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