It's the headache that wakes me, an incessant dull pounding in my temples that drives away my dreams, ending my restless sleep and reminding me of last night's mistakes. In this case, mixing too much champagne, liquor and beer at the premiere. Goddamn. I rub my face and groan; I just never seem to learn.
I know I've slept in quite a bit from the way the light filters through the curtains, but fuck it. I'd already planned on having a late night and cleared my morning schedule well in advance. I mean, I've just spent months shooting a summer blockbuster -- doesn't a guy deserve a chance to party and sleep in?
My head is throbbing, though. Perhaps I partied a bit *too* hard. It's definitely not the first time...and probably won't be the last, if we're being honest. Fuck.
Aching for some relief, I cast aside the covers and start to lazily stroke myself, still half-asleep. I don't know why, but I wake up hard and horny as hell whenever I'm hungover. It's just one of those weird things. I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, at least it gives me something to do. Otherwise I'd probably just lay here and feel like shit, and who the fuck wants to do that?
So I go at it for a good little bit, teasing myself up to full mast, thinking about one of my co-stars and why we haven't hooked up yet. Things are just starting to get good when a sudden sound catches my attention. I open my eyes and look up, glancing around the room.
The maid is standing there, staring at me.
Aw fuck. Fuck, I forgot to tell the agency not to send anyone over today. Shit.
She's a petite latina woman with caramel-colored skin, young and pretty even in her cleaning scrubs, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her big brown eyes are glued to my Pringles-can of a cock, a flushed expression on her face that slowly turns to horror as she realizes my eyes are open, as she realizes she's been caught with her hand down her pants.
Fucking great. Not again.
See, the hardest part about being a Hollywood heartthrob is getting some goddamn privacy. Don't get me wrong, watching women just lose their shit at the sight of you is great for the ego, but it makes a lot of mundane things quite a bit more difficult. Going out is always an adventure, and hiring help can be tricky.
That extends to housecleaning. Now I thought I'd found an answer with this new agency, one that caters specifically to celebrities: supposedly the girls don't know a lick of English, and they're all new to the country, with little knowledge of American celebs. Thus in theory there shouldn't be any problems, and I can go about my day without anyone gawking; for all they know, I'm just some wealthy dickhead who works out too much. Sounds great, right?
Well, clearly we have a problem here. Maybe she knows me from TV, or the movies, or one of those stupidass toothpaste commercials I did last summer. Maybe she just sees that I'm 6'4" and shredded, with a piston for a cock and a penchant for sleeping naked.I don't know, but fuck, this is not how I thought my morning would go. By now she's frozen in place, looking absolutely terrified, her mouth moving but no sound coming out.
"Hey ummm...uhhh, hey it's alright," I say, gritting my teeth as my head throbs. I really don't like the way she's looking at me so scared like that -- maybe she thinks she's gonna get fired, or deported or something. I don't know how things work at that agency...maybe I should.
She hangs her head, her eyes glued to the floor, her shoulders shaking as she backs up and bumps into the wall. She's practically hyperventilating; it's an awkwardass situation, and man I can't help but feel bad for her.
"Hey, hey it's okay," I try again. "I forgot to tell you guys not to send anyone, it's my fault. I won't uhh, I won't get you in trouble, I promise. I'm not mad."
I'm really not -- I'm just hungover, too hungover apparently to remember that she doesn't speak any English, and can't understand a word I'm saying. Dammit.
I rack my brain, trying to come up with the few words of Spanish I know. I really don't have much, just some simple shit I picked up from clubbing in Cabo.
"Es...uhhh...es...okay?" Fuck I'm terrible at this, and the pain in my head is not helping. My awful attempt gets her to look up, at least -- a shy, questioning glance, her gaze lingering lower for a split second.
It's then that I realize I'm still holding my cock, the fucking thing throbbing in my grip. Goddamn. I glance down, and can't help but laugh. It's just absurd; the situation, I mean. What a way to wake up.
My chuckle earns a sheepish smile from her, and for what it's worth she seems to finally understand I'm not upset. I'm relieved; for a second, I thought the poor girl was gonna have a heart attack.
Now I seem to have a new problem, though.
Those big pretty Bambi eyes of hers won't stop drifting down between my legs -- the big bastard there is practically hypnotizing her. I don't know if it's cause I'm famous, or fit and decent to look at, or if it has something to do with my size, but man that stupid fucker has a habit of getting me into trouble. It can be a bit of a chick magnet sometimes, whether I like it or not. I know it's a dumb thing to complain about, but honestly the timing is rarely convenient; it's really out of my control. I guess some ladies just like to look at a good dick...and based on the evidence here, I'd say my new maid is one of them.
The smile on her face grows, and her eyes take on a far off, dazed expression as she fixates on my fat member, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. Fuck. How do I always end up in shit like this? This is exactly the sort of situation I was trying to avoid.
Still though, she is a cutie. I'm not sure if she knows who I am, if she's a fan or what but clearly she likes what she sees -- and that gaze of hers is definitely doing things to me. And...well, it's not like I have anything better to do. And this headache isn't gonna go away on its own...
Aw hell. Here we go again.
