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Star Dust


Step inside a real time novel. Meet Star Dust, a world famous, globe trotting, super star, recording artist. Star pumps out #1 hits in her sleep yet she’s always lost out in the love department. Ian Astor is a renegade Hollywood director with a playboy reputation as outrageous as his films. Sparks fly when Star and Ian collaborate on a music video.  Can these two superstars make a long distance relationship work? Find out by stepping into Star’s stilettos and receiving emails every time Ian messages Star.

Can You Keep a Secret?

Oh myyyy. I can’t believe I’m admitting this. Can’t believe I’m going to let you see it. Please, promise me. You won’t tell anyone. Promise?

Thank you!

Why am I asking you to keep this on the dl? I mean, anyone’s life might get torn apart if certain things were leaked to social media, right?\

I know about big scale media stuff because, the plain truth is … I’m kinda famous.

Okay, that's an understatement. I'm really famous. You know who I am.

I'm not being conceited, it's just that if you listen to the radio, you’ve heard my music. If you watch MTV award shows or youtube, you’ve seen me perform and my vids. Who knows? Maybe you've downloaded my music or you’ve been to one of my concerts? If so, I hope you had fun. I heart my fans!!!

I performed last night.

A good concert is like delicious sex. The audience and I come together, we exchange energy on an orgasmic level. My musicians, dancers, and I whip everyone into a frenzy, teasing them with stories and songs. By the time I play my most popular tracks, the stuff everyone wants to hear, they go insane and I'm dripping, giving them everything I've got.

Music is my life. My obsession. I don’t do it for the fame. Not for the money. Not for the clothing (well, maybe a little for the clothes).

I looooove the clothing. My wardrobe, makeup and hair is like protective armor. It shields the inner me, the part I don't share with my fans.

Right now, my hair is a shiny, purply, black, cut razor sharp at my shoulders. Underneath, it's plain old brown.

I’d sing for free even if no one paid me. Music consumes me. It literally reverberates under my skin and pumps my blood. Singing is the only way to exorcise it. Then I find peace.

It's like I'm a tea kettle or pressure cooker. A constant stream of music plays in my head. It's trapped in the part of the brain where you think. You know, where you talk to yourself? It's there all the time. I've learned to live with it.

Singing is the only way to exorcise it. If I couldn’t write or perform, they’d have to lock me back up. They'd have to throw away the key this time. For good.

The so-called experts said the perpetual music in my head was a stress reaction due to "acute childhood trauma."

I never think about my past.

The world is my home and I adore traveling on the road. I don't know why anyone would want to be tied to one place.

Worked like a maniac to become successful. Now, I work like a maniac to stay successful. And you're only as good as your last album or concert numbers.

My lawyer, Mort, says I’m lucky to be young and have loads of energy. He has no idea that I usually feel like the oldest person in the room. I pay hundreds of salaries, from stylists, to managers, lawyers, agents, my dancers. It's a mountain of responsibility. I know these people, their families, depend on me for their livelihood.

From the beginning, I surrounded myself with employees I could trust.

Fame, money and success completely changes the way people act toward you. They aren't authentic. It's weird. They either want something from you or have a preconceived notion of who you are, which is totally false.

My personal assistant's name is Kim. I knew Kim before I was famous. I love her so much, she's like a sister! And she care of me like a mom.

Believe it or not, my lifestyle doesn’t leave much room for a romantic life.

I give to my fans first (always fans first, I love you guys), then my employees. What’s left over? Not much.

Or so I thought …

We'll call him Ian.

He would freak out if I used his real name.

He's a well-known director. You’ve heard of him. Or at least you know his movies. His films are sexy, dangerous and inspired. Just like him.

He's a visionary and broke the mold on what an independent feature could be. Movie studios and marketing departments never dictate his work. He's original and compelling.

Our schedules keep us apart.

We are rarely in the same city. Do you think we would let this stop us from having the same kind of relationship and intimacy others have? No way.

In fact, it just might be more fun ...


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{{{shhhhh, it's free}}}

Beach House

I was in Los Angeles.

My least favorite place to be. The weather is sitcom fake. Even the sun looks like a prop. I keep a loft in hipsterville Brooklyn but I’m like a shark. The road is my home and I never stop moving. The past might catch up if I slowed down. And some things, lots of things, are better left where no one can see them.

The LA sunshine felt like a steel beam in my brain and gave me a headache. So was my visual team. The Vis Team controls what my videos, concerts, red carpet outfits look like. They even control my Instagram. You didn’t really think that was my personal life unscensored did you? Ha!

Madonna showed us how to reinvent our image so the public never loses interest. A performer’s “look” is the icing on the cake of our music. Each song, video and concert tour requires a different, yet cohesive visual concept. That’s where the Vis Team comes in. Style and conception wise, what begins with a music video, will ultimately live on in concert and performance form.

The Vis Team is comprised of five of us, two gays, two girls and myself. We keep an odd number because if there’s discord on an idea we can vote on it. But I still have final say. Ha!

The Vis Team, my assistant Kim, and I were on our way to a pre-pro (short for pre-production meeting) for a video for my new song Love Hard. The director, Ian Astor, was being a ginormous pain in the ass. He insisted all six of us drive out to Malibu for the meeting, rather than him come into town. 405 traffic is a nightmare of epic proportions.

Why is my team and I noodling through traffic to get to this joker’s beach house? The record label insists it because Ian’s vision is “artsy” and “original.” They say Ian is the filmic version of me and my musical style. So, I’m stuck in the car arguing with my team who are pitching ridiculous ideas for my video.

I wished I was writing.

A nugget of chorus was stuck in my back of my head, a refrain of music that won’t leave. It whirrs in the back of my head like a broken clock gear. This happens when I’ve got a good song idea. I’m scared it might disappear before I get it down.

Finally, we pull into a driveway and like clowns from a circus car, we pile out of the Escalade. I swing my long legs out of the car and stand up on my favorite pair of Brian Atwood shoes. When I don’t know what to wear I let my shoes do the heavy lifting and Brian never dissapoints.

I look up, shielding my eyes from the sun. A Spanish Mission Style house stands before me and something stirs inside me, a flutter in my heart and I’m struck with a dejavou. I’ve run my palms down my thighs. I have ridicoulsy sweaty palms. It’s a problem.

An older man stands at the front door and nods to me. He’s older, conservatively dressed with a shaved head and thick neck. Could this be Ian Astor, famous director?

“Star?” he asks.

Kim brushes past me in a flurry. “Yes, this is Star, I’m Kim, Star’s assistant. We hit a bit of traffic along the way. No worries though, we are anxious to get down to business. Looking forward to working with Ian.”

“Just her,” says the man.

“Just who?” asks Kim.

“Just Star,” the man replies.

“What?” asks Kim.

“Ian only wants to see Star,” says the gentleman. I have decided he is my new bff.

“Excuse me,” Bobby Mancini, my brand manager, perks up. Bobby has immpecable taste, except when he doesn’t. He flips his dark bangs across his forehead when he’s stressed. He’s doing it now and I can taste his agitation like green apple on a lollypop.

“Star’s record label arranged the pre-pro for all of us. Why else would we cart ourselves out here on a Tuesday?” Bobby protests, the word Tuesday is drenching in revulsion.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” says the gentleman. “Ian wants Star. Only Star.”

“You heard him everyone,” I say with a mini jazz hand fingers. “Just me. Bye-bye.” 

I take a deep breath. The fresh air in my lungs helped the pain in my head recede. That refrain was repeating in my head with clarity. It was going to be an excellent song, I could tell.

“Where are we supposed to go while we wait?” asks Kim.

“Ian’s driver will bring Star where ever she needs to go when they are finished,” answers Ian’s gatekeeper. “You may all return to wherever you came from.”

“Yes, return to your caves,” I say, tickled to be rid of them. “I’ll stay here and get some actual work done,” 

Kim piped up like she always does. “Star, you’ve got an important meeting tonight, then a conference call with-“

“Kim, please. Cancel everything until I get back.” I cut her off and turned my attention to the gatekeeper. “Where can I find Mr. Astor?”

The man opened the door and waved me in. “You’ll find him in the kitchen.”

“Thank you very much.” My heels clacked on the marble floors as I moved deeper inside the cool shadows of the beach home.


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Our Meeting

I saw him before he saw me.

He sat at a curving bar in a white kitchen. A glass wall, opening up to the entirety of the Pacific Ocean, framed him.

Ian’s head looked down, chocolate wisps of choppy hair curled at the base of his neck which rooted into broad shoulders.

I swallowed hard as a jumpy feeling welled in me. Was I nervous?

He tinkered over a toy in his hands.

“Ian?” I asked.

“Huh?” He looked up at me, his brooding intensity replaced by surprise, as if I were the last person he expected to see.

“We had a pre-pro today?" I spoke gingerly as if to a child. "Remember?"

“Of course. Hello, Star,” he said as a smile lit up his face.

His eyes crinkled at the corners and his grin beamed from a delicious set of lips. His lower lip flattened and pouted out kissabley. His eyes sparkled a shockingly blue that matched the expanse of the water rolling outside his kitchen.

He looked better suited for forests or desserts, emerging from caves or crossing streams rather than playing with toys in Malibu. The grandeur of the house didn't quite fit. Without helping it, I let out a giggle.

“Are you building Legos?” I asked as I spied candy colored plastic pieces in his short, stocky fingers.

“I am,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

"That an x-wing fighter?” I asked.

“You a Star Wars fan?” he asked.

“Super fan! Of the original movies,” I said, palming tiny Luke Skywalker in my hand. "I watched them obsessively when I was little. I love the score."

He bent in close, pulling my attention away from little Luke, “I knew we were going to get along.”

His eyes shimmered as he spoke. “I’m glad you were okay with that. I thought that you and I get on solid footing about the video first. We can decide what we want to do before bringing in the static of other opinions.”

His body was compact, lean and muscular under his faded black t-shirt.

“Perfect,” I said, my eyes consuming the way the leather bracelets circled his wrists.

"Once we agree on a concept," he continued as he rose to his feet, "we can bring them in. We'll let them think it was all their genius idea. C'mon, let's talk outside. And bring Luke with you. Keep him. A memento of today."

"Really?" I asked. I had a habit of swiping little objects to remind me of places I'd been. I preferred small, insignificant personal objects that no one would miss. It was better than a diary.

"Yes. Now the Force is with you," he said.

“And also with you,” I responded slipping Luke into my bag.

As I followed Ian outside, I admired the symmetry of his body and the casualness of his bare feet. He moved with fluid, loose steps out to the wooden deck. I bet he did yoga out there.

A guitar sat on the deck. Good sign!

He led me down some steps to the beach. I kicked off my stilettos and felt the hot, dry sand crunch under my feet.

Under his deck, a secluded sitting space had been fashioned. Cactus, garden roses, and ivy curled up and over us, providing cool shade and relief from the sun. Hanging shells gently chimed in the breeze. Piles of lush white pillows provided seating and unlit candles, smelling of wax and smoke, mingled with the salty sea air.

“This is lovely,” I said, utterly transported and sinking onto a pillow. I crossed my ankles, happy I’d worn a short dress due to the heat.

His gaze fell on my legs and he lingered long enough to let me know he was looking. I pointed my toe and stroked my leg, unconsciously, before realizing what I was doing.

“It is too hot today," he said. “This is my favorite part of the house," he said as he down sat across from me. "I write and work down here. I can listen to the sea sirens form this place. They whisper and sing to me. Sometimes I even sleep down here.”

"Did you ever wake up with a crab on your face?" I asked.

"Not yet," he smiled.

“I can see why you like it here,” I said. “It’s like a secret clubhouse.”

Dappled sunlight sparkled through the greenery, flickering over us as if we were fish hiding in a reef. The world, all its noise and confusion dropped away. Everything but the chorus in my head and the rhythmic pounding of surf on sand.

“I thought you might be hungry.” He gestured towards a sideboard. I spied fat white rounds of cheese and exotic fruits nestled up to paper thin salted cured meats and roasted nuts.

“Your assistant Kim tells me you have a soft spot for red wine?”

"Were you checking up on me?" I asked.

"I must make sure my clients are happy," he said.

"But, I thought you did things your own way," I responded.

"I do. Unless I collaborate with someone. In this case, I am collaborating with you."

He picked up a bottle of wine off the table. “I bought cases of this wine on location. We were shooting a luxury car spot in Tuscany. Crazy shoot. The car did hairpin turns while snaking through medieval streets of an ancient Italian town. I shot it from above in a helicopter. The crew, the agency and I slept at a nearby vineyard. This is the last bottle from that trip.”

“Are you sure you want to open it now?” I asked, my taste buds popping in spite of themselves.

“I wanted to give you something nice in return,” he said, reaching for the corkscrew.

“For what?” I asked.

“For your music.” He held the bottle sideways as he thrust the helix of the screw into the cork. His hands were sure and strong. It was like watching someone skin an animal.

“It's amazing to finally meet you. You’re a hard woman to nail down,” he said as the cork popped.

“Nail me down? Ha! Figured that was for the press to do.” I rolled my eyes thinking of a recent fake news story that had been planted about me.

“Paparazzi and internet scum,” he said.

"A necessary evil," I sighed.

"I’ve been wanting to work with you ever since Bordello," he said.

Bordello was a dark and moody record I made three years ago. It went double platinum in over twenty countries.

"My dad died when I was making that record. I think most of those songs were me trying to process the two of us. Our relationship. Or lack there of," I said.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," said Ian.

"Thank you, I mean, it was all quite cathartic, you know? Writing that record. He had been sick for a while. I thought I'd prepared myself." Why was I pouring myself out for him?

"But you never can prepare yourself for something like that can you?" he said softly.

"No. You can't," I answered. What sort of loss had he experienced?

“Did you happen to see my film, Red Vengeance?” he asked as he poured me a glass of the garnet liquid. 

“Yes, I thought it was fantastic,” I said taking the wine. I was lying. I hadn't seen the movie. I hadn't seen any of his movies. Now I wish I had.

Bordello was a major inspiration while I wrote the script. Your voice, you ... you are haunting,” he said.

You listen to music while you write?” I asked.

“Obsessively. Your voice, it’s otherworldly,” he said.

I watched his generous lips praise my work but beneath my delight, the music refrain occupied more space. It was getting louder, running through my head like a toy train round a Christmas tree.

I focused back on him.

“To our video,” he said, making a toast.

“Our video,” I repeated.

His intensity was unnerving. So was the music in my head. We clinked our glasses with a ping and I sipped. Velvet wine slid across my tongue and warmed my throat. It was good. Very good.

“Your movies are truly awesome. And so is this wine!” I gasped. It was a negotiable truth. My team had told me how cool his films were. I trusted their opinion so it wasn't an outright lie, was it?

The chorus in my head was getting louder. I wanted to focus on this beautiful man and bask in his compliments. The song played like construction crew on my thoughts.

“Can we talk about the video for Love Hard?” I asked, thinking it best to get to the point.

“Yes. Lovely ballad.” he said. I could tell he meant it. My bullshit detector was honed from a business where most people say anything in order to get what they want. I could tell he was being honest.

The earnestness in Ian’s blue eyes was genuine. I’d bet my life on it.

“Thank you. My team is making me crazy about this video," I explained. "As you know, it’s a soft, romantic song. They want a gentle video to go along with it. Romantic, slow motion. It sounds boring. I think it would be a complete waste of your considerable talents.”

“Thank you," he smiled. “Go on.”

“My last album was dance heavy," I continued. "This is more mature, dub and trancey. But I think this video should be turned wayyyy up.”

“I had some thoughts, if I may?” Ian offered.

“Yes,” I said, extremely curious.

“The most exciting visuals are unexpected, right? Contrasting sights and sounds. Conflicting emotions. It's like cooking and eating,” he said as he reached for a plump sliver of glistening pear. He placed a slice of brie on it. The brie oozed out of it’s dusty rind.

He sat down beside me and brought it toward my mouth. I complied, opened up and he fed me like a child. A drip of cheese landed on the corner of my mouth. He caught it with his thumb and I let him push it inside my mouth.

My lips and tongue lingered on his thumb. The salt of his skin mingled with the sweetness of the pear and the savory, creamy cheese. I closed my mouth but he kept his hand on my face, his fingers below my chin.

I was acutely aware of my chewing. He watched attentively as I swallowed.

“Taste the combination of sweet and cream?" he asked. "Things that contrast are the most exciting.”

“I see your point." I agreed, wanting more.

“You should have an epic, violent, bloody, video to go along with your delicate love song. And it works on another level too," he said.

“Yes," I responded, knowing exactly where he was going. "The violence works because love is the most destructive force on the planet.”

“Exactly. What happens when we fall in love?” he asked, darkness clouding his eyes.

“Everything gets turned upside down. Love makes us crazy, insane,” I offered. "And it's like being high."

"The best fucking drug there is," he agreed. “And what is change if not destruction?"

"Because it's the people you love who can destroy you in a heartbeat," I said.

He jumped up and paced before me as he spoke. "Remember that 80's movie Die Hard? Bruce Willis, takes on a group of 12 twelve organized criminals.”

He jumped up, paced rapidly as he spoke. "Remember that 80's movie Die Hard? Bruce Willis, takes on a group of 12 twelve organized criminals. Here’s what we do. We take the same themes from Die Hard, put you in a tank top, give you a machine gun. It's a bloodbath. You and the criminals. Their crime?”

"What is it?" I asked.

"Each one tried to steal your heart," he said.

“Wait, that’s good, that works. It will translate visually for the tour. My dancers can do the criminal thing,” I said as my thoughts leapt ahead for the tour.

“Exactly,” he affirmed. "But you will prevail because none of them could make you love them. You had been destroyed in the past and vowed never to give your heart away again."

I was pleased at the idea.

“There is one other thing,” he said as his devilish grin reappeared.

“What?” I asked.

“I want you to do something I’ve never asked a performer to do," he spoke in a low, serious tone.

“What that?” I asked taking another deep drink of delicious wine.

“I want to bring you to orgasm on screen. Real orgasm. On camera.”

“Excuse me?” I almost spit out the wine but managed to swallow.

“The camera would only be on your face," he continued. "The audience wouldn’t see your body or what I was doing to you. Just your face.”

“Are you kidding me?” I was almost speechless.

“And the set will be closed. We'll light it, set it up, but then the crew will be asked to leave. It would be a sealed. Except for -”

“You and me?” I deduced.

“Yes.” His eyes were dancing. The conceited Hollywood player had appeared after all.

“What makes you think you could bring me, make me...”

“You don’t think I could?” He challenged.

“Your arrogance is unappealing,” I said. My icy reaction was automatic and involuntary.

“Would you like references from all the women I’ve made scream with delight?” he asked.

Stabs of jealousy poked my gut as I pictured him with other women. Uh oh. Alarms are sounding. Alert. Alert.

“Is it a long list?”

“Well, what would you consider long?” he asked with a smirk.

“How do you know I’m not in a relationship right now?” I countered.

“Because I asked around,” he said with a serious tone.

“I have a private life that’s, you know, private.” I asserted. Truth was, there was no one. Not since David.

I saved my sexual, creative energy for my fans, shows, and music. I was provocative. A performer in my position had to be. But there were still pieces of me I kept to myself.

“Even if you were involved with someone, you won’t say no to this," he continued. "It’s too interesting. Too groundbreaking. You wouldn’t give up the opportunity to do something no other music video artist has done yet. Besides, you are always welcome to make yourself come if you prefer.”

“What?” I asked.

“You know. You can get there any way you like. I would just like to be the one to get you there seeing as this is our video,” he said as if he were talking about the weather.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

“You don’t do that?” he asked.

“Absolutely none of your business,” I said.

“Sensuality 101. Know what pleases you so your partner can please you.”

“I know how to masterbate!”

“Often? Do you often?” He was smiling.

“Are you kidding me? Do you know how hard I work, you think I have time …. Wait. Ha! You’d like to know that wouldn’t you?” The thought of touching myself while he looked officially set my body ablaze. I shifted in my seat.

“I like all of it. I like all of you. That’s why I brought it up,” he stared at me intently. All humor gone.

“How would this all fit into the video?” I asked matching his tone and bringing the conversation back to business.

“It would be the flash back beauty shot in the video. A close up of your face. You lost in ecstasy. The freedom experienced when one is sleeping or fucking. You, outside of your body and unaware of yourself,” he said.

"I'm outside and unaware when I perform," I said.

"Can you do it for me?" he asked. "Let me take you there?"

“Do me a favor?” I asked.

“Anything," he said.

“That guitar on your deck. Will you bring it to me?" I asked. "There’s a nugget of a new song in my head. I can’t make any decisions until it’s out.

"Sure," he said. He hopped up.

"Leave me down here to work for a little while?” I needed some breathing space.

“I’ll get it. Do you want anything else?” he asked.

“No. I just want to get this song out of my head,” I said.

“You got it,” he smiled.

He returned with the guitar and a pen and paper. He silently and respectfully left me in peace.

I don’t know if it was the wine, hypnotic waves crashing or having met Ian. In a few hours, I had a complete song at my fingertips. I captured it on my phone, ignoring the texts and missed calls.

Thrilled and exhausted, I snuggled into the pillows, closed my eyes, and tumbled head over heels into sleep.


The Hallway


I awoke.

Night had fallen. I hadn’t slept this soundly in ages. Someone had mysteriously covered me with a blanket and cleared away the food and wine.

I spied my phone and saw thirty plus missed calls and texts, mostly from Kim. I needed to get back downtown. Elation filled me as I realized I would return with an awesome treatment for the video and a shiny new song.

I retraced my steps and tiptoed out to the moonlit beach with my stilettos hanging from my fingers. Beach houses hugged the coast, receding into the darkness like a Milky Way of compliant stars. Chilly wind whipped through my hair.

Thankfully, the glass door was open. I slipped inside like a prowler. The house was bathed in shadow and moonlight. It felt eerily hollow and quiet. Where was Ian?

I crept into the guest bathroom and called a car service while I peed. Next to the sink, tiny shell soaps were piled in a dish like candy. I reached for a peachy soap and popped it onto my bag. I crept out to the hall.

“Do you agree to my terms?” asked a voice from the dimness.

“Your terms?” I asked.

“The video concept? And the money shot?”

He was shirtless, wearing only charcoal grey pajama bottoms and was smiling like the Cheshire Cat. His smooth skin ran over supple chest muscles and his hair was ruffled like he’d been asleep. I resisted the urge to run my fingers through it.

"Why are you talking to me like a gangster in one of your films? You don't need to play hard ball with me," I said.

"I don't?" he asked.

"No. We aren't negotiating hostages. It's a video," I said. "Just ask nicely."

"Okay. In that case, can we make video together?" he asked.

"I'm still thinking about it." I answered, though I'd already made up my mind.

“Think it over here,” he offered. "Stay the night."

“I have to get back to town,” I whispered. I wanted to say yes. I knew I shouldn't.

“My driver will take you home,” he insisted.

“I already called a car,” I said.

“You didn’t need to call a car.”

“But I did,” I said.

"Cancel it," he said.

"No," I replied.

“Did you write a song down there?” he asked as he moved closer to me.

“I wrote an entire song,” I replied, backing up to the wall.

“It was the sirens," he said. "You heard them didn’t you?”

“The what?” I asked, swallowing hard. He drew closer.

“My sea sirens," he said speaking into my ear. He smelled like the ocean, spicy smoke and wood. "They whisper to me when I write. The sirens inspire me, my work. Had a feeling you’d hear them too.”

“I heard something. I wrote a really beautiful song tonight,” I admitted while holding myself back against the wall but feeling every inch of him.

“Maybe I had something to do with it,” he offered. He placed his hand on my shoulder, lightly stroking the length of my arm and giving me goose shivers. "Maybe I inspire you like you inspire me?"

“You may have had everything to do with it, I admitted, my voice lost in the recess of my throat. "But maybe it was those sirens.”

“They told me to reach out to you, to work with you. They knew we would be good together,” he insisted.

He reached down and I felt him on the inside of my knee. Slowly, he moved his fingers up as he spoke. “Will you let me do something?” he asked.

“What is that?” I asked, as my legs became jelly.

“For the video. Research. Let me play your body like you play your guitar. Let me caress you? Like this,” his fingers stroked the inside of my thigh. “Spread you out so I can see you?”

He gently turned me against the wall. My flat palms held me up like I was being frisked by a police officer. “Let me in to all those secret parts of yourself that you keep hidden from the world?”

His face was buried at the nape of my neck, in my hair.

“Inhale you. Let me inside to tinker with you. See how your body works. Find out what you like." He pressed up his groin against me. I felt his delicious stiffness. "Let me discover what drives you crazy. Do you like this?” he asked.

"Yes," I breathed as his firm hands slipped my dress up to my waist.

My ass cheeks met the cool evening air and his exploring fingers. They stroked me, creeping up under my black lace thong. He pulled the fabric and snapped it back against my skin, his finger slowly traced under the lace. I almost fell over.

“Let it all drop away. Just feel every inch of me, moving into you," he whispered, slipped his free hand up and over my chest, groping my breasts through the fabric of my dress. Not satisfied, he reached down my neckline, under my bra and palmed my left breast, squeezing ever so slightly at my nipple.

His other hand quickly traveled to the front of my thong. Sliding his whole hand across my nether regions, he pulled me back so my ass was against him. He ground into me from behind while one of his fingers applied pressure over the layers of flesh and fabric that hid my love bud. It was tortuous. I was helpless to move. The constricting clothing made me feel like a teenager, the dress, itchy. I wanted it off.

Lights slid across the walls of the hall and the hum of a motor purred in the driveway.

“The car’s here,” I said in a surprising yell. I pulled back towards the wall and turned around so he would release me. He let go but placed his hands on the wall, past my shoulders and leaning into me. My dress was still up at my waist.

“Are we on?” he asked.

“Am I turned on?” I asked, his lips were inches from mine. His breath was warm and sweet.

“I know you are," he teased. "But that’s not what I said. Are we making this video?”

“Are you going to kiss me?” I whispered.

The waiting car honked.

“Do you want me to?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Since you are leaving, perhaps, it best we wait till we shoot.” His nose nudged my chin and lips. He teased me, moving his mouth close to mine and then away.

“What time do you like your talent on set?” I conceded.

“I start early," he said as he nibbled at the bottom of my ear. "But I go all night.”

I thrust myself against him. He peeled himself off of me.

“Your car is waiting,” said as he gestured towards the door.

I awkwardly pulled my dress down.

“Thank you. It was productive," I said as I grasped the doorknob.

“It's going to be an incredible video,” he said.

“I’m leaving town before we shoot,” I said.

“Can I email you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, opening the door.

“Good. I’ll need to know a few more things. Your preferences …” he smiled. “Safe travels.”

“Thanks," I said. The sea air hit me and I realized my mind was at complete calm. Ian's presence, his body, and breath had banished the incessant music from my head. I glanced at the waiting car and strains of music, like foggy tendrils, flowed across my consciousness. I looked back at Ian, the calm returned.

"That's bizarre," I said as I made my way toward the purring BMW.

"What is?" he asked.

I spun around.

"Nothing," I said.

Ian stood in the doorway watching me. A moth circled above his head, dive-bombing the overhead light. The shadowy house framed Ian's silhouette while relentless waves crashed against the shoreline beyond the house.

I waved goodbye as I fought the ardent desire to run back to him.

In moments, I was another set of lights, skimming the freeway, flying toward Los Angeles.


Receive Ian's sexy emails, voicemails and texts in real time at:

Our First Emails


Our First Emails (Him/LA ~ Me/Milan)

I was snuggled into a jet, flying private, thousands of feet above the Atlantic Ocean when I received his first email. The flight attendant became curious when I unbuckled my seatbelt and jumped up and down. She insisted I take my seat:


I love saying your name. I’m saying it out loud right now.

It’s rolling off my lips as I write this, I’m saying it out loud. Can you hear me?

Did I dream your visit while listening to your music or were you really here?

Your assistant, Kim, gave me your info so I must have met you. She confirms we are on for the video. I’m excited. To say the least.

I didn’t expect you to be more beautiful in person. Didn’t expect you to smell so good, so entirely edible. And for you to feel so warm and inviting. I find myself wandering back to the spot in my hall where we pressed against each other …

But before I go any further, I want to know … won’t you tell me… what do you like?

What turns you on?

What gets you hot Star? In two weeks you will be on my set. Two days of action shots, then one day of close-ups. A close-up has meant many things for many stars but it means something quite different for you, doesn’t it?

Tell me...

Tell me exactly what you like.




PS - I have met with your Vis Team regarding the video. They are little fashion munchkins. Hysterical and loud. No wonder you wanted to escape them:)


I downed my drink and replied faster than I should have.

Dear Ian,

What do I like? That’s like asking me what my favorite food is. I mean, I like lots of different things, depending on my mood.

The body and mind move in unexpected directions, don’t they? I don’t always know what will bring me pleasure.

I like unexpected things.

I liked meeting you.

I liked that you gave me space to work.

You and I are in the same position, I think. People are always crowding in on me, wanting something from me.

I just want to be left alone sometimes.

Except by you.

I liked you pressing in on me.

You feel so familiar.

But what do I like?

Mmmm... I’d say:

White roses.

Surprises and the unexpected.

The beach.

Free time.




By the time my jet touched down on the tarmac and the Italian Alps traced the sky, this little nugget had arrived in my inbox:



I enjoyed your list.

Very sweet.

But I believe, I asked you what makes you hot. What turns you on. Not a list of things your girlfriends might send you on your birthday.

What makes you quiver with delight?

You see, I want you to tremble and shake at the thought of me. I want you to feel my hands reaching for you as you read these words. Feel my fingers on your skin. Feel my breath on your neck. Can you imagine me? Can you imagine what I feel like?

I want to send to you higher than you ever thought possible.

Want to make you as hot as I am right now thinking of you.

Do you want to know what I’m doing right now?

Would you like that?

Do you want to know what I have in my hand?




I send the next email from my phone while sitting in the make-up chair of an Italian talk show. I decided to make it short and sweet (I didn’t want to come on as too excited or desperate).





Tell me.

Tell me what you are doing.

I’ll tell you if I like it.




I’m sitting here with the memory of you. Thinking of you, your palms flat against my wall and your gorgeous ass out for me to see, to toy with. I’ve just pulled your skirt up and I’m looking at the curve of your backside.

Fuuuuuck, you look so sexy. Your hair is falling toward your face as you look back to see what I am doing. I don’t want to show you yet. I want to keep you guessing. I want to surprise you. I have my fingers around your thong and I’m about to rip them off.

My cock is rock hard, literally buzzing for you. I’m holding back on my own pleasure because watching you standing there in heat (I can feel the heat dripping off you) is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

It is all I can do not to rip off your thong and pull up that ridiculous dress all the way up and off your warm body. I want you naked, to take you right away, bend you forward, make you grab your ankles and fuck you hard. Fuck the memory out of you so that you and I are the only thing we’ve both ever known.

But that doesn’t work. It’s too early to ride you from behind like an animal. I want to see your exquisite face. Want to watch your beautiful eyes roll back with pleasure. And hear you sigh and moan and beg for more.

So I sit here right now, with my hands on my throbbing, rock hard, cock. Thinking of you. Stroking myself thinking of all the ways, all the dark places, I want to enter and explore you.

Like that?

Is it ok to write to you like this?




I wrote back at the end of the day and woke up to this the next morning.




I like it.


I’m in Milan now. It’s been a long day. I’m about to enter a warm bubble bath. One of those grand marble Italian bathrooms.

Please, won’t you tell me what you’d do to me if you were here right now? How would you help me unwind and relax? Don’t hold back, I want to hear every little thing.




How could I help you relax in your precious bath? Where do I start?

You are done working for the day. Let me take care of you.

I’d turn on the shower and fill the whole room with steam and mist. Strip you naked because you are too tired to do it yourself.

First, I gently pull off your shirt and I admire you. Watch your hair falling back on your shoulders. I can’t help it, I run my fingers through. It smells like your shampoo. What is that? Lavender? It drives me crazy.

You are wearing a white lace bra and I can see your delicious pink nipples through the fabric. They look like little cherries. I resist the urge to lean down and pluck them with my mouth. I could nibble them and devour you, but this is about you relaxing, not me taking. I place my own greedy wants and needs aside and peel your shorts off. That’s right, you wore those tight sexy white cotton shorts that I love so much.

But I love them more on the floor next to our bed.

I peel off your shorts, tracing the length of the back of your leg with my index finger while I do. Do you like that?

I’m kneeling next to you now. I help you step out. I am your humble servant, your slave. I look up at your ass and I am dying to smack it, pinch it and caress it. It is so tight, so smooth, it begs for my lips but I refrain.

I’d watch you step into the bath I’d drawn for you. It is filled with sparkly little bubbles. They catch the light and your naked skin glistens in the dozens of candles I’ve lit. The room smells of eucalyptus and Italian lemons. I had the hotel boys handpick lemons for you from the courtyard. Do you like them?

You descend into the warm watery depths and relax back. A sigh escapes your lips like a puff of cotton candy and I smile to myself. I feel intense pleasure watching you relax.

Do you know the excitement it brings me to see you, wired like a spring, unwind when I make you come? My pleasure in you works in the other direction too. Each layer of stress removed feels like the softest cashmere sweater I slip off of you. With every breath of satisfaction, every tiny relaxed muscle, you become more luminescant.

The massive tub is a giant block of raised granite. I’ve got shampoo on my hands, I scoop the weight of your hair, heavy in my hands and start lathering your scalp in circles, massaging away all your troubles.

Your head is a mass of lathery bubbles and soap. It’s tickling your ears and dripping down your neck. I push the lather further, down across your collarbones and down your chest. I caress the soap over your breasts which you now offer up to my sliding slithery fingers.

And they want to go further down, you want it too so I do, I let them dive down between your legs and tease you there. I snake my fingers deep inside of you and you are so relaxed, so turned on by my touch that you yield to me. I can fit two deft fingers inside you.

The heat inside your body is infernal. I pump you back and forth in a steady rhythm. I can always find the music that makes you move. Your heartbeat. Your cadence.

You throw yourself, back arched, so your gorgeous tits heave toward the ceiling. I catch one in my mouth and I suck inwards, hearing you moan in deep pleasure. Your throaty sound spurs me on. I am rougher with you now, not so gentle. My passion makes me greedy for you, for your moans of delight. I lick and suck your other breast while my fingers dive in and out of you under the water.

You love it. You love it so much your legs wrap around my forearm, wanting more and I lift your hot soapy body right out of the water and on to the towels next to the tub.

Naked and warm in the candlelight I pull you to the edge of the granite so your legs and ass hang over the side. I open your legs, one hand on each ankle and watching you in delight as you beg me to enter you. I love knowing you want me, love knowing I am the one, the only one who can give you what you need.

With that knowledge, I look down at my hard cock and I enter you. I fill you up as far as I can. I pull back for another thrust and more of you releases and lets go. Each thrust opens you more and more, you are gasping so that in a moment, we have lost track of where our bodies begin and end. We are but one creature pulsating on the edge of a bath in this beautiful Italian hotel. I lean forward over you and kiss you. My tongue entwined with yours as my cock explodes inside you and orgasms rack your body with wave after wave of pleasure.

We quiet and I gently wash what is left of me inside you. I wrap you in a white Egyptian cotton body towel and tuck you into the linen sheets of our bedroom where you fall into blissful sleep, not a care left in the world.

Off you go to sleep with the angels and muses who watch over you, inspire you day in and day out.

How does that sound?