Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

“Okay,” Star said, rolling her eyes. “If everyone in the entire world gets to talk about my sex life, you two can talk about yours in the privacy of the trailer without turning into a couple of thirteen-year-olds.”

“All right,” Billy said, sobering up. “It’s called bottom and top.” He pointed at himself and then Skip.

“Or passive and active,” Skip said, pointing at Billy and then himself.

“Too clinical,” Billy said, wrinkling his nose. “Pitcher and catcher.”

“I like that one,” Star said. “It sounds fun, like a game.”

“Well, then, Miss Star,” Skip said, taking her hand, “meet Billy, the biggest catcher in the league.”

Billy threw the wet towel over Skip’s head.

Star’s phone rang with the opening strains of “Can’t You See,” and she checked the number. “It’s the lawyer. Excuse me a minute.”

Star listened, then rolled her eyes as he explained the latest lawsuit, this one from a producer who claimed she backed out of a film she’d merely read the script for. “Tell him to take a number,” she sighed, before turning back to Billy.

“All right, what do you want to know?” he asked, taking the makeup chair beside hers.

“Well, like everything,” Star said, throwing up her hands.

“It requires preparation and practice,” Billy said. “Straight boys and tops live in the delusion of spontaneity.”

“Oh, please,” Skip said, waving the conversation away.

“He just wanted to stick it in, right?” Billy said, not looking at Skip at all.

“Pretty much.” Star nodded, then sipped her coffee.

“Typical,” Billy sniped, folding his arms. “Well, first off, some bad news. Being a girl, you’re never going to enjoy butt sex quite as much as boys do. It’s a design thing.”

“Boys are designed for butt sex?” Star said, her eyes widening.

“Surprising, huh?” Billy said with a little grin.

“You know, you hear it’s unnatural.”

“Not a bit. You remember the little hint I gave you about the come-hither finger up the chute during blow jobs?” Billy asked seriously. “Well, that’s Mr. Prostate you’re tickling. Only boys have them, and they get really tickled during butt sex. Not every guy wants to, but it’s the same for all boys.”

“Me, for instance,” Skip said, raising his hand.

“Yeah, we all got that, butch,” Billy said with an exasperated sigh. “But for boys who do, there’s plenty of good reason built right in.”

“It’s all part of God’s plan,” Skip said derisively.

“Don’t mock.” Billy raised a warning finger. “I could have a really bad headache for a few months.”

“It’s a beautiful thing, Star,” Skip said sincerely.

“But not for girls?” Star questioned.

“I didn’t say that.” Billy patted her hand. “Plenty of girls like it too, as I understand it. It’s just a question of technique and personal preference. Straight boys and tops alike can learn a little thing called the reach-around.”

“A hand job?” Star asked.

“During,” Billy said, giving Skip a meaningful look. “It can go a long way toward improving the experience for both parties by motivating the catcher.”

“Got it,” Star said. “Jimi never minds that.”

“Lucky girl,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. “Now, the rest is all about preparation.”

“Stretching exercises?” Star asked. “My mom was big on Kegel exercises, where you spread your legs and sit on the floor and try to suck up the carpet.”

“You should show Billy how to do those,” Skip teased.

“Douche,” Billy said, pointedly ignoring him.

“Back there?”

“Yeah, you can get little enema bottles all ready to go at the drugstore. They’re pretty self-explanatory and they’re reusable with plain warm water. Just a tip, though. You do not have to lie on the floor and pull your leg up to your chest like it shows on the diagram.”

“Though that’s an excellent position for getting started later,” Skip mused.

“Well, yeah, that’s actually true,” Billy agreed after first looking for and not finding an argument. “But the best way to begin, as with all things sexual, is with a little foreplay. If you’re all nice and clean, and some people shave too, it’s a matter of taste.”

“Well, you all remember how they had to glue it on to give me pussy hair,” Star said, breaking up at the memory.

“Oh, that’s right,” Skip said, cackling. “I remember that. It was so hideous. Marsten is so weird about that.”

“And that poor little guy,” Billy said, recalling the beard maker. “I felt bad for him, but he was such a professional.”

“Anyway,” Star said, riding over the digression, “shaving won’t be a big issue for me.”

“Right,” Billy said. “And Jimi, he’s good about oral sex in general?”

“I married him, didn’t I?” Star said with laughter.

“Well, the same technique applies here, and, girl,” Billy said, taking her hand, “it’ll make you scream.”

Skip nodded his head and put his fingers in his ears.

“Then he works in a lubed-up finger, and then two to get the lube in and the idea started. This is the part where having a prostate comes in handy, so you’ll have to find your own ways to improvise,” Billy said, not entirely sure of the mechanics involved. “And then the big show. Now, you can actually practice beforehand with your own fingers or with a dildo.”

“Practice?” Skip snorted. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Or a vibrator if you’ve got one,” Billy went on, pretending not to hear.

“If?” Star laughed. “One?”

“Okay, well, just get him to go slow at first,” Billy forged ahead. “Easy in and then wait. You can breathe or even push like you would if you were, you know, using those muscles down there ordinarily, but the main thing is just to relax. It’s not going to injure you; the pain is just because you’re not used to it. Once you relax and get going, it all changes. And with a good reach-around or, better still, if you’re facing just a plain old hand job, you’ll forget that it ever bothered you in the first place.”

“Aw, what a touching mother/daughter moment,” Skip said, batting his eyes foolishly.

“You make fun,” Billy said, “but I can’t remember a single complaint.”

“If I can add something,” Skip said, putting an arm around Billy in a sideways hug, “Jimi’ll love it if you kind of squeeze your cheeks together.”

“Like you’re trying to hold a fart.” Billy nodded with an embarrassed shrug.

“Oh my God!” Star shrieked with laughter.

“When he’s pulling, not pushing,” Skip added, reaching over and holding up Billy’s hand by a diamond-and-sapphire ring. “Trust me on this one, he’ll really, really love it.”

“Is that how I got that ring?” Billy asked, startled and unsure exactly how to react.

“It sure didn’t hurt,” Skip said with a knowing smile.

Star got a diamond necklace a week later.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Going out to celebrate had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The nightclub Ka Mano, in fact, partly belonged to Star, so she would have some measure of control over the situation. She had been out of the house only to go to work and to court, and Jimi didn’t have a gig, so he had been pacing the confines of Jimiville like a caged cat. They had indulged in their singular recreation until they had worn each other raw. Even with Skip and Billy’s tip and their own wild imagination there was only so much they could do.

So they arranged an Ecstasy party to shake off the mood with sweat, love, and rock and roll.