Letter to a Former Child Actress

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Celebrity fantasy comes true for loner.
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It was a good movie: funny, thoughtful, well-acted, well-lit, alternative, and times even a little lurid. But she was unbelievable. Not in her acting, which was impressive since the last thing he'd seen her in, What was it? The Patriot Game? No, must have been Clear and Present Danger. He was aware that she had acted in other movies since then, but he never found the interest. Roman had never ever thought Thora Birch was that appealing of a child actor. He kept looking at the main menu of the Ghost World DVD.

Roman clicked off the TV. Even before ejecting the DVD and putting it back, he went to his small desk. He clicked on his computer, it took awhile to cue up, and he went to Microsoft Word. Before he knew it, he was typing. The words seemed to come out more natural than anything he had written in three years:

"Dear Miss Thora Birch,

I am writing you this letter from an old, scratch oak desk that my Uncle Henry bequeathed to me. On the surface, this desk saw better day before the Great Depression. Nevertheless, it is as firm and strong as the day if left the factory floor. Firm and strong, just like how your breasts looked in the movie Ghost World. Now before you get alarmed, I am not a stalker. I have no wish to hover around you. I saw a documentary on John Hinkley the other day, and believe me, I am not that guy. For one, I am not even a fan of yours.

I mean, the last I saw you in, you were playing Jack Ryan's precocious little brat in the movie A Clear and Present Danger. You were kind-of annoying, but that's okay. You were a child actor, you were learning, you were evolving, and you were better in front of a camera than I'd ever be. And your growth as an actor was noticeable in Ghost World. I AM impressed, but you have a long way to go still. Also, I was roughly the same age you and Scarlet were when Ghost World came out. So I am a peer fantasizing about a peer. Believe me, I am fantasizing about you. I just finished watching the movie not five minutes ago, and I have already imagined you laid out nude and sweaty in post-coital bliss. And your giving me clearcut signs that you're ready for seconds. However, these fantasies will go no further than my mind. You can sue me for this letter, you get a restraining order, but I have no wish to ever meet you in-person. In fact, if you ever come to Pittsburgh, let me know in advance so I can be sure to be out of town then or just stay in my apartment. I have no wish to "impress you." I have no doubt that you've had boyfriends, and they've had more fun with you than I'll ever know.

But, where do you come off growing up like that? One minute you're like a grade-schooler, the next you're a young woman with huge tits, nice legs, and sweet curves. Scarlett Johannson is a fox too, and she is "fantastic" as well. But I've already seen The Island. I know what she can do in the sack. movie-wse anyway. Shame on Michael Bay for keeping that movie at a PG-13 rating. I hope Brian DePalma doesn't make the same mistake with The Black Dahlia. Given the nature of the subject matter, I'm aware that it's unlikely he will disappoint.

Anyway, Scarlett Johannson is hot too, and if you and her are on speaking-terms, you can tell her so from me, without worries. Now Christina Ricci is different. Even by the time I saw her in Casper, I knew she was going to become a beautiful woman. And her body was delicious up the wall in Buffalo 66. I'll take Christina in Buffalo 66 over Lindsay Lohan in Prairie Home Companion any day, and thrice on Sunday. I don't know, I guess I just like some extra cushion for the pushin'. I know she was still a teenager then, but again, so was I. And if you know Christina too, tell her she's in the clear. I'm not nuts, just horny.

Anyway, getting back to cushion and pushin'. Hmm, no, I think that's it. Oh, wait. As opposed to Ricci, I never thought I'd be typing your name into a search engine, trying to find nude pictures of your twins, but those things are big enough to have their own social security numbers. One minute you are annoying the shit out of Harrison Ford, and the next thing you know, I want to titty-fuck you. Anyway, have a nice life. Hope you win an Oscar, but I doubt it. Get stoned, get married, get kids, and get lost.

Yours Truly

-R. Blojadevich."

Roman finished the letter. Before he new it, he had spell-checked it. After a few minutes, he had hit print. Researching the right address took more time than walking to the mail box outside his building.

For the next few weeks, Roman was a little nervous. He went back and forth to class, and back and forth to his job at the arcade with a little apprehension, wondering if he was going to hear any police sirens or ambulances coming to take him to Mayview. He kept thinking he was going to get a call from the lawyer or agent of Thora Birch, telling him to empty out his pockets or pray that a relative died soon and left him lots of money to help pay the legal fees.

One Friday, almost two months later, he had ordered his large pepperoni pizza to be delivered. He answered the door slowly, wondering if it was going to be the real pizza dude but some undercover cops coming to make a bust. He wondered if he'd get the Dennis Franz type of cop from NYPD Blue or the classic Joe Friday version. Maybe he'd get the Dirty Harry Callahan and that .357 Magnum blowing a whole so big into his chest you could toss a puppy through it. But nothing happened that night. He ate his Pizza, and watched a copy of Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow that he rented from down the block. Man, Christina looked hot in those post-colonial dresses. Too bad Washington Irving was too dead to know it, but he could have gotten rigor mortis all over again. Just about half way through the movie, there was knock on the door. He went up to it and looked through the keyhole.

Yee Gads! It was Thora Birch standing outside his door. She was dressed in the same outfit from Ghost World, only now it looked smaller on her. It seemed to have trouble containing her features. Roman stepped back, blinked, and looked through the keyhole again. She was still there. She looked a little impatient, and she looked delicious. Finally, she looked straight at the keyhole and blew a kiss.

He undid the chain and lock faster than you could say, "jailbait", and swung the door open wide. She was standing there. Good god: those hips, those legs, and of course, the jugs. If she had any fat on her, it was all in the right places. He looked her up and down.

"I'm glad you're impressed, but could you let me in before you get out the A-I sauce?"

"Um, yeah, please, come it." Roman responded, and she complied. She sauntered passed him, swing her stuff like a pendulum. She turned around, feeling his eyes.

"Are you going to close the door?" Thora asked.

Close it? Roman slammed it shut with a loud bang. "My, My, grrrrr." Thora said, mockingly.

Roman kept staring, "Thora Birch?"

"Present, sir."

"What...um...can I...is there something.?"

"Oh yes, there is something. But first, could you look at my face. My tits aren't going anywhere. And you can't eat my legs; I'm going to on a hiking trip in two weeks."

Roman closed his mouth and straightened himself out. "Better?"

Thora looked him up and down, "For now, just don't go off, yet."

"Go off?" Roman asked.

Thora indicated his crotch with a nod. Roman like the way her neckline looked when she did. He looked down. He had a missile in his pants that could have decimated Texas. He looked up sheepishly, then proud.

Thora smiled, "I guess it's not always true what they say about hand size."

"What do you want to thing, Miss Birch? It's very late."

"First, I want to talk to about this letter." She lifted the letter from her purse. "I don't usually get fan-mail from guys who call my acting lousy and yet express how they'd like to fuck me."

"First, I'm not a fan. I jerked off to you, but I could care less about your career. Secondly, I said your acting was impressive with room for improvement. And thirdly, if you're gonna wear outfits like that in a movie and bed with guys like Steve Buscemi, then losers like me are gonna jerk-off to you some. Not that Steve is a loser. He's a great actor, but he's hardly a Josh Hartnett."

"Some?" Thora asked, little annoyed.

Roman smiled, "Actually I was just watch Christina in Sleepy Hollow."

Thora looked back as Roman indicated the TV. The Headless Horseman was trying desperately to kill Johnny Depp and Casper Van Diem. In a few more minutes, Casper's head would fall, and Roman would rejoice in the payback for Starship Troopers. Normally he would, but now he was watching the buxom young actress in her naughty punk, school girl clothes, and all of that in his very own apartment. He cracked his knuckles, and it hurt like hell.

"I need a drink." Roman said, "You want one?"

"Not really,"she set her purse down on the coffee table and followed him to his small liquor table. "And believe me," She continued in a purr, "you don't want to be drinking, either."

"Oh Yeah, Why?" He asked.

Before he could mix the Captain Morgan with the Coke, he felt her hands on his chest, and her love pillows against his back.

Birch whispered in his ear, "You're going to want all your wits about you tonight."

He turned to face her, looking straight into her eyes. She moves them down to his chest, as they undressed him now.

"You know, when I read your letter, I was mad at first. Not enough to sue, but I was pissed. But then, I hit me, 'here's a guy who wants to fuck the shit out of me just once, but is quite content with the fact that he probably never will.'"

Thora leaned in to kiss him, with her soft lips against his dry lips. It was a kiss that could have eletrified Las Vegas. His heart was pounding.

Thora began unbuttoning his shirt and moved onto his pants just after saying, "Besides, I had to stop into Pittsburgh anyway. There's an old friend I have to see, and she....."

"Just shut-up," he hissed.

He began kissing her as her hand plunged in his pants. She was groping his shaft as his pants slip to the floor. He worked on her neck as she held on to him. He whipped her shirt off with intensity. She was bra-less, and he suckled on her mellons like they were the biggest peaches he'd ever come across. Roman loved peaches, and Thora was founding that out the hard way. She moaned slightly as they moved to the couch. They missed the edge just barely, and they slid down to the floor.

She giggled, and he chuckled. It was a moment's break. She stroked him as he whipped her skirt and panties off in the same motion. Roman wasn't built like a Pitt or Depp, but he managed well enough, and Thora seemed more than pleased with his prominence.

Like a beast, he flopped her over, her smooth, round ass hiked-up in the air. He parted her cheeks and went inside her. She gasped as he slid his way up to the hilt. He pumped furiously from behind, driving her into the couch. All she could do was cling to the backrest and brace herself. She moaned like a banshee as he rode her asunder. Her face was part thrill and shock.

Roman lost himself in his work for about ten minutes, and did not realize how they had managed to twist around on the couch until Thora was on-top of him. Her hips gyrated with the force of a tornado, and her face was a mixture of lust and vengence. Now all he could do was brace himself. He tried to clutch her breasts, but she grabbed his hands and pinned them back. She was stronger than her frame told, but Roman was hardly going to struggle. If she wanted to be in charge, then that's the way she was gonna have it. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Her assault on him was merciless, and lasted a full 12 minutes before she climaxed and let out a terrific scream. For a brief moment, Roman wondered if The Freemans, the newlweds next door, could hear this going on. He had a brief fear that the police would be called, but it washed away as Thora, beside herself in orgasmic revelry, managed to slide herself off the couch and get Roman to sit up. His dick was throbbing but still hard. He hadn't come yet, but he was close enough. Thora looked at him, winked, and placed his cock between her tits. As she mashed and worked them furiously up and down, Roman twisted and panted in a wondeful kind of ecstasy. Each jolt brought him closer and closer to the point of no return.

She kept whispering, "This is what you want, right? My tits around your cock? Cum on my tits. You know you want to. You want more, huh?

He kept nodding in response, but had hoped that each siesmic twitch he made with each movement would be enough of an affirmative.

As it all came to full, he sat up straight, clutched her shoulders, and let loose a geyser of semen. Some of it covered her chin, some her neck, and some her tits. She was not mad at all. She was triumphant. As she stood above looking over, he lay back on the couch, drained and disheveled.

She finally glanced at her caked torso, "Mind if I use your shower?"

"If you don't mind me knodding off here," He responded.

She shrugged, "I'll probably be gone by the time you wake-up."

"Boo-hoo."

Thora walked to the beginning of the hallway, and stopped at the entrance of his living room. She turned around, perfectly nude, female, and firm. With a hand on her hip, "You know, if I am ever in town again and you're free, I wouldn't mind coming back. Rehash old times?"

Roman sniffed and shook his head, "No, Go back to Hollywood. Get stoned, get married, get kids, and get lost."

She peered angrily, "Don't tell me what to do." With that, she moved down the hall, found the bathroom, and shut the door.

Roman could hear shower turned on and the water running for a first few seconds before he drifted off to sleep on the couch.

He had an excellent dream: he saved Christina Ricci from the clutches of a psychotic Ben Affleck with blue war paint on his face, like in Braveheart. He felt sorry for Ben when he threw him off that tower, but pussy is pussy and these things have to done.

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AnonymousAnonymousover 1 year ago

Previous comment said it all

AnonymousAnonymousover 11 years ago
Blah

Non-erotic, poorly written, piece of shit...

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