She's a Star (a Hollywood Hotwife story) (3 page)

Under the surface, of course, I enjoyed seeing other men being attracted to her, I loved to see them flirting with her. This was my fantasy bubbling up again. Doubtless, I wanted to sweeten her ongoing misery with a little attention from other guys, but I also needed to lighten my load in terms of constantly trying to cheer her up.

I took a more subtle approach, suggesting she flirt back with this guy or that guy, and maybe she’d get a bigger tip. It worked, on both levels. She did get a bigger tip, but she also noticed that, yes indeed, these guys were actually flirting with her. The confidence boost in her was tangible, the glow about her once her shift was ended was irresistible.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” she’d say when we wound ourselves back to our little place a few blocks back from the ocean. “Most men would probably want to beat those guys up for checking out their woman.”

“Most guys aren’t married to a hot actress,” was my reply.

But she did continue with her new approach to dealing with customers—and seemed to enjoy it. Over the course of a few weeks, I noticed a change in her—at her work, and even in her acting, where two auditions even led to small roles in a commercial and in a small stage play put on during the Venice Beach Festival.

Watching her when I could, it was clear that she took my encouragement about it being okay to play off the attractions of other men, and ran with it. She grew more and more comfortable with the whole act of flirting with the opposite sex, seeing there was no harm in it. Certainly no harm in the size of her tips at the end of a night. No harm in the fact that she was head-hunted by a new upscale restaurant looking for any way to draw in new clientele. No harm in the way her new confidence got her acting in a more extroverted way, dressing in more stylish clothes—and instead of coming home after a long shift feeling dejected and despondent, she was all abuzz and full of giggles and smiles, not to mention horny as a minx.

I remember daydreaming one night when I was trying out her swanky new restaurant, discreetly watching her winning over the other diners with her charm and a scandalously short skirt—and my daydream turned this venue into a strip club, with my wife becoming the star attraction, taking her clothes off to the accompaniment of cheers and wolf-whistles. I think that was probably the first time my enjoyment of her flirting veered into the territory of a sexual fantasy. It was probably the first time that seeing her working the room actually made me hard.

When we got home that night, she forced it out of me. I was never any good at lying or concealing the truth.

“What’s that look for?” she said as she came to collect me from my shady little booth in the far corner of the restaurant.

“Oh, nothing. Good food tonight.”

“That’s not what that look says.” As I stood up, she leaned in for her customary kiss, and I was completely busted as she came into contact with the stiffness lurking beneath my pants. It made her gasp, and ask under her breath, “What is that for?”

“For you.”

“Seriously?” She led me toward the exit as though we were spies who’d fallen under the suspicion of the secret police. “You’ve watched me working often enough….”

“I don’t know…it’s that skirt of yours…and the way those guys were looking at you tonight….”

She looked around to make sure no one had spotted the tent in my pants—as if anyone could in the darkness of the room. We stepped out into the street, and she said: “And that turned you on?”

I shrugged, sheepishly. “I had a little daydream, I guess.”

“A dirty dream?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Soon as we get home, you’re going to tell me every detail.”

We hailed a cab, even though home wasn’t far at all, and although she refused to hear another word from me in the presence of the driver, she was surreptitiously stroking my hardness through my pants the whole way, making sure I’d be in the mood for something when we got back.

As soon as we fell into our apartment, she was tearing off my clothes, and demanding my full account of the daydream I’d had. Even in four years of marriage, we hadn’t really spoken of our fantasies with each other. I’d always been a little awkward about that kind of thing, and Hayley had always acted as though she never really had sexual fantasies. But she was all over me as I admitted I’d been imagining her in a gentleman’s club, taking off her clothes to the beat of the music, prancing and jumping and twirling to show her stunning curves off to the baying mob of lustful men.

“Your fantasy was a bunch of men watching me strip?” She couldn’t quite get her head around it.

“You’re just…I don’t know…really hot when there’s lots of attention on you. When you’re flirting.”

“But stripping?”

I shrugged again. “They’re just watching,” I said. “I was the one who got to go home with you at the end of the night.”

She was beaming, though. She liked the concept of me fantasizing about her being a sex object. She pushed me back onto the bed and started sucking my cock for all she was worth, as though rewarding me for casting her in the starring role in my sex dream.

When she straddled me and sank down on my pole, she was incredibly wet. It only turned me on more that she was so aroused after hearing my fantasy.

*

It wasn’t all plain-sailing, even though we both loved the constant California warmth and the smell of the ocean nearby. There were peaks and troughs.

But her little run at the Venice Beach Festival saw Hayley win herself the services of an agent—and from a reputable firm, too, albeit huge. Liona Fairbanks was friendly and bright and very complimentary of her new client’s capabilities. The fiery blonde was impressed at our ambitious coast-to-coast relocation, and over a few drinks after Hayley’s final performance at the Festival, she said we’d done exactly the right thing if we wanted Hayley to get anywhere in the business.

“I can’t guarantee anything,” she said, chomping on a lump of pineapple from her Pina Colada. “But you’ll have a much better shot at it, I’ll tell you that.”

And she wasn’t kidding. The most noticeable thing, early on, was that Hayley was able to get in a slightly higher class of audition. It was like she’d been pre-vetted, so could attend try-outs that were a little less than completely open to the public.

And it was at one of these that something quite remarkable happened.

Chapter Two

It came out of nowhere, a bolt from the blue. I came home from work one evening to find Hayley in the bedroom, sitting silently on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but a small pair of white panties, gazing into the full-length mirror in the corner.

“Hayley, honey, you okay?”

She looked gorgeous, perched there with her hands clasped between her thighs, her face perfectly made up, her long red hair flowing down over her shoulders, her pale face almost glowing, the sensual lines of her near-naked body tickling my libido.

But she was perched on the edge of that mattress as though Medusa had turned her into a statue. Didn’t even glance up as I appeared at the bedroom door. For a moment, I even looked to check her shapely chest was rising and falling just as it should.

Almost as though she was on drugs.

“I met Aaron Simpson,” she said at last, and her voice might have confirmed drug use had I not known her better.

“Really?” I smiled. I never knew my wife had a crush on Aaron Simpson. “He came into the restaurant today?”

At this point, my wife was no longer working at the Cheesecake Factory. These days, it was a more exclusive restaurant in West Hollywood, where it wouldn’t be too much of a shock that a Hollywood star ventured inside for a light lunch. As soon as she’d started in this town, Hayley had been looking to get into a place like that—even simply serving the tables somewhere that famous people gathered was another opportunity in her eyes. When there were thousands and thousands of budding actresses fighting for exposure, you had to take your opportunities in this town.

“Did he leave you a tip?” I added, then instantly regretted it, thinking she might take it as a put-down.

“He was at my audition,” she said, sounding so far away.

“That’s great!”

She probably did tell me she had an audition that day, might even have said what it was for. We tell each other everything. But sometimes, when I’m busy with work, a few of the details get missed as she tells me what she’s up to.

Auditions came and went, and when it sounded as though she thought she had a chance with one, I’d be all ears and all attention. But the other times, when she was more skeptical about her hopes of landing something, I’d be a little less energetic in asking her about it all. I’d seen her on stage often enough to know she had real talent, but her confidence sometimes slipped when there was too much pressure on her. She didn’t want me eagerly anticipating her big break every time she went for an audition, even out here under the California sun. I had to play it cool most of the time, trying to play down the importance of the thing if it didn’t go well.

There in the bedroom, she shifted her arms a little, and I saw how hard her nipples were. It wasn’t cold in there.

“So it’s one of his movies?” I hovered in the doorway, not quite knowing how to respond to my wife acting this way. “He’s the star?”

“And producer, which is why he was at the audition.” She looked shocked. It made me catch my breath, because the most obvious reason for her being this way was that she’d done so well at the audition, they had given her a role—or at least a second audition. But I still couldn’t pre-empt her telling me. Couldn’t afford her to think I was disappointed if the truth didn’t live up to my hopes.

“So it went okay?” I prompted.

“I was an idiot,” she said.

My heart deflated. I thought, if only I could be a successful movie producer instead of a corporate lawyer, I might be able to help my wife. I sighed and went to sit beside her on the bed. “What happened?”

“They asked me if I’d be willing to take my clothes off for the movie,” she said.

“They did?” I looked over her beautiful form in the mirror and couldn’t imagine how any movie producer could say no to Hayley gracing their project, with or without her clothes. “We’ve talked about that kind of thing before. I thought you were okay with something like that.”

She shrugged. “Only as it turns out, I didn’t hear the question properly.”

“So what, you said ‘no’?”

She shook her head. “I took off my clothes.”

I had to stifle a mixture of horror and laughter, although it wasn’t only her mistake that amused and disturbed me. This was pretty much in line with my sexual fantasies these days.

“You took everything off?” I asked, my pants tightening.

Hayley stood up, wearing nothing but those tiny little white cotton panties—practically a thong.

“I was just like this,” she said, tilting her hips this way and that as though trying on a dress. “God, I was so embarrassed.”

“I can imagine.”

“And that’s when Aaron Simpson came in. He wasn’t supposed to be there. Felt like showing up to lend his support.”

Hayley was still slightly flushed, the rosy cheeks joined by a pinkish hue over her chest. And with those stiff nipples, I wondered if she was turned on by all this, too?

“Well at least they must have noticed you,” I said, trying to make light of it.

“Oh my God, they must have thought I was so stupid,” she wailed, blushing. “I meet Aaron Simpson—the Aaron Simpson—and he thinks I’m this stupid girl who stripped off to try and get a part in a movie.”

I tried not to wince, instead stepping in behind her to offer my support. “They probably just thought you were really committed. You were showing your willingness. What did they say? What did he say, Aaron Simpson?”

“Just that he should attend more auditions,” she said.

“So he obviously liked you.”

She just stood there for a moment, furiously blushing. I was finding it hard to be the kind of sympathetic husband I knew I was supposed to be, simply because I loved the thought of my beautiful wife standing virtually naked in front of a row of other men.

I stepped up, circled my arms around her—protective, possessive, but also undeniably lustful. She smiled warmly as my eyes met hers in the mirror, appreciating my calm support.

“They must have thought you looked incredible,” I said, and couldn’t help but move my hands up to cup those breasts of hers, those nipples begging to be touched.

“You’re not upset? That I just stood there and stripped for them?” She could tell I wasn’t upset. I guess she was just testing me, prodding me.

“I’ve always figured you were going to be a successful actress, people would probably want to see a lot of you on screen,” I said.

She smiled again as I squeezed her soft orbs, fingers and thumbs closing in on her stiff little buds. “You’re sweet.”

As I held her firm breasts, I pushed my body up against her so she could feel the proof that I wanted her every bit as much as I had when we’d talked about her day in Central Park, kissing a stranger.