Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted to be in movies. In the eighties, I use to watch guys like Al Pacino, Mickey Rourke and Michael Douglas and think that could be me up there. Not that I would pride myself on looking like those guys, but I'm talking about the women they got to fuck on screen. That's one of the best things about being in show business, or so they said. You go to fancy dinners, you whine and dine A-list Hollywood actresses and then you kiss on her tits while a bunch of horny old men videotape you. After that, you take her back to a five star hotel, paid for by the studio, and fuck until 10:00 AM in the morning. You know what? They could yell "cut!" as much as you want, it never takes the romance out of it for me.
I should be thankful that I am a B movie star and the truth is, even if I told you my name you would probably say you never heard of me. At least I got looks for another few years. It doesn't take much to get any barhopping slut into bed when you have jet black hair, a baby face and a six pack that comes from doing 200 sit ups a day. But I outgrew ordinary women in the late 1980s. I don't want to sound like a dick, but I really go for the fantasy glamor girl. I like perfect, cosmetically enhanced breasts, makeup that covers a morning face and skin that glows like the sun in Tuscany. So when I got a job opposite one of the biggest stars in Hollywood I became ecstatic. This was the pinnacle of my career, B-movie king or not. Sure, Ms. Divorced Hollywood Star wasn't exactly the It-Girl of the new millennium. Her fame had peaked in the Me-Decade and with today's HD format she probably looked slightly aged and weathered. (A messy divorce from old what's-his-name probably didn't help)
God love her though, Ms. Hollywood still looked the part. I own every erotic thriller she made in the last 20 years and collect all of her nude scenes religiously. She was a real lady—you never saw any moles or unsightly whiskers on that sublime, glistening body. Her breasts were like perfectly sculpted orbs and her hair was radiantly blonde, probably the same as the day she first walked into the audition. This woman never allowed herself to become "milfy." She was a superstar and would be until her last dying, cumming breath.
Thinking about our upcoming love scene left with me with a fucking priapism for weeks on end. I spent most of my free time reading and rereading the script, analyzing every sentence of nudity that was to come. Soon, those luscious breasts would be shaking over my head. Soon, that horny teenager from 1980-something would finally shoot a wad in his celebrity crush. Maybe the script wouldn't call for honest-to-goodness sex on screen. Maybe the hack director would tell me to put a sock on my cock or force me to wear a bodysuit. Whatever, if that woman's gorgeous tits were in my face, I wasn't complaining. Besides, how difficult could it be to talk some fading, insecure Hollywood starlet into having a few drinks after a hard day at the office?
But wouldn't you know, Hollywood glamorizes everything...even my dreams of scoring with the ultimate blonde bombshell of my era were rewritten and made into a predictable happy ending Ms. Hollywood could be comfortable with.
Mister Hack Director told me the morning of the Big Scene to get ready. I remember my cock getting so hard just thinking about the honor of sharing a bed with Mrs. 80s Immortal. My breath was short and an anxious feeling rose to the top of my stomach and up into my throat. I knew I wouldn't be able to breathe properly until I came about three times and smothered my face in her breasts for a good night's sleep.
We filmed a couple of in-between scenes while waiting for the starlet to arrive. After filming, the director instructed me to go back to my trailer and rest a while. Rest? I obliged, because I'm used to following strange orders working in this town. About ten minutes a later I get a knock on a door. Some cute little redhead was standing in front of me, smiling wide and tilting her head in earnest. Maybe it's second nature for me by now, but I start turning the old charm on. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in an ugly town like this?"
She chuckled. "I'm a big fan of yours," she sheepishly said curling her ponytail.
"Yeah?" Damned if I knew that a whole new generation of girls fell in love with my B-movie dimples. This kid couldn't have been a year over 19 years old. She had freckles on her face and those types of moles around her neck that usually turned me off of the typical bar slut back home. Her inviting breasts were protruding probably only because of a pricey pick up bra resting underneath that top-unbuttoned red blouse. She wasn't a knock out by any means, but I found a sweet quality in her face, probably the same way that Ms. Hollywood would have felt about a silly teenage boy idolizing her two decades ago.
"Can I come in?" she said, daring me with her eyes, asking politely for the fucking of her exuberant life so far.
I should have told the girl to get lost, to find some other has-been hero to cock-worship, especially since I had a sex scene to film. But how could I? Not only is fan adoration the ultimate aphrodisiac, but my cock was still hard from thinking about the imminent Ms. Hollywood manhandling. I barely whispered "Yeah..." before welcoming the redhead in my trailer and closing the door behind us. I couldn't even insincerely offer a bottle of Chteau La Mondotte Saint-Emilion before the quirky newcomer dropped to my legs and began unzipping my pants. She looked into my eyes every inch of the way there, furiously looking for a hard cock inside those dockers. She pulled it out gently and began modestly sucking the head. I felt the blood flow into my hardening cock, like a dam fixing to break because of the power of the current. She licked the head with her tongue, teasingly drawing a picture across my head and swirling the prick like melting ice cream. Whoever she was, she knew what she was doing.
I was so turned on I fell back against the wall and she thrust right back into me, taking my whole member into her mouth. I grabbed the back of her head and clutched a handful of red hair as I forced my cock into the ends of her throat. To my surprise, she took all nine inches of me in her mouth without gagging once. She withdrew and left peppermint goo all over my shaft, still looking me in the eyes as she sucked me dry. She gobbled up my pre-cum like sweet candy and gave me a glowing smile. We went over to the bed and I took my pants and boxers down. She continued to worship my cock, lightly basting it up, then teasing it with hard, twisting full-swallows. She never made any small talk but her girlish grunts turned me on just the same. I looked closely into her face, a very young face, and one covered with some endearing zits. She was not at all the Hollywood mistress that I fantasized about, the one with perfect skin and an almost airbrushed tone to her body. This was a real woman pleasuring a man larger than life—indeed a rock-hard movie star. I had to ask, "You ever see any of my movies?"
