Elana Dennison had been in three blockbuster movies, one hit television drama and several head-shakingly bad Pepsi commercials. Despite this, I was not entirely surprised when she turned up on my doorstep.
"Come in," I said before she had to say anything. "It's cold out here."
I took her expensive (but not extravagant) jacket from her shoulders. She'd dressed down for the occasion, her famous, blindingly red hair tucked under a hat. This I also then took, loosing the mane to cascade down her back, almost to her waist. I hung her things up, shut the door and we stepped into the lounge room.
"It's been a long time," she said, running her thumb slowly along her fingertips, the way she did when she was nervous. I sat down. She stood, hesitating.
"It has," I replied. "Can I get you a Pepsi?"
She looked startled for a moment, then narrowed her bright liquid-emerald eyes.
"You haven't changed at all, have you?"
I leaned back in the couch. "Of course not. You didn't have any doubt that I'd be here five years later, did you? Grab me a beer, and get one for yourself."
She stalked out to the kitchen where her shoes clicked on the old linoleum and bottles clinked in the fridge door. She returned with two bottles, sitting down next to me in a cloud of light perfume, shoving one of the bottles at me. I opened it, then took hers from her ineffectual, soft hands and opened it too.
"Why are you here?" I asked. She took a sip and made a face.
"I just thought I'd, you know, catch up."
"At eight o'clock at night. Without calling first."
"Stop it!" she spat. "You sound like an ex-boyfriend."
"You sound like an actress playing an ex-girlfriend. Why are you here?"
"To see you, you cunt!" she shouted, then looked mortified. I clicked my tongue.
"Such language," I said with mock horror, and put my arm around her. She leaned into me, and back into the couch.
"Why do you always do this to me?" she sighed.
"Love you? I have no idea. Maybe I'm insane."
She slapped my chest, but didn't reply, instead putting her head on my shoulder and closing her eyes. Time passed. I finished my drink and put the empty bottle on the side-table with a quiet hollow clink.
"Why are you here?" I murmured, and kissed her cheek softly.
"I'm tired," she whispered back, only just opening her lightly made-up eyes. I stood and offered her my hand, pulling her to her feet and leading her to my bedroom. I wondered vaguely when I'd last washed my sheets.
When her dress -- which probably cost more than my bed -- slid to the floor she was left with only a lacy black bra and a tiny black-string thong. She lay on the bed and when I'd stripped to my jocks I motioned her to roll onto her belly. She did, gathering a pillow under her breasts, and I straddled her. I tucked the shining mass of her hair to one side, wondering at the feel of it.
"Talk," I said.
I don't actually know anything about massage. I touched her. I ran my fingers over her neck and more firmly over her shoulders. I held them, gently squeezing, trailing my fingers down to her elbows and back.
"I just broke up with Ash Turner for the millionth and final time."
I moved my hands, the palms coming up the back of her arms, over shoulder blades to rest on her lower back.
"Tonight?"
"Last week."
I spread my fingers, rubbing slowly up until the tips curled over her shoulders, then back down until my palms met the string of her thong.
"He slept with my best friend and my worst enemy, so he covered all the bases there."
Her back was so much smaller and more delicate than it seemed in the love scenes of her movies. I traced her spine with one finger.
"You go through a man a month," I said, sliding my hands down her sides. "Why does this one bother you?" They came to rest on her ribs, my pinkies touching the sides of her breasts. I leant down and began to kiss her: slow, dry pecks of my lips, landing now on her neck, back, shoulder, ear, shoulder, hair...
"I do not. That's just the tabloids. I thought he was nice, how could he do all that shit to me?"
I shuffled down and caressed her firm, smooth buttocks and legs. I started on the inside of her thighs, the backs of my hands touching each other at first as I stroked down those slender thighs and on to her well-shaped calves and tiny, red-toenailed feet. I returned up the outside, palms against the backs of her legs, fingers against the sides. I ended up holding her firm, rounded ass again.
"Didn't you cheat on him?"
"What? No."
I started to knead her taut, muscular buttocks. With only a thin string between us, I didn't even have to imagine the way each stroke would stretch and tug at her sensitive flesh, her little button-hole anus. I kept it up for a while, Lana breathing deeply, her skin glorious under my touch. Blood was rushing to my swelling member.
I swung my leg over her and tapped her, telling her to roll over after plucking open the clasp of her bra. When she saw me taking off my jocks she shrugged off her bra and wriggled free of her tiny thong.
Where do I start? Her breasts were round and plump (if quite small) with soft pink nipples. Passing her firm, slender belly and hips, her fine, fluffy gold-red pubic hair covered her mound. I moved back to lie beside her and she reached to the back of my head pulling me down toward her gorgeous face and slashing green eyes. She kissed me, hot tongue poking past my lips as I kissed her back softly, lips yielding against her onslaught. I pulled my face away, entwining my arms and legs with hers.
"So you were completely faithful to Turner?" I asked from there, letting my voice carry my scepticism.
"Close enough. I fucked one hotel boy, once, in nine months. Candice had the balls to ring me today, saying she hopes we're still friends. What a bitch! I told her...to..."
She lost the train of her words as I pushed up inside her. She was gloriously tight and wet, just like I'd remembered. It was the kind of moment you beat off for the rest of your life to.
I suddenly wondered how often she'd been wet for toyboy Turner. Probably all the time. She could play good girl, but she was as horny as a teenager. She put her hands lightly on my triceps, such as they were. It was an almost lady-like gesture.
"You mentioned a worst enemy as well," I prompted. Her eyes focussed again.
