Jan 6, 2012 5:51 AM
Hi there--I post my stories on my Tumblr, but a good friend suggested I post this story here, to get some feedback. I hope I did this correctly... Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, and check out my blog if you're interested: yourbadgrrl.tumblr.com
It’s late spring and I’m back home in Berkeley. I’ve been assigned the task of interviewing James Deen for the sexuality studies center’s magazine. We’re supposed to meet for lunch at La Mediteranee on College in about three hours. I prepared my interview questions, my digital recorder, everything is set. Except my nerves, so I’m out in the front of my house trying to tame my overgrown front garden and not think about JD.
The renters tried to care for my garden while I was away in the UK, but they didn’t trim back nearly as much as was needed. I’m in a jogging tank and shorts and a bandana, sweating like a pig, hacking away at the plants, and getting covered in dirt. It’s really starting to look a lot better now. I have new annuals to put in too, and then I can finally mulch. With about an hour to go I’m hauling a bag of mulch from my car when JD and his handler emerge from a huge SUV.
“Lani? Hey, I’m James. I think I got the time wrong for our interview…”
“And that’s why you’re here at my house…?”
“Well, yeah, you didn’t answer your cell so we just drove over here.”
I couldn’t help it and just giggled. “I’m such a mess—sorry! Great to meet you, James. I’d shake your hand but I’m covered in dirt. Can you give me hand with this bag of mulch?”
The handler retires to the car.
It turns out JD knows a bit about landscaping and suggests spots for my new plants.
“You know,” he says, “Why don’t you get ready, and I’ll put a few of these in for you.”
“Please! You don’t have to. Come inside and I can get you some fresh lemonade.”
“I’m fine. I’d love the lemonade though.”
“Yes! I don’t get to do domestic stuff too often, you know.”
That made me laugh.
“Okay, Sir. One lemonade coming up!”
So I’m in my shower while JD puts in my sweet peas and mulches them for me. This is really a fantasy come true.
I slip into my flirty sundress and sandals, grab my little sweater (yeah, so what looks professional AND sexy?) and purse, then rush out the door to find JD sitting on my porch lounge, cool as a cucumber, drinking my lemonade.
“You clean up well!” he tells me, smiling.
“Thank you! And the sweet peas look great—thanks.”
“Shall we? Our carriage awaits…” he gestures to his driver.
And off we go. We take a table outside to enjoy the sunny weather. The food is, as usual, great. James notes the two taquerias down the street. I smirk. My interview questions are pretty standard, asking him about the spate of new articles on women and porn and his burgeoning popularity, the role of indie porn, the economics of porn, how long he intends to stay in porn, his favorite costars, what his family thinks about his line of work, where he thinks porn is going as an industry…
I do grille him on one point, though.
“You know, you’re completely wrong about feminism and sex. Your quote in the Atlantic about how so-called feminists hate sex is really ignorant and dated.”
“So, Ms. Feminism, tell me what I’m missing.” His eyes are dancing. It’s hard not to swoon right there.
“That’s Professor Feminism to you, Mr. Porn Star. You need to read up more on sex-positive feminisms, and third and fourth wave feminisms. I can give you a list, if you like. As if you might read them….”
“How do you know I won’t?” he asks.
“Touche!” I answer and we clink glasses. Then JD says, “Hey, you got some hummus on your cheek—” and he brushes it off with his fingertip, smiling at me. My heart almost stops and my pussy just gushes. Oh!
“Why, thank you, sir. You’re such a gentleman—”
“As you know from my films!” At that we both start laughing.
Then I see my contractor, Steve, waving at me with a quizzical smile.
“Hey, you’re back! Welcome home! I need to talk to you about those windows…”
“Hey Steve, so good to see you. Yes, call me and we can talk about timeline. Oh, sorry, this is James. James, this is Steve, my contractor.” They shake hands. “Hey, James.” Steve looks at me square in the eye. “THE James. As in Deen.”
“In the flesh!” says JD.
“And how do you know his work, Steve?” I ask.
We all laugh.
“Lani, you live an interesting life. I will definitely be calling you later!”
We finish our meal, and James dismisses the driver. “Let’s walk around the neighborhood a bit…” So we browse through bookstores and gift shops, the evil shoe store, and end up at the over-priced gourmet ice cream place.
“$7 for a handmade ITS-IT?” JD asks scornfully.
“What can I say, it’s Berkeley. It has flowers in it and it’s organic. It’s good for you.”
As we’re eating our ice cream sandwiches on a bench outside, I see Jill, my hair stylist. She does a double-take when she sees who I’m with.
“Girl, I thought that was you! And this is—?”
“Jill, James. James, Jill, the fabulous woman who does my hair.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jill,” James says.
“I’m going to faint!” Jill enthuses as she shakes his hand. “This is a work thing, right?”
“An interview, yes…And Jill, I’m surprised you know James’ work!” Jill blushes to the top of her hairline.
“I’ll call you,” she tells me. “Lucky bitch!” she whispers in my ear as she hugs me goodbye.
Since I live so close I ask if JD wants to call his driver now and I can walk home. Ever the gentleman, JD offers to walk with me. He asks me about my work at the center. Then he tells me he’s read my Tumblr. All of my Tumblr.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “I thought there was a reason why I got this interview so easily, Mr. Deen.”
He smirks. “I appreciate fine erotic writing.”
“And I appreciate hot, nasty porn.”
“We have so much in common, Professor,” he laughs, linking his arm in mine.
We arrive at my house.
“Well, thanks for such a great afternoon. I’ll send the draft edits for your approval and—”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Lani?”
“Do you want to come in?”
“Yes, I do.”
“For more lemonade?”
“And you can show me some of these books you were talking about.”
JD in my house. Looking at my theory texts. Right. But there he is, in the glorious afternoon sun of my office, glancing through something by Foucault (natch). He seats himself on the chaise and pats the spot next to him.
“I’m not going to bite—unless you want me to!” he laughs.
I stand in front of him, and he strokes my legs and my ass under my skirt. And the next thing I know, he has me over his lap, his hand firmly on my back.
“A lot of your stories start like this, yes?”
“Mmhmm,” is all I can manage as I feel his hand lift my skirt, then rest on my very wet panty.
“I think you could use a good spanking, Professor. You’ve written a lot of dirty stories that made me very hard, you naughty girl!”
“No, you’re not. You’re very wet. And you’re going to write this into another one of your stories, right? So let’s make sure you get all the details correct.”
And with that, JD smacks the hell out my ass, letting me squirm as much as i want all over his lap, all over his hard cock. I’m a sodden puddle when he stops, and I just slide off his lap onto the floor.
Before I can catch my breath, he’s between my legs, lifting my legs up and over, giving me the best head of my life. I arch away from him as I start cumming faster and faster, but he keeps pulling me back onto his mouth, licking and sucking and finger fucking me until I all but pass out.
He lets me catch my breath, and as he starts taking off his trousers, I sit up and take his beautiful cock in my mouth. His hands in my hair tell me I’m doing something right, but then he pushes me off him, and leads me back to the chaise.
“Ass up, head down, professor!” he commands, and that practically makes me cum. His long cock entering me from behind, pistoning, while he spanks my fiery, sore ass is a dream come true. Somehow he maneuvers me onto my side then proceeds to fuck my brains out in that position, whispering sweet, dirty things in my ears as he fingers my hard clit, then holds my neck in a delicious firm grip. I must be clenching hard on him as I hear him start to moan louder.
At this point I’m wondering if I’ll end up cross-eyed as I am in a blissful haze, just hanging on, riding out each wave, as JD fucks me expertly. Too soon, he cums inside me, and then collapses beside me on the chaise.
“That takes participant-based research to a new level, JD” I tell him.
“Glad to be of service, YBG. Plus I know there are other things I’m known for that you would most likely want to investigate more thoroughly for the sake of academic integrity.”
It was about 10pm when we finally made it out of the house to get beer and burritos.
“That was the longest interview I’ve ever done!” JD laughed.
“Me, too,” I mumble with a mouth full of chips.
“You know I’m staying the night with you…”
“Oh? They can’t find you a nice hotel here?”
“Then I can help you finish landscaping in the morning.”
“Deal. I can make you bacon and french toast or huevos rancheros. I hope you’re not an early riser though…”
He puts my hand on his jeans and laughs.
“Early enough for you? Let’s get out of here…”
And then sadly, I woke up…