Britney Spears And Me

(M/f-teen, rom, reluc, celeb)

Authors name: Lionel the Moon King (

Story title : Britney Spears and Me


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Britney Spears and Me (M/f-teen, rom, reluc, celeb)

by Lionel the Moon King (


More a romance than a stroke story- I got the idea for

this while reading an article that said Britney believed

a fortune teller who told her she would leave Justin and

find her soul mate in a stranger with dark hair and a few

more years on her. By some coincidence I have dark hair

and am several years older, but I don’t think the

fortuneteller was genuine- she said he would be the guy

Britney was saving her virginity for.

It started when I got off the Greyhound(r) bus in

Vancouver City, having been accepted by the prestigious

film school there. I had never expected (I doubt one ever

does) to meet a teen pop icon, had I even known Britney

would perform there I probably would have thought nothing

of it. To be honest, at the time I preferred Christina

Augilera, she seemed more mature (Also, I suspect since

she wasn’t “saving” herself, my subconscious figured I

had a better chance of scoring with her).

I found a place to stay, a job at a nearby coffee shop

(cliche I know, but it paid the rent) and made a few

friends, among them Nicky, an apostle of Quentin

Tarantino and Tammy, a svelte, freckle-faced beauty (Hey,

on her they work!) whose sexual exploits could humble the

mythical Emmanuelle, but those are stories for another

time. On those few days we didn’t have work from school,

the three of us would shoot the bull at the coffee shop,

and one day we found ourselves discussing which

celebrities we would fuck if Fate decided we could have

any one (or more than one) of them we wanted.

“Deborah Cox,” I said on impulse. And if any American

readers are confused, I wasn’t referring to an obscure

relative of Courtney. Deborah Cox was an R&B singer from

Toronto, a talented one if you could tear your eyes from

her body enough to give her voice notice.

Tammy’s eyes widened, “Deborah Cox? I’m surprised, Lee; I

didn’t think you’d look at a black girl that way.”

Nicky hah-ed the idea, “Not that I don’t think colour

should matter, but you really think you’d have a chance

with her? I mean, she’s probably used to other brothas,

and you know what they say about them and size-”

Tammy didn’t let him finish, “Believe me- being black

does not guarantee he’s so well-endowed.”

I tried to think about that. The fact is, I’m not proud

of my “length”, so to speak, they say five or six inches

is average, and even when fully erect I probably only go

up to four (but then it never occurred to me to take a

ruler and actually measure it). If I didn’t see how tiny

the male nudes the ancient artists sculpted or painted

were, I’d have felt totally inadequate! So to divert this

from becoming a debate on whether size mattered, I turned

to Nicky and said, “Alright then, who would you do the

horizontal tango with- assuming any woman would be

indiscriminate enough to let you in under her sheets?”

“Look who’s talking mister. Twenty-three-years-old-


Not for the first time I thought I should’ve kept that to

myself, “Well, not every guy got pinned down by his Math

teacher in the back seat of her car when he was thirteen!

Tell me, when’s Mrs. Cross up for parole?”

Nicky winced, and I think he was bothered not so much by

losing his virginity to an older woman as he was by the

fact he was the fiftieth teenager she “made a man out

of”- a surprising feat considering how well-rounded (by

which I mean fat) he claimed her to be, “Alright, lemme

think, uh… you know that chick from Temple of Doom was

kinda hot, what was her name… Kate something-”

“Kate Capshaw?” Tammy threw a coffee table book at him,

“She’s married to Steven Spielberg, I can’t believe you’d

try another man’s wife!”

“What about you and that?”

“Hey, she slipped off her wedding ring, how was I to


Yeah, you read right- she slipped off her ring. Told’ja

that girl had a history.

“Well now,” I interrupted before they got too angry at

each other, “Tammy, we told you ours, so which celebrity-

or celebrities would you shag?”

Tammy gave us a self-satisfied smirk and looked up, ”

Well, let’s see… Nelly Furtado, Brad Pitt- if Jennifer

didn’t mind joining in, and… Jessica- no, she’s way too

much a good-girl to- Britney Spears!”

I was surprised. Not that Tammy was attracted to girls- I

mean she was the only one of us three that had bought a

hooker (again, a story for another time), but Britney

didn’t strike me as her kind of lover, “Really,” I said,

“I woulda thought Britney Spears a bit too Barbie-dollish

for your tastes.” Almost immediately I regretted saying

that because it reminded me of the use Tammy said she

found for those dolls during her adolescence, and the

visual was disturbing to say the least.

Tammy shrugged, “Y’know, I had never even thought of her

that way until I saw that.” She pointed above my head.

I turned around, and sure enough on the TV screen mounted

on the corner ceiling was little miss Britney kinky-


accountants-everywhere Spears dancing up a storm. Of

course I couldn’t hear her sing, the TV was muted so

patrons could talk.

All the same, the chyron beneath her levitating bosoms

made it clear-the former jailbait starlet would be

performing in Vancouver City in four short months.

Imagine that.

I turned back to Tammy and Nicky and shrugged, but no- I

did not plan to meet or even see Britney in person. One,

I wouldn’t have been able to afford tickets; two, my

studies wouldn’t have left me time and three, like I said

I wasn’t that big a fan of her. Who would have suspected

the mountains would come to Mohammed?

Four months passed, and I barely noticed. I was getting

ready for my shift at the coffee shop, eager to put

school behind me. Tammy was casting for the feature I was

working on, and I had just found out why I was directing

Melrose Place-types but with less talent (Yeah I never

thought somebody could have less talent than Heather

Locklear either). I showed up just in time, and Tammy was

at her usual spot, but unusually was talking to two girls

I hadn’t seen in this establishment before. I got Tammy

her usual- no fancy cappuccinos or mocha whatzits, this

place believed in simple, old-fashioned coffee. And after

I got her new friends their orders I stopped to look at



The one girl on the far right wore a hooded sweater and

had pulled the hood over her face. The girl between her

and Tammy however was showing her pretty mug with pride.

It took me a couple seconds to recognize her, but then I

realized, “Hey, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” She smiled, “Melissa Joan Hart, alias Sabrina, the

bewitching coed.”

Tammy fessed up, “I met Melissa when she was filming

something in town a few years back. We’re old friends.”

“Just friends?” I found that hard to believe.

“What do you m- oh,” Melissa blushed, “No, she made the

offer, but I’m not that kind of a girl.” From the hurt

look on Tammy’s face, I suspect the offer still stood.

“Uh-huh. Sorry I, uh,” I turned to her quiet friend and

asked, “And who’s the mystery girl?”

“A friend of Melissa’s, who rarely gets the chance to get

out and do something normal like this.”

What Tammy said alone should have sent off the alarms in

my head, but I have a habit of letting Stukas past my

radar if you know what I mean, “What, will I turn into

stone if I see her eyes?”

“Uh, not exactly… You promise you won’t freak out or

draw attention to us if you see her?” Again, right past

the radar.

“I swear on my grandfather’s bones.” I’d read that in a

book and always wanted an excuse to say it.

“Alright then,” And the mystery girl lifted her veil so

to speak.

I was so shell-shocked to see who I was looking at I

couldn’t have freaked out or drawn attention to them, I

just stared for what felt like an eternity. Finally I

managed to inhale again, and to my credit I didn’t make a

scene, “Welcome to Vancouver.” Was all I said, and very

quietly I might add.

“Thanks,” Britney was uncharacteristically sheepish, “All

the attention, the mobs, the cameras, I mean I hate to

sneak out on my guys like this, but it feels like another


I kept quiet; she looked so content hiding in a crowd I

didn’t want to chance screwing it up for her.

The girls finished their coffees and asked for more. I

gave them refills and like I did many times in the past I

abused my employer’s trust by pouring myself a cup (which

would be one of many I’d “forget” to charge-I’m amazed I

never got fired) and the four of us began talking into

the night.

The boys on the shift before mine must have decided to

make the coffee a little Irish again, because it was my

aftergrad party all over. I was having trouble keeping my

balance; two guys on a far table were passed out from

their sugar and cream, and Tammy and Melissa were

whispering to each other and giggling. Britney and I were

so close if we blinked our lashes would meet, and we were

talking of all things- Christina Aguilera!

“You wanted to rub her the right way, didja?” she

slurred. I nodded for at least sixty seconds.

“Well don’t be so s’prised if ya get the chance, Lee-

eeeeee.” She let out a belch that would put Barney Gumble

to shame, “Ya see, she once told me- she once told me

she’s got like a different boyfriend in every city she

tours! She even fucked Enrique Iglesias in a hotel broom

closet! She wan’edta shag Ricky Martin too, but he was

more interested in Enrique.”


“I knew it!” I banged a mug on the counter, causing the

bad brew inside to spill all over me and didn’t notice. A

girl who drooled over Hicky Fartin lived in my building

and as much as I tried to warn her he was gayer than

David Borenaz she refused to believe it, “And what about

you Britney if that is your real name- are you still a


“No… Yes… well, it’s kinda weird. You see…” Britney

looked over each shoulder before she continued, “You know

it was Jessica Simpson who started that whole save-it-

till-I’m-married bullshit, don’tcha?”

I nodded, I recalled hearing it from her first.

“Well,” Britney paused to put her words in order, ‘”I

didn’ta wanna have nothin’ ta do with it! But my record

label kept saying ‘It’s good PR,’ so I wasn’t left with

an option. They even made me have some surgery-

vaginoplasty whatever, to reattach my hymen!”

“So Justin has been allowed into your dear diary, has


“No, not Justin- Aaron Carter!”

“What?” I guess it really is the one you least expect,

“When the hell did that happen?”

“Oh, before I got famous. It was a Backstreet Boys

concert. Aaron had opened for them and fo’ some reason I

was backstage with him. I saw him starin’ at my tits an’

for some dumbass reason I said, ‘Wanna fuck me?’ an’ he

said ‘Oh yeah!’ an’ he fucked me!”

I couldn’t believe it- when I was Aaron’s age I avoided

girls! I whispered to Britney, “You realize that makes

you a pedophile.” And we both began giggling like


“Yeah well, it wasn’t really much- that little kid was so

tiny- his anaconda was really an earthworm! He barely

went in deep enough to break it!”

Britney took another swig of the tainted caffeine and

began grilling me for once, “Since we’re talkin’ length

here, tell me Lee (a poet and she don’t even know it),

how long is your anaconda?”

“Uh, well it’s more like a garter snake,” Under other

circumstances I would have shut up like a bear trap, “I’m

not sure how long it-”

Tammy had overheard us and blurted out “About seven

inches- when erect.

And he’s at least two inches thick.”

I thought, or whatever I was doing instead of think, ‘No

way, that’s way two big’ and I demanded of Tammy, “How

would you know, you ain’t even seen it when it’s not

erect!” Yeah, I know Tammy was easier than the alphabet;

that’s kind of the reason I never tried anything with

her- I was afraid I’d end up with crabs or worse!

“I know because your friend April called when you were

working- she told me everythi-”

“Hey! Ix-nay on the pril-Ay!” If you wondering what we

were talking about, let’s just say the details could end

me up in prison and leave it at that.

I turned back to Britney, “Well, my shift is over, (I

suspect it had been over two hours before- what the hell

did those creeps put in that coffee, anyway?) I should be

going home- except I can’t quite remember where it is.”

“Well, before you go wandering in the dangerous Vancouver

streets at four-six am; lemme give you something to

remember me by,” Out of nowhere she pulls a ball-point (I

mean pen you gutterminds!) and started to scribble on my


I awoke on my waterbed (Yeah, the apartment had a

waterbed- pretty cool huh?) and my head couldn’t have

hurt anymore if both Shillenger and Adebesi had hammered

into my ears. I was thinking about that funky coffee at

the place I worked and out of the blue I remembered a

line I heard on TV- it went ‘Don’t inhale the retail!’

I’d have to remember that.

I fumbled my way to the bathroom, took a leak, then threw

up. Usually when I “make a pilgrimage to the porcelain

shrine” as I call it, it comes out the other end, but not

that time. I somehow found the mirror, feeling as if my

brain had tried to beat it’s way out of my skull. Damn I

must have been on a bender- I actually thought I had

talked to Britney Spears! Oh man, Tammy and Nicky were

gonna have a field day with that one. I brought my hand

to my aching onion and I saw something backwards written

on my arm in the mirror! I dared to look, and sure enough

on the underside of my arm was penned a phone number, and

above it the name Britney.

Someone else might have washed that off his arm and tried

to forget it, but I didn’t- I had to know if it wasn’t

some fucked-up hallucination! I grabbed the receiver of

my phone, punched down the mystery numbers, my heart was

making like that one-armed drummer doing a solo as I

heard the ring…

“Hello?” The words came through strained, but it was her

voice. I couldn’t believe it- it had been real!

And I wasn’t surprised she sounded like a bag o’ hell,

had I been thinking straight I would have wondered how

she managed to write so legibly on my arm in the first

place! I rasped, “Britney?”

“Oh! Hey uh, it’s Lee; isn’t it?” She remembered me-

again I should have wondered.

“Uh yeah, that’s me- uh Lee! Uh, I woke up with a phone

number written on my arm, I dialed it, and I uh, got


“Oh wow, I thought I had only imagined doing that-

Ohhhh!” I had sympathy pains with her headache, “Aw man,

I don’t know what you Canadians put in your coffee, but I

swear I’m gonna need morphine if I’m gonna be in any

shape to give a concert tonight.”

Yeah, morphine sounded good right about then- I knew I

had some somewhere in my apartment, “Uh, well I guess I’d

better leave you to recover.”

“Wait, before you go- that number won’t last long on your

arm, you better write it down somewhere you’re not going

to wash off.”

“Oh, in that case it’s fine where it is. Hope to hear

from you when you’re feeling better!” And I hung up.

And no I didn’t find that morphine, and yes I did wash,

but not before I went to where Nicky got his tattoo and

had Britney’s phone number permanently inked where I

found it. I’m sure some fancy-ass poet said something

real profound about the mad whims of men, but I couldn’t

remember what it was.

I scarcely had any free time over the next couple of

months, and what time I did have I ran up my phone bill

by talking to Britney. From Calgary, Edmonton, Milwaukee,

I must have dialed her up every time the plane touched

down. I actually started to feel guilty, seeing as how

she was promised to Justin You-Know-Who. After hanging up

one night I wondered if I was hearing more from Justin’s

girl than Justin! But then I thought better- Britney just

needed a contact with the real world, all I was doing was

treating her like a regular person- it wasn’t like I was

shagging her or anything!

Then one night the pastel shoe dropped. I was sitting on

the couch, watching the idiot box and sampling the latest

Swanson had to offer when to my surprise the newest

incarnation of Star Trek was pre-empted by an abrupt

‘News Flash!’. And I thought those only happened in the


On the screen was an elaborate but empty stage. The crowd

in front of it was getting a little testy, and a chyron

materialized with the sensationalized, “Runaway

Princess!” I dropped the Swanson feast on the spot.

“Britney Spears, preparing for her concert in St Louis,

received a call on her cellular phone, (no, it wasn’t

me!) and then suddenly had an emotional breakdown (aren’t

we exaggerating a teensy little bit?), locking herself in

her dressing room. After the opening act Lauren Taylor

finished, Ms. Spears’ manager tried to coax Britney out

of said dressing room only to find she was no longer

there! A frenzied search revealed the Lolita was not

anywhere in the building! Even as we speak crew officials

are cooperating with St Louis police in a city-wide hunt

for the purloined pop tart!” Man they have a way with

words, no?

Some Swedish guy, I think he was Britney’s manager came

up in front of some microphones, he said, “We just don’t

know how something like this could happen, her door was

watched until her cue- no one saw her leave!”

Damn that girl missed her calling- she should have been

an escape artist!


Britney’s manager tried to steady himself; “We have

offered refunds to her disappointed fans, and sympathy to

those who went to a scalper. And… and… Please

Britney, if you can hear me please contact me to let me

know you’re alright!”

A roadie (do pop stars have roadies, I wonder?) led him

off the screen and a granite-faced reporter started

mugging for all his worth.

“As of now police are treating this as a missing persons

case, though they have yet to rule out kidnapping. But

this reporter wonders, with her earlier emotional

distress, and her sudden disappearance, could this be a

new tragedy- a Suicide Blond, as it were?”

I threw the remote right through the screen. Where’d that

son of a whore get off throwing words around like that?

Then I remembered- her cellular! Maybe she took it with

her. I rushed to the phone but before I could dial I


A faint ‘shave and a haircut’ type knock on the door. Now

maybe I jumped to conclusions, I’m sure that’s what

you’re thinking right now. All I know was when I went to

answer the door; I didn’t even have to look through the

peephole, cause I knew who was waiting for me on the

other side…

Britney was quivering, a handkerchief soaking up her

tears, she needed a friend. I put my arm around her

shoulder, guided her to sit on the couch, (pushing the TV

tray aside with my foot) and waited for her to speak.

“Jus- justi- Justin has genital herpes.” She dropped the

handkerchief and began raining salt water on my shoulder.

I was floored. Who could he have gotten it from? Not

Britney- yeah I hear you snickering, but I tell you this

and I’ll stand by it till they scrape my festering corpse

out of this chair- I know that girl, and she is NO SLUT!

I wiped some of the tears from her eyes, “When did this

happen? He told you today?”

Britney started laughing, “That Goddamned Weasel didn’t

have the BALLS to tell me himself! You know how I found

out? One of his bandmates called me! V.C or D.T or Q.Z

(and that’s zed- I taught her the right way to pronounce

it) or whatever. He called me and said he overheard

Justin calling Jessica Simpson to warn her to get


Jessica Simpson! I hadn’t been caught off guard like this

since I saw a Shamaylayan movie. I kept quiet, just held

her closer.

Britney continued to pour out heartache, “That deceitful

little twerp, he almost had me! The night before he was

asking me to run off with him- to elope in Vegas! (a

cesspit of corruption if ever there was one) He said we’d

drink champagne from crystal, and make love in Caesar’s

Palace! If I had found out a few days later…”

I wanted to say something comforting, but I drew a blank

and decided silence would be golden in this instance.

Finally Britney’s tears seemed to run out, “D-do you

think, I could crash here tonight, Lee? I don’t know

where else to go- I.”

I gently shushed her, “You are more than welcome to stay

here.” And no, I wasn’t thinking of THAT.

“Are you sure? I hate to put you out on the couch…”

“You won’t have to- this here’s a magic couch!” I got up

and pulled out the cushion I sat on, “Whenever a Princess

needs to rest, it transforms into a silken bed!”

Yeah, yeah it was corny, but it got a laugh out of her,

and I think we both know she needed that.

That night Britney was resting on the hide-a-bed (or so I

thought) and I was trying to get some shut-eye. I never

mentioned this, but a guy in the building behind me likes

to play Cheb Mami late at night. I don’t mind- in fact,

the dude’s voice is kind of soothing, too bad Britney

couldn’t hear him through the bedroom door; she might

have rested easier- except she had no intention to rest!

Just as the finish of Rani Maak El Youm was lulling me to

dreamland I heard the creak of the door open and close-

close only partway, and not a moment later, the faint

voice, “Lee… Lee…”

I peeled my eyes open to see the silhouette of a

beautiful woman standing before me, and what little light

from the doorway accentuated her gravity-defying, uh, ah

fuck it! There’s no word I knew for them that wouldn’t

shatter this moment. I sat up and said what may have been

the dumbest thing I ever could have, “Britney… are you



Now at that revelation my little man was suddenly less

little, yet my mind wasn’t totally getting it, “Dammit

girl, the window’s open; you’ll catch hypothermia!”

“Not if you keep me warm.” Okay, maybe I didn’t have the

monopoly on saying stupid things.

“Britney, this is no joke-”

“Neither is this,” She pulled up the blanket and floated

onto the sea-tossed mattress, pulling the blanket behind


I still was clueless, “Britney, we shouldn’t be doing


“Yes we should. I know this is right, it’s been so long

since something felt this right.”

“But we-” By then she was kissing me, and I didn’t want

to argue no more. Britney wrapped her arms around me and

I turned over, she giggled as she bounced on the

waterbed. Then she put her hands on my briefs and dropped

them down to my ankles.

Yes, I had this goddess in my grasp, and what was I,

idiot that I was, doing? Grasping those myth-inspiring

mounds of hers! I mean I was kneading them like a pizza

baker did with dough! But, out of that moment of

insensitivity I learned something Britney’s critics will

not want to hear.

Yes, you all joke about her having plastic surgery- that

she couldn’t stand near a radiator or she’d melt. Well

listen up, cause I’m only gonna say this once- my hands

found neither blobs of silicone nor pockets of saline. To

quote Jackie Chiles- They’re real, and they’re


Britney and I tossed around on the bed, gripping each

other like an idiot’s tongue on a frosty bus window in

winter. But I hadn’t actually penetrated her yet. Finally

she locked eyes with me and said, “What’re you waiting


I froze! For an instant I totally forgot what to do next-

then I remembered what to do, but was internally shouting

to myself ‘Why the hell was I about to do it with her?’

The woman who called me a friend, who told me what she

wouldn’t tell a therapist (of course we were both under

the influence of unknown substances at the time) who came

to my door when she thought she had nobody to turn to-

But like I said that was an instant- and I realized if I

stopped here I would never have a chance at this again!

So I closed my eyes, locked lips with Britney and-

thrust? No, that didn’t sound right- but it’s the best I

have to-

To what? Describe it? Well I guess that’s what you people

have been reading this far came for. Britney, her moans

set me on edge, and she felt so tight- it was like, like-

driving a semi-trailer through a keyhole! Damn, I’m sure

that image ruined it for you now, but I kept on

thrusting. Even when I thought I felt her tear and

suddenly something warm and thick- oh man, I’d made her


I wanted to stop- I wasn’t supposed to be hurting her!

But Britney wrapped her legs around my hips and ground me

further inside her. And as for Ahab down south, he was

damn the torpedoes- full speed ahead!

And all the while the Algerian with the enchanting voice

played on- if Cheb had heard Britney moan to the tune of

his singing would he be pleased or disgusted? I guess

I’ll never know, but I don’t think he would’ve been

impressed with that half-assed attempt at a roar I made

at the climax.


It was morning, or noon, the next day they seemed to

blur. Britney was sleeping like a girl from a fairy tale-

naked and smiling. In spite of misplaced guilt and

pointless fears the night before, I felt pretty damn good

with myself too. I dazed my way out of the bedroom, a

sheet wrapped around my waist for modesty. I was putting

something on the frying pan for breakfast, something with

sausage and mozzarella on top, and left it to burn when

the door knocked.

This time I looked through the peephole, and it was- were

a fidgety Tammy and Nick- I was too tired for Nicky. I

opened the door, and stopped what probably would have

been shouting, screaming and hollering with a no-nonsense

‘Shhhsshhhh!” I gestured to the open doorway in the

bedroom from which Britney’s legs could be seen, “She

needs her rest.”

They began whispering in fast tones, “Don’t tell me you

put her aside for a piece of ass!”

“Didn’t you see it on the news? Your long-distance

friend’s disappeared!”

“Yeah, it like she totally evaporated! Britney Spears

hasn’t been seen-”

Suddenly they stopped. They looked at Britney’s legs,

then at me, then at Britney’s legs, then at me, and so

on. Finally after looking at me for the fifth time they

finally connected the dots. Nicky looked at me like a

scornful preacher, while Tammy grinned the grin of the


“You scuzzy little opportunist-”

“You studmaster!”

“Shut up, both of you! I’m not some opportunist, and I

don’t feel like a studmaster.”

“But, you’ve done what millions of pimply-faced

pubescents and dirty senior citizens the world over only

dream about-”

“I said stow it! This wasn’t some grease-it-up, park-the-

limo-in-the-garage thing okay? She came here looking for

a shoulder to cry on, she’d found out Justin was cheating

on her-”

“And what was she doing with you?” Nick hissed through

clenched teeth.

Nothing she hadn’t done with Aaron Carter, I almost

blurted out- good thing I didn’t, something tells me that

would have only made things worse.

“Look, I don’t need to explain myself to you, or Justin,

or nobody!” I was so steamed I never heard Britney wake

up, or home in on me like a missile. I just felt those

arms around my body, those nipples press against my bare

back, (ooohh, those nipples against my bare back!) those

lips planting on my lips- suddenly I forgot what I was

mad about.

Britney turned to our rude guests with her angelic smile,

“Hi Tammy. And you must be Nicky. He said you looked more

wiener-ish.” Britney slipped me tongue- she hadn’t even

done that last night! and let me go, to start dancing

across the room.

Tammy looked at me like she’d witnessed the Playa King,

“What did you do to her, and how many times? You know, if

you ever feel like coming to my loft-”

I slammed the door in their faces, bolted it for good

measure, and turned my attention to the one who truly

deserved it- Britney. And yeah, I’d still forgotten about

what was burning on the stove.

The next day Britney returned to her crew- to tell them

she was dropping her manager and label like two rods of

plutonium-39. She then called a press conference to

announce she was leaving the label, that she had been

coerced into pretending she was a virgin, and that Justin

had not only cheated on her, but had gotten an incurable

disease from faux-choirgirl Jessica Simpson. However, she

flatly denied (at my urging) that Aaron Carter had been

the one to deflower her. To this day people laugh at the

little twerp when he whines, “I’m telling you, I was her


Britney found a new label easy enough- in fact she had

trouble getting them to back off and giver her some

space! She chose the one that agreed to let her do her

own singing- and she actually started to get respect from

critics and women on the bus (funny how come everybody

who said Britney was a whore never complained about

Shania Twain). And of course, the media pounced on the

rumors that she had moved in with an obscure Vancouver

film student (ahem).

Yeah, the first few weeks were rough, neither of us could

pick up a carton of milk without being swarmed by

paparazzi, at least until that photographer who stood in

the middle of the road to snap a photo of me leaving the

building got run over and killed. After that they stayed

on rooftops and used telephoto lenses.

And yes, the tabloids attacked us with words as well; it

seemed like a trillion so-called ‘reporters’ were digging

up my past like a dog tearing up the backyard. My true

friends were good enough to clam up, while other scuzball

acquaintances pretty much made up stuff the tabloids

would pay them for. And yet, somehow they never found out

about April, though half a dozen girls who totally

snubbed me in high school all claimed to be the girl I

lost my virginity with. Go figure.

It’s been a long time since Britney first came to my bed.

The tabloids have gotten bored with us (at least for now)

and are leaving us alone. I managed to snag a few plum

directing gigs, so now people know me as someone other

than Mr. Britney Spears.

And while Britney hasn’t won any Grammys, at least people

don’t accuse her of doing a Milli Vannilli these days.

And I tell you, guys who drooled over her when she was

jailbait, they should see her now! And she’s all mine…


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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of

the hands of children. They should be outside playing

in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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