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Archive name: britme.txt (M/f-teen, rom, reluc, celeb)
Authors name: Lionel the Moon King (leroyking69@hotmail.com)
Story title : Britney Spears and Me
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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2001. Please
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Britney Spears and Me (M/f-teen, rom, reluc, celeb)
by Lionel the Moon King (leroyking69@hotmail.com)
***
More a romance than a stroke story- I got the idea for
this while reading an article that said Britney believed
a fortune teller who told her she would leave Justin and
find her soul mate in a stranger with dark hair and a few
more years on her. By some coincidence I have dark hair
and am several years older, but I don't think the
fortuneteller was genuine- she said he would be the guy
Britney was saving her virginity for.
It started when I got off the Greyhound(r) bus in
Vancouver City, having been accepted by the prestigious
film school there. I had never expected (I doubt one ever
does) to meet a teen pop icon, had I even known Britney
would perform there I probably would have thought nothing
of it. To be honest, at the time I preferred Christina
Augilera, she seemed more mature (Also, I suspect since
she wasn't "saving" herself, my subconscious figured I
had a better chance of scoring with her).
I found a place to stay, a job at a nearby coffee shop
(cliche I know, but it paid the rent) and made a few
friends, among them Nicky, an apostle of Quentin
Tarantino and Tammy, a svelte, freckle-faced beauty (Hey,
on her they work!) whose sexual exploits could humble the
mythical Emmanuelle, but those are stories for another
time. On those few days we didn't have work from school,
the three of us would shoot the bull at the coffee shop,
and one day we found ourselves discussing which
celebrities we would fuck if Fate decided we could have
any one (or more than one) of them we wanted.
"Deborah Cox," I said on impulse. And if any American
readers are confused, I wasn't referring to an obscure
relative of Courtney. Deborah Cox was an R&B singer from
Toronto, a talented one if you could tear your eyes from
her body enough to give her voice notice.
Tammy's eyes widened, "Deborah Cox? I'm surprised, Lee; I
didn't think you'd look at a black girl that way."
Nicky hah-ed the idea, "Not that I don't think colour
should matter, but you really think you'd have a chance
with her? I mean, she's probably used to other brothas,
and you know what they say about them and size-"
Tammy didn't let him finish, "Believe me- being black
does not guarantee he's so well-endowed."
I tried to think about that. The fact is, I'm not proud
of my "length", so to speak, they say five or six inches
is average, and even when fully erect I probably only go
up to four (but then it never occurred to me to take a
ruler and actually measure it). If I didn't see how tiny
the male nudes the ancient artists sculpted or painted
were, I'd have felt totally inadequate! So to divert this
from becoming a debate on whether size mattered, I turned
to Nicky and said, "Alright then, who would you do the
horizontal tango with- assuming any woman would be
indiscriminate enough to let you in under her sheets?"
"Look who's talking mister. Twenty-three-years-old-
before-he-had-his-first-sexual-experience!"
Not for the first time I thought I should've kept that to
myself, "Well, not every guy got pinned down by his Math
teacher in the back seat of her car when he was thirteen!
Tell me, when's Mrs. Cross up for parole?"
Nicky winced, and I think he was bothered not so much by
losing his virginity to an older woman as he was by the
fact he was the fiftieth teenager she "made a man out
of"- a surprising feat considering how well-rounded (by
which I mean fat) he claimed her to be, "Alright, lemme
think, uh... you know that chick from Temple of Doom was
kinda hot, what was her name... Kate something-"
"Kate Capshaw?" Tammy threw a coffee table book at him,
"She's married to Steven Spielberg, I can't believe you'd
try another man's wife!"
"What about you and that?"
"Hey, she slipped off her wedding ring, how was I to
know?"
Yeah, you read right- she slipped off her ring. Told'ja
that girl had a history.
"Well now," I interrupted before they got too angry at
each other, "Tammy, we told you ours, so which celebrity-
or celebrities would you shag?"
Tammy gave us a self-satisfied smirk and looked up, "
Well, let's see... Nelly Furtado, Brad Pitt- if Jennifer
didn't mind joining in, and... Jessica- no, she's way too
much a good-girl to- Britney Spears!"
I was surprised. Not that Tammy was attracted to girls- I
mean she was the only one of us three that had bought a
hooker (again, a story for another time), but Britney
didn't strike me as her kind of lover, "Really," I said,
"I woulda thought Britney Spears a bit too Barbie-dollish
for your tastes." Almost immediately I regretted saying
that because it reminded me of the use Tammy said she
found for those dolls during her adolescence, and the
visual was disturbing to say the least.
Tammy shrugged, "Y'know, I had never even thought of her
that way until I saw that." She pointed above my head.
I turned around, and sure enough on the TV screen mounted
on the corner ceiling was little miss Britney kinky-
pigtails-that-awakened-the-pedophile-in-thirty-year-old-
accountants-everywhere Spears dancing up a storm. Of
course I couldn't hear her sing, the TV was muted so
patrons could talk.
All the same, the chyron beneath her levitating bosoms
made it clear-the former jailbait starlet would be
performing in Vancouver City in four short months.
Imagine that.
I turned back to Tammy and Nicky and shrugged, but no- I
did not plan to meet or even see Britney in person. One,
I wouldn't have been able to afford tickets; two, my
studies wouldn't have left me time and three, like I said
I wasn't that big a fan of her. Who would have suspected
the mountains would come to Mohammed?
Four months passed, and I barely noticed. I was getting
ready for my shift at the coffee shop, eager to put
school behind me. Tammy was casting for the feature I was
working on, and I had just found out why I was directing
Melrose Place-types but with less talent (Yeah I never
thought somebody could have less talent than Heather
Locklear either). I showed up just in time, and Tammy was
at her usual spot, but unusually was talking to two girls
I hadn't seen in this establishment before. I got Tammy
her usual- no fancy cappuccinos or mocha whatzits, this
place believed in simple, old-fashioned coffee. And after
I got her new friends their orders I stopped to look at
them.
*
The one girl on the far right wore a hooded sweater and
had pulled the hood over her face. The girl between her
and Tammy however was showing her pretty mug with pride.
It took me a couple seconds to recognize her, but then I
realized, "Hey, aren't you?"
"Yep," She smiled, "Melissa Joan Hart, alias Sabrina, the
bewitching coed."
Tammy fessed up, "I met Melissa when she was filming
something in town a few years back. We're old friends."
"Just friends?" I found that hard to believe.
"What do you m- oh," Melissa blushed, "No, she made the
offer, but I'm not that kind of a girl." From the hurt
look on Tammy's face, I suspect the offer still stood.
"Uh-huh. Sorry I, uh," I turned to her quiet friend and
asked, "And who's the mystery girl?"
"A friend of Melissa's, who rarely gets the chance to get
out and do something normal like this."
What Tammy said alone should have sent off the alarms in
my head, but I have a habit of letting Stukas past my
radar if you know what I mean, "What, will I turn into
stone if I see her eyes?"
"Uh, not exactly... You promise you won't freak out or
draw attention to us if you see her?" Again, right past
the radar.
"I swear on my grandfather's bones." I'd read that in a
book and always wanted an excuse to say it.
"Alright then," And the mystery girl lifted her veil so
to speak.
I was so shell-shocked to see who I was looking at I
couldn't have freaked out or drawn attention to them, I
just stared for what felt like an eternity. Finally I
managed to inhale again, and to my credit I didn't make a
scene, "Welcome to Vancouver." Was all I said, and very
quietly I might add.
"Thanks," Britney was uncharacteristically sheepish, "All
the attention, the mobs, the cameras, I mean I hate to
sneak out on my guys like this, but it feels like another
life."
I kept quiet; she looked so content hiding in a crowd I
didn't want to chance screwing it up for her.
The girls finished their coffees and asked for more. I
gave them refills and like I did many times in the past I
abused my employer's trust by pouring myself a cup (which
would be one of many I'd "forget" to charge-I'm amazed I
never got fired) and the four of us began talking into
the night.
The boys on the shift before mine must have decided to
make the coffee a little Irish again, because it was my
aftergrad party all over. I was having trouble keeping my
balance; two guys on a far table were passed out from
their sugar and cream, and Tammy and Melissa were
whispering to each other and giggling. Britney and I were
so close if we blinked our lashes would meet, and we were
talking of all things- Christina Aguilera!
"You wanted to rub her the right way, didja?" she
slurred. I nodded for at least sixty seconds.
"Well don't be so s'prised if ya get the chance, Lee-
eeeeee." She let out a belch that would put Barney Gumble
to shame, "Ya see, she once told me- she once told me
she's got like a different boyfriend in every city she
tours! She even fucked Enrique Iglesias in a hotel broom
closet! She wan'edta shag Ricky Martin too, but he was
more interested in Enrique."
*
"I knew it!" I banged a mug on the counter, causing the
bad brew inside to spill all over me and didn't notice. A
girl who drooled over Hicky Fartin lived in my building
and as much as I tried to warn her he was gayer than
David Borenaz she refused to believe it, "And what about
you Britney if that is your real name- are you still a
virgin?"
"No... Yes... well, it's kinda weird. You see..." Britney
looked over each shoulder before she continued, "You know
it was Jessica Simpson who started that whole save-it-
till-I'm-married bullshit, don'tcha?"
I nodded, I recalled hearing it from her first.
"Well," Britney paused to put her words in order, '"I
didn'ta wanna have nothin' ta do with it! But my record
label kept saying 'It's good PR,' so I wasn't left with
an option. They even made me have some surgery-
vaginoplasty whatever, to reattach my hymen!"
"So Justin has been allowed into your dear diary, has
he?"
"No, not Justin- Aaron Carter!"
"What?" I guess it really is the one you least expect,
"When the hell did that happen?"
"Oh, before I got famous. It was a Backstreet Boys
concert. Aaron had opened for them and fo' some reason I
was backstage with him. I saw him starin' at my tits an'
for some dumbass reason I said, 'Wanna fuck me?' an' he
said 'Oh yeah!' an' he fucked me!"
I couldn't believe it- when I was Aaron's age I avoided
girls! I whispered to Britney, "You realize that makes
you a pedophile." And we both began giggling like
jackals.
"Yeah well, it wasn't really much- that little kid was so
tiny- his anaconda was really an earthworm! He barely
went in deep enough to break it!"
Britney took another swig of the tainted caffeine and
began grilling me for once, "Since we're talkin' length
here, tell me Lee (a poet and she don't even know it),
how long is your anaconda?"
"Uh, well it's more like a garter snake," Under other
circumstances I would have shut up like a bear trap, "I'm
not sure how long it-"
Tammy had overheard us and blurted out "About seven
inches- when erect.
And he's at least two inches thick."
I thought, or whatever I was doing instead of think, 'No
way, that's way two big' and I demanded of Tammy, "How
would you know, you ain't even seen it when it's not
erect!" Yeah, I know Tammy was easier than the alphabet;
that's kind of the reason I never tried anything with
her- I was afraid I'd end up with crabs or worse!
"I know because your friend April called when you were
working- she told me everythi-"
"Hey! Ix-nay on the pril-Ay!" If you wondering what we
were talking about, let's just say the details could end
me up in prison and leave it at that.
I turned back to Britney, "Well, my shift is over, (I
suspect it had been over two hours before- what the hell
did those creeps put in that coffee, anyway?) I should be
going home- except I can't quite remember where it is."
"Well, before you go wandering in the dangerous Vancouver
streets at four-six am; lemme give you something to
remember me by," Out of nowhere she pulls a ball-point (I
mean pen you gutterminds!) and started to scribble on my
arm-
I awoke on my waterbed (Yeah, the apartment had a
waterbed- pretty cool huh?) and my head couldn't have
hurt anymore if both Shillenger and Adebesi had hammered
into my ears. I was thinking about that funky coffee at
the place I worked and out of the blue I remembered a
line I heard on TV- it went 'Don't inhale the retail!'
I'd have to remember that.
I fumbled my way to the bathroom, took a leak, then threw
up. Usually when I "make a pilgrimage to the porcelain
shrine" as I call it, it comes out the other end, but not
that time. I somehow found the mirror, feeling as if my
brain had tried to beat it's way out of my skull. Damn I
must have been on a bender- I actually thought I had
talked to Britney Spears! Oh man, Tammy and Nicky were
gonna have a field day with that one. I brought my hand
to my aching onion and I saw something backwards written
on my arm in the mirror! I dared to look, and sure enough
on the underside of my arm was penned a phone number, and
above it the name Britney.
Someone else might have washed that off his arm and tried
to forget it, but I didn't- I had to know if it wasn't
some fucked-up hallucination! I grabbed the receiver of
my phone, punched down the mystery numbers, my heart was
making like that one-armed drummer doing a solo as I
heard the ring...
"Hello?" The words came through strained, but it was her
voice. I couldn't believe it- it had been real!
And I wasn't surprised she sounded like a bag o' hell,
had I been thinking straight I would have wondered how
she managed to write so legibly on my arm in the first
place! I rasped, "Britney?"
"Oh! Hey uh, it's Lee; isn't it?" She remembered me-
again I should have wondered.
"Uh yeah, that's me- uh Lee! Uh, I woke up with a phone
number written on my arm, I dialed it, and I uh, got
you."
"Oh wow, I thought I had only imagined doing that-
Ohhhh!" I had sympathy pains with her headache, "Aw man,
I don't know what you Canadians put in your coffee, but I
swear I'm gonna need morphine if I'm gonna be in any
shape to give a concert tonight."
Yeah, morphine sounded good right about then- I knew I
had some somewhere in my apartment, "Uh, well I guess I'd
better leave you to recover."
"Wait, before you go- that number won't last long on your
arm, you better write it down somewhere you're not going
to wash off."
"Oh, in that case it's fine where it is. Hope to hear
from you when you're feeling better!" And I hung up.
And no I didn't find that morphine, and yes I did wash,
but not before I went to where Nicky got his tattoo and
had Britney's phone number permanently inked where I
found it. I'm sure some fancy-ass poet said something
real profound about the mad whims of men, but I couldn't
remember what it was.
I scarcely had any free time over the next couple of
months, and what time I did have I ran up my phone bill
by talking to Britney. From Calgary, Edmonton, Milwaukee,
I must have dialed her up every time the plane touched
down. I actually started to feel guilty, seeing as how
she was promised to Justin You-Know-Who. After hanging up
one night I wondered if I was hearing more from Justin's
girl than Justin! But then I thought better- Britney just
needed a contact with the real world, all I was doing was
treating her like a regular person- it wasn't like I was
shagging her or anything!
Then one night the pastel shoe dropped. I was sitting on
the couch, watching the idiot box and sampling the latest
Swanson had to offer when to my surprise the newest
incarnation of Star Trek was pre-empted by an abrupt
'News Flash!'. And I thought those only happened in the
movies.
On the screen was an elaborate but empty stage. The crowd
in front of it was getting a little testy, and a chyron
materialized with the sensationalized, "Runaway
Princess!" I dropped the Swanson feast on the spot.
"Britney Spears, preparing for her concert in St Louis,
received a call on her cellular phone, (no, it wasn't
me!) and then suddenly had an emotional breakdown (aren't
we exaggerating a teensy little bit?), locking herself in
her dressing room. After the opening act Lauren Taylor
finished, Ms. Spears' manager tried to coax Britney out
of said dressing room only to find she was no longer
there! A frenzied search revealed the Lolita was not
anywhere in the building! Even as we speak crew officials
are cooperating with St Louis police in a city-wide hunt
for the purloined pop tart!" Man they have a way with
words, no?
Some Swedish guy, I think he was Britney's manager came
up in front of some microphones, he said, "We just don't
know how something like this could happen, her door was
watched until her cue- no one saw her leave!"
Damn that girl missed her calling- she should have been
an escape artist!
*
Britney's manager tried to steady himself; "We have
offered refunds to her disappointed fans, and sympathy to
those who went to a scalper. And... and... Please
Britney, if you can hear me please contact me to let me
know you're alright!"
A roadie (do pop stars have roadies, I wonder?) led him
off the screen and a granite-faced reporter started
mugging for all his worth.
"As of now police are treating this as a missing persons
case, though they have yet to rule out kidnapping. But
this reporter wonders, with her earlier emotional
distress, and her sudden disappearance, could this be a
new tragedy- a Suicide Blond, as it were?"
I threw the remote right through the screen. Where'd that
son of a whore get off throwing words around like that?
Then I remembered- her cellular! Maybe she took it with
her. I rushed to the phone but before I could dial I
heard-
A faint 'shave and a haircut' type knock on the door. Now
maybe I jumped to conclusions, I'm sure that's what
you're thinking right now. All I know was when I went to
answer the door; I didn't even have to look through the
peephole, cause I knew who was waiting for me on the
other side...
Britney was quivering, a handkerchief soaking up her
tears, she needed a friend. I put my arm around her
shoulder, guided her to sit on the couch, (pushing the TV
tray aside with my foot) and waited for her to speak.
"Jus- justi- Justin has genital herpes." She dropped the
handkerchief and began raining salt water on my shoulder.
I was floored. Who could he have gotten it from? Not
Britney- yeah I hear you snickering, but I tell you this
and I'll stand by it till they scrape my festering corpse
out of this chair- I know that girl, and she is NO SLUT!
I wiped some of the tears from her eyes, "When did this
happen? He told you today?"
Britney started laughing, "That Goddamned Weasel didn't
have the BALLS to tell me himself! You know how I found
out? One of his bandmates called me! V.C or D.T or Q.Z
(and that's zed- I taught her the right way to pronounce
it) or whatever. He called me and said he overheard
Justin calling Jessica Simpson to warn her to get
tested!"
Jessica Simpson! I hadn't been caught off guard like this
since I saw a Shamaylayan movie. I kept quiet, just held
her closer.
Britney continued to pour out heartache, "That deceitful
little twerp, he almost had me! The night before he was
asking me to run off with him- to elope in Vegas! (a
cesspit of corruption if ever there was one) He said we'd
drink champagne from crystal, and make love in Caesar's
Palace! If I had found out a few days later..."
I wanted to say something comforting, but I drew a blank
and decided silence would be golden in this instance.
Finally Britney's tears seemed to run out, "D-do you
think, I could crash here tonight, Lee? I don't know
where else to go- I."
I gently shushed her, "You are more than welcome to stay
here." And no, I wasn't thinking of THAT.
"Are you sure? I hate to put you out on the couch..."
"You won't have to- this here's a magic couch!" I got up
and pulled out the cushion I sat on, "Whenever a Princess
needs to rest, it transforms into a silken bed!"
Yeah, yeah it was corny, but it got a laugh out of her,
and I think we both know she needed that.
That night Britney was resting on the hide-a-bed (or so I
thought) and I was trying to get some shut-eye. I never
mentioned this, but a guy in the building behind me likes
to play Cheb Mami late at night. I don't mind- in fact,
the dude's voice is kind of soothing, too bad Britney
couldn't hear him through the bedroom door; she might
have rested easier- except she had no intention to rest!
Just as the finish of Rani Maak El Youm was lulling me to
dreamland I heard the creak of the door open and close-
close only partway, and not a moment later, the faint
voice, "Lee... Lee..."
I peeled my eyes open to see the silhouette of a
beautiful woman standing before me, and what little light
from the doorway accentuated her gravity-defying, uh, ah
fuck it! There's no word I knew for them that wouldn't
shatter this moment. I sat up and said what may have been
the dumbest thing I ever could have, "Britney... are you
naked?"
"Yes."
Now at that revelation my little man was suddenly less
little, yet my mind wasn't totally getting it, "Dammit
girl, the window's open; you'll catch hypothermia!"
"Not if you keep me warm." Okay, maybe I didn't have the
monopoly on saying stupid things.
"Britney, this is no joke-"
"Neither is this," She pulled up the blanket and floated
onto the sea-tossed mattress, pulling the blanket behind
her.
I still was clueless, "Britney, we shouldn't be doing
this-"
"Yes we should. I know this is right, it's been so long
since something felt this right."
"But we-" By then she was kissing me, and I didn't want
to argue no more. Britney wrapped her arms around me and
I turned over, she giggled as she bounced on the
waterbed. Then she put her hands on my briefs and dropped
them down to my ankles.
Yes, I had this goddess in my grasp, and what was I,
idiot that I was, doing? Grasping those myth-inspiring
mounds of hers! I mean I was kneading them like a pizza
baker did with dough! But, out of that moment of
insensitivity I learned something Britney's critics will
not want to hear.
Yes, you all joke about her having plastic surgery- that
she couldn't stand near a radiator or she'd melt. Well
listen up, cause I'm only gonna say this once- my hands
found neither blobs of silicone nor pockets of saline. To
quote Jackie Chiles- They're real, and they're
spectacular!
Britney and I tossed around on the bed, gripping each
other like an idiot's tongue on a frosty bus window in
winter. But I hadn't actually penetrated her yet. Finally
she locked eyes with me and said, "What're you waiting
for?"
I froze! For an instant I totally forgot what to do next-
then I remembered what to do, but was internally shouting
to myself 'Why the hell was I about to do it with her?'
The woman who called me a friend, who told me what she
wouldn't tell a therapist (of course we were both under
the influence of unknown substances at the time) who came
to my door when she thought she had nobody to turn to-
But like I said that was an instant- and I realized if I
stopped here I would never have a chance at this again!
So I closed my eyes, locked lips with Britney and-
thrust? No, that didn't sound right- but it's the best I
have to-
To what? Describe it? Well I guess that's what you people
have been reading this far came for. Britney, her moans
set me on edge, and she felt so tight- it was like, like-
driving a semi-trailer through a keyhole! Damn, I'm sure
that image ruined it for you now, but I kept on
thrusting. Even when I thought I felt her tear and
suddenly something warm and thick- oh man, I'd made her
bleed!
I wanted to stop- I wasn't supposed to be hurting her!
But Britney wrapped her legs around my hips and ground me
further inside her. And as for Ahab down south, he was
damn the torpedoes- full speed ahead!
And all the while the Algerian with the enchanting voice
played on- if Cheb had heard Britney moan to the tune of
his singing would he be pleased or disgusted? I guess
I'll never know, but I don't think he would've been
impressed with that half-assed attempt at a roar I made
at the climax.
*
It was morning, or noon, the next day they seemed to
blur. Britney was sleeping like a girl from a fairy tale-
naked and smiling. In spite of misplaced guilt and
pointless fears the night before, I felt pretty damn good
with myself too. I dazed my way out of the bedroom, a
sheet wrapped around my waist for modesty. I was putting
something on the frying pan for breakfast, something with
sausage and mozzarella on top, and left it to burn when
the door knocked.
This time I looked through the peephole, and it was- were
a fidgety Tammy and Nick- I was too tired for Nicky. I
opened the door, and stopped what probably would have
been shouting, screaming and hollering with a no-nonsense
'Shhhsshhhh!" I gestured to the open doorway in the
bedroom from which Britney's legs could be seen, "She
needs her rest."
They began whispering in fast tones, "Don't tell me you
put her aside for a piece of ass!"
"Didn't you see it on the news? Your long-distance
friend's disappeared!"
"Yeah, it like she totally evaporated! Britney Spears
hasn't been seen-"
Suddenly they stopped. They looked at Britney's legs,
then at me, then at Britney's legs, then at me, and so
on. Finally after looking at me for the fifth time they
finally connected the dots. Nicky looked at me like a
scornful preacher, while Tammy grinned the grin of the
Jokerman.
"You scuzzy little opportunist-"
"You studmaster!"
"Shut up, both of you! I'm not some opportunist, and I
don't feel like a studmaster."
"But, you've done what millions of pimply-faced
pubescents and dirty senior citizens the world over only
dream about-"
"I said stow it! This wasn't some grease-it-up, park-the-
limo-in-the-garage thing okay? She came here looking for
a shoulder to cry on, she'd found out Justin was cheating
on her-"
"And what was she doing with you?" Nick hissed through
clenched teeth.
Nothing she hadn't done with Aaron Carter, I almost
blurted out- good thing I didn't, something tells me that
would have only made things worse.
"Look, I don't need to explain myself to you, or Justin,
or nobody!" I was so steamed I never heard Britney wake
up, or home in on me like a missile. I just felt those
arms around my body, those nipples press against my bare
back, (ooohh, those nipples against my bare back!) those
lips planting on my lips- suddenly I forgot what I was
mad about.
Britney turned to our rude guests with her angelic smile,
"Hi Tammy. And you must be Nicky. He said you looked more
wiener-ish." Britney slipped me tongue- she hadn't even
done that last night! and let me go, to start dancing
across the room.
Tammy looked at me like she'd witnessed the Playa King,
"What did you do to her, and how many times? You know, if
you ever feel like coming to my loft-"
I slammed the door in their faces, bolted it for good
measure, and turned my attention to the one who truly
deserved it- Britney. And yeah, I'd still forgotten about
what was burning on the stove.
The next day Britney returned to her crew- to tell them
she was dropping her manager and label like two rods of
plutonium-39. She then called a press conference to
announce she was leaving the label, that she had been
coerced into pretending she was a virgin, and that Justin
had not only cheated on her, but had gotten an incurable
disease from faux-choirgirl Jessica Simpson. However, she
flatly denied (at my urging) that Aaron Carter had been
the one to deflower her. To this day people laugh at the
little twerp when he whines, "I'm telling you, I was her
first!"
Britney found a new label easy enough- in fact she had
trouble getting them to back off and giver her some
space! She chose the one that agreed to let her do her
own singing- and she actually started to get respect from
critics and women on the bus (funny how come everybody
who said Britney was a whore never complained about
Shania Twain). And of course, the media pounced on the
rumors that she had moved in with an obscure Vancouver
film student (ahem).
Yeah, the first few weeks were rough, neither of us could
pick up a carton of milk without being swarmed by
paparazzi, at least until that photographer who stood in
the middle of the road to snap a photo of me leaving the
building got run over and killed. After that they stayed
on rooftops and used telephoto lenses.
And yes, the tabloids attacked us with words as well; it
seemed like a trillion so-called 'reporters' were digging
up my past like a dog tearing up the backyard. My true
friends were good enough to clam up, while other scuzball
acquaintances pretty much made up stuff the tabloids
would pay them for. And yet, somehow they never found out
about April, though half a dozen girls who totally
snubbed me in high school all claimed to be the girl I
lost my virginity with. Go figure.
It's been a long time since Britney first came to my bed.
The tabloids have gotten bored with us (at least for now)
and are leaving us alone. I managed to snag a few plum
directing gigs, so now people know me as someone other
than Mr. Britney Spears.
And while Britney hasn't won any Grammys, at least people
don't accuse her of doing a Milli Vannilli these days.
And I tell you, guys who drooled over her when she was
jailbait, they should see her now! And she's all mine...
THE END
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Celebrity Directory