The following is a side-story within the Ordinary Sex Life series written by an anonymous author. It takes place concurrently with the events of "An Ordinary College Sex Life 2" and "An Ordinary College Sex Life 3". Familiarity with the series is not required, but helpful in understanding Adrienne Dennis and where she comes from.
I was at my desk the first time I saw you. That first glimpse only that, a glimpse. Your golden blonde hair catching the corner of my eye as you drifted across the doorway. I turned to see.
But you'd already gone.
Were you real? If not, if you were a mere product of my imagination, I missed my calling as an artist. Your golden eyes, your high cheekbones, your perfect luscious body that moved with such confidence and purpose. Years of working within the fashion machine left me numb to stunning beauty rendered routine. You'd reawakened my cynical senses. Simple lust quashed by an unyielding need to worship you.
But you'd already gone.
I'd soon learn your name, as would the world. The inevitability of your ascent making fools of those who still quarrel over the title of The One Who Discovered Adrienne Dennis. Your image graced magazines and catalogues, your glory confined only by lingerie and swimsuits. First as a shining light among the lesser beauties buried in the middle and back. Moments later, featured on covers.
I kept them all.
I stepped from the ladies' room the second time I saw you. The thrill of being in your presence mingled with the humiliation caused by the self-evidence of my business within. Unnoticed beside you stood my editor. Fresh from Sports Illustrated, you'd now grace the pages of Vogue. The honor of arranging your shoot falling to me.
You knew my name.
Days later we met for lunch to confer on our mutual business. Sleep eluded my nights as endless points of inspiration swirled before my eyes. By day I discarded my vision in the burdensome task of making dreams concrete. I had to remind myself to look you in the eyes as I laid out my plans. For your part, I had your full attention.
My eyes rarely your focus.
The shoot went without flaw. If only I could claim credit. Delude myself with the lie that it was my meticulous planning which opened a new dimension of Adrienne Dennis for the world to see. You made magic that day. The heavy makeup and high fashion dress were atypical for this stage of your career. Lingerie, swimsuits, and sex bomb attire had defined your niche. I wished to give you the opportunity to do more. Of course you could. It was easy for you.
You found the sex within.
The shoot matured. The photographer adjusted lenses and themes to match what you were giving him. We broke for lunch. You stripped for your second set of clothes. Expanding your horizons no longer the goal. The back half would be vintage Adrienne Dennis. Your garments light and brief. Spray bottles added an instant sheen. Black and white photography added instant class. Layers came off. Hands became your bra.
Something more was happening.
Your eyes found mine between poses. You caught me enraptured by your grace. Your focus on the camera as you slid into your next stance. You teased me with brief glances at your naked chest. Your demeanor, still intense, took on playful undertones. You allowed the camera to catch it all. You weren't making love to the camera.
You were performing for me.
The photographer called it a day. He could have ended sooner. He would have gone on for hours. The only difficulty choosing which photos to discard. A dinner invitation was extended to thank me. It was still early in the afternoon. The crew looked on with raised eyebrows.
A reputation already preceding you.
We left the building together. A taxi waited outside. You gave directions for your hotel. Within you touched me for the first time. Your fingertips traced my arm. Up and down. Up and down. Sensual and exciting. Gentle and loving.
I was aware of nothing else.
It was in the elevator that you kissed me. No, that is a lie. I kissed you. My tall lean body pinned your voluptuous softness against the wall. My humbled breasts pressed against and eclipsed by yours. I tasted your lips against mine. Surprise filled your golden eyes.
I'd done something unexpected.
You are fantasy made flesh. The faceless shadow I'd dreamed since discovering the beauty of woman as a little girl was given shape the first time I saw you. Your body what I saw as I touched myself late at night. Your face replacing unsatisfying lovers', hurrying me to completion. Entering your room, I wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and worship every inch of you.
But you did not wish to be worshipped.
No, my goddess; you wished to take pleasure from my body. And take it you did. The white fire of lust filling your eyes at the sight of my nudity brought forth my first release. How many beyond that is lost forever. I'll never forget that afternoon. Yet there is so much I cannot remember.
How did you know my body so well?
My intentions fell away. Your command of me complete. Your gratification coming only at my point of exhaustion. You directed my pliant mouth to suckle on your physique while I recovered. Prolonging my precious agony your only goal. You took my presumptuous kiss as a challenge.
You took my body as payment.
Rumors of your bottomless sexual appetite. Rumors of your prowess. Rumors of your passion. They floated through the industry air all spring. It was said A.D. didn't stand for Adrienne Dennis. As darkness took me, I sighed one final thought.
The spray shocked me into full awakening. You'd dragged my half-conscious form in with you to the shower. You held me until I could stand on my own. I held you because I could. The warm water not reaching my soreness. I whimpered as you tried to play one last time.
You giggled at my pain.
You turned me away. You massaged my scalp as you washed my hair. My body lathered up and rinsed free. Your gentleness at odds with the force you displayed in bed. My senses irising into your fingertips. With a moan, I let myself melt into your hands as you pampered me.
You giggled at my pleasure.
I slipped back into clothes for dinner. The hotel's restaurant; your treat. In the elevator, I held you close. In your thrall we continued our mutual caress. The bell of the elevator and doors opening to other patrons woke me to reality. I retreated to the corner of our enclosed box. Whether mindless or mindful of the intruders, of social niceties, of your fame, you retook possession of me with a kiss.
Were you aware of what that did for me?
Seated at our table, I studied the menu. The voice of a young woman asked to serve us. A peek over my menu showed a short, bubbly, curvaceous blonde. My diametric opposite. The knowing look of our waitress confirmation of what I already knew: I wasn't the first. Her lascivious smile conveying that I was being served by one of my predecessors.
Were you aware of what that did to me?
I awoke alone in the unfamiliar suite. If it was disappointing that you'd left me to my slumber, it was not unexpected. You'd warned me as I drifted in your embrace. Your business finished with Vogue, a plane would whisk you off with the morning. Another shoot, another set of professionals hoping to capture your essence, awaiting you at the other end. As I gathered my belongings and completed the checkout a discordant thought noted you were most often seen in New York.
Why a hotel?
The exhilaration of my experience left a feeling that something fundamental had shifted. You were a dream. A dream in which I'd discovered life's solution and everything would forever fit into place. The moment of awakening vivid and, for an instant, everything. Fading to a corner of my memory. Close enough to be aware, but tantalizingly just beyond the edges of conscious thought. Slipping away as I brushed my teeth. As if it never happened.
Yet still called to me.
Weeks passed and normalcy returned with its unsatisfying numbness. My life moved forward. My work continued. I stopped collecting your magazine covers. The point being lost. Women auditioned to hold my hand. Women floated out of my life, their affection not returned.
The point being lost.
A few sought my affection for only a night. These women found their intentions reciprocated. For them, I had use. For a single night, they would be mine. You may not know, but I can be a terribly selfish lover. Always at their place or a hotel, never mine. When finished I left them in their beds and did not turn back.
It was what they wanted.
I found our waitress from that night at a club. The only one I pursued. But still, only for a night. My depravity that evening a source of pride. I did not stop when pleasure blurred into pain. The remembrance of her prurient smile at our table pushed me forward when I should have stopped. She'd never forget that night. It would be I who would haunt her dreams.
.... There is more of this story ...