Hello, my name is Victoria Roberts. I am 21 years old and I live in New York. I am about 5'6" and weigh about 105. I have long, dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. My body is petite but well proportioned, a runner's body, very toned and athletic. My greatest asset is probably my tight little ass or my long, tan legs. This is the story of how I fell in love with Paris Hilton.
I met Paris Hilton completely by chance. Apparently we were both out shopping in the same store and happened to reach for the same dress. She let me have it and I offered to buy her a cup of coffee as thanks. We immediately hit it off. And all of you out there who think Paris is a huge bitch, I'm here to tell you that it's all an act. She is actually kinda shy, quite smart, and really nice. Anyway, we really hit it off and started hanging out a lot after that.
A couple of times at parties and stuff we would get a little drunk and end up making out, but we always played it off as if it were nothing, just goofing around. I never told her just how in love with her I was, but I think on some level she knew all along. One night after we had been out to a movie (one of those romantic comedies) we came back to her high rise apartment. We sat on her couch, sipping diet cokes and talking. She was wearing a short skirt with boots and a halter-top. I was in a pair of lowrise jeans and a tank top that showed off my breasts. Paris remarked how guys were never like they were in the movies. The conversation gradually moved to her last boyfriend, the other Paris.
"Why didn't that work out?" I asked.
A pause. "...He couldn't handle the real me," Paris replied.
"That's crazy!" I exclaimed. What I meant to say next was, "If I were him, there's no way I wouldn't love you." How it came out, however, was, "There's no way I could not be in love with you."
She just looked at me for a second. I tried to conceal it, but there was no way to hide what was in my eyes. And suddenly I saw it in her eyes too: love, passion, and just a hint of lust. She moved closer to me. I started to mumble something, but she stroked my cheek and jaw with one hand and kissed me. This was no drunken, fooling around kiss. There was such heat, such intensity behind it that I melted in its wake. I kissed her back, tentatively at first, but then with passion, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her into me before running my fingers through her short blonde hair. She reached her hand behind and grabbed my tight ass and then moved her hand to my left breast. I gasped. I reached down and rubbed her thigh, gradually pushing her skirt up. Suddenly she pulled away. I could see tears in her eyes.
"What's wrong? What's the matter?"
"I can't do this to you," she said. I told her that I wanted her to do whatever she wanted to me. She laughed, "You say that now."
"It's true," I replied, "I'm in love with you. All of you."
"You haven't seen 'all of me' yet," Paris said, "and I don't want to lose you as a friend..."
"You never could," I interrupted. "Tell me what's wrong."