A Famed Brush With Reality

Several female readers have so graciously complimented my submitted stories, but one in particular really got me thinking. She applauded my written works, but added 'the only way they could be better for me is if they had been written from a woman's point of view – that way I could easily picture myself in the story'. My original plan was to submit only stories based on actual events in my life…but I just had to accept her challenge.

* * * * *

What a hectic few weeks it had been. A complete whirlwind of photo shoots, interviews and talk show appearances. I sat in the back of the limo as we drove through the city, aimlessly staring out the window as my mind drifted. Dressed in the best money could buy, accessorized in diamonds and pearls, hair perfect courtesy of my personal stylist, courted by the hunks of Hollywood and pretty-boy models…but often wondering what the 'real' world was like.

My parents started me young. I was parading down catwalks, face caked in make-up and wearing ridiculous outfits at the ripe-old age of seven, while my friends played jump rope in the street. Countless pageant trophies donned my bedroom walls as I worried about making the finals of the Miss Teen USA contest, while my friends worried about getting their drivers license and who to take to prom. I was strutted under hot lights for innumerable photo shoots before finally gracing the cover of

Vogue

, while my friends graced the pages of their college graduation directories. And I was fending off advances from 50-year-old directors, while my friends were getting married. I was extremely proud of what I had accomplished, and the money was fantastic (if I ever would find time to spend some of it), but I was now at the age where I was realizing that my childhood had been stolen to fulfill the dreams of my mother, and that all my decisions were made for me by my agent. I was feeling used…empty…alone.

"We'll be at the studio in about ten minutes."

The voice startled me – snapping me out of my subconscious pity party. I could see the limo driver's eyes in the rear-view mirror staring at me, waiting for some sign that I had heard him. Instead, somewhat irritated that my daydream had been interrupted, I simply turned my head to stare out the window again…watching the buildings go by…observing the 'common' folks hustling and bustling through the crowded sidewalks.

Still feeling his eyes on me, I casually reached up and pressed the button, raising the privacy window behind his seat. I had heard rumors that the privacy windows on many limousines are simply a two-way piece of glass allowing the driver to still see what was going on in the back of his car, but just being able to not see his glare made me feel more comfortable.

We were sitting in traffic at a red light when my attention turned to the vehicle that had pulled up next to us. It was a white, older model Jeep – dirty chrome wheels and big, rugged tires, a large splattering of dried mud covered the side, the soft top folded down behind the rear seat. The driver, however, is what really caught my eye. He wore a black cowboy hat and aviator shades. His sturdy jaw twitched as he chewed on a toothpick. A white tank top, tight on his well-built torso, showed off solid pecs. His thick, tanned arms rippled with well-defined muscles. Tight, faded jeans stretched over his massive thighs. And a pair of dusty, old cowboy boots. I had seen this attire in many advertising shoots and was never impressed, but this guy had an aura of personality. Strong. Confident. Authentic. He was a real-life cowboy steering his iron stallion through the treacherous canyons of the city.

I lowered the tinted window to get a better look.

He must have sensed my eyes on him. He turned his head towards me, paused for a brief moment, then tipped his hat and nodded. "Ma'am." With his simple, yet sincere greeting out of the way, he turned his head away.

My initial thought was pure shock. 'Didn't he recognize me? Doesn't he know who I am? How can't he? I'm only in just about every magazine, I'm on ads on the side of buses in every major city, I've been on television and…'

I stopped myself cold. What a self-righteous, pompous attitude. The exact attitude my father once pleaded I never foster. Obviously I wasn't the center of the universe. There actually were people out there who didn't know who I was…and probably didn't even care, for that matter.

I had become so accustomed to public appearances marred by aggressive autograph seekers, amateur photographers, and fans just wanting me to pose with them so their sister or cousin could snap our picture…oh, those were the worst – often prepubescent teens, middle-aged perverts, and even some dirty old men, sneaking an ass pinch or a solid grope as I waited with a fake smile for the cheap, little 35mm flash. It got to the point a few years ago where I was forced to hire a bodyguard for several occasions.

Now here I sat. Almost angered by a gorgeous, innocent gentleman with an uncomplicated greeting.

Traffic began to move and he pulled away…never looking back for a second glimpse. I raised the window and slumped back in my seat…completely humbled.

* * * * * * *

After another grueling day of answering the same old questions to a self-proclaimed "leading entertainment advisor" and the mindless DJ of a local radio station, the limo finally pulled up in front of my hotel.

The attentive doorman opened the door for me. "Good evening, Miss Simmons."

"Good evening," I replied using my best fake smile as I stepped from the car.

I felt the eyes of other guests upon me as I rushed through the revolving door and straight to the elevators. Fortunately, the first lift was empty. With hands shaking I slipped my elevator key in for the penthouse level, and as soon as the doors closed I burst into tears. A good cry had been building inside me for quite some time, but the dose of reality from a nameless man earlier that day had pushed me to the brink. Now, finally alone, I let it all go.

By the time the doors opened to my suite I was a mess. My supposed waterproof makeup was all smeared and the front of my outfit was riddled with tiny wet spots from my tears. I headed straight for the bathroom, peeling my clothes as I went. Little splashes of cold water on my face, followed by several minutes of removing the remaining makeup, and I was starting to feel better.

I stood naked in front of the full-length mirror, staring at the body that brought me fame and fortune. My small, firm breasts still stood proudly high on my chest. My flat stomach, solid ass, and slender thighs were all courtesy of hours in the gym. 'Not bad for pushing 30,' I thought to myself, trying desperately to build some positive energy within. I cupped my breasts in my hands, gently brushing the nipples with my thumb. They hardened instantly.

'Oh, to be with a man who appreciates a good woman,' I continued my thoughts. Over the years I had had my share of one-night fucks with a handful of assholes in the entertainment business…but I was still waiting to make love for the first time.

I slipped on the hotel's terrycloth robe and walked out onto the patio overlooking the city, taking a deep breath of the cool evening air. The lights of the city were magnificent – almost soothing – and the sounds from the hectic streets below were barely audible as I stood 52 floors above. Another deep breath, and I felt myself relaxing. I watched the tiny little yellow cabs making their way up and down the main street, like hundreds of ants working into the night.

Suddenly, something caught my attention. Just a few blocks up, parked right under a streetlight was a white Jeep. I strained my eyes, trying to see it better, but reality soon kicked in. "Ya, right Jenna," I spoke out loud to myself. "Only a couple hundred Jeeps in this city alone, and you spot one a million miles away and right away think it's his." I laughed at my own foolishness.

My eyes continued to drift across the view of the city, but they seemed to always return to the Jeep. After about 15 minutes of senseless debate, I turned and headed for my bedroom with a huge smile on my face. Knowing full well my parents and my agent would seriously frown upon such actions, I was finally going to do something

I

wanted to do. I frantically dug through my things, picking out a pair of tight jeans, some black silk panties, a black angora short-sleeve top that left my midriff bare, and a black bra…no, wait…I wouldn't be needing that…and with a devilish grin I tossed it back into my suitcase. I paused for a second…heart racing…and then tossed the panties back into the pile as well.

I wiggled my ass into the tight denim and slipped the sweater over my head. The soft material felt wonderful against my bare skin and I felt my nipples stiffen again. A pair of black boots with modest heels completed my ensemble. I glanced at my box of make-up then at myself in the mirror. "Au-naturale," again speaking out loud to myself. "Like me for who I am."

At an excited pace, I whipped through the lobby of the hotel and out the doors.

"May I get you a car, Miss Simmons?" the valet asked when he saw me emerge, arm already up motioning for the first limousine in line.

"No thank you," I said with a smile as I rushed past him.

"A cab, then, Miss Simmons?"

"No thanks," I replied over my shoulder, making my way down the drive towards the main street.

With a concerned sound in his voice, he yelled after me, "May I at least provide you with an escort from the hotel?"

Without looking back I simply waved my hand in the air as I rounded the turn onto the sidewalk. Wow, did I feel alive! Free!

I made it down the street without too many stares from the other folks out enjoying the beautiful Friday evening. They probably thought I may really be me, but then figured I wouldn't be out walking these streets alone at night. Of course, without all the face paint I don't exactly look like the 'me' even I am accustomed to.

My heart raced as I neared Jeep…and actually skipped a beat when I saw the mud on the sides. I tried to calm myself, telling myself many Jeeps have the chance to get muddy. It was parked in front of a run-down place called

Dusty's Pub

…the windows filled with neon beer lights. I took a deep breath and walked in. Now this was a bar! No clean-cut guys dressed in penguin suits carrying trays with martinis…no elegant chandeliers…no soft music coming from some orchestra. No, this was a

real

bar. A few waitresses scurrying around in daisy-duke shorts and skimpy tops hauling trays full of pitchers of beer…dim overhead lights illuminating the large, smoke-filled room…Garth Brooks blaring from the jukebox. I noticed a lot of flannel, Levis, and cowboy boots – and that was just the women. I was a little over-dressed…definitely the only one wearing angora (in fact, probably the only one in the room who knew what angora was)…but I didn't really stand out as an oddball either. The music didn't stop and people didn't stare as I stood in the doorway. I made my way to the bar and perched myself on a wooden stool at the end, almost hiding in the shadows.

"What'll ya have?" The bartender startled me. I was too busy checking out the place and hadn't seen him approach.

"Umm…how about a dry Manhattan on the rocks…two cherries, please."

The bartender stared at me blankly for a second. "Excuse me?"

I quickly glanced down the bar and saw several bottles of Jack Daniels and four ice bins filled with Budweiser and Bud Light. "Bud Light would be great, thanks."

The cold beer tasted great as it slid down my parched throat, and my nerves began to calm almost instantly. I continued to survey the place but didn't see 'my man' anywhere. I began to realize it was entirely possible the Jeep outside belonged to someone else, or that he had parked there but gone somewhere different. Just then I noticed a green neon sign hanging over an opening leading to another room…"

POOL

".

Grabbing my beer and slipping from my barstool, I began to make my way through the crowd. I again felt the familiar stares and heard the occasional '

excuse me, but are you

…' – their voice muffled by the loud music. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone.

When I reached the opening to the adjoining room, I paused. More neon beer lights hung from the walls – the only other light coming from the Budweiser lights hanging over four pool tables. The room was mostly filled with men…three women against one wall downing shots, laughing, and trying to sing with the music…a couple in a tight embrace in the far corner, covering each other with sloppy kisses.

Then I saw him…my man…slowly pacing around the third pool table down…chalking the tip of his cue…carefully eyeing his next shot. I walked down and leaned against the wall off one end of the table. I was enthralled by his intense concentration.

He walked around the end of the table closest to me, paused, and then bent over for his shot. My eyes drifted down his strong back, coming to rest on his beautiful buns wrapped in his faded jeans. I felt a warm, tingling sensation between my thighs – one I hadn't felt in quite some time – and subconsciously crossed my legs.

The muscles in his arm rippled as he drew his cue back, then gracefully stroked forward, knocking the cue ball and dropping the eight ball. He straightened with a satisfied grin and casually swiped two $100 bills that had been laying on the edge of the table.

"Nice shot," I yelled bravely over the music.

He turned to face me, tipped his hat at me for the second time that day, and with a slight nod and a wink, "Thank you, ma'am." He turned back to face the table, then abruptly spun back around. "Pardon me, but…do I know you? You look somewhat familiar."

I had heard the line a million times, but his inquiry seemed sincere – as opposed to the ones referring to my magazine ads and television appearances. "We sorta met in traffic earlier today," I replied, stepping towards him. The feeling between my thighs heightened.

"That's right!" he agreed. "You're the lady that was sitting in the back of that fancy car. You're looking a lot nicer tonight."

I was a little ashamed being connected to the stretch limousine. "That's the beer talking," I said almost defensively.

"No, ma'am, I'm afraid it isn't. I don't drink. It's just that you didn't appear to be too happy staring at me from the back of that car. Of course," he continued, "I wouldn't be too happy myself being all stuffy in them fancy clothes and glittering jewelry."

I was taken aback. Our brief encounter…no more than a few seconds…and he had read me like a book. Was I that transparent? I suddenly began to feel vulnerable. Anxious…week…a little dizzy. I stepped back and leaned against the wall.

"You OK, ma'am?"

"Oh…ya, sure…I'm fine," I replied sounding quite unsure and dropping my stare to the floor.

My man turned to his buddies and tossed his cue onto the pool table. "I'm done for this evening, folks. See y'all tomorrow night." He turned back to face me, draping one of his strong assuring arms around my shoulder, and, taking my chin gently in his hand, lifted my face towards him.

My body immediately tensed – suddenly thinking he was going to try sticking his tongue down my throat right there.

But instead he just stared at me with his soft, brown eyes for a moment…studying me…then leaned towards my ear. "Looks like some fresh air would do you good."

Once again feeling safe and secure, I allowed him to lead me back through the main room. He acknowledged the bartender with a quick nod before we exited the pub. "Wait," I spoke up. "I didn't pay for my drink."

"It's taken care of," he replied assuredly.

* * * * * * *

Soon we were rumbling down the main city street in his Jeep. The cool evening air felt great, the wind whipping through my hair, and I was feeling much better. As we crossed the bridge over the river heading out of the city the air became much cooler. I felt my breasts harden and nipples stiffen under my soft sweater as a wave of goose bumps shot across my skin. I hugged myself, rubbing my bare arms in a meager attempt to stay warm. I wondered how he wasn't cold in just his tank top…and how the heck his cowboy hat stayed on.

My man noticed my discomfort and reached into the back seat, pulling out a well-worn denim jacket with thick cloth lining. Handing it to me, he spoke for the first time since we left the bar. "Here…put this one. This'll warm ya up."

And it did. I watched the city lights disappear as we turned down a thin two-lane road. I didn't know where we were headed, but I didn't really care. I felt secure. "So," I said, breaking the silence, "you never told me your name."

Without taking his eyes from the road, "Does it matter?"

I was a little shocked at his response. "Of course it matters!"

"I'm just figurin' a fancy lady like yourself, being toted around the city in a sleek black stretch, is probably in town for just a day or two before jetting off to New York or LA."

I got a little frustrated at his response…mostly because he was dead right. I had a photo shoot the next morning and then was flying to New York that afternoon. The odds of me ever coming back to his city were remote. "I would still like to know your name."

He glanced over at me and smiled – his white teeth almost glowing in the darkness. "My real name's Homer, named after my grand-pappy on my mother's side, but my friends call me Colt." He offered his hand.

I was impressed with his honesty. Not too many rough and tumble guys would confess to being named Homer. Shaking his hand, I properly introduced myself. "Pleased to meet you Homer…I'm Jenna."

"The honor is mine. And please…call me Colt."

We drove on through the darkness in silence – the only sound was the deep humming of the big tires on the road. After about ten minutes he slowed the Jeep and pulled onto a small dirt driveway (if you could call it that). We passed through an old rickety fence that sat open and followed the winding drive that soon became just two dirt tire trails with grass and weeds growing down the middle. He obviously knew where he was going, and soon pulled off the path…bouncing right across a small field. The moonlight illuminated the surroundings enough to allow me to see the small hill we were climbing, topped with a lonely, old, weather-beaten oak tree. He stopped the Jeep as we crested the top – the view took my breath away.

Off in the distance was a clear, panoramic view of the city – lit in all its glory under the midnight skies. You could even see the bend in the river with the reflection of the city slightly blurred by its heavy current. The sky was as black as ever, spotted with thousands and thousands of stars – I had never seen so many stars at one time. With the engine off, only the cricket's song filled the air.

My man jumped from the Jeep and came around to my side, offering a hand and helping me down. "This is my land," he stated proudly. "It was given to me by my father before he passed away, and it was his father's before that. Many a city folk have offered big bucks for this land, but I just can't bring myself to giving it up just to be stripped for a subdivision or some shopping mall. Besides, where would I go to get away from life for a while?"

I couldn't agree more. That's exactly what I was doing – trying to get away from life for a while. And there was no place I could imagine being that was more beautiful than this.

Riding in the Jeep was cold, but standing here with my man's arm around me atop his land, the air felt quite comfortable. I shrugged his jacket from my shoulders and tossed it into the back seat, nestling myself back into his arm. I felt his hand come to rest of my bare waist as he pulled me closer. That warm, tingling sensation between my thighs returned…but this time it continued to spread through out my entire body.