can't do this, my shake of the head said. I'm sorry.
A new look from her. Hurt? How could she be hurt by an ordinary person like me she'd just met? God, this would be so much easier if she's just SPEAK to me. A clutch of my arm. She needed me it seemed. Don't be afraid, her look said. Come with me. Please!
Through what seemed to be desperation on her part came the subtlest of smiles. C'mon, it said. I know I'm irresistible. You know I'm irresistible. I know that you know I'm irresistible. I want to have a good time with you. Do you want to have a nice time or not?
I think I did. Let yourself, I said to myself. You're not the doomed male companion. And she's a big girl. She can take care of herself. Yeah, she's upset about something, but she's in control of herself. I was working to make myself OK with this, and starting to convince myself that was so.
We got to her house. Hey, I thought, this was Kitty Carlisle's house on the map (God rest her soul). She unlocked the door and disabled the security system. She turned to me and I pointed to my mouth meaning, Well can we talk now? Instead she walked over to me and kissed me. Once again, very Notting Hill. Also very nice. I hoped she didn't mind I'd put onions on my burger. Seemed she didn't.
More thoughts. What a movie title this might be. Let's see, there's Educating Rita, Being John Malkovich, Eating Raoul. Eating Raoul? Driving Miss Daisy. Hmmm, Kissing Alicia Silverstone. Wow. Naaah, to much like Saving Silverman.
She pulled away from me. Where did you just go? You overthinking again?, her face said.
I rolled my eyes and shrugged. Don't mind me, said my shrug. I'm back. You're kissing a beautiful woman, not some two-dimensional movie star. She's a human being. You've seen that already. I reminded myself I was, too. So fucking act like one, I thought, chastising myself. You know where this is heading. Enjoy it.
She pulled away from me and started to blush. She looked down for a moment, so I gently cupped her lovely chin and drew my lips once again toward her. We kissed again, briefly, as she took me by the hand. I finally gave in—there was only downside to resisting her—and I followed her as she led me to the back of the house.
The bedroom was hardly one of a Hollywood starlet. Medical equipment was everywhere. A grandmotherly aroma of Estee Lauder and pine needles. I looked at her, again a bit confused.
She took my "what the hell" look as ridicule, I think. I saw more pain and hurt in her eyes, which were welling up quickly. She made no effort to hide biting her lower lip this time as she began to cry.
"I'm sorry", I said. She didn't shush me this time, instead burying her face in my lap, sobbing. "It's OK, don't mind me. I'm an idiot. But I'm glad I'm here. With you."
Nothing too clever. But I meant it. And it seemed it was the right thing to say to her. I felt the intensity of her emotions. She wanted me, but I wasn't sure why. I finally stopped asking myself, right about when she stopped crying. I want you, her look said, as she unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her gorgeous breasts. I started to forget who she was, taking a nipple into my mouth, and feeling her breathing become more intense. My shirt was off, too. I can't quite remember when that happened, but I felt a shiver down my spine as she caressed both my nipples with the tips of my fingers.
No erection though. As it's commonly said, a man's dick has a mind of its own. Right now I wasn't sure I liked whatever he was thinking though. I think I had myself convinced this was all a good thing. Don't tell me HE has other ideas. Again, she sensed some discomfort, but she didn't take my initial lack of a hard on personally. She smiled at me and caressed my face. It's OK, she smiled at me, comfortee turned comforter. I'm safe with you. Be safe with me.
I was convinced. My dick was too. I felt myself getting hard as I got the "SOMEBODY'S getting excited" evil leer from her. I reached down and pulled down her panties as she removed her skirt. We lied back down together totally naked, as I placed my hand on her inner thigh and massaged it gently, teasing her until I got the "you can touch it anytime now" blush and giggle. She was wet, and warm to my touch, I coulda sworn I heard her whisper "yes" ever so slightly. I went down on her, Alicia Freaking Silverstone, as she wrapped her swimsuit model legs around my head.
Can't wait to tell Freddie all about this, I thought. How lucky am I? Immediately, she sensed I was vacating again. She pulled back and admonished me with her look. Stay here. With me. 'K??
"I'm sorry", I said a second time. I wasn't sure I had a good I'm Sorry Face in my Expressions Arsenal and wanted to be sure she knew I understood. I wouldn't drift again for the rest of the afternoon. She felt incredible when I was inside her, and told her so with closed eyes and a smile. And she felt safe with me, sharing the intensity of her emotions with me as I felt her squeeze me tightly and dig her nails into my back. It was that emotion that made this so gratifying, even possible. I don't think either of us was up to a casual romp in the hay. Whether that's what this really was didn't matter at the moment. She longed to be close with someone, and today that person was me. I accepted that, and gave all I could to her, thrusting myself deeply inside her, our bodies moving as one.
I felt her twitching around my cock, just enough to push me to the point of no return. I shot my load deep inside her, and she let out a cry and came once more. As we finally tried to catch our breath, she laid her head down on my chest. I could feel the sweat from her hair. I squeezed her tightly and wrapped my legs around hers.
"That was nice.", she finally spoke. "Really nice. Thank you."
"May I open my mouth now?", I chided playfully. "What can I say, you're welcome??"
"I didn't mean the…..you know, I'm just glad you're here with me. I know this is probably pretty weird."
"Yeah, this doesn't exactly happen to me every day." I quickly lapsed back into Dorky Stargazer Mode. "Really, I can't believe what just happened. I don't know what to say. Ummm, I'm a big fan. Seen all your movies. Say, is Christopher Walken as cool as he seems?"
She started to laugh and she rolled her eyes. "I'm not Alicia Silverstone."
"Oh, you're not?"
"Disappointed?"
A near fatal pause...."Uh no. NOOO". Trying too hard. "I mean yeah at first I thought you were, but then I realized you were much prettier than her." I hoped my sweetness would trump my flaw in logic.
She started to laugh. I liked seeing her laugh, even if it was at me. "Nice try, kiddo. Apology accepted. I get that a lot, I mean, the whole Alicia Silverstone thing. I think she's totally hot so I consider it a real complement."
"Well, you are beautiful no matter what."
"Thanks, that's sweet." She pushed one side of her hair back behind her ear, which suggested to me she appreciated the complement. I was starting to pick up her non-verbal cues. Had a lot of practice in the last couple hours. "I'm Isabelle."
"My name's Steve. Tell me something, why did you......."
"My boyfriend. Fucker. Been cheating on me for the last couple months and I'm sick of it. Figured it was time to get him back. There you were. You seemed nice. You're cute. And today was your lucky day I suppose. I feel a little better now."
"You're gonna tell him about...."
"No, he'll never know, he'll never suspect. We're good."
"So you live here then."
"Yeah, for the next couple weeks at least. This is Kitty Carlisle's house, you know from...."
"....To Tell the Truth, I know."
"I was helping her out full-time. Such a sweet lady, god she was beautiful when she was younger. She wanted to live to be 100, didn't quite make it though. She passed away two weeks ago. I miss her a lot. She took care of me as much as I did her". That bite of the lower lip again. Cheating boyfriend and the loss of a dear friend is more than enough pain for one person. "Soooo, looks like I'm out of a job."
"Well, maybe you can be a stunt double in "Clueless II: The Wrath of Cher".
"Cute. Or, maybe I'll take it one day at a time and see what happens. And just so you know, my boyfriend's outta town for the next three days, and I'm still a little pissed off."
"I'll stop talking immediately."
"Hey, where's your Sharpie?"
"Still in my pants. They're hanging over there on that IV pole." Isabelle hopped out of bed and grabbed the pen from my pants pocket. "Lay on your tummy."
"What are doing?"
"Shush." I felt something tickling my ass. "There", she said, "you've now got the autograph of a TV star."
"Really?", I said, with Ricky Martin Front Row Ticket giddiness returning.
"Well, sort of. I was Cute Little White Girl in the Soda Shop on an episode of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air once. I even got Will Smith's autograph. What a sweetie!"
"He didn't sign your butt, did he?"
The slap on my behind said no. "You said you'd stop talking immediately, right?"
"Right."
"Good decision, Stevie!" And for the next three days, it definitely was. We had a great time. Even had lunch with Chuck Barris, you know, the host of the Gong Show. He lived next door. Unfortunately for me, Isabelle stopped being mad at her boyfriend, but at least, I finally had my Hollywood story.
I'm interested in the reaction to this. Nasha, Jenny, fcdc....if it's not too much to ask and you don't mind, I'm interested in how you'd compare this to the first draft. Here's the link back to that one with all our comments....
https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=516932
I also tried to heed the advice on showing vs telling. If you pick out where I might still be "telling", I'd be interested in how you might edit it to be more "showing".
But as I said, any feedback I get is most welcome, thank you!
------------------------------------------------
How do you lose 20 bucks in Beverly Hills in five minutes? First, be a hopeless stargazer whose closet brush with celebrity was a baggage handler at LAX who sorta looked like Regis Philbin. Next, find yourself next to Map of the Stars' Houses Guy sitting on the corner at a complete loss as to what to do or where to look. Then, let him convince you his magic maps hold the key to a glimpse of seeing Paris Hilton or whomever taking out the trash (almost forgot, Paris is in the slammer now!). Finally, hand over the 20 clams to Map Guy, only to find out the most recent "star" on the map list was Morey Amsterdam, who died ten years ago.
Oh well, musta been the B-list section of Beverly Hills . Disappointed, I made a half-assed effort to pick out what turned out to be the former houses of the likes of Soupy Sales and Tom Bosley, then opted for an outdoor café on Rodeo Drive for lunch. There a gum-smacking waitress met me with near complete disinterest. Understandable. I was, of course, no movie star.
"How you doin', darlin'?", I asked her, on vacation and overly full of myself.
"What'll it be, sir?" Her "sir" was more of the Server's Handbook variety than the "I've got a least a modicum of respect for this person" variety.
"Cheeseburger. Medium well. Side of Fries. Michelob Light."
"How do you want that done?"
"Med…"
"Right, right, medium, you said that. Sorry."
"Aren't you going to chastise me for what I just ordered?"
"Why?"
"This is California . You know? Health conscious? I'm surprised a cheeseburger was even on the menu!"
"No, I wasn't. It's not too busy, this oughtta be up in just a few minutes."
"Hey, do any famous people ever eat here?"
Sigh, her subtle exhale and roll of the eyes said. "Yeah, sure. This is Beverly Hills. It's no big deal. If you want to see celebrities when you're done eating, you can buy a, whatever they call it, Map of the Stars' Houses, and you can find where people live. I hear they're a ripoff though. Haven't been updated in a while."
"Hey, thanks for the local knowledge", I said with a wink, and feeling like a total dumbass.
I got a call from my pal Freddie who'd seen Laker Coach Phil Jackson at dinner before. We'd split up since he had plans to visit his sister while we were on the West Coast. He was in the middle of explaining how he thought he'd just seen the Gubernator and wife Maria until he realized they were celebrity impersonators, when SHE came into the café and sat down at a table across from me.
"……..and so they were opening up some car wash. Hilarious. People actually believed they were the real thing."
"You did, didn't you?" Gorgeous blonde hair, deep green eyes, pouty lips. Staring at…….MOI? "Hey, Freddie, I gotta go. My lunch just got here and…."
He didn't wait to let me tell him who I just saw. "OK, later, dude."
"Bye". Why was she staring at me? Looking a little pissed off to boot? Feeling a little bit ballsy, I met her gaze, cocked my head, and shrugged.
"Whatchoo lookin' at, Willis?" After all, what's more charming than an impression of an undersized, washed up actor who didn't even rate a mention on my map?
That earned a nod and the hint of a smile. She suddenly looked unmad, but something was lingering. Sadness, maybe? I suppose gorgeous, famous people were, well, people, too. As the waitress came over to take her order she waved her off, got her sexy self up off her chair, and came sauntering over to my table.
Don't drop, jaw. I reached into my pocket for my trusty Sharpie. Gotta have the autograph, you know. That stopped her in her tracks. "No, no", I said. I laughed. "Just getting a pen out of my pocket." I could see why she might be a little jumpy, though. "Have a seat, I guess."
She'd yet to say a word to me. She sat down, a bemused look directed at me on her face. I was some kind of diversion. Something was weighing on her mind, I was sure of it. I didn't want to seem nosy, but found myself asking her, "Is something bothering you?"
That seemed to have struck a nerve. She bit her lower lip ever so slightly. I couldn't help but think how adorable it was. But she quickly regained composure, and put her finger to her mouth. Seems she didn't want me speaking, either. Just as well, I can hardly imagine the awkward conversation I'd be trying to make. Before I resumed digging into my cheeseburger I motioned to her to see if she'd like some, but she made a face like I'd offered her a pile of dogshit from my plate. Then I remembered she'd be voted World's Sexiest Vegetarian on some PETA online poll. Now who else but a "big fan" would know that?
Despite the gag order, I started feeling more comfortable with my Hot Hollywood Actress lunch companion, even giving her one of my "swave and deboner" looks into her eyes as I reached for my beer.
Bad move. My beer was about three inches closer to me than I thought it was and before I knew it, a little less than 20 ounces of Mich Light covered the tablecloth and were quickly making their way to ruining somebody's pretty outfit.
No harm, no foul, fortunately. She was out of her seat in a flash, long before the first drop dripped onto her chair. I lifted the gag order, stammering like Hugh Grant trying to explain to the cops why some hooker named Divine was giving him a blowjob in his car. "I…I…I'm so sorry, God, w-what a mess….."
She waved her hand and laughed, taking the chair right next to me. Fuggedaboudit, her face said. Again, she was enjoying the break from whatever was on her mind.
Well, Hugh Grant spilled orange juice on Julia Roberts/Anna Scott in Notting Hill . I got his stammering bit down. Maybe it's my lucky day. I finished my lunch. In silence, I needn't say. When I took my last bite, she gave me the universal "Let's go" cock of the head. While I probably should have said no, I wasn't about to.
I gave the Indifferent Waitress a wink as we left the café. She remained disinterested and unimpressed. Meanwhile, my date took my hand as we hit the sidewalk.
So where are we going?, my face said, self-imposing the previous no talking rule.
No answer. Instead, I got an adorable Cher Horowitz crinkle of the nose as she started swinging our hands back and forth. She was either genuinely having a great time or totally fuckin' with me. Rather than question the moment I went with, swinging my hand in hers as if we were off to see the Wizard or something.
Great fun, I thought. I was starting to feel a little giddy. Somewhere between "I just hit the game winning homer in the bottom of the ninth" to the time my gay brother scored front row tickets to Ricky Martin. What could possibly spoil this moment?
Oh, I dunno. Maybe your Rocky Balboa "Gonna Fly Now" ringtone? Great timing. I looked over, as if to get permission to answer my phone. Of course, her look said.
Text message from Freddie. just saw barry scheck oj atty at b king he got a whoper c u
I quickly replied. Kewl ask me about AS l8r.
I flipped my phone shut. Started thinking, thought, as we resumed our skip down the Yellow Brick Road. Barry Sheck. OJ. Is she married to someone? If so, who? And is he a psychopath? Am I the next Ron Goldman, the "male companion" in the wrong place at the wrong time? Just where are we headed anyway?
She sensed my discomfort. Probably since I quickly went from hand-swinging idiot to paranoid statue, now the one stopped dead in my tracks. What's wrong?, her furrowed brow asked me.
What do you want from me?, was my look back to her. Maybe I was overthinking, not ready to allow myself to simply enjoy this for what it was. Maybe I felt I was taking advantage of someone who might be vulnerable despite her celebrity. Maybe I WAS simply paranoid.
I can't do this, my shake of the head said. I'm sorry.
A new look from her. Hurt? How could she be hurt by an ordinary person like me she'd just met? God, this would be so much easier if she's just SPEAK to me. A clutch of my arm. She needed me it seemed. Don't be afraid, her look said. Come with me. Please!
Through what seemed to be desperation on her part came the subtlest of smiles. C'mon, it said. I know I'm irresistible. You know I'm irresistible. I know that you know I'm irresistible. I want to have a good time with you. Do you want to have a nice time or not?
I think I did. Let yourself, I said to myself. You're not the doomed male companion. And she's a big girl. She can take care of herself. Yeah, she's upset about something, but she's in control of herself. I was working to make myself OK with this, and starting to convince myself that was so.
We got to her house. Hey, I thought, this was Kitty Carlisle's house on the map (God rest her soul). She unlocked the door and disabled the security system. She turned to me and I pointed to my mouth meaning, Well can we talk now? Instead she walked over to me and kissed me. Once again, very Notting Hill. Also very nice. I hoped she didn't mind I'd put onions on my burger. Seemed she didn't.
More thoughts. What a movie title this might be. Let's see, there's Educating Rita, Being John Malkovich, Eating Raoul. Eating Raoul? Driving Miss Daisy. Hmmm, Kissing Alicia Silverstone. Wow. Naaah, to much like Saving Silverman.
She pulled away from me. Where did you just go? You overthinking again?, her face said.
I rolled my eyes and shrugged. Don't mind me, said my shrug. I'm back. You're kissing a beautiful woman, not some two-dimensional movie star. She's a human being. You've seen that already. I reminded myself I was, too. So fucking act like one, I thought, chastising myself. You know where this is heading. Enjoy it.
She pulled away from me and started to blush. She looked down for a moment, so I gently cupped her lovely chin and drew my lips once again toward her. We kissed again, briefly, as she took me by the hand. I finally gave in—there was only downside to resisting her—and I followed her as she led me to the back of the house.
The bedroom was hardly one of a Hollywood starlet. Medical equipment was everywhere. A grandmotherly aroma of Estee Lauder and pine needles. I looked at her, again a bit confused.
She took my "what the hell" look as ridicule, I think. I saw more pain and hurt in her eyes, which were welling up quickly. She made no effort to hide biting her lower lip this time as she began to cry.
"I'm sorry", I said. She didn't shush me this time, instead burying her face in my lap, sobbing. "It's OK, don't mind me. I'm an idiot. But I'm glad I'm here. With you."
Nothing too clever. But I meant it. And it seemed it was the right thing to say to her. I felt the intensity of her emotions. She wanted me, but I wasn't sure why. I finally stopped asking myself, right about when she stopped crying. I want you, her look said, as she unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her gorgeous breasts. I started to forget who she was, taking a nipple into my mouth, and feeling her breathing become more intense. My shirt was off, too. I can't quite remember when that happened, but I felt a shiver down my spine as she caressed both my nipples with the tips of my fingers.
No erection though. As it's commonly said, a man's dick has a mind of its own. Right now I wasn't sure I liked whatever he was thinking though. I think I had myself convinced this was all a good thing. Don't tell me HE has other ideas. Again, she sensed some discomfort, but she didn't take my initial lack of a hard on personally. She smiled at me and caressed my face. It's OK, she smiled at me, comfortee turned comforter. I'm safe with you. Be safe with me.
I was convinced. My dick was too. I felt myself getting hard as I got the "SOMEBODY'S getting excited" evil leer from her. I reached down and pulled down her panties as she removed her skirt. We lied back down together totally naked, as I placed my hand on her inner thigh and massaged it gently, teasing her until I got the "you can touch it anytime now" blush and giggle. She was wet, and warm to my touch, I coulda sworn I heard her whisper "yes" ever so slightly. I went down on her, Alicia Freaking Silverstone, as she wrapped her swimsuit model legs around my head.
Can't wait to tell Freddie all about this, I thought. How lucky am I? Immediately, she sensed I was vacating again. She pulled back and admonished me with her look. Stay here. With me. 'K??
"I'm sorry", I said a second time. I wasn't sure I had a good I'm Sorry Face in my Expressions Arsenal and wanted to be sure she knew I understood. I wouldn't drift again for the rest of the afternoon. She felt incredible when I was inside her, and told her so with closed eyes and a smile. And she felt safe with me, sharing the intensity of her emotions with me as I felt her squeeze me tightly and dig her nails into my back. It was that emotion that made this so gratifying, even possible. I don't think either of us was up to a casual romp in the hay. Whether that's what this really was didn't matter at the moment. She longed to be close with someone, and today that person was me. I accepted that, and gave all I could to her, thrusting myself deeply inside her, our bodies moving as one.
I felt her twitching around my cock, just enough to push me to the point of no return. I shot my load deep inside her, and she let out a cry and came once more. As we finally tried to catch our breath, she laid her head down on my chest. I could feel the sweat from her hair. I squeezed her tightly and wrapped my legs around hers.
"That was nice.", she finally spoke. "Really nice. Thank you."
"May I open my mouth now?", I chided playfully. "What can I say, you're welcome??"
"I didn't mean the…..you know, I'm just glad you're here with me. I know this is probably pretty weird."
"Yeah, this doesn't exactly happen to me every day." I quickly lapsed back into Dorky Stargazer Mode. "Really, I can't believe what just happened. I don't know what to say. Ummm, I'm a big fan. Seen all your movies. Say, is Christopher Walken as cool as he seems?"
She started to laugh and she rolled her eyes. "I'm not Alicia Silverstone."
"Oh, you're not?"
"Disappointed?"
A near fatal pause...."Uh no. NOOO". Trying too hard. "I mean yeah at first I thought you were, but then I realized you were much prettier than her." I hoped my sweetness would trump my flaw in logic.
She started to laugh. I liked seeing her laugh, even if it was at me. "Nice try, kiddo. Apology accepted. I get that a lot, I mean, the whole Alicia Silverstone thing. I think she's totally hot so I consider it a real complement."
"Well, you are beautiful no matter what."
"Thanks, that's sweet." She pushed one side of her hair back behind her ear, which suggested to me she appreciated the complement. I was starting to pick up her non-verbal cues. Had a lot of practice in the last couple hours. "I'm Isabelle."
"My name's Steve. Tell me something, why did you......."
"My boyfriend. Fucker. Been cheating on me for the last couple months and I'm sick of it. Figured it was time to get him back. There you were. You seemed nice. You're cute. And today was your lucky day I suppose. I feel a little better now."
"You're gonna tell him about...."
"No, he'll never know, he'll never suspect. We're good."
"So you live here then."
"Yeah, for the next couple weeks at least. This is Kitty Carlisle's house, you know from...."
"....To Tell the Truth, I know."
"I was helping her out full-time. Such a sweet lady, god she was beautiful when she was younger. She wanted to live to be 100, didn't quite make it though. She passed away two weeks ago. I miss her a lot. She took care of me as much as I did her". That bite of the lower lip again. Cheating boyfriend and the loss of a dear friend is more than enough pain for one person. "Soooo, looks like I'm out of a job."
"Well, maybe you can be a stunt double in "Clueless II: The Wrath of Cher".
"Cute. Or, maybe I'll take it one day at a time and see what happens. And just so you know, my boyfriend's outta town for the next three days, and I'm still a little pissed off."
"I'll stop talking immediately."
"Hey, where's your Sharpie?"
"Still in my pants. They're hanging over there on that IV pole." Isabelle hopped out of bed and grabbed the pen from my pants pocket. "Lay on your tummy."
"What are doing?"
"Shush." I felt something tickling my ass. "There", she said, "you've now got the autograph of a TV star."
"Really?", I said, with Ricky Martin Front Row Ticket giddiness returning.
"Well, sort of. I was Cute Little White Girl in the Soda Shop on an episode of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air once. I even got Will Smith's autograph. What a sweetie!"
"He didn't sign your butt, did he?"
The slap on my behind said no. "You said you'd stop talking immediately, right?"
"Right."
"Good decision, Stevie!" And for the next three days, it definitely was. We had a great time. Even had lunch with Chuck Barris, you know, the host of the Gong Show. He lived next door. Unfortunately for me, Isabelle stopped being mad at her boyfriend, but at least, I finally had my Hollywood story.
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