Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

“Bikinis?”

“Naturally.”

“So, how did you get tied up?” she said, zooming in to film his answer.

“You convinced me to let you,” he replied with as much of a shrug as he could manage under the circumstances. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Kind of hot, actually.

“Why didn’t I let you go?”

“To keep me from going back to work and leaving you here,” he said, looking away.

“You’re lying,” she said, leaning in, the camera just inches away from the tip of his nose.

“No, I had a big concert I was supposed to do yesterday,” he said. “They’re pretty pissed. Turn on the news. They’re looking all over the world for me.”

“But that isn’t why I wouldn’t let you go, is it?” she said, reaching down and stroking his cock again.

“Don’t start that again,” he winced. “I’m sore all over after the last few days. Aren’t you?”

“I wondered why my nipples hurt,” she nodded, the camera bobbing. “So tell. Why wouldn’t I untie you?”

“So I wouldn’t go back to my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?” she said, jumping to her feet and dropping the camera, but not turning it off. “You have a girlfriend? But we’re married.”

“Maybe,” he said. “I’m not sure about ceremonies conducted by Elvis impersonators. He did do a good ‘Volare.’”

“‘Volare’ isn’t an Elvis song,” she said petulantly.

“I’m just saying.”

“So are we married or aren’t we?”

“I think we get to decide that.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Watch the tapes,” he suggested. “You’ll see what I got to see the past few days.”

“Why did you ask me to marry you?” she asked, sitting again and placing the camera on the bedside table to film them both.

“We’re good together.”

“The sex.”

“Hell yeah, but that’s not it.”

“Like what?”

“Like even now, I’m tied to the bed, you’re holding me hostage at gunpoint and sitting there naked and, well, I don’t know about you, but this just fits.”

“I remember,” she shrieked, leaping up and jumping on the bed. “I remember, I remember, I remember!”

“Everything?” he said bouncing uncomfortably.

“No,” she said, stopping and letting the bed recede. “But I remember why I tied you up.”

There was a long silence. She stood over him on the bed, staring out the window.

“Why?” he asked, finally.

“Why what?”

“Why did you tie me up?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” he asked, puzzled.

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Babe, in the last few days you’ve told me your whole life.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember that. I just remember that you tried to leave me and so I tied you up.”

“Because you love me?”

“I hardly know you.”

“Because you were afraid to be alone?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly?”

“Because I feel so at ease with you around,” she said, trying to put words to it. “Being naked around you is like wearing a coat and gloves on a cold day.”

“But you’re Miss March,” he said a little surprised. “And the world’s favorite lifeguard.”

“Being an exhibitionist is the best cover for being shy,” Star said, reaching up to brush his long black hair away from his face. “No one suspects.”

He turned his head to kiss her hand as she stroked his hair.

They regarded each other a moment.

“What’s left to hide?” he asked her.

“Me,” she said simply. “The part I save for myself.”

He shook his head, not understanding.

“There’s this website,” she said, folding her hands in her lap and looking out the window of the room. “This guy spends his whole life following me around and taking pictures of me and posting them on this website. It’s like his career or something. He has pictures of me going to work. Pictures of me going to the store. Pictures of me walking the dog, on the set, having lunch with friends, on dates, kissing, holding my mother’s hand. He even has pictures of me sleeping. It’s like he’s stealing my life. Not the part that we all give the world, but the part I keep for me.” The tears felt warm on her face.

They sat silent for a long time. Jimi looked at Star and she looked out the window at the late-afternoon light reflecting on the ocean below.

“Untie me,” he said at last.

“So can you escape?”

“So I can hold you.”

Star looked at Jimi a moment. Maybe he was telling the truth. Or maybe she just wanted to be held. Either way, she couldn’t make much of a marriage out of it if she kept her husband tied to the bed. Eventually they’d have to change the sheets.

Looking around for something to cut the bonds with, Star spied some dagger-sized shards of glass from the table she’d shot earlier. She wrapped one of them in a towel so she wouldn’t cut her hands, then sawed through the random bonds she couldn’t untie or unbuckle.

“If you love something, let it go,” she said, stepping back from the bed when he was free.

“I always thought that was such a stupid thing,” he said, rubbing his wrists. “I mean, if you let it go, how will it know you love it?”

She laughed, still a little woozy from the afternoon and God knew what all else.

Jimi extended his arms and Star fell into them.

It was just them, naked in bed with a blender. No Ecstasy, no special effects, just the two of them joined perfectly together like interlocking pieces in a puzzle.

Jimi ran his hands down her body, drawing her so tightly into him it was as if he were trying to merge them into one. When they kissed, it was the same. It wasn’t just sex, it was as if they were trying to become one person, two halves fused together. When she took him in her mouth, or he was inside her, the passion turned them into a single being, if only for a perfect instant.

When it was done, they lay sweating together, still united, unwilling to separate. Star writhed against her husband, moving to excite him, to extend their union and… and that’s when she heard the noise, the excruciatingly familiar sound of a camera’s auto rewind. She saw only a man’s shoe under the curtains. That’s all she needed before she was up, gun in hand, running for the balcony.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed, running toward the sound. The shoe disappeared and she saw the man run for the rope ladder he must have used to climb down from the rooftop onto her balcony.

Jimi was too blissed out to realize what was going on, but when he heard Star’s shouts and screams he followed her out onto the balcony, where he found her holding a gun on a man hanging from the railing—dangling, really—hundreds of feet above the jagged rocks of the coastline below.

“Get the camera,” she directed.

“What’s going on?” Jimi asked, unsure of what he was witnessing or what he should do.

“This is the guy,” Star said by way of explanation, brushing away angry tears. “You know… this is the one with the website.”

“Star?” Jimi said, unsure of what she wanted.

“It’s time for a little confession,” she said, prodding the photographer’s ribs with the toe of her Gucci boot. “Get the camera.”

A smile split Jimi’s face. “You got it, babe.”

He returned with the camera, and the two spent the next few minutes forcing the intruder to admit what he was doing and how he got into his present predicament. While the man pleaded for his life, Star got his name and ID as a souvenir.

Satisfied, they were at a loss for what to do next.

The idea seemed to occur to the two of them at once.

“On three?” Jimi said, taking her hand in his.