When I went downstairs on Saturday morning there was a porn star in my living room.
She was wearing a not-very-naughty oversized t-shirt, sitting on the couch reading a magazine. I knew she was a porn star because I knew that porno movie people would be staying at our house for the weekend. They had evidently arrived the night before while I was working, and they were all sleeping by the time I got home at 3 AM. But now it was 11 AM and the crowd was gone and I was alone with Claudia Skye.
She probably thought she was alone in the house, since her companions and my roommates had all left, but when she saw me on the open staircase she didn’t look surprised. She put down her reading, gave me a quizzical smile and said “Hi, I’m Claudia.” (I’m making up the name Claudia Skye, because I’m not going to tell you her real porno name, or even the fake “real” name she later gave me.)
I got to the foot of the stairs and went over to where she was sitting. I told her who I was and tried to act like I wasn’t all that excited to be there with her. I quickly verified that yes, she was a porn star in town for the porno movie awards show (And yes, there is such a thing.). To demonstrate my nonchalance I went into the kitchen and made coffee, continuing an intemittent conversation in a voice loud enough for her to hear me from 40 feet away. After a while she got up and came into the kitchen with me, and I watched her walk, framed by the big picture window behind her.
Claudia wasn’t built the way I thought a porn star would be. She was lean and tall and hard, and her chest was, well, boyish. But she had a splendid long mane of thick blonde hair and major curves from the midsection on down. Still, nothing about her said “I have sex on cue, for money, while people watch.” She didn’t walk like a vamp, and her smile was fresh and straightforward. I was enthralled.
She needed a belt, and this was how I could spend more time with her, which is what I wanted to do. She had made her own gown to wear to the awards banquet that night, but it required a belt or a sash or some such accessory. She may have showed me the gown. I honestly can’t remember. But I remember that her friends had gone out, she was “stranded” in Hollywood, needing to shop, and I had a car.
She made me feel like it was my idea, to take her down to Hollywood Boulevard, find a boutique where she could acquire the belt, have some lunch, read some of the stars embedded in the sidewalk there. She was very sweet when I offerred, as if certain that I must have better things to do, and she was an unexpected burden. By this time I would have fought anyone who tried to stop me.
And so we drove and talked and shopped and ate. She found her belt and bought it, not at a boutique after all, but a big department store, one of the ones that no longer exists. She told me she was too old to be a real porn star: 27, close to my age. I told her I was too old to be a real rock star. We were both telling the truth, at least then.
We only had a few hours before the evening’s event, and I wasn’t invited. I was falling in love, anyway, and the last thing I wanted was to see Claudia with her porno friends. I figured she’d act different with them, skanky or something, and I didn’t want to be there for that. So when the shopping and the walking and the talking and the eating was finished, and we were driving back up the winding road to my house, she asked me what I wanted to do next. I wanted to give her a gift, something special, and I didn’t have much in those days. I took a deep breath, looked her right in the eyes and said I wanted to go down on her until she screamed.
She actually blushed.
The precious, lovely girl with the frank smile and the curvy hips and the husky voice blushed at my vulgar suggestion, and didn’t say no. There’s more, and I’ll tell it soon.
Click here to read Part 2.