The Porn Star Experience

Note from the author

Most of my stories are either

autobiographical

,

semi-autobiographical

, or

fantasies I made up

(albeit, like any writer, with some reliance on personal experience). This story is none of these.

This piece is actually hard to categorize. It is maybe semi-biographical, semi-fantasy. The basic scaffold of the story and its two main characters were provided to me by another Literotica member. The scenario he approached me to write about relates to him meeting a lady of his acquaintance. My working assumption is that the acquaintance is probably real, but that his ideas about the meeting are things he would like to happen rather than ones that have actually happened. He tells me that he would like to preserve some ambiguity on this point.

I have "filled in the blanks" with my own thoughts, ideas and imaginings, so the resulting text is, at best, "inspired by a true story", as they say.

I would like to thank the Literotica member, who wants to remain anonymous, for both providing the inspiration and helpfully reviewing more than one draft.

Please also see the comments I have included as endnotes, because they could compromise plot points.

--

It felt as if my heart had expanded to occupy my entire body. Every part of me was pounding, throbbing, pulsating. It was messing with my vision too, I could clearly see a shiny, metallic 6 on a teal field, but around that I lost focus and everything became swirls. If I shifted my gaze, which seemed to require inordinate effort, then a black doorbell, with a cream-colored button, became the new center of my constrained Universe. It was crystalline in its sharp-edged, cuboid precision, almost begging me to press it, yet I hesitated.

As well as space, it felt that time was distorted. How long had I been standing there? Hours surely. Seconds most likely. Had I even breathed since arriving? Probably not. I did now, a gasping intake. Maybe the additional oxygen helped my clouded brain as I was finally able to raise my arm, extend a digit and push the button. The chime seemed like a church bell.

I am thankfully yet to have a near-death experience, but they say your life flashes before you. For me it wasn't my whole life that played out as I waited, but instead the bits of it pertaining to her. I guess that was still a considerable chunk.

--

It would be nice and neat to be able to pinpoint when we first "met", but I can't. It couldn't have been before 2016, because I knew most of her filmography and it started then, when she was 19. Rather than a single moment, she swam into my consciousness. I don't even know which video of hers was the first I viewed, just that -- out of so many young starlets -- she somehow stood out.

She wasn't an obsession at first. I had so many girls at my fingertips to entertain me. But she was one that made a lasting impression. Enough of an impression that she became a search term, but still at that point, one of several. When did things change? It was relatively recently, at most a year ago. One search led me to her Twitter photos, I assumed the account was old, there has been no new videos since The Plague, but I checked anyway. And there she was, posting new selfies, chatting with industry friends. Different to 2016, older, but still with the same angelic looks. Still the intoxicating mixture of beauty and sin.

I was hooked. I revisited her back catalog, from youthful innocence to blossoming womanhood. Most of all, I listened to her talking, I consumed clothed interviews with the same relish as nude ones. I wanted to get to know her better.

And then it happened. The event that directly led to me standing here. She posted a link to her new OnlyFans page. You might think that I signed up immediately, but I prevaricated. What held me back? Nervousness. An unwillingness to connect my fantasy world with reality. The voice saying "never meet your heroes". But eventually my desire overcame my reticence and I subscribed.

...and she was delightful. She was smart and funny and friendly. Like, I assume, for many in her line of business, it seemed like the last few years had been a challenge. There had been a hiatus, maybe just The Plague, maybe other stuff, I didn't like to pry. She was now looking to reengage with her previous work, but I got the sense that perhaps she wanted it to be more on her terms. I can imagine in an area dominated by youth, effectively starting again in your mid-twenties might feel daunting; no matter what you had done before, perhaps because of what you had done before.

Whatever the reasons, she seemed uncertain of herself. Given she is, at the end of the day, a business woman, maybe it was all cleverly constructed artifice, but she seemed in need of help and I was more than happy to provide it. It's not like I did a lot, I told her the truth. I said she was just as beautiful as she had ever been. I said that she had many fans who would love to see her work again. She has her own personal support now and it appears to be good, but I did my best to buttress this. Maybe it's my own conceit, how I want the world to be, but I think I helped a little; she said that I did, which was sweet. Perhaps just a little help was all she really needed.

We went from there. I'm not claiming to be special. I'm sure she was nice to many of her fans. She seems to be a nice person. Undeniably some of our interactions were transactional, she has a living to make, but quite a few weren't and some (at least to my perhaps wishful thinking) had an extra dimension to them. I'm not bold enough to claim we became friends, but we were certainly friendly. We chatted, we talked about what was occupying our time. We joked. It was fun.

And then she said that she was flying to my country, to my home town. She made an announcement on Twitter, but she had told me a few days before. That made me feel special. Of course I wanted to meet her in person. It would be a dream come true. But now...

--

The door partly opened and my tunnel focus made out a pair of big blue eyes, framed in a mop of platinum blonde hair peeping round the side of it.

"So glad to meet you finally, please come in."

Her voice seemed to reach me from a long distance. Echoing down an empty corridor. Almost drowned out by the timpani of my heart. Her voice. It had always enchanted me. American clearly, but hard to pin down to a specific locale, at least for me. It was deeper than her petite frame might suggest, sonorous, but not gravelly, hinting at mischief. Here and now, it had an ethereal, dreamlike quality, or maybe it was just my hearing, or more likely my brain, that was not working properly.

She opened the door further, remaining partially concealed by it. I paused and then stepped, almost stumbled, inside. I slipped off my shoes and hung my coat on one of four hooks. She closed the door, her back to it and smiled radiantly at me. She was bare-footed and apparently wrapped in just a toweling robe, as if fresh from the shower.

It was her. It was really her. I knew her height, I knew her weight, I knew her cup size, I knew her place and date of birth and what she had done both educationally and extracurricularly. But this was different. I had seen her nude and

in flagrante

countless times. But this wasn't a quasi-human viewed on a screen, it was a flesh and blood person.

I knew she was small, 5'3", but that didn't really compute until she was standing in front of me. I knew she was pretty, but surely she couldn't be this pretty in the flesh, with little or no make-up. Even without gloss, her lips were full, her cheekbones high and those sapphire eyes arresting.

I realized I had said nothing, not returned her greeting. I tried to remedy the situation, but no words came to mind and even if they had, my mouth felt that it was incapable of uttering anything coherent. Perhaps she was used to having this effect of people, as she took the initiative.

"Cat got your tongue?"

She smiled again, her head titled to one side and eased her robe off her shoulder. It was her right one, revealing the first of the tattoos on her arm. I knew these too. I had seen them appear gradually and could probably hazard a guess as to which was from which year.

Tentatively I reached forward to touch one. My hand hovering, I glanced at her and she inclined her head slightly, extending permission. I touched her inked skin, my hand trembling. For some reason I expected it to feel different, but it was just skin, soft and warm. I traced the outline of one design. She smiled.

"Do you like them? Shall I show you more?"

Continuing to be robbed of the power of speech, I nodded. She undid the belt at her waist, opened her robe and slid it off. Even in my voiceless and enervated state, I was capable of gasping. She was still standing against the teal of the door, which somehow accentuated her skin and framed her petite body. She was lightly tanned, but with three alabaster triangles where a bikini had occluded the sun. The upper triangles drew my eye to her perfect breasts. Small, but fuller than in her youth and beautifully formed with pale areolae surrounding deeper colored and protruding nipples. The lower triangle showcased her pussy. No longer hairless, as in her early movies, but sporting a neat, dark blonde triangle advertising her womanhood instead.

Between these two glories, her waist was as impossibly narrow as it had ever been. Her ribs showed slightly, evidence of a rigorous exercise regime. She was slim but curvy, toned and athletic. Above all she had that perfect face, the face I had fallen for years ago.

She took my hand and placed it on her breast. I ran my fingers around its fullness. Taking my hand again, she moved it to her face. I stroked her cheek and then she sucked on two fingertips, coyly but suggestively. I felt as if my legs were about to collapse under me, that my chest was about to explode.

Grinning lecherously, she took half a step towards me and put her hand between my legs, stroking upwards. With horror, I saw her smile falter as her fingers found softness where she was expecting the opposite. Rising shame led me to finally find my voice.

"I'm... I'm so sorry. I don't know what's happening. This isn't... I mean... it's not you... how could it be... I'm sorry."

I wanted to be anywhere but in that hallway with her. My dream girl and a nightmare scenario. I felt sick.

"Hey! Don't worry. Does this happen to you normally?"

I shook my head, my face burning red with my embarrassment.

"OK. So I'm sure we can fix it. Worse case, I've got some pills. No drama. OK?"

Her calm could not have been in greater contrast to my total panic. The room seemed to reel, a cabin in a storm-tossed boat. My heart pounded harder than ever. Harder. That's what I needed now for fuck's sake. As before, her words reached me as from a distance.

"Let's sit you down in there."

Grabbing her robe from the floor, she led me to a room lit by wide, sliding doors, leading on to a large balcony. She motioned to a brown leather sofa, with a low, square, glass-topped table in front of it. I half sat, half collapsed. My instinct was to bury my head in my hands, but it felt too melodramatic even in the circumstances. Instead I sat, feeling uncomfortable and I'm sure looking it to.

"Let me get us a drink, OK."

--

Slowly my voice was retuning. Maybe there was nothing much more to be scared of, the worst already having happened.

"Thanks. But it don't want to be a pain. I don't want to take up your time. I'm sure you have other people to... see."

I felt miserable and my clumsy words were not making it any better. She raised an eyebrow.

"Stop fussing! I'm not seeing anyone else today, nice turn of phrase by the way."

But she said it now with a grin, a big open grin, her brilliant teeth seeming to illuminate the rest of her face. I must have looked quizzical, despite my glumness. She picked up on it.

"I landed this morning. I've had a nap, but I'm still jet-lagged. I didn't want a big day today. But I also wanted you to be the first person I

saw

, though where I'm from we normally say fucked."

Clearly she was going to keep ribbing me about my euphemism. She seemed amused, which somehow made me feel a little better.

"Don't get carried away, Casanova! I've not fallen in love with you. But I thought we could maybe also hang a bit as well. So no hurry."

Despite myself, I laughed, albeit wryly.

"OK, that's nice of you, but I'll try to avoid proposing, deal?"

"Deal! Now how about that drink? This place has an amazing bar. I made myself a margarita when I got here. I figured it was OK to be drinking West Coast time. It reminded me of California."

"Baja California originally, surely?"

It was an attempt at a joke, but came out more as me being an asshole. Thankfully she seemed to figure out that I wasn't fully

compos mentis

and let it slide.

"Whatever, Mr. history of cocktails! I squeezed too many limes earlier, so it would be quick to make two more. Want one?"

"Please."

She span and skipped into the kitchen. After some clinking of glass and whirring of a blender, she reappeared with two salt-rimmed glasses, full of frosty drink. Having given one to me, she held out her own glass.

"Bottoms up! Isn't that what you say round here?"

"Bottoms up."

I replied rather weakly then took a large gulp.

"Good margarita."

She seemed to take this as the apology it was intended to be and took a slug herself.

"Now don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

Again the graceful spin on one foot and the dancing gait out of the room.

--

I sipped my drink somewhat disconsolately, but it was indeed good and I drained my glass. I tried to rub my crotch a couple of times, but with no success. This had happened to me before, but only once and after I had been pretty ill. Why now? Was it just age? It was probably age, oh God!

Then she was back and sat herself next to me with a balletic twirl. She really was mesmerizing to watch move. She placed an overnight bag on the table, picked up her drink and tuned to face me. It took me a while to register, but I realized that she was wearing jeans and a rather shapeless, oversized hoody, though her feet were still bare. Dismay must have been easy to read in my face.

"It's OK, babe. Listen. Shit happens. So I have all sorts in my bag of tricks, including some little blue pills. So we have a backstop, OK?"

"OK"

"But I thought we could try something else first. Is that OK? If my idea is crap, then twenty minutes and your good to go. I can always fix us another drink, right?"

I was wondering what she had in mind. Part of me wanted to go for a pharmaceutical solution as soon as possible. But I also had a strong desire to go along with whatever she suggested.

"I guess so."

"Great. So that's kinda why I changed. I thought maybe I went too fast. Perhaps we get to know each other a little first."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Just this."

She took another large swig of her cocktail, her eyes sparkling above the rim and fixed on me as she did, put the glass in the table without breaking eye contact and placed a hand on either side of my face.

I don't know who moved forward first, perhaps we both did, but her eyes closed as our faces approached and her mouth parted. Lips found lips. Tongues found tongues. I found myself lost in her. Somehow she was on my lap, arms around my neck, our lips still pushed together. In felt her exhalations as her nose nestled against my cheek. Her tongue had been the lead explorer, but now mine was deep in her mouth and she sucked gently on it.

Whatever else my expectations had been, this level of closeness was beyond my wildest dreams. It was clearly my day for hackneyed clichés, but the world seemed to both stand still and fade into nothingness around us as we kissed. She became my universe and all that was in it. It was a pretty wonderful universe as it happens. My heart was pounding again, but now with excitement, not terror.

She pulled back and stood. I must have looked crestfallen, but she laughed softly.

"It was getting a little uncomfortable on your lap, babe."

Leaning to brush my lips again, she once more stroked between my legs, but now with a more favorable result. Our kissing has been so all-consuming that I had hardly noticed one of its effects. Her hand now rested on this effect and squeezed. I was transformed from limpness to a rigidity I had thought beyond my advancing years.

"See, you just needed a little bit of a gentler approach. The girlfriend experience, not the pornstar one."

She giggled, pulled the hoody up and over her head, wriggled out of her jeans and panties and stood before me nude once more. Her gorgeous, lithe body, adorned by familiar tattoos, now had a wholly different effect on me. I felt myself swell and throb.

"Let's get him out shall we?"

--

I unbuttoned my shirt as she settled between my legs, undid my belt, unclipped my pants and pulled my zipper down. Not waiting for me to undress properly, she stroked my bulging boxers and then inserted a hand through the front flap. She released my now adamantine cock through the same flap with a look of triumph.

"Ooh, your uncut. I've only fucked a few uncut guys. But I kinda liked it."

She pulled down on me and the skin rippled off of my head. She tugged and that felt so good. But not as good as when she bowed to lick my frenulum. Long, sloppy licks. I'd see this scene a hundred times, but I'd never felt it. Fuck she was amazing.

She raised her eyes and locked on to mine. One more, extra long and slow lick and then she engulfed my cock in her mouth. It was pure pleasure, almost unbearable, almost agonizing, like I was being turned inside out. Then she began to slide up and down my shaft and I could hardly take it. She seemed to sense the intensity of my feelings and popped off of me.

"Pretty good, right? I've had lots of practice. Maybe you don't mind the pornstar experience so much after all."

She grabbed my pants and boxers and pulled them down and off of me, taking my socks with them. She was clearly in her element now. She spat on my cock and rubbed the saliva round it. Her hand still wet she rubbed her pussy. With the same grace of movement that accompanied all she did, she straddled me, held my cock at the right angle and lowered herself on to it. Her balance was perfect.

Her vagina opening to me was revelatory. She was moist, she was soft, she was warm. I had seen her take some of the largest cocks in the business, much larger than me, but she was also unexpectedly tight. It was like she was sucking me into her body rather than me actively penetrating her.

"That's right, babe. All the way into me, I love your cock."

My cock did feel loved. Loved and caressed. Our pubic bones met and she wriggled, with a slight squeal. Acting I am sure, but it made me even harder. She raised herself, still keeping totally upright so that I could see both the part of my shaft that appeared again, generously lubed by her fluids, and her stretched pussy opening. Then down again and I moaned and shuddered as her tight vaginal walls stroked me. There was an almost perfect balance between silken smoothness and glove-like grip. This was not going to last long. She seemed to sense this, lent towards me without breaking her rhythm, and whispered.

"It's OK to cum, babe. I want you to cum. But you have to promise to lick me out afterwards, deal?"

My only response was a guttural moan. She returned to upright and began to bounce more rapidly on me, slamming her crotch into mine. I abandoned any thoughts of longevity and started to thrust back up into her.