I WAS A PORN STAR'S BITCH
by Clive Arno

The story you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

Adult film star Samantha Jones and I met at a video store. It was the grand opening, and she was the special guest. I'm a X-rated comic book artist, who just got finished being on the business end of a ugly divorce. That bitch took everything, but agreed my son should live with me. I guess that makes her a nice bitch.

Being in the adult entertainment business and single, I soon began to purchase publications of the same genre. You know, for reference.

Players Magazine was where she made her first appearance. She had beautiful brown skin, small perky breast, well shaped legs and a impish smile. Your perfect little girl next door. Over the years her features would change, with equal parts help from mother nature and a surgeon's scalpel.

Samantha has grown into a big-breasted, full-hipped sex icon. She possesses one of the most recognizable faces in the adult film industry. Men gather from far and near just to see her in person. Which brings us back to the video store. I had read in the newspaper that she would be making an appearance in the area. I had decided to do a painting of her, and ask her to sign it. The turnout for the event was huge. Hundreds of men waiting to meet this legend in the making. All planning on what they would do or say when they got their moment in the sun. I was just hoping she wouldn't be offended by what I had drawn.

After a long wait, I finally got to the front of the line. Samantha was smaller than I expected. Let me correct that. Everything was almost smaller than I expected. Her titties were just as big as they appeared in the magazines. She had brown hair that went past her shoulders and framed her face, and skin was the color of coffee when you add just the right amount of cream. Her eyes were the window to a pleasant personality, with a friendly smile to convince you if you doubted it. Underneath her generous breast was a flat stomach that tapered to shapely hips and legs. She wore a one-piece bikini.

This engineering marvel was made of small silver beads that crossed each other at her breast and formed the bottom half of the suit. The whole contraption used all the material of a handkerchief and could be folded up in your back pocket. The shoes were of the dominatrix variety. You know, the 7 inch black patent leather kind that gave her more height.

She seemed a little nervous. I guess being the only female standing half-naked in a porno store will do that. Portrait and portfolio in hand, I introduced myself. I asked her if she would be so kind as to sign the painting I had done. She was genuinely impressed and flattered. She couldn't believe that someone would go to so much trouble. She was blushing, signing it over and over, deciding that each message she wrote was not good enough. I then took out the copy of the painting I had made for her. She was thrilled and asked for my autograph.

Afterwards she asked to see some of my X-rated comics. Looking through them she said: maybe you could do a book with me in it? "I would love to work on something like that. Maybe we could work on it together" was my reply. She thought it was a great idea. Samantha leaned forward and whispered something in my ear. It was her real name and the telephone number to where she was staying. Now it was my turn to be thrilled. I was stunned, so was every other man who witnessed what just took place. We were all cavemen, and I was the one who knew how to make fire. I called her the next day. She told me she would be dancing at a local club all week long. I suggested we get together tonight after the show. She agreed.
 
The next 12 hours were spent cleaning, dusting  and preparing an apartment that at it's best would be called modest. After making a few quick runs to get my clothes out of the cleaners, I dropped my son off at my sister's house. I then went to the supermarket to pick up the ingredients for dinner and the all important condoms. Hey, we were only suppose to be getting together to talk about a comic book, but you never know, I might get lucky!

Standing at the door, I surveyed the apartment one last time. The mood was set, I had the lights down low and soft jazz CDs on the turntable. Everything that could be done, was done. I took three deep breaths and went to the car.

I had called Derrick (and every other male friend I had) to tell him of my date with destiny, and asked him if he would be able to drive me to and from the club. Considering who would be in the back seat of his car, he was more than happy to oblige. We arrived at the club early, and with Derrick begrudgingly waiting in the car, I went in to watch the show.

Samantha had remembered to tell the doorman to expect me, so I had no trouble getting in. I took this as a good sign that she was not bullshitting me for some reason that I couldn't guess. As I walked in the club, the sound of shouts and Prince's "Sexy Motherfucker"  filled the air. There she was, working the crowd into a frenzy. Removing every man and woman alike, from their dreary ordinary lives.

She wore a red string bikini that barely, just barely manage to contain her ample breast as she matched the rhythms of the music with her body. She was taller, and it wasn't the red thigh-high 6 inch patent leather boots either. She was proud of her body. She flaunted her breast the way other women show off engagement rings. Samantha was working on the big finish, and it was time for audience participation.

After she carefully laid out a blanket on stage, one lucky guy got the job of helping her peel out of her bra. Her breast nestled inside like brown eggs in a red carton. Then she eased down unto the blanket. Another guy, luckier than the first, used his teeth to hold the panties in place while Samantha slithered out of it like a snake shedding skin!

Samantha then started sweeping her legs back and forth, showing all that God gave her, and then some. She was rubbing her pussy and  bouncing up and down humping herself, as if someone was fucking her. Every man in the room wanted to be the air between her legs. Then in the middle of her "orgasm" she formed her legs in a "V" and had that pussy pulsating like a heartbeat! No one could take their eyes off her.

After the show, she came back out to sign autographs and take Polaroid's. Fifteen minutes later, bouncers showed up and kicked everyone out. She told them I could stay. Ha! I thought, you poor bastards wish you could be me. I was feeling pretty full of myself. In the dressing room, she introduced me to a friend of hers. It was adult film star Jay Jay. She was touring with her, but not working the club. She and Jay have done a lot of videos together, I've seen them. While Jay doesn't have the best titties in the world, she has the energy of that pink bunny and an ass you could set a tray on. Samantha told Jay she was going to my place for dinner, and asked if she would like to come along? Shit! Is this some kind of cock-blocking move not to be alone with me?!. Then my mind turned to the possibilities of being in the middle of a porno sandwich. Either way, she declined.

In the next room Samantha got dressed quickly. She put on a T-shirt, some high-cut "Daisy Dukes" and cowboy boots. We said our good-byes and left. At the car she met Derrick. This introduction, and the drive to my apartment went well. I had gave Derrick the same pep talk I had given myself. "Don't stare at her boobs, look into her eyes when you talk, and don't say anything stupid". To this day Derrick brags about meeting her, and will do whatever favor I ask of him. We walked into my apartment. She commented on the apartment and noticed my son's Boy Scout plaque. I told her I was a single parent and leader in my son?s Scout troop. She thought that was nice and suggested maybe she could meet him someday.

While I prepared dinner, we talked about family, comics and plastic surgery. I told her that she was always beautiful, and what she had done to her body was unnecessary. Samantha explained to me that her body was a product, and that any product needs the right packaging. I had to agree, and let me tell you, her body was prepared for aggressive marketing. It was during our conversation over dinner that I realized that I was no longer seeing her as a porn star, but as the girl next door. Later, we sat in the kitchen  drinking wine and making small talk. Looking around, she saw how limited space was in my apartment and said: "This is a very nice apartment, but were do you sleep"?

Now my heart was beating like a jackhammer. I wanted her, I wanted her bad. That was no surprise, me and any other red-blooded man who ever saw a photograph or video of her in action. But this was different, this was her, here, now, in my apartment. The little daydream I had in the back of my mind about getting her in bed didn't seem so far-fetched, or was it the wine?

I decided it was the wine and willed myself not to do anything stupid.  

However in my mind it was too late. Pandora's box was opened, all I needed was to hear a reference to bed from those lips and I had a hard-on to put all other hard-ons to shame.

I stood up to show her how a Murphy bed works. Her breast lightly touching my arm as she leaned in, eager to see how it was done. There was a civil war going on in my body between the north and south. The north was losing, and the south was rising.

Samantha then reached up and pulled the bed down. She sat on the bed and said how comfortable it was after dancing all night. I had to make a move. Any move, at this point I didn?t care. I mean, How often was this going to happen? Because I was not going to look back on this years from now with drool on my chin mumbling "coulda, woulda, shoulda".

"Here, let me massage your feet" I said. She then flashed that impish grin, and rested her feet in my lap. Pulling off her boots, I felt her skin for the first time. Silk and satin could learn how to be soft from hanging around her. I began to massage her feet and ankles. She laid back on the bed and began to moan a song of pleasure and rub my crotch with her feet.

I decided to see how far this would go. I slowly started to work my way up her legs and she happily groaned her satisfaction. Then laying on her stomach, I began massaging her thighs. Allowing my fingertips to explore the soft ass that was just on the other side of those cutoff jeans. Straddled over her on the bed, I slipped my hands under her babydoll shirt. "Mmmmm that feels so good" she purred as I rubbed her back and shoulders. My hands lightly grazing the ample tit-flesh that spilled over from both sides of her small frame. Then as if I could go no further with the shirt on, I pulled it carefully over her head.

Okay, here's the thing. If a woman wants to look good in a bathing suit. Great. If she wants to fill out her sweater at work. Fine. But let me tell you this: A plastic surgeon will never get one up on mother nature in the boob department. Nothing can beat the feel of a real breast in your hand, or anywhere else you want to put it. With that said, let us continue.

Samantha laid on the bed eyes closed in complete relaxation as my hands moved across her body. Brushing her hair to one side, I leaned over and kissed her shoulders. Her body arched to meet mine in approval. Sensing I was on the right track, I started licking my way down her spine. She let out a low throaty moan and turned around and kissed me. She kissed me passionately, and we kept on kissing. Now as much as I was enjoying this, a couple of things were on my mind. (1) I half expected for her to stop abruptly and say "all right big boy, you got the money to pay for all this"? and (2) If I she didn't say number one, would  stopping to put on a condom be some kind of insult to her? I mean, in the videos there isn't a condom in sight. So maybe she never bothered to use them. question number one never came, so I had to address question number two.

"I believe in safe sex" I said. Heart stopping, afraid I had put the brakes on everything. She looked me in the eyes and said "me too" and asked if she could use the bathroom to freshen up.

While she was in the shower, I took the time to light some candles around the apartment and pour myself a drink. Actually a couple of drinks, I had to think about this. Okay, she's a porn star. Okay, she has had sex with lots of men, on camera no less!? Big deal. As far as I know, my last girlfriend could have fucked more men than her. The only difference with her is that I know about it, you never can tell with women. That settled, I was thinking about calling everyone I knew to tell them what was happening. When I heard the shower turn off.

She stood there completely naked. A vision of beauty silhouetted in the bathroom doorway. Candlelight flickering on the small droplets of water on her skin. She smelled sweet. When I say she smelled sweet, I mean just that. Not the soap, not the deodorant, not anything else. Her. I was amazed because nothing in my bathroom smells like flowers and candy.

Samantha walked over to the bed and sat next to me. I sat there fully clothed, still trying to believe this is happening. She then began to undress me, kissing me gently on my shoulders and chest. Both of us now naked, she eased the rubber unto my dick with a practiced skill which reminded me what she did for a living. She laid back on the bed, legs open and arms outstretched. I had seen her strike that pose in so many magazines.

I waited a moment just to look at her. To force myself to remember everything that was happening. Her hair, her eyes, her body, everything. To be able to recall this one moment in time with vivid clarity when I was old and gray.

Then I went into her arms. I eased my dick into her warm and eager pussy, her moans encouraging me to go deeper and deeper. I was enveloped in a place that was so wet and snug that I looked down to make sure the condom was still on.

Remember what I said about the whole "porno-star thing" in my mind being settled? Well, it wasn't. See, the thing about knowing the guys she's been with is.... well, lets be truthful, bigger dicks than mine have visited these sugar walls. I had to think of something, and fast. What I came up with was Muhammed Ali. Yes, Muhammed Ali. I recalled that fight in Africa. I don't remember who he was fighting, but I do remember this: There was no way he was suppose to win. The other guy was younger, stronger, and bigger than Ali. "He didn't stand a chance" they all said.

But Ali had something that no one considered. e-x-p-e-r-i-e-n-c-e. "Knowledge of the ring". He couldn't stand there and pound away with the guy, or he really would have got his ass kicked. So, he invented the "Rope a dope". Make the opponent tire themselves out. "Bob and weave" "Stick and move" "in and out" in and out, you get the picture. Then something happened.

My body went numb. "I'm the man" was running though my head like a train. It became a spiritual out of body experience. I was now watching someone else have sex with her. I couldn't feel anything , even when she wrapped her legs tightly around me and repeated my name in a low sexy moan. I mean, who would have thought it? Me, no money, no car and no fancy house. The woman that thousands of men want, and thousands more jerk off to, is in my bed, on my dick. I felt no pain. I was on a ego trip, and I was enjoying the ride.

The earthquake taking place under me brought me back to reality. She had an orgasm, her body trembling uncontrollably as she bit my shoulder. Samantha then turned over on her stomach and grabbed my dick from behind. The first one was gentle, she wanted this one to be rough. I wrapped my hand tightly around her hair, pulled her head back and rode her like a rented mule. She met thrust for thrust as I rammed it in her doggie style.  We fucked like wild animals until we both exploded in orgasms.

If you met me right now, apart from being naked and laying next to Samantha, you'd hate me. You'd say I'm the most overconfident, smug, egotistical bastard you ever met. And why the fuck not!? I had come correct, like "Rocky" I went the distance. I represented the little guy. I succeeded where other men had failed and kept hope alive! I was ready to sleep now. The sleep of the righteous, knowing that fate hadn?t found me lacking. Samantha was smiling, and with that smile came a word that I thought I would never regret hearing. "More".

Jesus H. fucking Christ! She's not done yet! I thought I had served up the main course, but she thought it was just the appetizer. She was ready for "round two", and Samantha made it hard to be soft.
Rope a dope, Rocky!

Rope a dooooope! ...

Afterwards, still slick with her juices, Samantha eased the condom off. We laid there for awhile, catching our breath and enjoying each others bodies. We began talking, and Samantha told me her hopes and dreams. I was hoping she wanted to be a doctor and knew CPR. It was almost morning and she said she had to go. Her people would be waiting up until she got back.  

We took a cab back to the hotel, made a date for that night and kissed. I didn't catch a cab home. My body was on fire. I felt like a kid on Christmas eve. The best thing to do was walk it off. Already replaying the event in my mind, I thought: "Am I that good, or was she faking"? After the stroll home, I came to a conclusion. I'm that good or at least she thinks enough of me to fake it. Believe me, either one of these realities I can live with. We spent as much time together as possible. I was happy to introduce her to my friends and family. My friends knew exactly who she was, my parents didn't. They may not have known what she did for a living, but they suspected she wasn't a check-out girl at K-mart. Samantha even met my son. He thought she was "reeeeeally nice".

The end of the week came much too soon. After our last night of working on the comic book and each other, Samantha asked me if I ever considered moving to Los Angeles. To tell the truth, I had thought about it every night. But I couldn't. The idea of raising my son in LA. didn't appeal to me. That, and between her and myself, it's just too much porn for a relationship. We said our "good-byes" and promised to keep in touch. I think we both knew we wouldn't.

After awhile, things went pretty much went back to normal. My friends kidded my ascension to "legend" was guaranteed. My son was with my ex-wife, when he saw Samantha on the cover of a magazine. He told her everything. When she found out I was dating a porno-star she was livid. I mean she was fucking pissed!
Cool.

A few weeks later, Derrick showed me a copy of some supermarket tabloid. In it was a photograph of Samantha on the arm of some movie star. I told you so.

I continued to work on the Comic Book and think of Samantha. She was constantly on my mind. I was beginning to think I was ruined for all other women. I mean, what normal, run-of the-mill girl could possibly compete with what I just experienced? I knew I was feeling sorry for myself, but what the fuck. Then, I got a phone call in the middle of the night.

Hello?

"Hello, may I speak to Clive"?

Speaking.

"Hi!, I got your phone number from Samantha".

Yes.

"I'm going to be in town for a week, and my girlfriends and I are going out to party. You wanna come"?

Uh, Who is this?

"Vanessa Del Rio"

.... But that's another story.
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