She's Gonna Be A Star Ch. 05

She was chattering on about how, if she was prettier, she thought she'd like to be a model -- it seemed easy. If you can put up with whistles on the street, and endure street kids yelling at you to take it off, and deal with funky old men "grabbing your stomach and not letting go as you buy apples at the deli," why, then you had it made.

We were watching her with in horny, slavering silence, indifferent to anything about her except how built she was, and howeasy she seemed.

Let no one tell you different -- the body is an attractor for men, but so is the mind. A simple mind -- and Ali could be quite dim -- makes that body seem so much more attainable. Dumbness as an aphrodisiac -- by Ali's affect on Alexi, indeed on all the men she came across, it was clear that naivete and simplicity were huge turn-ons. On the other hand, a woman with a sharp mind makes men go ga-ga. So the question isn't settled yet.

"What do you think?" Ali said, when she was done talking.

I had no clue how to respond.

Alexi ignored her. "Here's where you start the hard work. Take my cell phone, and get your pretty ass down to the park. Wait for instructions."

"Okay," she said.

Alexi set up his tripod and a big lense for his camera. I had the use of his telescope. We were safe in the sky. We had two comfortable chairs by his big windows, cokes from the machine down the hall, and a pretty girl in the park. We were in heaven.

We watched as she entered the park and made her way to the fountain in the middle. Unlike the fountain in Central Park, this one was made for sitting. It had upwards of 60 people sprawled around the stepped circumference, all soaking up the sun and getting sprayed with water when the wind shifted.

(For this set, the website said: "I took Ali to a bar to thank her for letting me take her pictures. She still had no idea why I (or a million other men on the street) found her so interesting. She was like, 'Whatever.' She ordered a beer, but I talked her into a few Screwdrivers. She was easy to convince -- you'll believe me now when I tell you she's dumb. Any dumber, and she wouldn't have a pulse. Plus, she was half-drunk and feeling no pain, and I thought I might want to fuck her. She is that dumb -- even I could talk circles around her.

"Then she mentioned she was going to hit the park and relax and get some sun. I figured I could fuck her any time, and I should let some other guy have a chance. Plus, I had work to do. Since I have a view of the park, I checked on her from my office, and found she was primed for a third photo shoot. I don't know who she was talking to on the phone."

Later, when she and I surfed the website together, she read that. She said, "Why did he write I was dumb? What was it I said? When did he figure it out?" I merely grinned at her -- I'd told Alexi to put that in. To turn her on. It worked.)

I called Ali on the phone. We watched her jump, and look around. Then she saw the phone in her hand and fumbled with it.

"We didn't tell her how to work the phone," groaned Alexi.

She finally answered. "Hello? Alexi's phone? He's not here right now. I'm supposed to be doing a photo shoot, and, like, they'll be calling me to tell me what to take off. So I can't talk long."

"Ali, Ali, it's me. Tyler."

"Hi Tyler! How did you get this number?"

"Alexi gave me the number," I said. Alexi was rocking with laughter. "Are you ready? How do you feel?"

"Bored with a capital B. What a waste of a day. Just walking around. We could've been fucking."

When she said that last word, I saw several heads jerk towards her. "You don't have to shout with cell phones, honey."

"Sorry."

"Here's what you do first."

We had her go to the fountain, and find an open spot to perch on. She was wearing her clogs, a tiny pair of loose jogging shorts, panties, and a muscle shirt. The shirt was white, tight, and displayed the curves and details of her chest with heart-stopping clarity.

She was sitting sideways on the low wall. I told her what to do, and said I'd call back.

Alexi and I watched, him clicking his camera, as she fingered her top. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, her whole body was covered minimally, maximizing the sunlight flowing onto her. People were stepping over her to get to the fountain, or standing nearby to watch the fountain. The fountain was a tight clump of humanity.

Seeming to reach a decision, Ali pulled one strap off her shoulder, and then the other. Not far down her arms. She put her head back and closed her eyes, soaking in the sun. She gathered a little crowd all her own, in that pose. She was all muscle, all soft skin.

But wait -- she wasn't satisfied. She gingerly took hold of one strap, and pulled her arm out through it. Then repeat on the other side. She had made her tank-top into a tube-top. It was easily tight enough to stay up all day, but her fiddling had pulled the neckline down her chest. She was 1/3 out of the fabric, with her back arched and her head back, and her eyes closed.

If you were a man, and you saw her like that, offered to the world in a sea of humanity, you would've paused. You would've decided to be late for your child's school recital. It was worth it.

She pulled up the bottom of her shorts, and rolled down the elastic waistline, ignorant of all the eyes taking her in. She settled more, her body stretched, so much skin. In a way, she was ludicrously sexy -- how could shenot know how she looked? How hot she appeared? But then, shifting frames of reference, she was merely a young woman trying to get some sun, unaware of how slobbery and depraved men could be.

I gave her a call.

"Tuck the straps into your top, so they don't hang down so much," I told her.

"Tell her to move," said Alexi. "I see an opening closer to the water, just to her right."

"Did you hear that?"

"Yes," she said.

I hung up.

We watched her slide off the edge and navigate through the tightly packed bodies to the open spot. She took the seat, saying something to the guys next to her (or answering something they said). As she talked, she folded the straps inside her top, so it looked even more like a tube-top. Then she leaned back, and tried to get comfortable. The steps were pebbly, but worn smooth on the edges by years of foot-traffic and water. Soon, she was sprawled out again.

Alexi and I watched the water drift her way. It rose up in a sharp plume, and then the air picked it apart, letting it come down as a fine mist. She was soon covered in a fine sheen of droplets, which made her shiney from our remote vantage point. It also dampened her t-shirt.

The guy who had vacated Ali's spot returned -- the other guys around her were his friends. He said something that made her laugh, and then squeezed in beside her. She slid over accommodatingly.

(The website said: "Of course, our Ali was soon hemmed in on all sides by hot-blooded American manhood. All of them found some excuse to talk to her. I wonder why.")

Alexi waited until she looked relaxed and calm, before he told me to call again. "I think it's time."

I redialled the phone, and watched as she picked up.

"Hello? Alexi's phone?"

"It's me," I said.

"Tyler?"

"Yeah, me, Tyler. What the heck are all those guys saying to you?"

She threw her head back and laughed. "Youcan see everything, can't you? Mostly just about the weather. Am I a student or not. Do I have a boyfriend."

"Next guy who asks, you don't have a boyfriend, okay?" I said.

"But, I consideryou my boyfriend," she said slowly. "Right?"

"Of course, honey! I wouldn't give you up for a million dollars! But if the guy thinks you're unattached, and you're very friendly, maybe he'll reach out and touch you. Alexi needs some shots of guys touching you."

"Oh! Well, okay. That's always easy."

"Alexi told me to tell you to take off your shorts." I waited a moment, and when she didn't say anything, I said, "Is that okay? You have panties on."

"Why not? It's like a swimsuit, after all."

Not exactly, I thought, but I didn't correct her. "Okay. Have fun. Oh -- and pull down your top a little more. And pull it up over your stomach. Remember, you also have to get a tan."

"Oh! Right!"

She hung up.

Alexi and I watched, breathless, as she raised her butt off the step. Steepled on her shoulders and feet, she hooked her thumbs into the rolled waistband of her little running shorts. As she pulled them down her legs, the guys around her stopped and turned, their mouths open. We couldn't see precisely where they were looking, because they all had sunglasses, but we could guess.

Her shorts were over her knees, and she leaned forward and threaded her feet out of them. She spread them under her ass, and then settled back down. She was, after that, the hottest woman soaking up the sun at the fountain. There were a few others that were close, but none of them matched her physique, or outfit. The eyes of the crowd were on her -- she was hooking people from as far away as the footpath opposite the fountain. They would look, then do a double-take, and then drift slowly closer to Ali's place at the fountain. From above, we could see how she distorted, like gravity, the general flow of students, teachers, and the public.

Alexi was giddy with pleasure. "She's so fuckingright for this job."

The band over her chest was wrinkled at the top and bottom, where she had pulled it down and up. But it was tight over the tips of her breasts. The panties were small -- shaped for hip-huggers, and consequently low off her hips. Two little straps, and a triangle of white cotton over the mound of her sex.

She had barely gotten comfortable again when one of the guys started talking to her. This time, the conversation went longer. Later, Ali told me what the man said:

"You look comfy."

Ali gave him her friendliest smile. "Thanks! Oh -- Idon't have a boyfriend. And, I'm friendly."

"Really! Say... aren't you worried about the prevalence of skin cancer? From the sun?" He apparently was some sort of medical student. And that was his line. (How pathetic.)

She shook her head. "I've heard that Prevalence is not so bad. I'm not worried."

He'd merely stared at her, not saying anything to that.

Just to keep the conversation going, Ali said, "And I forgot my suntan lotion. You don't have any, do you?"

This prompted a quick search by all the guys around her. It was hilarious.

(The website said: "Ali apparently asked this poor schmuck for a rub-down. Look at him scramble!")

The guy finally turned back to her, holding a tube of something. He said, "Zinc oxyphalophrene, with some aloe-based skin nutritive and soya cream. Is that okay?"

"Will it turn me blue?" Ali asked, her brow furrowed. "I'm kidding. I kid, because I'm friendly."

"It's perfectly safe," he reassured her. Ali later told me he'd started speaking slowly, as if to a child -- the dummy! "I'm friendly, too."

"You are? That's so cool -- it's such a nice change to find friendly people in New York. Everybody's usually in such a hurry."

He didn't have anything to say to that, either.

She leaned back, "You can start on my legs, if you want."

"Huh? Oh. Oh!" He sat up over her, looking down. Soon the zinc whatever-the-hell was spread in his palms, and his palms were resting on Ali's toned thigh.

(I later complimented her on her good idea -- getting him to put lotion on her. She looked surprised, and then bashful. "To be honest, I never thought of putting it on myself. I mean, it washis lotion.")

Alexi was crooning to himself, snapping away and changing rolls quickly. I had the telescope pressed against my eye, watching this strange, lanky guy get familiar with Ali's shapes and curves.

He worked his way down her legs to her ankles, and then back up. He was quite liberal with the lotion. As he moved back to her knees, she parted her legs a little. "Get the insides," she said.

His hand made small round motions up her inner thighs, to roughly half an inch below her panties. Then he nervously skirted the straps, lining each side, and put a hand full-on her stomach. Ali istight. When you rub her skin, it doesn't move. I didn't have a good enough view through the telescope, but I knew what the medical student was feeling (if not the names of the muscles). His fingers would be rippling over her abs as he rubbed back and forth, then thrumming over her ribcage.

"Mmmm," said Ali. "It feels like a massage. Do you know about the muscles and bones, in women?"

"In menand women," he said. He added quickly, "And that's because I'm going to be a doctor.Not because I massage men."

He drizzled a little lotion on the hollow of her neck. When she didn't move, except to lean her head back, he gingerly massaged the lotion up the steep curves of her breasts.

She said, "I always thought I'd end up marrying a doctor. My parents said I'd be good for that. I always wanted to be atrophy wife, because it sounds so important. You know, be aplaything. My parents were always pressuring me to be more."

(When I complimented her on her teasing, she again shook her head. "I alwaysdid want to be a trophy. The best of the best. How romantic!")

"I think you have what it takes," said the medical student. He was finally done with her, and was just devouring her with his eyes from above.

"Really? You're just saying that. How would you know?" He raised her head.

"I just gave you a physical exam," he smiled.

From our vantage high above, we could see how her breasts pushed away her cotton tube-top. It was narrow enough that a wedge of sunlight showed through the bottom. When she was lying with her head back, someone behind her could look down between her breasts to her stomach.

The water was also having its way with the cotton of her clothes. Each spray made it a little stickier, a little more translucent. The medical student was locked on to her like a lamprey eel.

"Is it all physical, then?" she inquired. "Or is it other stuff, too?"

"Oh, there's lots of stuff about being a good trophy wife. The physical aspects are just one of them."

"Give me a fer'instance," she prompted. She was up on her elbows, her breasts jutting up at him.

"The hair is important, too. And kissing. And an open mind."

"Is that the 'plaything' part?" she asked. "So, how do you know if I'd be a good plaything? We haven't even kissed. And I think my hair is just fine."

I couldn't help myself at that point. All I knew at the time was that he was so close to her. I called her cell.

"Nooo!" moaned Alexi. "You're driving them apart!"

Ali picked up the phone and put a finger to the med student's lips, to keep him from answering her. Charmed, he just sat there.

"Hello? Alexi's phone?" she said.

"You can stop saying that," I told her. "It's me -- Tyler."

"Hi!" she said brightly.

"You're so close to him. Why aren't you kissing him already?"

"Do you think I should? Do you think that's appropriate?"

"Sure it is. He just groped your whole body. He wants it. Who are you to not give it to him?"

"I'm nobody, I guess. I'm just some girl," she said. "Oh! You mean, for the photos?"

"Um, yeah. For the photos. You could get into a crazy make-out session or something. Really play it up." I was shivering with excitement. "Think of the band. Your manager needs you, now."

"If you put itthat way, then sure," she said.

"If it helps, he probably thinks you're stupid by now," I said. Alexi looked at me in alarm, but I waved him off.

"You don't have to flatter me," she said. "I'll do it."

We clicked off.

She turned back to her student. "You were going to kiss me?"

"I guess I was," said the guy.

He leaned in, eyes open, and pressed his lips against hers. She parted her lips for him, and worked his tongue into her mouth. He got the clue, and soon had her in a deep, engaged French kiss.

Alexi was past excitement. "Do yousee what she'sdoing?"

"I do," I said. I half wished I could whip my pud out and work it. But not with Alexi there.

"She's amazing," he enthused. "She just sticks her hand into the stream, and pulls out a fish. We tell her which fish. We tell her how to tickle it. She does it. She's like a superhero for lust."

The crowd noticed Ali's make-out session too. Some people were glancing over more often, while others were outright staring. Ali's knees were swinging open and shut as she pressed her lips up against her med student. Her clothes were half-transparent, her legs glossy with lotion and beaded with water. She was long, curvy, full of muscles. What wasnot to watch?

After about five minutes of this (with his hand going to her stomach, rubbing back and forth over the flexing muscles of her abdomen) he pulled back. "I've been wanting to ask you," he said, "I mean... erm... I've been thinking. That is to say. Can I touch your breasts?"

She shrugged. "Why not? That is -- if it's part of this make-out session. If so, then it's fine."

"Yes. Touching your breasts is part of this make-out session," he breathed, and then dipped his head down to kiss her some more. His hand delicately traced up her torso, and then slipped into the opening between her breasts. Unable to help himself in public, seemingly against his will, he quickly clamped his hand over her left breast, under the fabric.

Her nipples, already tight from the water, and visible by telescope, became harder under his palms. He shifted back and forth between them, his mouth on hers. When he pinched, she lifted her knees together, showing her ass across the fountain, and raised her chest to his hand. She kissed back harder, her whole torso flexing, the more he worked her breasts.

(I told her that had been a good idea, since it got him to work on her chest more. She'd said, "That's just how my body is.")

Alexi caught the whole, wild, public make-out session on film.

Then the student was leaning over her, whispering in her ear. His eyes were darting around, finally noticing that they were making a scene of themselves. She was nodding and shrugging at what he said.

Suddenly, I saw Ali grab for her phone -- and I hadn't called her. She told me what happened later.

She picked up the phone, and sat up, away from her guy. She whispered, "Hello? Alexi's phone... Never mind. I won't say that again. This is Ali, by the way. I think I might have to fuck this guy."

"I must have the wrong number," said a masculine voice on the other side.

"If you want to talk to Alexi," Ali whispered, "you might have to wait until I fuck someone."

"I'll be sure to remember that," said the stranger's voice. "Can it be me?"

"Maybe, but not this time," she whispered, and hung up.

I picked up the phone and called her again.

When she answered, she said, "I don't know who's calling. I'm totally confused about who this might be."

"It's me, Tyler," I said.

"Oh,you. Well, I just got invited to 'take this somewhere more private.' But that's not the plan, is it?"

"Not today," I said. "You'll have to tell him good-bye. Give him some dates when you'll be singing. So he's not let down too hard."

"Okay. He's gonna be sad -- I'm the one that got away," she giggled.

"Tell him it's a work emergency," I said.

She clapped the phone to her breast and turned to him. "It's a work emergency. I can't fuck you because of that."

"I'm dying here," said the student.

"I think he's sick," she told me. "I'm like his last fling or something."

"Then give him your email address," I said.

Alexi was trying to get my attention. I told Ali to hang on.

"What?" I asked him.

"I have an idea," Alexi said solemnly. "You might not like to hear it. She's your girlfriend."