Too wide awake to sleep, Mr. Hollywood and I spend the next twenty minutes gulping down water and laying up in bed talking. Both on our sides facing one another, Mr. Hollywood grabs my back with his left arm to pull me close, kissing me softly and briefly. I can’t decide if I’m weak from how late it is, my body being unable to bear anymore, or from how soft his lips are. GOD I wanna fuck him so bad! Unfortunately for me, I’m much too sleepy and gassy to be able to do so (throughout the night, I’d been sneaking away to fart in the bathroom at the end of the hall…cocaine is a hell of a drug man). With his left hand gently moving my hair from my eyes and now placing soft pecs on my lips, Mr. Hollywood admits, “Holy shit how have I not been doing this all night?” as he continues to breathe deeply and rub my back. Wondering the same exact thing but knowing damn well I don’t have enough energy to even pucker my lips anymore, I throw my right leg around Mr. Hollywood’s waist, blush, and giggle, explaining again that, “Dude…I just don’t have the energy anymore…”
Too weak to speak, Mr. Hollywood and I continue to snuggle and attempt sleep, as thoughts of Drummer and M&M fill my head; this is a clear indication that I’m crashing pretty fuckin hard at this point. In efforts to distract myself from an emotional breakdown that would ensue if I continued to ponder my former flames, I suggest to Mr. Hollywood, who I know is still awake despite our best efforts at feigning sleep
Me: *my speech still mumbled and slightly slurring, eyes still closed and weak* So…I have an idea…
Mr. Hollywood: *mimicking my speech* I’m down to try anything I can’t fall asleep for the life of me *wide awake despite coming down and having smoked from a vaporizer to slow him down*
Me: *excited at what I’m about to say yet still very dreary and dragging* Well..let’s put on sunglasses and turn on Michael Bolton and lay in bed and ponder our lives… *only now realizing how ridiculous this is but mentally crossing my fingers on him actually agreeing because if he did it would TOTALLY solidify the fact that he is definitely the coolest mother fucker on the planet!!*
Mr. Hollywood: *without hesitation* Oh my God YES. *now shooting out of bed and running out of the room*
Within seconds, Mr. Hollywood returns with two pairs of aviator sunglasses, handing one over to me while he searches his iPad for Michael Bolton songs. Yes, it’s settled: I want to marry Mr. Hollywood. Returning to our snuggle stance, Mr. Hollywood and I canoodle in silence as Michael belts out ever-so-passionately, “SAID I LOVED YOU BUT I LIED!!!! *said I loved you but I lied…*” Through the music and our cuddling, we attempt to remain silent and contemplative, however, by the middle of the song, can’t help but burst out laughing with the little energy we have left in us. As we both gasp for air and roll around his bed laughing uncontrollably with both our feet in the air, Mr. Hollywood shouts at me, “ARE WE REALLY DOING THIS?! Oh my God I can’t wait to tell all my friends about this night…” Hugging my chest tightly and unable to catch my breath, I reply with “YES WE ARE!! STOP!!! THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE SERIOUS!!!!!” still struggling to breathe through our incessant laughing.
Unable to continue in a serious manner, Mr. Hollywood suggests we put on eye masks instead, turn off the Michael Bolton, and go at it again with trying to fall asleep, it now being 7 o’clock in the morning. Fine, let’s try. Turning over to his nightstand, he reaches in and pulls out two eye masks. I can’t help but be weirded out by this; to me, this is the equivalent of having extra boxers in my nightstand or long socks to ejaculate into (or whatever the fuck it is that men need before they go to bed) for men when they sleep over. At this point, I get back into my contemplative comedown daze and realize that I have not SLEPT with a man in a looooooooooooong time. Drummer was probably the last person I slept with and, even so, that was accidental and I had a catastrophe of an internal panic attack when it happened (which can probably attribute to our downfall…FUCK STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS SHIT JAYLA!!!).
Both with our eyes now covered, Mr. Hollywood and I resume our silent snuggling, as I continue to focus on my deep breathing as opposed to my racing thoughts and Mr. Hollywood continues to rub the small of my back. My right leg now slung across his groin, I feel him continue to breathe deeply and run his hand strategically and slowly down my lower back, brushing the top of my ass slightly with his finger tips. “Haha here we go…” I think to myself as he very casually inches his way down and across my butt. As aware and opposed to fucking that I currently am, I don’t stop him; I figure I owe him this much considering all the free drugs and laughs I’ve gotten from him tonight. It’s a fair trade in my eyes. Besides, my favorite thing to have done while I fall asleep is have my ass rubbed, much like babies that like being swayed back and forth or dogs having their ears rubbed…this is mine.
Still pretending to be asleep, I let Mr. Hollywood feel my ass with his fingertips, as he continues to slowly make his way down around it. Knowing he has yet to get a complaint or resistance to the latter, Mr. Hollywood seeks to push his limits by now taking my entire right butt cheek in his right palm and giving it a tender yet firm grip in his palm. In that INSTANT, I feel Mr. Hollywood’s shaft SHOOT UP from under my right thigh, as we both let out a synchronized, “HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!”
Me: *Shocked and appalled that that thing not only moved but is now ROCK SOLID from all the coke pumping through its veins, immediately retracting my leg back and demanding* Wait, what are YOU “holy shitting” over?!
Mr. Hollywood: *eyes wide-eyed and still gripping my ass* YOUR ASS! Oh my GOD! You have a GREAT FUCKING ASS! How have I not been on this thing all night?! Wait, what are YOU “holy shitting” over?
Me: *pointing at his crotch* DUDE! You have a RAGING fucking boner. How the fuck is that even POSSIBLE right now!?
Mr. Hollywood: *not realizing what’s erupting from his pants and now looking down at his dick* HOLY SHIT!!! I HAVE A BONER!!!! OH MY GOD! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!
Me: *now slightly screaming* I KNOW!!! THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING!!!!
Mr. Hollywood: *now pulling me on top of him, gripping my ass with both hands and pressing my body and lips firmly against both of his* Holy shit, I want you so bad right now… *kissing my lips and my neck and continuing to squeeze my ass hard in both his hands*
Me: *straddling him and struggling to hold my head up, faintly and pleading with him* Nooooo….dude I can’t even….
Mr. Hollywood: *continuing to kiss me despite my feeble demands* I know baby but look how hard I am! This is amazing YOUR ASS! is amazing.
Me: *crumbling down on top of him, firmly stating* No. Tired. Sleep…..
Completely accepting my defeat, Mr. Hollywood frees my ass from his grasp and wraps his arms tightly around me, kissing my forehead and now insisting that we try to sleep on the couch instead considering the bed just wasn’t cutting it. I agree. Downstairs we go and into the bathroom I sneak (at this point I have been peeing almost every 3 minutes from all the water we were consuming). When I emerge from the bathroom, Mr. Hollywood is standing in his kitchen, silent and staring at me with a bashful smirk on his face. I can’t help but melt at this moment. Cunningly crossing the kitchen to one another, Mr. Hollywood sweeps me up into his arms as I swing both of mine behind his neck, both of us now entwined in each other’s embrace and enveloped in an insatiable kiss. Gripping my ass hard in his hands and without our bodies or lips parting, Mr. Hollywood lifts me up off the ground and onto him, as I oblige and follow by wrapping my legs tightly around him, continuing to taste and feel my way around his mouth with my lips and tongue. Now holding me up with one arm, Mr. Hollywood uses the other to swipe off a space on his marble counter-top and throw me on top of it, while I desperately devour him, running my fingers through his hair with one hand and gripping his neck with the other. With Mr. Hollywood still wrapped up between my legs, I feel the energy leaving me exponentially, as this maneuver and mini-makeout session may very well have depleted any ounce of energy I had left after all this.
Feeling me gradually slumping and limp in his embrace, Mr. Hollywood backs away and studies me, giving me a look of endearment and understanding damn well that this may have officially done me in. Looking up at him, now raising the center of my forehead where my eyebrows meet, giving him the poor puppy dog look that says, “I can’t fuck you the way I want to…..”, I admit that this just isn’t gonna happen. Lifting me up off the counter and carrying me on over to the couch, we attempt to sleep again….yes we fail here in much the same fashion we failed in the bed.
Now on the couch, Mr. Hollywood parts my knees with his hands, spreading them and making his way in between them and on top of me. Following his lead, I squeeze tightly with whatever strength is left in me and allow him to slump his body on top of mine. FUCK MAN I WISH I HAD THE ENERGY TO FUCK HIIIIIIM!!! His dick is still rock hard at this point, however, I am definitely in no condition to do anything seemingly similar to fucking. There was no way in hell I was going to give a half-assed session. GO HARD OR GO HOME…he’s hard and I should be home. Ugh. FAIL.
Unable, YET AGAIN, to fall asleep on the couch, Mr. Hollywood suggests we just get naked and get in the hot tub. Considering I’m not sleeping and we’ve tried everything else at this point, I shrug and agree. Grabbing two terrycloth towels from a cabinet in the kitchen, Mr. Hollywood beckons for me to follow him outside, the sun now bright and shining into the house. Making our way back to his jacuzzi, I follow him down a stone path and realize there’s a small house off to the side in his backyard. Pointing to it, I ask Mr. Hollywood what it is, to which he replies that it’s his guest house. Inside I can see that it, too, like the rest of the guest bedrooms, is also fully furnished. I bet THAT’S where he really lives and the main house is some movie star’s house and is currently away on vacation. Yup. I bet.
Watching him rip off his shirt and remove his pants, I imitate Mr. Hollywood and take off the shirt and pajama bottoms that he’d let me borrow, tossing both to the side now wearing nothing but my black, lace, crotchless panties. Ugh. Yes, I’m well aware of how much it is socially REQUIRED of me to put out at this point, however, I’m sticking to my guns man. I don’t care how hot he is and how naked we are.
Stepping in after him, I immediately place myself on top of Mr. Hollywood, straddling him with my legs and holding onto him weakly with my arms. For some reason, I’m under the impression that he still wants to try to sleep, so attempt to sleep I do because I literally cannot hold my head up any longer. We continue to kiss and bite and scratch and grope one another, two deviants in the daylight shamelessly devouring one another as I continue to engage and abruptly stop him from going any further than this. FUCK! WAIT!!!! IT’S 8 O’CLOCK!!!! Upon realizing so, I give him a soft slap in the face and demand that, “COME ON LET’S GO SERENITY WILL BE WAKING UP!!!” In a flash, I race out of the hot tub and cover myself carelessly with one of the towels, now scurrying my way inside to put my clothes back on before Serenity can see me naked (not that this is anything new). Mr. Hollywood following close behind me, we get inside as he picks me up from behind and tosses me back onto the couch, the two of us now weakly making out in a wet sopping dirty mess from all the water, debris, and dirt we’ve tracked back in along with us. Within seconds, we hear Serenity make her way down the wooden stairs, letting out a cautious, “Hellooooooo….?”
Giggling to ourselves, we shoot up from off the couch and meet Serenity, Mr. Hollywood excusing himself to go get dressed. After emerging back downstairs, I see Mr. Hollywood has changed into a t-shirt and mesh shorts with running sneakers on. I only now remember that he has a hike to go on with business associates at 8:30 up at Runyon Canyon. This poor mother fucker. Realizing how fucking far we actually are from my place and knowing damn well that I don’t wanna do an 8:30 mile-long walk of shame home, I ask Mr. Hollywood if he can drive Serenity and I back, to which he happily agrees. Upon stepping out of his house and onto his front porch, Serenity and I gaze around to see where his car might be. Instinctively walking towards the street where it’s most likely parked, I hear Serenity call out, “Ummm…JAY!” Looking over at her, I see her pointing to a driveway located at the far side of the house, a shiny, beaming black coupe appropriately parked in it. That has to be his car. Puzzled and looking at one another, Serenity and I make our way over to the car as Mr. Hollywood unlocks it and opens both our doors for us. Once inside, we only then realize that it’s a Jaguar, as the word “JAGUAR” is sprawled across the front dashboard. “UMMMMMMMMM!!! WHO IS THIS GUY?!” Serenity demands whispering before Mr. Hollywood makes his way in after us.
After Mr. Hollywood takes my number and drops us off, Serenity and I giggle and stumble our way back to my apartment, only to further realize that FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!! I LET MY PHONE IN HIS CAR!!!! Now, I promise you people (!), this was not maliciously intentional! Now coupled with my comedown, I succumb to the grips of a full-on panic attack, freaking out and now highly anxious about what the rest of my liiiiiiiiiiiiiiife is gonna look like without my phone!!!!!
Remembering that Serenity had Facebooked him earlier in the night, I immediately charge for my laptop and look him up, messaging him that I must have left my phone in his car or house please let me know if you find it! In a full-fledged panic, I ponder whether or not a man his age actually checks his Facebook messages frequently and I spiral into even worse hysterics over whether or not I’ll ever see my phone again. In this instant, I recall noticing that he had a Blackberry when he took my number down. I’m pretty sure that Blackberry’s are designed to be synced to your email, so that whenever you get an email it shows up much like that of a text…right?????!?!?!?! I THINK SO!! I now have the genius idea to Google him. I know that when you Google MY name, my company email address shows up. Ugh. I really am a fucking genius. Without hesitating, I copy and paste his first and last name from his Facebook to Google and hit “Enter.” With the results spilling onto my screen, my eyes widen in shock and my jaw drops in disbelief at what I’m seeing in front of me, as I immediately place both of my hands over my mouth and continue to stare.
The top results all start with Mr. Hollywood’s first and last name followed by the words SENIOR VICE PRESIDENT SENIOR VICE PRESIDENT SENIOR VICE PRESIDENT of the major motion picture studio he supposedly “just did international consulting for.” WHOA DUDE way to downplay the SHIT out of your job! I SCREAM in utter shock as I scroll down and read interviews he’s done, see Google images pop up of him with other famous studio executives (I know this because several of them have been featured in reality TV shows, TMZ, and other miscellaneous, highly-reputable media coverage), and see timelines of events pertaining the company and his involvement in it. Jesus Christ….. I did blow with a billionaire. Let’s just take a second to process that statement again, shall we:
WITH A BILLIONAIRE!!!
I held billionaire BALLS in my hands.