Hi, everybody! Your old pal Dr. Nick's back with some more of the sweet, sweet humor that I know you love so much. …no? Okay, I also have porn for you. But first, the housekeeping.
This is a sex story. If you're under 18, or you live in a part of the world that doesn't allow you to read sex stories, don't read it. Cause it's a sex story, remember?
Feedback, as always, should go to the address in my profile.
Chapter 3: Three is a Magic Number
Celebrities: Katharine McPhee, Renee Olstead
Codes: MF, MFF, cons, oral
* * *
"What the fuck is pocky, anyway?" It felt like I had asked myself this question a dozen times already; maybe it was because I had. Since Katharine did in fact have "things to see and people to do," while I didn't, I had volunteered to do the shopping. I had managed to track down every other item on the list, some that I couldn't even pronounce, but pocky was proving to be very elusive.
As I bent down to look at something, I got the distinct impression that I was being watched. As nonchalantly as I could, I straightened myself up, and turned my head. My suspicions were confirmed; someone was checking out my butt. I couldn't help but be flattered, especially when I saw who was doing it.
She had a nice body herself; she was rather short, but she had impressively large breasts that strained against a grey tank top, and her faded blue jeans were tightly hugging her legs. Her red hair was covered by a green baseball cap; her ponytail popped out the back.
I turned back around just as she tried to get another look at me; as I did, I saw my quarry. Just to make me feel stupid, it was right at eye level, about four feet away from me, with "pocky" written on it in big, red letters. Sighing, I grabbed a couple of boxes and headed to the checkout line.
As luck would have it, the redhead was in line next to me. She gave me a look that could only be described as smoldering. I smiled politely, and she returned it, though hers was much more "I want to fuck you right here" than "Please stop ogling me, nice sexy lady." I was thankful to be out of there before she said anything; I wasn't entirely sure that I could get out "I have a girlfriend" before she was on me.
The next couple of hours were uneventful in the sense that nobody (that I knew of) was undressing me with their eyes, but pretty much only in that sense. I noticed somebody taking my picture as I walked by a newsstand, but didn't think anything of it until he started following me. I was about to ask him what he was doing when I saw something out of the corner of my eye: Me. I was on the cover of some celeb gossip rag; I was an "unidentified man" seen getting into a limo with Katharine in Las Vegas. The magazine promised "scandalous secrets" of our antics; for a laugh, I bought it and thumbed through the article.
Apparently we had been dating in secret for months, which was news to me. We had also been seen "cavorting and carrying on into the early hours of the morning, at which point the pair returned to her Las Vegas hotel room for some privacy." Right. I couldn't help but laugh, and the photographer asked me what was so funny.
"It's this," I gave him the magazine as I got into the car. "You guys sure know how to make stuff up."
* * *
I pulled into the driveway, and saw that Katharine had returned. I brought in the bags, and called out to her.
"Kat?" No response. "Katharine?"
"I'm out by the pool!" I didn't know exactly where the pool was, but I figured I could follow the sound of her voice and find it. As I got closer, I heard that she was having a conversation with another woman.
"So I met a guy today." This was the other woman.
"Really? What's his name?"
"Um…okay, so I didn't meet a guy." Katharine giggled; it sounded annoying again. Damn my brain and its cyclical taste in vapid laughs. "But I saw one. He was
really
cute."
"Like?" Ugh, and she drew out the long i, too…God, what was wrong with me today?
"He was kinda tall, brown hair…well-built, but not in that 'Look at me I'm so buff' kind of way, you know?"
"Oh, I do…I hate people who always obsess over how they look." Says the girl who threw a fit when her legs tanned. Shut up, brain, shut up! I turned a corner, and caught sight of them; they were reclined in pool chairs, under an umbrella.
"Hope you ladies aren't talking about me behind my back," I said with a smile. Katharine, wearing a tiny black bikini, came out first, giving me a quick hug and a kiss. I returned both, then went to drag over a chair for myself while Kat went back to her friend. I could see that they were whispering to each other when I came back. "Is it alright if I join you?"
"Of course." Kat smiled, turning to her friend. "Renee, this is Nick, the guy I told you about. Nick, this is Renee Olstead." I got my first good look at Katharine's companion, and my pulse soared. It was the redhead I had seen in the store, and there was no mistaking the fact that she recognized me. She was wearing a dark blue bikini that went very well with her red hair; it also went very well with her breasts. I had thought them impressive in the market, but now I could see that they were positively massive. I made a concerted effort not to stare as I politely shook her hand.
"Go ahead," she started, sounding like I wasn't the first guy to strain himself to look away, "You can stare at my tits."
I feigned indignation. "Stare? Me?! I am FAR too much of a gentleman to
stare
at a strange, attractive woman's breasts. Tell her, Kat."