Present Day: The Interview
On this early morning we're having coffee at her home and it's our third meeting. The room is adorned with chic furniture, an unused fireplace, and lavish artwork. My laptop is open. Nothing is written yet beyond some bland notes. My job is to turn Andrea's life story into a luminous memoir.
When we first met, she told me,
'I either write the book or sell the jewels. I'm sentimental about the jewels.'
She was quoting legendary actress Ava Gardner, by the way. This is about money for her. Nothing else. She's reached the point in her career where the big roles come less often while her spending habits remain the same.
This is my first time being a ghostwriter for a celebrity's memoir. I expected to have a lot of notes by now, but so far we've been having too much fun talking and getting to know each other. I'm struck by her charm. She's 51 years old and she looks her age, without all the Hollywood makeup, and she's content being barefoot and wearing a robe.
"So is this what you wanted to do with your life?" she asks. "Hang around with celebrities, get all the gossip and write on their behalf?"
Andrea sits back and sips her coffee. It's a genuine question. I appreciate that she wants to know me better. She's beautiful and her eyes sparkle like jewels.
"I actually write for a living, or at least I try. I wrote a novel a few years ago, which hardly anyone read. And I have a few tv credits for lesser known shows."
"Ah, right. My agent mentioned something about that. Guess I forgot."
"That's okay. Most people have."
"Looking to get back into writing your own stuff?"
"I'm always working on more novels. Hopefully I'll get a tv gig as well, which is stable income."
"How does it feel being a ghostwriter?" she asks. "Writing my book, which will have my name on it, and no one will know who you are. Be honest."
"It pays the bills. That's my honest answer."
She nods. "It'll pay my bills, too. My accountants think this is a great idea, so do my agents. I should add that my agents are looking to secure a mini-series on Netflix for me. They always overpay."
"We should start there. Your spending habits. Was there something in your childhood that made you a lavish spender as an adult? Did you grow up poor?"
"Now you're getting boring," she says.
"We have a book to write. Remember? Bills to pay."
Andrea takes a sip of coffee and then gives me a long stare. It's a strangely intimidating stare, she's in deep thought, and she doesn't mind making me wait. She takes a big gulp of coffee and puts the coffee down after getting the caffeine she needs.
"If I tell you a different story, will you promise to write about it?"
"That's what we're doing right now," I say.
"No, no, I'm not talking about my memoir. I'm talking about a side project for you. Something for you to write, publish in a magazine, or some erotic website online, or make a book about it. I really don't care. I just want a certain story told. Change the names, of course. I don't ever want this traced back to me."
This grabs my attention like nothing else, especially since she mentioned erotic websites. In all our time together, she had always presented herself as a carefree spirit, wearing little makeup. Wearing little around the house. Often barefoot. Often braless. Now she looks serious.
"Sure, I can do that. What's on your mind?"
"First of all, don't type this. Don't write it down. Just remember it. I don't want this coming back to me. Above all else, never mention my name associated with this. Strictly anonymous. Are we clear?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Repeat that back to me."
"This won't be included in your memoir. If it's good I'll write it and post it somewhere. And don't forget, I've already signed a bunch of non-disclosure agreements."
She nods. "Fair enough."
"What's the story about?"
"Something that happened over a year ago. I'd been a vegan for a long while, for spiritual and ethical reasons. It felt amazing at first, but as I started training for another marathon, I noticed some problems. I looked older, with more lines around my eyes and mouth. My workouts weren't as good. I didn't recover as fast. I started to fatigue when going long distances."
"You want me to write a story about a vegan diet and marathon running?"
"That's the pretext," she says. "But trust me, you'll want to hear this. Shall I have the maid bring you some wine?"
"I don't drink this early. Why? Is this story so compelling that I'll need wine?"
"Maybe. Do you find mothers who suck their sons to be a good story?"
"You're kidding."
"Never at this hour."
I look into her eyes and she's serious. "Tell me everything."
The Story of Andrea
The marathon is days away and I'm staying in the city's finest hotel. It's morning and I'm in my room. My sons are somewhere, probably looking for attractive women and they're old enough to take care of themselves. My top priority is having a respectable result in the race. The world is watching. Plus I want to be an inspiration to my boys.
I'm naked when I pull the curtains open. The sun shines across my figure. Anyone outside can see a nude celebrity if they'd look in my direction.
On the bed is my close friend Nandini who's a retired supermodel. She's also naked, playing on her phone. We're around the same age, same slender figure, but she's a dark skinned Indian woman who was raised in London and educated around the world. We've been friends for close to 20 years, but it's the last 10 years that we've been eating each other out.
I've already brushed my teeth but the taste of her pussy still lingers in my mouth. I walk to the bed and poke between her butt cheeks with my finger, grazing her anus.
"Room service? Or do you feel like going downstairs?"
Nandini is still on her phone. "I can barely walk after your tongue trick. Order something. I'll have the usual."
I pick up the phone and order room service. Tofu scramble with sauteed vegetables, a side of tempeh bacon, seasonal fruit salad, and a smoothie with plant-based milk. Of course, we put on robes when the service comes. We work hard to keep our secret. You never know if someone will report this to the tabloids.
When the room service guy leaves with a generous tip, we ditch the robes. I'm always in awe of Nandini's sculpted figure. A lifetime of yoga and pilates will do that, plus she has great genetics, all models do. Her black nipples are divine and I'd rather have that than my breakfast, but nipples won't fuel a marathon.
It feels like sorority as we're sitting naked on the bed, eating and watching the big screen tv. The food is delicious but I feel the stress weighing on me.
"I'm going to make a fool of myself. I know it."
"The marathon? Why?" she asks.
"My training sucked. I'm always strong at the start, especially with whole foods and coffee, but my energy has been fading toward the end. It was never like that before. I get that I'm getting older, but this is ridiculous. I'm legit terrified of not being able to finish and people taking my picture of my worst moment."
"Did you get a blood test?"
"Yep, the results are balanced."
"What does your trainer say?"
"He thinks it's my diet, but my blood test is normal. I don't know. I'm thinking about going back to eating meat. That's what my trainer suggests."
"Do you supplement at all?" she asks.
"Vitamins, juices, stuff my trainer gives me."
"No, I mean other supplements."
"Are you secretly injecting stuff? Or do you secretly eat meat?"
Nandini squints her eyes. "No one explained this to you?"
"Apparently not."
She takes our plates of half-eaten food and puts them on the table, then she comes back to the bed. We're sitting so close that our nipples almost touch.
"My dear, a vegan diet only takes you so far," she says. "Honestly, I still can't believe that no one in the fitness club explained this to you. It must have been an oversight. Or maybe you're so famous that they wanted to protect your reputation."
"It's steroids, isn't it?"
"Steroids work, but they're bad for longevity. Vegan diets can also work, but they're difficult to fuel a marathon run. Especially at our age. We prefer a holistic and pleasurable approach to endurance."
"Now you're getting me all worked up," I say.
"The secret is between a man's legs. I'm not saying it's an absolute medical fact. But that's what works for me and other ladies in the fitness club."
"You must be joking. Cum?"
"Nature's perfect food. Calories, protein, live enzymes, and essential nutrients that are difficult to find in plant based foods. Delicious, too. Though I must admit that it's an acquired taste. Not anyone can handle it, certainly not a diet for the weak."
I believe every word that Nandini says because she's a total liberal hippie and she's far more holistic than I am. She's also the most sexually liberated person (man or woman) that I've ever met in my life. Mostly our sexual discussions revolve around what pleasures we want from each other. Not from other men.
"And this is better than supplements?" I ask.
"The real thing is often better than supplements."
"You must be drinking an insane amount of cum to be fueling yourself for a marathon."
Nandini laughs. "First of all, I don't drink, I swallow. There's a difference. Secondly, all that's needed is one serving a day. And be consistent. The nutrients accumulate over time, which prevents any deficiencies."
