She's Gonna Be a Star

I awoke on the sofa feeling warm and snuggly. I usually like waking up slowly, listening to the morning news that Harvey puts on the TV, feeling his bulk on the couch next to me, feeling his hands gently running up and down my legs. Sometimes as I'm dozing, he plays with my cunt and brings me off.

This morning, however, was a little different. I woke and found a cock in my mouth. I could tell by the smell that it was Harvey's. He was slowly pumping back and forth, making my lips roll in and out. I opened my jaw and slowly, sleepily sucked him in.

He ran his fingertips lightly down my chest. The sensation made me take one of those long, spine-cracking morning stretches. His fingers traced down my stomach, to my sex. Under his proddings and pullings, I slowly opened my eyes.

I spend most of my time in the apartment naked, now -- the exceptions are when I'm dressing to go out, or drying off with a towel wrapped around me. It's been a long time since Harvey has felt shy about copping a feel. There are times when he'll even walk into a room, feel up my tits, and walk out again, without saying a word.

And once, when he was drunk, he went further. I don't think he remembers, and as a friend, I don't bring it up. It was the anniversary of his divorce, and he was blotto. He'd been drinking in his room for hours, and then came out and turned on the TV. It woke me up, so I sat with him, while some porn from his stash was playing. We were both naked, but nothing happened, until he suddenly stood up. Without saying anything, he turned to me and layed his cock between my breasts. With rough hands, he pushed my tits over his cock, and started moving it up and down, basically jacking himself off with my tits. Then he came, and layed down with me, and fell asleep. I finished out the porn movie with his cum drying on my neck. I didn't want to disturb him, so I cleaned myself as best I could with my tongue. We both slept in a tangle of limbs.

This morning, I looked up at Harvey, my eyes trying to focus. I saw his face around the curve of his stomach. He was looking down at me intently, his hips rocking as he thrust his cock in my mouth. I gave a sleepy wave.

"You looked too good to pass up," he grunted. "I had to see if I could do this."

I shrugged languidly, not working hard. I kept my lips around his cock, and supplied a little suction. It was too early for me to think of anything else.

"Tyler called already," he said. "He wants you to keep a diary, today, of everything you do. Just for today, he said."

Hence, this diary.

"I think I'll cum on your face," he said.

I pulled back suddenly, his cock popping out of my lips and slapping my arm. "No! Do that later. You have to..."

I struggled to my feet and pulled Harvey around the coffee table. I opened the curtains, and pulled up the window. Abruptly, the sounds of the city rolled into the apartment. Groans of big trucks, squeals of breaks, distant sirens. Music. I put my hands on the sill and leaned out, feeling the warm morning breeze bathe my naked body.

A few of the regulars were on the street, or at the windows in the building across the way. They knew my schedule, they were there every morning. I listened as Harvey tore open a condom wrapper, and then a few minutes later I felt his stomach on my ass.

What started as a big tease was now a daily fuck. I didn't pretend to not know what was going on. I arched my ass up to make it easier for him to enter, and then felt his cock slide into my cunt, the ridges of his member thrumming against my nerve endings. In all, it was not a bad routine, a great way to start the morning.

And it had good psychological benefits, for me. I felt bad that I was sponging off of Harvey, staying in his apartment and not paying rent. Thanks to our morning ritual, I could myself that I was fucking him to pay rent -- it made me feel better about myself, as a person.

I waited for him to reach around and grab my tits -- he always started with both tits, and then switched to using one hand with both, with the other hand running up and down my stomach.

As soon as he was in position, I found one of the guys on the street to stare at. I've started locking eyes with them, one a day, just because I can. He was a thirty-something man in casual clothes, and that's usually all I learn about them. He had an intense, needy expression as he stared back up at me. I started squeezing my cunt-muscles, rocking my waist, as I stared down at him. Harvey didn't like to work, he wanted me to do the moving. With long, slow movements that slowly accellerated, I milked his cock.

We had a pattern going, that's for sure. Harvey had even hinted, recently, that he was getting bored. Not so much bored, as tired, fucking me every morning. He was old, he said, he couldn't go on indefinitely. I said I didn't mind, but he'd have to find

someone

for me in the mornings. He asked if he could charge money, and I said he could do what he wanted, but I didn't want to break my schedule. And my schedule, every morning, starts with getting fucked in the window. It puts me in the right mindset for the rest of the day. I feel all weird when I miss it.

Harvey's hands were ravaging my torso. One hand was clamping over my tits, pulling them around, the other was scratching up and down my stomach. I could hear his stomach gurgle as my ass bumped it up and down. His cock quivered in my snatch, and I braced myself.

He grabbed my face and turned my head, leaning in. He liked to have his tongue in my mouth when he came. I broke eye contact with my man in the street, and stared at Harvey as he leaned in. I opened my mouth to meet his, and as his moustache brushed my lip, I felt a fire start in my stomach. I was coming, too! I dove for his mouth, grating teeth with him, and pulled his tongue into my mouth.

I could imagine how we looked. Every day we had a few of the regulars, and a few new ones. Sometimes we had twenty people, two stories below, trying to look inconspicuous as they glanced up at me. Here I was, a nubile twenty-something, and there was Harvey, a fat old man. We looked nasty, and I liked that. See? I don't fuck and suck Harvey just because he asks, I like it, too.

I came as he came, with long shudders. I turned back to the street and locked eyes with the guy again. My lips were wet, and I was breathing hard. I felt Harvey pull out, and heard the snap of the condom getting pulled off his cock.

Lately, Harvey has been giving me the full condoms. First, he wanted me to throw them to the watchers on the street below. Then, he wanted me to hold them in my mouth. Yesterday, I sucked out all the cum, as the guys in the street watched. I waited for Harvey to tell me what to do.

Today, he squeezed it out on my chest. I felt the warm fluid drip across my tits, a drop here, a dollop there. It was shameful... it made my nipples hard again. Some of the guys down below had big smiles on their faces.

"Use your hand to wipe that into your mouth," he said, as he turned away.

He used to make me coffee, but not anymore. He's started taking me a little for granted. You'd think I'd mind, but I don't really. I don't like having a lot of things done for me -- it makes me feel uncomfortable, like I have to repay people. He knew I'd wait at least another ten minutes at the window, and he'd timed his showers so the coffee would be ready when he came out.

With my index finger, I scooped up drops of cum and put them in my mouth. My mind was wandering. Here was my schedule for the day: Work at the diner. Work at the studio. Practice with the band. If I was lucky, I'd get some private time with my boyfriend. Same as every day. I wasn't complaining, but a little variation would have been nice.

When I finished at the window, I gave a little wave and then went to start the coffee. Then to the computer, where I answered some emails. Alexi had given me my own email account on his website, and I was always getting guys asking for blowjobs, or to fuck me, or even just follow me around and watch me on the streets. How weird is that. It's all part of building my popularity as a singer, Tyler says. When I answer, I always give a little list of where I'm playing, or, if I know, what bars I'm hanging out at that night. They like that, though I don't think I've ever met one of them.

I did my 100 stomach crunches, 50 push-ups and 50 leg lifts. When Harvey left the bathroom, I went and showered. The shower has a little window, and I habitually open that, too, so the boys in the opposite apartment can look in. I shampooed, shaved, soaped, and stepped out with a towel.

At the closet, I packed my backpack with the outfits I'd need through the day. By now, everything in my wardrobe is so small and light, I'd be able to fit in one drawer. It's hilarious.

I put on my waitressing clothes, and joined Harvey in the kitchen. Sipping his coffee, he eyed me from head to foot. I was wearing a pair of short-shorts, tight faded kakhis, and a white muscle shirt that had been cut off at the ribs. The bottom curve of the arm-holes and the cut-up hem resulted in a band of maybe three inches of fabric below the arm-holes. I only wore it because my boss at the diner, Subram, was so in love with it, for some reason. He wanted me to wear it at least once a week. The shorts were really small on me, so I never buttoned the top two buttons of the fly.

"Looking good, Ali!" said Harvey.

That made me smile. A girl likes compliments. Usually, he just nods or shakes his head.

He had the water-soluble marker in his hand. As part of my "humiliation lifestyle," he'd volunteered to write something on me every morning. It was black ink, but it soon browned, and looked like a henna tattoo until I sweated it off. I kept asking him when he'd switch to real henna, so the tattoos would stay for longer.

Today's tattoo was the word "EASY", in block letters under my belly button. Under the word was a little arrow head that pointed down. I'd get some comments about

that

, that was for sure!

I gave him a deep kiss, like he likes, then stepped back and lifted my shirt as he took two polaroid pictures. One for him, one for me. I usually tuck the polaroids in my back pocket, halfway out. It's my responsibility to lose it somewhere during the day, and it's usually gone from my pocket by the time I remember to check. Sometimes it's a picture of me totally naked, sometimes with Harvey's cock in my mouth. It's his choice, since it was his idea. Sometimes he writes my email on it, or the name of my band.

I breezed out of the apartment. The diner is just a few blocks away, but I take a detour. I like to walk through the little crowd of men below my window, and then circle around the block and go to the restaurant. I don't do it because I'm supposed to, but just because sometimes I can hear what they say as I pass by. It's usually something about my tits, or what they'd like to do to my ass. Like I mentioned -- I'm a compliment junkie.

The guys were getting more forward with me daily. More than a few times, they've reached out to touch me. It occurred to me, as I walked up to them and listened to them talk about my breasts, that if Harvey was tired of helping me at the window, I could invite them up to the apartment, one at a time. I decided to ask Tyler about it.

They blocked my path, hands reaching out. But then, they always did that, now. I got through, dodging most of them. Once, they ripped my shirt accidentally, and I had to find a safety pin at the diner. The men rarely spoke to me, but one guy asked about the tattoo.

"It says I'm easy," I said over my shoulder, as I moved away. I listened to them until they were out of earshot, and then glanced back up at my apartment window. Harvey was there, with his video camera. He was filming me on Tyler's behalf -- when Tyler heard that I was getting groped on the street, he said it sounded like we could use it for our first music video.

Then, it was just me and the street. It was a short walk, but the same faces passed me every day. They knew my schedule, when I'd be going by, and they asked me if I was alright if I missed a day. I guess that means my fame is spreading, at least in

this

neighborhood! They know me by name, or my diner name "Perky", and a few (younger ones) jokingly call me "Cum Bucket", the writing on my favorite baby-doll t-shirt.

Some of the younger guys, high-schoolers by the look of them, always tell me to do things. They say, in a normal voice as I walk up, "Lift your skirt!" "Mardi gras!" "Show us your tits!" "Make an O with your mouth!" Depending on my mood, I play along. It's the least I can do. Maybe you don't know what it's like, when nobody cares about you. That was my life, until Tyler. Now, people know my name, they want to see me, they miss me if I don't show up. I feel like I belong to the whole neighborhood, one big family. I feel wanted.

I turned the last corner and felt for the polaroid picture in my back pocket. It was gone. It had fallen out, somewhere between the apartment and the diner. Well, that was one less thing to worry about. Somewhere, somebody was coming across a picture of me with my shirt lifted, and the word "EASY" written on my lower stomach. I thought about that fact, testing my feelings. Nope. No embarassment, no shyness. It simply didn't matter to me, that every day a new picture of me was dropped into the world. I sure was getting over my stage fright!

Whenever I lost my pictures somewhere, it was planting the seeds for my future career. That's what Tyler told me. Sometime in the future, I'd be on the verge of breaking out, just hovering,

almost famous

. And then, one of my new fans would recognize me, and connect me to the polaroid he picked up off the street or subway, years ago. If

one

of these guys made a call to the tabloids, I would have my own media firestorm. That was Tyler's plan -- overnight, I'd be a media story through the whole nation.

I only had to make sure to "lose" enough pictures... one a day ought to be enough. I was thinking of going two a day, or three. And, maybe the pictures should have men other than Harvey. So the future news stories would be more sensational.

The diner was full. All my regular customers were there, waiting for me. They cried "Perky!!" as I walked in.

"Hi, guys!" I said back, pulling on my waitress persona. I flashed a wide, open-mouthed smile, and strode briskly behind the counter. "You miss me?"

"Some parts more than others," said Bicksby, an older grabby guy. He was always the wise-ass.

I'd long ago learned that, when it comes to waitressing, nothing beats a friendly smile and a winning disposition. I treated everybody like old friends, or, as Tyler called it, "ex-intimates where there's still some attraction." But sometimes he overanalyzes.

Sometimes, being "up" all the time, especially for a seven hour shift, is exhausting. But the tips are outrageously good.

Subram had me working the tables by the window, because, he said, more people would walk in if they saw my good waitressing skills from the street. Consequently, those tables were always the most crowded. Before I knew it, I was deep in the rhythmn of a day at the diner, carrying dishes back and forth, refreshing coffee, squeezing between chairs and apologizing sweetly when I ran into people, and even when they ran into me.

I also had to shout at the cooks through the pass-through. Those guys annoyed me... when they got something wrong, the customers complained to

me

. But no amount of complaining, swearing or yelling through the hole made the kitchen staff pay attention to me. Every now and then, one of them would raise his head and glare at me malevolently, with a superior expression. They all have something against me, I don't know what. I could swear that they fuck up the orders on purpose. It's the only bad part about working at the diner.

Since my arrangement with Subram, he's all over me. He stops me with a hand on my stomach when I walk by; he gets my attention by pulling the back of my shirt. If he's standing, he puts his hand on my cheek as he's giving instructions. If he's sitting, he has both palms around my leg. The worst is, he does it in front of the customers. I don't care about the touching -- it's nothing compared to riding the subway, or walking through that group of guys in the morning. The problem is, I always have to explain that, no, I'm

not

dating him. As if. Sure, I explain to them, he's all over me, but he's my boss. I'm supposed to make

his

life easier. The customers nod sympathetically.

After an hour or so of work, I was behind the counter wiping it down. The breakfast rush had just started easing. Subram came up behind me: one hand around my stomach, playing with my belly button, the other around my shoulders so his forearm was against the top of my breasts. The customers in front of me paused, watching interestedly -- it was worse, because they weren't regulars who were used to this. I'd probably have to explain to them later that Subram was a tactile sort of guy. Subram's big stomach forced me to arch my back up, which threw my chest out.

"Our 'work-breaks' are working pretty well," he said softly. I felt his scruffy chin tickling my cheek. His breath was sour, but it was warm when it blew in my ear. "I think you should get a promotion."

"A promotion?" I asked suspiciously. He'd been trying to get me to move to night shifts.

"Promote you to two work-breaks a day. What do you think?"

I shrugged. I knew it would be something to brag about, but I didn't think... "Are you sure you can handle it?"

He gave a ragged snort of laughter. "Not me twice. Me and then someone else. Congratulations!"

"Thanks," I said. It had been so long since I got any sort of promotion (if ever) that I had to struggle to remember what to say. "I appreciate this chance."

"Meet me in the kitchen," he said, and then let me go.

I freshened everybody's coffee cups, and checked around the restaurant to see if anybody needed me. Lots of people were staring at me, but not in a "come here" kind of way, just in a normal sort of way. People always stare at me. Nowadays, I get worried when I'm

not

noticed.

So everything was alright. Emma, the other waitress, would be able to handle the place. When it came to blowing Subram, she told me she was glad it was me and not her.

I pushed through the doors to the kitchen to find Subram. The waitresses never went back there, and the staff all looked at me sourly. I couldn't complain to Subram about them, they were all his relatives and family members.

"What's Perky doing here?" one of them complained. It was the first English I'd heard him speak... the fucker had been playing dumb. This was the same guy for whom I had to repeat orders three times.

I got mad immediately. What a mean, nasty trick to play, making me endlessly repeat orders at the pass-through. "How come you guys are always fucking up my orders? Don't you know how fucking hard it is to be a waitress?"

"How is it hard? If I had tits, I'd whip them out," said the dishwasher. Everybody laughed. "I'd rub my ass on everybody, like you. I'd let them stick their hands between my legs, like you."

"It's harder than just that," I spat. "This stupid shit has to end. I don't know what you have against me, but this is hurting my tips. I hate you all."

"Why should we care if you hate us?" asked a cook.

That was what I hated the most. There was nothing I could do to puncture their superior attitude. They thought they were better than me, and so therefore they treated me like shit. It was irrational and pointless. If I had still been in high school, I would have just endured it, or tried to make them all my friends, one on one. But now I was too busy, too successful. I was packing people into bars when I sang with my band. Since Tyler, I

deserved

respect. I liked that change.