I can't quite remember the year - probably either '59 or '60. I had been a struggling journalist for years in Hollywood - I had a few good breaks, but I was still virtually a nobody. I hung around bars on the Sunset Strip, hoping to catch some big star in the middle of something seedy, take their picture, and get a big story on them. It was just such a night, in just such a bar, when I met Marilyn Monroe.
I was sitting at the bar having a few drinks - Jack Daniels and coke - when I spotted a lovely blonde at a corner table, all by herself. Now, I was on duty somewhat, but even journalists get horny. I sauntered over to the table to make my move.
"Hi there Miss...Wouldya like some company?" I tried to sound amiable, not like some sleazy bar-fly. The blonde looked up. It took me a second to realize who it was. It was Marilyn Monroe, THE Marilyn. The delectable blonde goddess who was the princess of every wet dream in the world. And she was here, in a seedy Sunset Strip bar.
"Oh...oh...uhh.." She looked a bit flustered and closed the script she had been reading. "Sure Mr., sit down. To tell you the truth, I was kinda lonely anyway."
She then noticed my camera. Her eyes darkened. "Oh..you're a journalist", she spat, saying the word 'journalist' as though it were the name of a new STD.
"Now wait just a second!" I sputtered. "It's not like that. In fact I had no idea who you were til I came over here!" I removed the roll of blank film from the camera and set it in the ashtray.
"Feel better now?" I said. Marilyn grinned and nodded. I motioned for the bartender and ordered us two martinis.
I still could hardly believe it. I was having drinks with Marilyn Monroe. She was gorgeous, but without the artificial glamor of the movies. She wore a figure hugging, sleeveless black dress and black pumps. She fluttered her big blue eyes at me and grinned. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought she was flirting with me. But being who she was, that was probably how she acted with everyone.
After we had a few martinis I could tell she was getting tipsy. Then the unbelievable happened. She stood, and put on her fur wrap, and said to me, "Would you like to come to my hotel room? I'm having my apartment painted this weekend, so I had to take a hotel room for now".
Trying to act cool and unsurprised, I agreed, and we began to walk to her hotel. Inside I was going nuts. I was just invited up to Marilyn Monroe's hotel room! Boy, every fellow in the world would kill to be in my shoes tonight. Still, I thought, no need to jump to conclusions. She's probably just lonely and wants some company, I told myself. But the thought of banging America's love goddess wouldn't get out of my mind, and to keep my cock from getting ahead of itself, I made small talk with Marilyn as we walked.
Finally we were in her room. We looked at each other awkwardly and smiled. She sat down on the couch and lit a cigarette, and motioned for me to join her. I sat next to her and stared. Her hair was almost platinum - the palest blonde possible. It hung in small curls and waves around her face. Her skin wasn't pale nor tan - but a smooth, soft-looking peaches and cream color. The little black dress she was wearing clung to her figure as she sat, and was riding up her thighs, revealing to me the tops of her stockings. She didn't seem to notice. Her ruby-red mouth curled around her cigarette and she began to chatter: about her latest movie, about her bitchy co-stars, about her latest divorce.
Suddenly she became saddened. She looked up at me with those sad doe eyes and in her hushed little girl voice (which was slightly slurred now, thanks to those martinis), said to me, "Would you believe it? I'm supposed to be America's sex goddess, and I've never even had a good lay?"
Such candid talk from her caught me off guard, and also aroused me. I thought of what to say, but she continued.
"I mean, I've had movie stars, leading men, big shot producers, sports heroes, you name it - not one of them any good! Maybe I'm just frigid. Or maybe sex isn't supposed to be great. In that case I don't know what the big deal is about!"
I stared at her, this lovely, voluptuous creature before me, not believing my ears. How unfortunate, how ironic that a sex goddess has never even enjoyed sex! I made up my mind then and there that before I left Marilyn's hotel room that night, she certainly would know what the big deal was about.
I moved closer to her, looking into her vast, pale blue eyes.
"Maybe you don't need big shot famous guys. Maybe you just need a regular old guy to show you what it's all about. Have you ever thought of that?"
With that I grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her. At first she was taken aback and tried to move away, but then she fell into my kiss, making small moans in her throat. I kissed her like that, deep and hard, for several minutes, just savoring the feeling of kissing a screen queen - a priviledge usually reserved for the handsome, rich Casanova-types.
I pulled away from her. Her eyes were still closed, and she looked as though she were caught in a dream-state.
She said nothing as she rose and took my hand and led me back to the bedroom.
Once there, I kissed her again, this time pressing my body completely against hers.
My cock was growing impatient, wanting attention, ready to cum on the spot as the bombshell's impressive bosom pressed into me. I tried to calm myself down mentally. I wasn't going to cum anytime soon - this would be Marilyn's first night of real pleasure, and I wasn't going to rush it.
She coiled her arms around my neck. Still kissing her, I began running my hands up and down her body, making an exciting discovery. What the tabloids always said was true - Marilyn Monroe really didn't wear a bra. Yet her breasts seem to defy every known law of gravity, firm and pointing straight out at me. I ran my hands down to her tiny waist, and over her luscious hips, where I made another discovery: Feeling no panty lines, I supposed the other rumor I had heard about her was true also - she didn't wear any underwear at all.
I noticed she smelled like expensive perfume - Chanel No. 5 perhaps? - as I nuzzled at her neck and ears. Her moans became louder and more excited, and she threw her head back in abandon.
