She's Gonna Be A Star Ch. 03

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Ali struts her stuff.
6.8k words
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Part 3 of the 9 part series

Updated 10/08/2022
Created 03/04/2004
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Ali quickly settled into a routine. When she woke up, she had her coffee at the window -- whether at my place or hers (to Harvey's delight). She did long shifts at the diner, wearing her "Perky" nametag. After the diner, she went straight to the studio, and slaved away for Max, part receiptionist, part janitor, part gopher, part musician. Then, at night, she practiced.

For my part, I was working overtime. Some days I didn't see her at all until I arrived at practice late. I wasn't short on cash. I was making extra money with the idea of plowing it back into Ali's band. So was she -- half her tip money was being used to pay off the band members each practice, the other half was piling up, waiting to be spent on clothes, hair-dressers, a photographer.

The schedule was killing our love life, I was feeling very antsy and sex-deprived. On Friday, her first day off all week, I thought it would be nice to take her out. I got to work and called her apartment.

Harvey picked up.

"Hi Harv, Tyler here. How's Ali doing?"

"She's doing fine, Tyler. She's having coffee, now. Doing her window thing."

"How are you holding up, having a naked girl in your apartment?"

He laughed. "I'm making do. It's a crazy situation, but I'm getting used to it."

"How long is she lasting in the window?"

"Every morning, half an hour to forty-five minutes. She says she's actually getting bored with it, so we watch the morning news together." He paused. "I told her the next step in the exercise was to open the window. To reduce the glare. I hope that's okay."

My heart was thrumming. Call me twisted, but I thought that it was beyond hot how Harvey was coming on board. Originally, I'd planned for Ali to move in with me. Now, I was glad I'd kept her at Harvey's place.

"That was a good idea," I told him. "Did she buy it?"

"Oh, yes," he laughed. "She's quite... dedicated. You could say."

And with that, we established the parameters of our relationship. I didn't ask Harvey, "Did she do it?" I asked, "Did she buy it?" Implicitly recognizing that he was playing her. And by recognizing that to him, I was notifying him that I knew he was playing her. We were, basically, two men who had lucked onto a beautiful young woman, and she was gratifying us, and we were relating stories about her.

"Let me talk to her," I said. "Oh, and Harvey?"

"Yes?"

"Pinch her ass for me." My cock was pronging into my slacks.

"Will do."

I heard Harvey say, "This is from Tyler."

"Ooh!" Ali was laughing as she took the phone. "Thanks for that wake-up pinch, hon."

"Harvey reports that you're standing naked in front of an open window."

"Is that okay?" she asked. "It's like we discussed."

"It sounds like you're very dedicated."

Her voice went hushed. "I felt very uncomfortable at first. At the beginning, I'd wake up as Harvey finished his shower. And he'd come sit on the couch, and we'd watch the morning news. And then I'd stand, strip, and go to the window. It was, like, a big production."

"How did you fix that?" I asked.

"Well, the easiest answer is always the best: I just stopped wearing t-shirts at night. So no striptease in the morning. My panties are halfway off anyway. It's more comfy, so I'm also sleeping later. The TV wakes me up, with Harv on the couch. When I sit up, he gets me some coffee, and I just stumble over to the window."

"I can only imagine how hot you look. I should get Harvey to describe you every morning, since I can't be there." I could only imagine Harvey's wonderful new life. Waking up every morning, nestling into a couch next to a snoring panty-clad twenty-something, eyeing her as she stretched, grinned, and said good-morning.

"I can describe myself to you," she purred.

"I dunno. I think I like the masculine viewpoint, when it comes to hearing how you look. Are people seeing you from the street?"

"A few regulars on the street. A few in the opposite buildings."

"See? That's not enough detail. Put Harvey back on."

She laughed. "Harvey? Tyler wants to talk to you."

"Yes?" he asked.

"Harvey, she's not being forthcoming about her actor's exercises. Stand behind her, and tell me what she's seeing on the street."

He did so. I heard Ali say, "You're doublechecking my work?"

Harvey said, "I can't see past her hair. It's all messed up."

Ali laughed in the background. "Morning head!"

I said, "Jeez, Harvey. Be a problem-solver. Step in closer, put your hand around her stomach, squish her to the side, plant your chin on her shoulder."

"Well..." he hemmed.

"She's not made of glass," I said.

The phone made a scraping sound, and I heard Ali giggle again. It sounded to me like he'd leapt on her. I could imagine it -- his big, soft body pressed against her from behind. His hand, twitching with nervousness, feeling the muscles of her belly dance as he changed her balance. Her ass in his lap.

"Okay," he said. "We're seeing... wow. Five or six ne'er-do-wells clustered around the stoop of the opposite building, looking up. Talking to each other. Two men in the windows opposite. Everybody is trying to act casual, like they're not seeing what they're seeing. They don't want to scare her out of the window, I'm guessing. People passing on the street, not really looking up at her. She says it's becoming no big deal, anymore."

"Hmmm," I said. I tried to imagine the scene. It was difficult, being in the middle of cubicle land as I was. A corporate environment is not inducive to sexual imagination. "It sounds like she's ready for step two."

"What's that?" Harvey asked.

"Some night next week, call some friends over. Or order up a pizza. Don't tell her what you're doing. You have to report to me what her reaction is. Does she scream and run for the bathroom? Does she coolly put on some clothes? Does she casually hang out, without doing anything? Let me know, okay?"

He gave a little laugh. "Will do. My apartment will clearly become a popular destination with my over-the-hill married friends. She strips down to her panties by nine pm every night. Did you know that?"

"I did," I said. "But Harvey, she can hear what you're saying."

"She doesn't understand anything, trust me. She's not listening."

I nodded to myself. That sounded like Ali.

Harvey continued. It sounded like he was reaching a comfort zone with me. "All my double entendres go unnoticed. She coasts in-and-out of the bathroom and my bedroom. Any modesty has disappeared -- out the window."

"Well," I said, "I have to admit, it's been going easier than I thought it would. This whole re-inventing Ali thing." It felt good to be able to talk to someone about it. "I guess I found her at a point where she was ready for a big life change."

"Yes, quite," said Harvey. "You two seem to be very effective, together."

I had a wicked thought. "Hey, Harvey, want a treat?"

"What do you mean?"

"Give Ali the phone, and hang on to her."

I heard the phone pass back to her. What kind of a sordid, manipulative, nasty fool was I? Probably the regular kind.

"Hello again, honey," said Ali's voice. "Harvey isstill looking over my shoulder. Should I try again, and tell you what I'm seeing?"

"No, baby," I said. My voice sounded husky, from what I was planning. Turned on, I guess. "Just do what I say. Keep the phone at your ear. I want you to give a good, long, morning stretch. Right? Your arms stretch up, you go onto your tippy toes. Are you doing it?"

"Yeeeah," she said, groaning.

"Feel your calves tighten. Clench your ass. Feel the muscles in your back stretch and separate. Twist your shoulders. Relax your ass, clench it, relax. Are you doing it?"

"Yeah, done. The guys on the street stopped pretending not to see me."

"You're getting pretty comfortable with this, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Oh!" She giggled suddenly. "Harvey just left. He ran to the bathroom."

I had a big smile.

She added, "Do you want to know something? I think he had his little cock against my butt. I think I felt it there, when I was clenching. Oh, jeez." She sounded worried. "How humiliating. Do you think I embarrassed him? I should go do something. Should I ask him if I made him uncomfortable?"

"No, baby. If that's the case, I'm sure Harvey can handle it. As if any guy would mind."

"You and your dirty thoughts, Tyler," she admonished. "Are you sure I shouldn't go to the bathroom too? I can just walk in, if you want. Like normal."

She was too precious. I said, "No. But be warned: he'll probably try to tease you back. You know, try to embarrass you?"

"I cannot be teased," she announced. "He'll fail. I can't be embarrassed anymore -- it's part of my star training. But... what do you think he'll do?"

"I dunno. You're spending most of your time in the apartment naked, right?"

"Mostly naked. I guess I am."

"He'll probably invite some friends over. Or order a pizza. Without you knowing. He'll probably expect you to scream in embarrassment, and run for the bathroom."

"Hmmf!" she said. "That's not going to happen."

"Uh-oh!" I laughed. She giggled along with me. I kept feeding her, saying, "He's messing with the wrong person. What are you going to do? Just hang out in your panties, like nothing's different? Act all normal? Watch him blush?"

"Um, yeah. That sounds good. That's what I'll do. He should know not to mess with me. I'll just frustrate his plans, and ass-clench him again when he doesn't expect it."

I didn't want to gloss over that ass-clenching thing. "If you're going to ass-clench him again, you're going to have to get him to stand behind you."

"That's easy," she said breezily. "I'll just tell him you want him to look over my shoulder every morning. So he can report to you again. That should do it. I'll butt-squeeze him until he wants to cry. That should get him back -- if he gets me back."

"You're so clever," I said admiringly.

"I'm learning from the best," she returned.

"Honey, today's your day off. I want to take you out to dinner tonight. Dinner and a bar. We'll listen to some music, dance. What do you think?"

"That sounds wonderful. I want to get shitfaced, after the week I had. Will you get me stupid drunk?"

"I'll handle the drinks, if you handle the stupid," I told her. She laughed. "I want to take advantage of you."

"Any time, any where," she said.

"I'll pick you up at seven tonight. Wear your smallest dress -- for me? Tell Harvey to pick something from the closet."

"Okay, I will. What should I do today?"

I had already thought that out, in case she asked. "Get a good book or magazine. Put your panties on. Wrap a towel around you. Go up to the roof and sunbathe topless. You need some color, and we can't have tan lines on your tits."

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "Harvey's leaving for work soon. Once he's gone, I can't get back into the apartment."

"Fuck," I said. "This won't do. You have to get a copy of the keys from him. If he doesn't have any extras in the apartment, grab his hand and walk out with him. Don't let him get away. Make him make a copy at the key place."

"Should I get dressed first?" she asked, in all seriousness.

"No. I mean, yeah. But after you ask, just throw on a dress. One of those lacey summery things? In front of him, so he knows you don't have any underwear on. I promise, he will turn to putty."

"If you're sure..."

"I am sure," I said. "And don't forget the hand-holding thing. Don't let him get away. Be his best girl until you get those keys. Can you do that? After the keys, go to the roof and get a tan."

"I'm on it," she said. "I'll see you tonight."

We hung up, and I stared at the walls of my cubicle feeling quite demotivated to work. Don't get me wrong, I loved my life just then. But I wasn't loving this work thing. In the back of my mind, I was already thinking how wonderful it would be to manage Ali, 24/7, and get paid for the privilege.

* * * * *

That day, Ali finally got keys to the apartment. And she tanned -- the sun took to her skin beautifully, darkening her without baking her. And she reported that walking through the building wearing a towel and panties was 'a trip.' And that, since her building was lower than all the surrounding buildings, she counted eight faces watching her from the nearby windows.

We had a great time on our date that night. Harvey had picked this tiny dress that neither stayed up on her shoulders, nor stayed down on her legs. She was feeling no pain after the first few Long Island Iced Teas.

I set her loose on the dance floor, and watched her get pawed by NYU students. Amazingly, people complained -- the manager came to our table, and I fixed her up as he stared hungrily down at her. She wasn't noticing her own clothes, so I replaced straps, tugged down her skirt, closed her knees, and held her swaying body upright as he talked. He seemed to like seeing me fiddle with her as much as he liked seeing her. All men have a barbie fantasy.

I mentioned she was a singer in a band, and he mentioned he needed a band in a week.

"But she has to keep her clothes on, on stage," he added.

"Not too many clothes, hopefully," I said.

"Fuck no," he grinned suddenly. "Personally, I don't mind. It helps business. And we're more tolerant of entertainers. But none of this two-hands-down-her-panties business, like on the dance floor. I'll get busted."

He turned away, and paused. "Singer, eh? It's amazing what the chicks do nowadays just to get attention."

I was not undrunk myself. It took me a minute to realize his meaning. He possibly thought that Ali was making a scene of herself just to get him to come over. Possibly, even, there had been no complaints. He had come over, just to ogle her, and learn what the 'real' story was.

In reality, the story was that if you put Ali in not-there clothing, and told her it was for her career, she would wear it without another thought. And if you gave her drinks, she would be even more malleable. And if you told her to visit the dance floor with the mission of finding out what men found sexy --and this girl Ali was mentally wired to comprehend every man she met as an authority, not to be disobeyed -- you had a formula for dance-floor fun.

I didn't want to change his mind about her. I said, "Well, it worked, didn't it?"

He shrugged and moved off.

I stood Ali up and pushed her ahead of me through the crowds. The straps came off her shoulder -- I was getting frustrated with those things -- but the cups over her chest didn't slip too much, even though the bustier had been fashioned to accomodate those unrealistically ample rocket-shaped bras from the 50's. The cups were roomy (good for sidelong views), but they were catching on her large assets as they slid down. Outside, the air seemed to clear her head.

"Do you want to dance some more?"

"You say 'dance', but you don't dance," she slurred. "You say 'we dance,' but I'm the onliest one dancing. Ima hot slut. Thas what I'm learnin'. Like I didn' already know."

"Is that what the guys are telling you?" I started leading her down the street.

"Yep. I'm tellin' them, I'm gonna be a star. And they're sayin, you sure are!" she knocked her head with a fist, then grimaced and rubbed her head. "I'm no' smart, but I learn eventually. You get enough guys, all sayin' the same thing, and they start to make sense."

Ali was an earnest drunk. Her defenses, minimal at best in daily life, were completely erased by alcohol. "Ty," she said, looking up at me. "You know I'm not smart, right?"

"You're not?"

"Ev'r since I was a little girl, I knew it. I was all, talky talky talk. An' everybody was like, shuddup and take yer dress off! An I was all, 'okay.' An' some guys, we wouldn' even see a movie! Some dates those were! They'd pick me up, we'd make out, and they'd drop me off! Not even a movie! An' I fell for it every time. Sometimes twice."

"That sounds like a normal childhood," I said. (It didn't, by the way.)

"That all changed when I came to New York. I was incollege. No more sexy clothes for me! No more throwin' myself at guys. No more, fuckin', goin' to class in fuckin' bikini tops."

"That sounds sexy," I interjected.

"It was," she nodded. "But not anymore. I've changed. You'll see. No more sexy clothes for me!"

"You're falling out of your top," I told her.

"Aw, who fucken cares about that? But then... andthen... I fuckin' fucked up my college, from no money! I fuck up everything? So not smart." She turned serious. "But I'm learnin'. Imagood waitress. I have a job at a music studio. I have aband."

"You sure do."

"I'm sorry I'm not smart," she moaned. "I want to be smarter, for you, Tyler. I'm sorry..."

Her lips were quivering. For shit's sake, she was actually going to cry.

"Ali, I'm gonna tell you something, and you have to believe it, okay?"

"Okay," she said. That was my favorite phrase of hers. The simple, conceding, 'okay.' I gave her an impulsive hug. Man, but we were sloshed.

"You have to believe me," I said: "You're smart."

"Good," she nodded. Then she shook her head. "Not good. Ty, I don' wanna be too smart. Don't make me too smart, okay? I don't wanna think about this-n-that, this-n-that. I just wanna get dressed up by you, and get walked around. People talking for me, tellin' me what to do. Thas a nice life."

I continued. "Those guys at your high school didn't care about your brains, but that's 'cause you're built like the shit. You shouldn't feel bad just because they told you to shut up and take your clothes off. They only wanted you for the easy sex, after all. Not your mind."

"That's true," she said. "I never looked at it that way."

"You're good for more than just easy sex," I said.

"That's true, too!" she chirped. "Ima waitress!"

"And you can sing."

"Yeah!"

I was cocked and ready to go again. "Let's hit another bar. I want to see you dancing with those guys. They think you're so dumb."

"I am," she said earnestly.

"Whatever," I said. "They think you're dumb, and they call you a slut. So what?"

"Yeah!" she said, offended. "So what? I'll show them! I'm gonna say, 'So what Ima dumb slut, whatsit to ya?'"

"And they're still gonna wanna dance with you."

"Damn straight," she said. We turned into a bar that was blasting music. It was packed. "Those fucken losers. The nex' one who sticks his hand in my panties, I'm gonna tell him just what I am! A dumb slut waitress who won' say no."

"Also tell him you're drunk," I added.

"I will!"

* * * * *

Ali's fixation on being dumb and/or not smart took me by surprise. To tell the truth, I'd never suspected that her awareness extended that far. In one drunken confession, she'd cleared up the mystery of her frumpy clothes, her college problems, her generally defeatist and submissive attitude. And her apparently action-packed teen years certainly explained how capable she was in bed.

Imagine that! I had the girl everybody took advantage of in high school. The mythical hot girl who didn't know she was hot. The transcendently beautiful girl with a defect in her personality that was so huge, so glaring, that it was common knowledge to everybody she knew. A girl who thought she was useless and dumb, who could sing like an angel and had the body of a porn star. A genetic marvel. And she wasmy girlfriend!

That night, she further surprised me.

I'd stopped drinking at the second bar. I didn't want my libido to take over and start pimping her on streetcorners. I figured one of us should stay lucid.

So after I unfolded her from the taxi and walked her up to my apartment, I stripped her naked on the bed and started fucking her boneless body like a madman.

She was sputtering on about something. Some party in college, where her 'date' had kept her in the car, and 'brought friends out to hang with her.'

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