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Excerpt
The following is an excerpt from the book Star Struck
by Pamela Anderson
Published by Atria Books; August 2005;$24.00US/$33.00CAN; 0-7434-9283-8
Copyright © 2005 Pamela Anderson

It just wasn't possible to tell him no.

After talking with Jimi on the phone for three hours that first day, Star agreed that she and her friends from the shoot would meet him and his friends for drinks at the hotel bar. It seemed like innocent fun, and it was, at long last, something to do on her vacation that involved leaving her room besides work. Star had had just about all the rest and relaxation she could stand, and a little tequila and a lot of dancing sounded like just what her holiday needed.

Best of all, it was the first offer she'd made the others on the shoot that had drawn any interest at all. Missy, her makeup and hair girl, three of the other models -- Diane, Cindy, and Kat -- and Roberto, one of the boys on the crew who was also one of the girls, all jumped at the chance to come along to see what would happen that evening.

Just knowing that they were going out that night enlivened Star on the next day's shoot. She'd made quite the hit learning to windsurf for the cameras. Afterward, she'd snagged some of the summer line they were there to model and enlisted Missy, who'd been doing her makeup for the shoot, to help her get ready so she could make a real entrance at the bar that night. She made quite the project of it.

The truth of it was, Star hadn't been all that interested in Jimi. She didn't even intend to see him after she got back to L.A.

"Okay, Missy," Star said, making like she was cracking a whip as she emerged wearing a bikini top, Gucci short shorts, and stilettos. "Bring on the eyeliner."

*

"I'm sorry, but the señor will not be permitted in the hotel bar," the maître d' said with a little sniff. "You are not dressed properly for the Ritz. Perhaps the Hilton will be more to the señor's liking? They have no standards there that I can detect."

Star, Missy, and the others were enjoying the show from their table inside the Land's End, the bar to which the maître d' was attempting to refuse entry to Jimi and his scruffy lot. Clad more or less identically in saggy jeans, black Frankenstein shoes, and wife-beaters, they looked like someone's backup dancers.

"Which one is he?" Diane, one of the other models, whispered to Star.

"I honestly don't know," Star confided with a tiny shrug. "They all look alike. They're all hot."

"I noticed that. Is he in a rock-and-roll band or a marching band?" Missy teased, laughing at her own joke.

"I'm not so sure." Star shrugged. "But it looks as though he's not going to be in here anytime soon."

"Look, Jeeves," Jimi shouted loudly enough to be heard at Star's table. "We are supposed to be meeting guests at your foofy, uptight place. You should be happy we're here. Look around."

"That's him, the belligerent one." Star nodded disgustedly, recognizing the attitude from the fight he'd gotten into when he'd broken into her trailer only a week earlier and surprised yet another intruder who'd beaten him to it.

She smiled at herself.

She had broken up the fight in her trailer and gotten Jimi to leave by promising to go out on a date with him when she got back from Cabo if he stopped stalking her. She also agreed to read a movie script that the other intruder, Steph Golden, had broken in to leave for her. And there she was going out with Jimi in Cabo and she'd not read a word of the Hy Voltz script. Not my most successful negotiation, she thought ruefully.

"He seems very, um, persistent," Cindy fished for a compliment as she sipped at the straw in her fruity drink. "That's always a good sign, right?" Her head bobbed back and forth like a tennis spectator's as she watched Jimi trying to outflank the implacable maître d'.

"Yeah," Star said, bemused as security stepped in to prevent Jimi from coming to her table. "You've got to admire his determination."

"Sure, what the fuck?" Kat said, toasting with her coconut shell.

Star rose to rescue him before he wound up in some seedy Mexican jail.

"A man will follow his dick off a cliff." Diane shrugged, stirring her drink with the straw.

"Is there a cliff nearby?" Star called over her shoulder with a little laugh and a toss of her head that brought both Jimi and the security guards up short.

"Hi," Jimi said, twisting his goatee nervously, unable to manage much more than an adolescent croak. "You look fucking amazing."

"Is there a problem?" Star asked without addressing Jimi directly.

"Señorita e'Star," the maître d' fawned. "I am so sorry I did not realize, is this man a guest of yours?"

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid that the Ritz has a very strict dress code," the maître d' said with an obsequious bow. "I can offer you and your guests a table by the pool perhaps? Or in the cabana? But I cannot allow gentlemen without jackets in the Land's End Club after six. My sincerest apologies."

"No worries," Star said, waving the nervous man in for a landing with a gentle gesture. "Tell you what. I haven't gotten to see much of Cabo. Perhaps you could recommend a nightclub. Something local and not too touristy? Where we could go for a little drink in the company of gentlemen without jackets?"

"I'm sure Miss e'Star could get in anywhere in the world she cared to call," the man said with another bow. "But, perhaps Madre de la Perla?"

"What?" Star asked. The name brought her up short. "What's the name of the place?"

"Madre de la Perla," the man repeated. "In inglés, Mother of Pearl. It's an open-air cantina de la ostra -- oyster bar."

"I'm home," Star said, flinging her arms around Jimi's neck and hopping up and down as she spun him around. "Shuck me, suck me, eat me raw!" she shouted.

"I thought you'd never ask," Jimi said, grinning as he took her in his arms.

*

"They're actually supposed to be a 'hypochondriac,'" Star explained to her mystified party as she drained the oyster shell of its contents and chased it with a shot of tequila. "That means they'll put lead in your pencil," she added with a confidential giggle. "Who wants an oyster shot?" she asked as she dropped the hollow shell into the gold, spray-painted coffee can that had been placed on their table to collect the empties.

The whole place had the same sort of makeshift feel to it. Formerly a dockside gas station and general store catering to local fishermen, with a little imagination and a lot of spray paint, the place had been converted into a dockside gas station, general store, and a bar. There were a few rough wooden tables, benches, and an odd assortment of old webbed lawn chairs, where local fish and seafood were served fresh off the fishing boats that bought gas and shopped for supplies there.

The fiberglass had been stripped from the old red-and-white promotional gas station awning, and the rusty, bare frame had been wound with old, loudly colored Christmas tree lights. Brightly hued scraps of cloth hung from the rafters to separate the cantina de la ostra from the Texaco. Local musicians serenaded Star and her party with their brassy music from the deck of a small pontoon boat, lashed alongside the dock.

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.

"You're so warm," he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and grinding his denim-encased erection into the silky fabric of the tiny black shorts sliding from her waist.

"I can't explain how I feel," Star said, reaching behind to grasp his thighs and urging him more tightly against her.

"Your body feels great," Jimi said, boldly running his hand up to fondle her breasts with such delicate finesse that there was only enough contact to create an arc of sensation.

Star shivered from the intensity.

Sensations fired through her body. The moist sand under her feet like walking on cooked oatmeal. The froth of the waves lapping at her ankles like lace cuffs. And Jimi's urgent and growing sexual need, like static electric shocks with each touch.

"You know what?" she said, turning back so abruptly that it startled him. "I think getting in the water naked would be so awesome right now. And I have a Jacuzzi in my room." She was so excited she was shouting.

"That is so cool," he said, embracing her, thrilled almost to the point of orgasm by just the idea of being naked in a tub with Star. He could feel himself begin to leak as little spasms rocked his body.

"Race you," she said, breaking away and running up the beach in the direction of the hotel.

Star was tearing off what was left of her clothes even before the door to her room closed. Jimi followed her as she filled the tub and climbed in.

The water felt like warm Jell-O against her skin, thicker somehow. More viscous. And then, Jimi was on her, rubbing against her, and they were naked together for the first time, in the warm, silky water.

His mouth sought hers out and the feeling of his tongue entwined with hers was almost too much. It was as if they were kissing in slow motion as each tried to seek out every bump and serration and indentation in the mouth of the other.

"What does this feel like?" he asked, trailing his fingers down her body and sliding them inside.

Star shrieked. The orgasm was instantaneous, swift, and fierce. Jimi merely brushed against that most sensitive spot and she went off like a gunshot. The effect was so intense she had to hang on to Jimi for support. But unlike a gunshot, it went on and on. As his fingers explored, it just kept happening, rolling over her like waves in a storm, too numerous to count and too frequent to regain her footing.

"Oh, God," she said, when at last she found words. "You've got about two days to stop doing that."

So he did it again.

The effect was exactly the same, or maybe even better, she couldn't decide because he didn't stop the second time until she forced his hand away, unable to endure the pleasure any longer. It was a delicious pain, like drinking something really cold when you're thirsty on a hot day. It burns so good going down. Sex with Jimi was like orgasms came by the gallon and she was drinking too fast.

She pushed him backward until he stumbled and ended up sitting on the enormous tub's silky marble steps. And, like the neck of the Loch Ness monster, his erection broke the surface even though the steps were submerged.

Wow, she thought.

"What?" he asked.

"You know what I'm really good at?" Star asked mischievously.

"What?" He grinned in reply.

"Holding my breath."

She took him into her mouth, her head underwater as she plumbed the depths.

"Oh, shit," his voice rang out in the marble room.

She almost drowned, but what a way to go.

They spent the next two days naked in the water. They rubbed, licked, sucked, fondled, and tasted each other to orgasm so repeatedly that their entire bodies were chapped and raw. After the first couple of hours they had discovered Star's video camera, and they began relentlessly filming each other, not only when they were rubbing each other raw, but in the bathroom or showering or eating breakfast.

They simply could not seem to get enough of each other. It was as though the camera allowed them to see more than just when they were looking at each other.

He was filming her when he said those words that reshaped their destinies.

"Marry me?"

She looked up at him with a nervous giggle and smiled. It was as though she was checking to see if he was kidding.

"Okay," she said.

Copyright © 2005 Pamela Anderson