Once Upon a Star - Celebrity kiss and tell stories
Page 19
I rounded the booth, and there he was in all his magnificence. Mind you, at this moment, I had been gaga over Sting for as long as I could remember, so the whole thing was really surreal. I was surprised by how quickly we connected, how easily I slid into his arms, and how nice it felt when my nerves melted away. He ordered me a glass of red wine, and, although I can be a bit corny at times, he seemed to find me funny. We were having an incredible time, and I kept wondering if he knew that I was getting paid. I certainly wasn’t going to ask.
Sting was interesting in the sort of way that a science experiment is interesting. I had no idea from one moment to the next what was going to happen, or what he was going to say. I felt like I was constantly awaiting his next move, and, more than anything, he was incredibly intelligent. I probably learned more in that one dinner than I had since high school. Our conversation took a delicious turn when he started talking about the art of tantric sex. Now he really had my attention.
I had seen books in the shops, and heard a conversation or two on the topic, but I had never been with anyone who practiced it, or really knew for a second what they were talking about. Sting, noticing my interest, began to explain to me that that whole idea is to harness your sexual energy.
“All the energy you would normally release during an orgasm, you harness instead, and you bring it back into your body. The greatest feeling in the world is to be on the edge of release,” he said. I just about melted into the table. I could hardly keep my clothes on, listening to him talk to me like this.
“I would love to give you a Yoni massage,” he said. I had no idea what that was, but I was all in. It was clear that dinner was over.
We made our way to our cars. I decided to follow him to his house. On the way to Malibu, I laughed out loud, wondering if everyone I dated lived there. I passed a few ex-boyfriends’ beach houses, and finally pulled up in front of his. Even though I had been paid to show him a good time, I was pretty sure he was about to show me a thing or two, and I was ready to let him be my master.
After I had let go of my relationship with Mark, I was having a hard time feeling anything, or really holding on to anyone. That part of me, the part that was so quintessentially me, had passed, it seemed. I no longer saw the bright lights, or fell for men without reserve. I had lost a bit of my sparkle.
He gave me a tour of his incredible home. The recording studio he had there was nicer than any commercial studio I had ever seen. I was completely floored by the vast space of his beautiful bedroom. It was island-influenced, and full of artifacts and antiques. There were huge windows letting in the moonlight that looked over the beach.
He came up behind me, breathing in my ear, and slipped off my coat. I sat on the bed as he lit the fireplace and laid a huge comforter down in front of it. I was both excited and nervous at not knowing what to expect. I had been with many men, but never had I felt so out of my element.
“Come here,” he commanded, but his voice was gentle. “Make yourself comfortable, and I will be right back with some tea.”
When he came back, he poured me a cup of herbal tea, and we sat on the comforter facing each other. The tea, he explained, would enhance the experience. It was strong and almost bitter. We started with breathing and eye contact. We sat facing each other, breathing in the same rhythm with deep breaths that started down low in my body, and travelled to my crown chakra. Then, he slowly undressed me.
He kissed me and aroused me, laid me down on my back with a pillow beneath my head and hips. He kissed me again, and then traced a line down my entire body with his tongue. He started by massaging my thighs, stomach, and breasts, while reminding me to breathe and relax. I could feel myself slipping into another state. As the massage continued, he found his way between my legs. I had never felt anything quite like this before, and, as he continued to massage inside me, he found a g-spot I never knew I had.
Every time I would be close to climaxing, he would slow down, or pull away. The intensity was mind blowing, and I felt closer to him sexually than I ever had with anyone. I let him explore me, and began to learn things about my body that I never knew were possible. There was an entire art behind this sort of intimacy, and I couldn’t believe that Sting was the one showing it to me.
This went on for hours, and I got completely lost in the rhythm of our breath and the incredible sensations taking place in my body. He taught me to do the same to him. I would bring him close to orgasm, and then slow down, or stop, and start again. The power I had in teasing him and controlling his body made me feel even more sexual.
We practiced these rituals until the sun came up, and I never grew tired. I felt a bond with his body far deeper than I had ever experienced before. I knew we had shared something very special, and it was truly a life alerting experience. I would carry the lessons I learned that night with me for the rest of my life. I think, more than anything, I had developed an appreciation for my body as a temple, as a sacred space.
The sun was burning through the morning fog at the beach when he walked me out to my car. My entire body was energized and tingling from head to toe. I felt complete satisfaction and a desire to cultivate this inner peace. I could never thank him enough for our time together. He kissed me and I drove off, feeling that my relationship with myself had been irrevocably altered, and I wasn’t sure how to proceed in my life.
It was only a few weeks after this night that we lost Charlie. At Charlie’s funeral, I had never witnessed such an outpouring of love. It seemed he had changed many people’s lives in his curious, and often questionable, ways. Charlie had a heart of gold, and a few bad judgments of character had led to a fatal evening. A deranged stripper had become obsessed with him, and, one late night in his Malibu home, she shot and killed him. His departure was the beginning of the end of my time in Hollywood. It was the end of an era.
Chapter 1 4
Sean Penn
The Awakening
There are a few sayings about the things you can count on in life. They say death and taxes are the only certainties, and that the only inevitability is change. I suppose, in many ways, they are right, and, whoever they may be, they must have been through a lot before. This part, this story, is about the way things ended, or how they changed, I guess. I fell out of Hollywood much like how I fell into it. There was no sweeping grand motion or declaration. I simply found myself somewhere different than where I had been before, one day.
Some change happens naturally, or by gradually planting itself in small moments over the years. Then, sometimes, someone brings to light the very deepest and darkest corners of yourself, and, with that illumination, you have no choice but to see all of which you had buried. I suppose I encountered a combination of the two, and I suppose it was Sean Penn who helped me see it.
I remember this night like all those frames from a film. I can see myself sitting at the Roxbury. This had started to happen to me more frequently than I would have liked. I was feeling very detached from my surroundings and myself. I felt like I was never actually there, like I could see the frivolity of everything, and I wondered constantly who that girl was, but, oh wait, that girl was me.
So, I was sitting at the Roxbury, staring out at the street and at all the cars passing by. Some stopped, and women would climb out, pulling their dresses down and pushing their hair up. There were hoards of wanna-be’s and idiots. It felt like the poser factor was on overdrive tonight. I wondered if it was always like this everywhere we went, and only now I was noticing. It’s funny, all the things you start to see when you stop staring at yourself.
I was with a few of my friends, and they were ordering drinks when the club promoter came over and asked us if we would like to join Jack Nicholson’s table. We all exchanged glances, and affirmed that yes, in fact, we would love to join his table. I followed. They were in a VIP room that I didn’t even know existed, which I found vastly impressive. He was sitting with Warren Beatty and Sean Penn. I was elated that I had accepted the invitation; this was a table I c
ould get used to sitting at. Our appearance made them all smile instantaneously.
“Welcome, ladies, welcome,” Jack said.
We all sat down in our miniskirts and tight tops, sitting as close as we could. I was sitting next to Warren, across the table from Sean, and, although I was in a deep discussion with Warren, I remember Sean’s eyes, and the way he kept looking at me. Jack was incredibly charming; he had the whole table rolling with laughter. They were all gentleman, and they hadn’t invited us over to stare and paw at us. We were all having a really good time, and I felt refreshed by their presence as I usually did in the company of good-looking men.
A young looking blonde something approached the table, practically drooling into our cocktails, and asked Jack if he wanted to dance.
“Wrong verb, sweetheart,” Jack said.
The girl walked away with a puzzled look on her face, but we were all in hysterics. In the midst of this laughter, I looked up, smiling from ear to ear, and caught Sean’s dead stare from across the table. I was incredibly attracted to him, but the club was so loud, and, with the table between us, all I could do was sit there and look pretty.
Not wanting to overstay our welcome, and, with the night beckoning us onward, we departed from our star-studded table. Heather had promised the new promoter at Bar One that we would be over for food and drinks that night, and she refused to not show up, even if that meant leaving Warren Beatty, Sean Penn, and Jack Nicholson. So, again, I followed. I bid Sean a farewell over my shoulder, and found my way out of the club and into the car.
We had been at Bar One for close to an hour, sipping champagne and pretending to eat whatever they brought us. Most of us just pushed the food around the plate or gave it away to friends who stopped by. The fire marshal was thinning out the club because it was so packed. I think everyone just wanted a glimpse of who was who that night, and watch all the celebrities who seemed to mill around that joint.
Maria and I were keeping ourselves incredibly amused by watching all the people get escorted out. There were parades and parades of them; it seemed to never end. Then, in a split moment, there was a break in the procession, and, through that break, standing at the bar, there he was, eyeing me again, Sean Penn. I choked on my champagne and elbowed Heather so hard, she actually got mad, until she saw what I saw.
“Holy shit,” she said, “Coincidence, I think not.”
He was there, indeed. He was with different friends, and looked slightly embarrassed, like he thought that I thought he had followed me. That was exactly what I thought. I flashed him a ‘come hither’ smile, and licked the rim of my champagne glass. He got the message loud and clear. His eyes lit up like a cartoon character. He was quite amused, and, after about twenty minutes of this game, he sent a friend over to talk to me. The guy gave me a phone number on a small piece of paper. He told me to call that number and get directions to come over and meet up at Sean’s house with them. I gave Sean a nod as if to tell him that I would see him later.
I called the number after we left the club some forty minutes later. It was Sean’s friend who picked up. He gave me instructions to Sean’s Malibu home, and I started on my way. My girlfriends were all checking out for the night, even though I begged them to come with me. I knew I was too drunk to be driving, but I jumped in my car anyway, and sped down Hollywood Boulevard.
When I came close to the house, I noticed it was right near Sly’s Malibu home, and a knot tied itself in my stomach. It had been a crazy ride since Sly. I thought quickly over the last few years, and about the girl who dated Sly. I looked down his driveway and could see myself leaving the fateful night I’d found the birth control pills. I wondered what I was doing here. Who I was tonight wasn’t all that different from whom I was then. Had I learned nothing? What was I doing? I thought all this as I pulled into Sean’s driveway. A few tears were gathering behind my eyes, but I shook them off and reapplied my lip-gloss before getting out of the car.
The moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds that the pacific winds had blown in. It was darker than usual as I found my way to the front door. A light knock and it opened. Sean greeted me, grinning from ear to ear at my arrival. I felt relieved and right again. I kept telling myself that this was good, that I should be happy. I went through the motions; he poured me a drink from the bar. No one else was there. Despite my personal turmoil, I was having a great time.
Sean was a bit goofy, and he made me really laugh. I was comfortable with him almost right away. It’s funny how it works that, when you get out of the scene, we’re all the same, just regular people. He had these incredible eyes that were filled with genuine goodness, and made me feel like I could trust him. A few glasses of chardonnay later and I was following him to his bedroom.
His house was impeccably decorated, and had clearly been done by a professional. There was nothing about it that reminded me of him, and I wondered how much time he really spent in this home. It felt like one of those model homes they use to sell the other ones. I wanted to break something, just to see if the whole scene was real.
Sean was running his hands down my sides as we pin-balled down the hallway. He would grab me and kiss me, press me against the walls, and I held him close against me. It was going perfectly. I knew how to do this. I knew what came next. And then something else came next, something I didn’t know. He asked me a question. It took me a second to change gears and listen or even speak. I caught my breath.
“What?”
“You barely know me,” he said, and went to kiss me again. I don’t think he quite grasped the Pandora’s Box he was about to open. I looked at him, dead-faced, as if to tell him to continue.
“You barely know me,” he said again, now pulling away from being down my throat. “Why do you want to have sex with me?” He suddenly was more present in the conversation as he continued, “Is it because you think I am famous?”
I could tell we had both entered dangerous waters full of personal, deep-seeded issues. I didn’t even know this man, yet, there we were, dumping out all of our fears onto the floor of his expensive hallway.
“I could be a total lunatic,” he continued now, almost yelling.
Reality is never an easy friend to meet. I felt his words cut through my drunkenness, and straight to the core of what had been plaguing me for a long, long time now. I felt the tears coming. I really didn’t give a damn.
I slid down the wall and sunk to the floor, crying with my face in my hands. He suddenly stopped. I don’t think either of us expected me to do that. I couldn’t stop, though. I don’t know how long I cried there. I remember the marble floor was cold through my miniskirt. When I paused for a second, I looked up, and there was Sean, sitting on the floor with me. His kind and supportive eyes were just waiting for me to finish.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I only asked because you’re a really pretty girl, and you’re really, well, real. Knowing you even for tonight, this just doesn’t seem like you, if you don’t mind me saying. You ever think you’re just selling yourself short?”
I felt like I was in the middle of a Lifetime TV movie intervention. I never sensed the slightest bit of judgment being passed by Sean, or any contempt in his words. He just seemed genuinely concerned, and offered a bit of light into my dark corner of the world. He kissed the tears from my cheeks.
“Come here,” he said, and offered his hand. I took it, and he pulled me up into a hug. Rather than leading me toward his bedroom, we went back down the hall and into the kitchen.
“Maybe I should have waited until after to say something,” he said, and we both laughed.
He sat me at the counter and started to make coffee. The smell was comforting, and so was his presence. I was happy to not be alone at this moment. It was late in the night, or early in the morning. He brought me a sweater to wear, and it smelled like a man. I remember burying my face in it, and I remember the smell of the coffee and the look in his eyes as I told him about my life and myself.
“It sounds a lot worse when I say it out loud,” I said.
“It always does, don’t worry,” he said.
Sean not only opened the doors for this conversation, but he gave me the chance to lay it all out. I think, more than anything, he helped me see what I really wanted.
I wanted this, not Sean, but what he was giving me that night. I wanted coffee and conversation; I wanted sweaters that smelled like a man, my man. I wanted someone that looked at me, crying in a hallway, and would take me up in their arms and stay up with me until I felt better. I wanted someone I could trust, someone I could talk to, and someone I could really love. Most importantly, I wanted someone who would continually love me back.