Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

It was quite perfect. Exactly what Star had been looking for. But it was the name of the establishment that got to her like a message from the universe and her late grandfather Papa Jens that tonight was the right thing to do. As she watched the waitresses, she remembered her life in Miami at Mother Pearl’s Steak and Oyster Emporium, where she’d lugged beer and shucked oysters wearing a tiny T-shirt emblazoned with those immortal words: SHUCK ME, SUCK ME, EAT ME RAW. The memory made her smile.

Jimi had entertained by playing all the glasses at the table like drums, smashing most of them. His reckless abandon was appealing somehow, and Star couldn’t resist the growing attraction as he tugged her out onto the dance floor. Water misted on them from pinholes in water pipes in the rafters to help keep the dancers cool, and soon the small dance floor was filled with wet, tanned half-naked bodies.

“It’s time for instant margaritas,” Jimi announced.

“Instant?” Star said, crinkling her nose. “In this place? I think scratch margaritas all you’re likely to get.”

“No, not instant like that,” Jimi said, hopping up on the table and waving the waitress over. “Un bottle… how do you say bottle in español ?”

“Botella.” She smiled.

“Cool. Una botella of tequila and una botella of triple sec and una de lime juice… how do you say lime juice ?”

“Jugo de cal,” the waitress, who clearly spoke perfect English, answered.

“Gracias.” Jimi nodded, making quite the show of it. “Una botella of jugo de cal, por favor.”

“Are you going to make margaritas at the table?” Star asked, sure of the recipe for margaritas from her tenure hawking cocktails.

“Sort of,” Jimi said. “It’s even more instant than that,” he explained, opening the bottles and lining them up. “Okay, I’ll go first. Star, you’re in charge of tequila. Missy, you take the jugo de cal. And it’s Diane, right?”

“Right.” Diane smiled despite herself.

“Diane, you have the easy job,” he said, handing her the remaining bottle. “You’re on triple sec.”

“Jimi,” Star said, laughing at the production he was making of the whole thing. “What are we supposed to mix the drinks in?”

“Ah,” he said, lying back on the table and letting his head hang off the end as he faced the canopy of garish Christmas lights and stars. “That’s what makes them instant margaritas. They don’t become margaritas until the instant they touch my tongue.”

“Got it.” Star laughed.

As Jimi lay back on the table, the girls poured the contents into his mouth. What his Mix-Mistresses lacked in technique, they made up for in enthusiasm and quantity. Most of their first batch wound up on the front of Jimi’s shirt. But Jimi was both a willing and eager coach. Before long, the whole cantina was in on it.

Star gave it a try. “Isn’t it funny how tequila goes straight to your nipples,” she announced as she sat up. Despite the fact that it was a warm night and she was still overheated from the dance floor, they were obviously rock hard.

The night just kept getting stranger. One of Jimi’s friend’s dimples started to freak her out, and Star had to beg him not to smile. She began analyzing everyone, taking an interest in the strangest things. When she went to the ladies’ to freshen up, she was taken by how hot it felt to pee. “I could pee for an hour,” she told one of the girls who’d come with her. “That tequila must be really fresh or something.”

At one point, Jimi borrowed a skull ring from “Dimples” and made quite the show of proposing, telling everyone who’d listen that Star was every young boy’s fantasy, that it was love at first sight. She tried to say no, but he was having none of it, and so she just smiled and enjoyed the feel of the cool silver on her finger.

She didn’t know what it was, but the night just kept getting better and better. The colored lights looked more vibrant against that sky. The stars kept getting brighter. The moon was blinding. The drinks couldn’t have been tangier. Even the feel of the lawn chair was a treat against her skin.

“Oh, my God,” she cried out, rubbing against the webbing. “This chair feels amazing.”

Jimi exchanged a look and a laugh with his buds.

“X-cellent,” he said, giving Star and his friends the thumbs-up. “Totally x-cellent. Maybe we should go for a walk on the beach, Star.” He offered her his hand and she took it, only to marvel at the feel of his skin against hers.

“Your hands are so soft and yet so strong,” Star said, rubbing his hand between both of hers. “It feels wonderful.”

“And your hands feel awesome on mine,” he moaned as she ran her hands up his arms.

The two could barely walk for grasping one another, and Jimi’s posse laughed at their awkward progress across the restaurant toward the beach.

“Ecstasy?” Diane asked elliptically.

Jimi’s clones only laughed in reply.

“You fucker,” Star said, striking the still-bound Jimi with the flat of her hand on his taut stomach. Like a belly flop it made a bigger noise than anything else. “You slipped me Ecstasy? Is that why I feel so weird?” she demanded, running her hand up and down the smooth naked skin of his stomach. It felt warm and velvety under her palm and she quickly became mesmerized by the sensation.

“Dude, I totally thought you’d have done X before,” he said, pleading his case, her touch heating him up but his bonds keeping him from doing anything about the sweet torture of it. “Honest, I would never have slipped you anything if I’d known.”

“Is that why I can’t remember what happened,” she said, tearing her hand away from the irresistible feeling of his skin.

“Well,” he admitted, sorry but relieved that she’d stopped her stroking. “There were a number of substances involved. After the instant margaritas you just couldn’t get enough.”

“So you tricked me?”

“Well, you weren’t exactly unconscious.”

“But it’s the same thing as forcing me,” she said, strangely torn between the desire to feel his skin against her hand and her confused outrage at his revelation.

“You’re not the one tied to the bed,” he pointed out. “Wait and hear the rest of the story before you decide.”

“So, you’re saying that I wanted to do all these drugs?” Star said, recoiling, her hand clutched to her chest. The feel of her own skin was awesome, not to mention the sensation of her hand touching her naked breasts.

“You wanted a lot more than that,” Jimi said with a dirty little laugh.

Their first kiss, though chemically enhanced, was electric and lasted, more or less, for two days. Star thought that there was a magical bond between them, above and beyond the attraction that she already felt.

There was something funny and sweet and, despite his outward ultrahip affectation, kind of nerdy about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but Jimi Deed was charming in a way that made you want to take care of him.

And he knew how to kiss.

The Ecstasy just made her unable to resist more of a good thing.

“Oh, Jimi,” she gasped, coming up for air but not really breaking contact with him. “You feel so… perfect against me.” She groaned as she ground her hips into his.

“God, baby, that feels sooo good!” he howled, throwing his head back.

“Your T-shirt feels like velvet.” She shivered, allowing the straps at her shoulders to fall away so that she could brush her bare nipples against the ribbed fabric. “Oh, feel the wind on your skin,” Star said, turning and letting the warm sea breeze caress her naked flesh in the privacy of the night-darkened beach.