Celebs Meet CSSA #21 – Mya

This is another entry to the extremely popular series, ‘Celebs meet C-S-S-A,” where authors write real or imagined encounters with real life celebrities. This is my second entry to this series, and I cannot express how flattered I am to be able to write in the same series as some of my favorite authors, especially TRL, who has countless entries in this series featuring such hotties as Rachael Leigh Cook, Rose McGowan, Rachael Leigh Cook, Rose McGowan, Rachael Leigh Cook…you get the picture.

If you have not read my entry with the beautiful Beyoncé Knowles, I’d advise you go ahead and do so now, since this story is a continuation
of sorts. Feedback is welcome at rulehater@yahoo.com. If you are not yet 18, don’t read. The rest of you, go ahead and enjoy.


(Featuring Mya and Beyoncé)

“Seriously competing with Beyoncé for my affection.”

If I had known that my writing the above words would lead to such an unbelievable chain of events, would I have declared them ages earlier, or would I have thought twice before doing such a thing? You read my story and decide.

At the end of yet another tiring day, Beyoncé Giselle Knowles settled in front of her computer for her nightly routine. The past few months had been crazy, with incessant and endless promotion of her album, and she was almost going buts. The only straw that kept her going was knowing that no matter what happened that day, she was going to get back to her trusty computer and read the wonderful things her darling had said about her.

Internet Explorer finally loaded, and she typed in the magic words www.c-s-s-a.com.

It was about nine months ago when she discovered the wonders of this site, and it seemed like it had become the center of her world. Kelly, her group mate and best friend, seemed to have run into it by accident, and tongue-in-cheek, she showed it to Beyoncé. The two of them had laughed over it and skimmed through the stories, comparing the number of stories different celebrities had, and the utter ludicrousness of some of the stories. Kelly had eventually navigated away from the page, and in order not to appear too weird, Beyoncé had managed to withhold her curiosity.

Naturally, she leapt to the computer the next chance she had to be alone, and typed in those words that had been etched in her memory for days. She was a bit disappointed to see that she had only about five or six stories, but she guessed that the fact that some people had taken times to write out fantasies was flattering. She did not even find them the least bit offensive, as one would expect a celebrity who just stumbled onto such tales about their sex lives to be, she was just amused, at least as first.

Beyoncé decided to check out the site’s message boards, at least to scope and get a general idea of which stories were the best and most popular. It did not take long for her to figure out, from several threads of praise and adulation, that a particular series named “Harem” was at least well respected. She made a note to herself to come to the computer the next time she was so opportuned, and see for herself how good these stories were.

Such an opportunity arose about a week later, when after a very tiring day of studio work, she decided to calm her nerves by getting on the computer. After Kelly, whom she was sharing a house with at the moment, had gone to bed, she crept to the computer, and in the process, introduced herself to the wonders of Internet celebrity fiction.

For the next few hours, she sat entranced at her seat, her hand glued to the mouse, scrolling down. She sat engrossed as Sarah and Love went for that fateful audition, as they discovered their whole new world, and subsequently initiated Rose and Jennifer. She sat absorbed as they celebrated their arrival into their new abode by throwing the lesbian fuckfest of the millennium, and as the celebrity lesbian underground grew, with new additions being added by genius seduction. She remained intrigued as this lesbian paradise seemed to begin to falter, as the seemingly indefatigable Rose began taking orders from a sadistic master, as Sarah became the victim of a deluded stalker, as Jennifer’s picture-perfect marriage. She giggled hysterically as the geeky next-door neighbors, the lovable trio of Waldo, Delbert and Franklin provided comic relief.

She had dragged herself to bed in the wee hours of the morning, and all day in the studio, she had found it hard to concentrate. Those stories were all that was on her mind. She blessed her lucky stars when Kelly complained of a headache that night and went to bed early, so that she could retreat into her CSSA haven and this time around, venture into the private journals of Agent Dean Simonds. A fast reader, she topped herself that night, reading the entire series in one sitting, and arrived at the end just as Kelly was waking up at 7.30 a.m. the next morning.

From then on, Beyoncé was hooked, regularly checking each week for possible updates, and devouring each new story like a hungry wolf. There was only one small drawback – she wished she would feature in more stories. She knew that Britney Spears, Jennifer Love Hewitt, and the other girls who featured in countless stories were indeed among the world’s most desirable women, but she just wished she could be featured in a major series. Her wish was soon answered when Carnage Jackson featured her in a chapter of his innovative new series, Hollywood After Dark.

But even that was nothing compared to what came next. Out of nowhere, a whiz kid who called himself Rulehater appeared, with a new series called “Dangerously in Love” of which she was the star. She had been so flattered and impressed, and of course began to follow the story keenly. A simple feedback letter of appreciation to the writer had evolved into an arrangement to meet him. She had been so surprised to see that he was a charming and handsome dude, and had fallen hard for him on sight. Events of that day had culminated in a passionate threesome in his dorm room with him and his girlfriend.

Several months had passed, and they had been able to maintain a relationship, despite her crazy itinerary. He had long since ended things with his psycho girlfriend, and as far as she knew, he was devoted to her. She loved everything about him – he was nuts about her and treated her like a queen, far better than anyone she had dated. What she loved most about him was that way he defended her honor on the CSSA Message Boards, which she frequented on a regular basis. With strange-monikered people such as FD52, Pete Von Grunigan, and some Welsh dude named Tim Bisley attacking her all the time, it was so flattering to see what her boo said in her defense. With all the unpredictability and frustration of the record industry, it was such a relief to log on and know that no matter what, in some small community of the net, the love of her life was espousing her virtues to fellow writers and readers all around the world.

Which as why it seemed her entire world was crashing when she logged on to the boards on a lonely Friday night, and to her utmost chagrin, where her picture should have been under ‘Hater’s name was an image of fellow singer/actress Mya. And her so-called lover actually had the audacity to include the words “Seriously competing with Beyoncé for my affection”. No, this could not be happening to her. Everything she had held dear for the past year seemed to be flashing in front of her very eyes

I tried to shake off the feeling of self-condemnation that was plaguing me as I drove towards my apartment. How could I be acting so dumb? I had a girl that any male on this planet would gladly kill for, so why was I acting the way I was. Regardless of whom the recipient of my indiscretions were, and no matter how amazingly hot she was, there was no compelling reason to jeopardize my relationship with Beyoncé, and I knew it.

No, I told myself, I had no reason to feel guilty. None whatsoever. Beyoncé and I had not agreed to date each other exclusively, so this did not constitute cheating. Besides, she was still hanging out with that millionaire rapper at every turn, and no matter how hard she denied that they were just friends, the situation was still as suspicious as any thing. I had never freaked out about that, so why shouldn’t she do the same here. I was committing no wrongdoing, I assured myself.

No amount of assurance could prevent the sinking feeling of guilt that consumed me as my cell phone rang (to the tune of “Crazy in Love”) and Beyoncé’s name appeared on the caller ID. I had blown off a date with her tonight and fabricated a tale about having to complete a paper, and had spent the evening with the other woman.

“How’s my sexy baby doing tonight?” I cooed into the phone, trying to sound as guilt-free as I could

“How could you?” Beyoncé’s voice came ringing. Oh my God, I was busted.

“I thought we had something special,” she said, her voice showing that she was close to tears

“What are you talking about? I have no idea what you mean. Of course we have something special”, I dilly-dallied, hoping to save myself

“Mya?” she cried, “how could you let her replace me?”

“Baby, I can explain…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she cut in. I began to panic. It had all been too good to be true. I really was going to miss Beyoncé.

“I thought I was supposed to be your avatar, I thought it was only me you cared for on that site”, she cried.

“It’s only a stupid picture on some Website,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. I could have died with the overwhelming feeling of comfort that soaked me.

“It’s more than that and you know it,” she said, “That site represents our relationship. You know there’d be no us if not for it, and that Beyoncé Bunch thing you do, however silly it may seem, does mean a lot to me.”

‘Damn, you were not joking when you said you were stressed out,” I teased, “OK, I’ll put your picture back up and never change it. You know you’re still my number one girl.”

“I’m sorry for freaking out,” she apologized, “So how’s your paper going?”

“I’m just on my way back from Starbucks where I went to re-up on coffee to last me through the night,” I lied.

“Awww, poor baby,” she consoled me, ‘I’ll let you go back now so as not to distract you.”

“Alright, bye baby,” I said cheerfully, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” she replied, as she hung up.

As I turned into my parking lot, I suddenly realized that this was the first time we had actually proclaimed our love for each other vocally to each other, and while I should have been feeling elated, I felt like a piece of trash. There was no other explanation – I was a two-timing piece of trash, and did not deserve a girl like Beyoncé. But if you were in my shoes, I bet you just would have done the same.

It all started at the 3rd Annual BET Awards, which took place in LA in late June. It was the first even to which I had been able to accompany Beyoncé, and needless to say, I was feeling really excited. Beyoncé was going to be performing alongside Jay-Z at the awards, and she needed me there for moral support. The thought of seeing her with Jay-Z seemed a bit sour, but still, I wasn’t going to pass up on the opportunity to attend such a major function and meet so many of my favorite performers.

It did not disappoint in any way. It was, in all shapes and form, one of the best shows I’d ever seen. Beyoncé had to be backstage for most of the show, but she got me very good seats, from where I was able to see all the action. With show-stopping performances by 50 Cent, Missy Elliott, R. Kelly, Lil’ Kim, Ashanti, and my Beyoncé, and appearances by such legends as James Brown, Ronald Isley, Magic Johnson, and to my utter delight and surprise, Michael Jackson, I could not have been better entertained, and when the show was over, I went searching for Beyoncé so that we could spend the rest of the night together.

Nothing could have prepared me for the way I was blown off by Beyoncé. In her defense though, it was perfectly understandable, but it did not make it any less painful. She had a lot of things going on, and she explained that she was not going to be able t hang out, but that I could go ahead and attend whatever parties I wanted, after which I

Could leave. The final straw, however, had come when Jay-Z had come into the room, and she had simply introduced me as her friend.

Jealous and spiteful, I decided to leave for home immediately. I was absent mindedly walking through the hallway when all of sudden, I found that I had bumped into someone. Profusely apologizing, I took a closer look and found myself gazing at the hazel eyes of sexy singer/dancer/actress Mya Harrison. For some reason I haven’t figured out even today, I found myself immediately entranced. We remained silent as I helped her onto her feet, and as I kept looking into her eyes, I felt a weird sort of connection, which I could tell was mutual, as I could see it in her eyes as well. Brushing myself back to reality by reminding myself that I had Beyoncé, I broke the silence.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” I apologized sincerely.

“You have a lot on your mind, huh?” she joked, “That’s OK. I’m Mya by the way.”

“I know who you are, Mya,” I said, “And I must say that I’m a really big fan of yours, ever since Ghetto Superstar.”

“Oh, thank you,” she gushed, “You haven’t told me your name yet.”

I told her.

“Well, I was just on my way to an after party, and I was wondering if you wanted to join me,” she said, before quickly adding, ‘Unless of course you have other plans with somebody else.”

Rationalizing in my mind, I figured that since I had been blown off by the woman I was hoping to spend the night with, there was nothing wrong with spending it in the company of another hot young singer. She was probably off frolicking with Jay-Z anyway, so what crime would I be committing?

“I’d love to,” I replied with a smile.

And so it begun.

If not for the fact that I constantly kept reminding myself all night that I was with Beyoncé, I would have instantly fallen in love with Mya that night. Everything about her was just so sweet and perfect. We arrived at the nightclub where the party was taking place, and instead of jumping to the dance floor like I expected, she felt like sitting and talking, so we took to a secluded corner of the VIP section, and, drinks in hand, got engaged in deep conversation.

She was so down-to-earth. If not for the fact that I had spent a considerable amount of time admiring her over the past few years, I never would have guessed I was talking to a successful singer with two platinum albums under her belt, and just starred in an Oscar-winning movie, for which she won a Screen Actors’ Guild award. She had no air of superiority about her, and we had one of the most earnest conversations I had ever had. Not to mention how adorably cute she was. I had to refrain from leaning forward to kiss her.

An hour or two must have flown by, neither of us realizing it. We just sat there next to each other until it was about 2 a.m. When Mya announced that she had to leave since she had an early flight to catch, I was surprised to see how disappointed I was. I had obviously enjoyed her company way more than was necessary, and I couldn’t help feeling I had betrayed Beyoncé.

The feelings of betrayal grew a hundredfold when, as I reached to hug Mya goodbye, she gently brought her mouth to mine and gave me a brief peck, brushing her warm velvet lips against mine. It felt so sensual and good, and my eyes remained shut long after she had left. But why had I allowed her to kiss me without making the slightest effort to resist? I realized that I had not even brought up Beyoncé’s name throughout our entire conversation. Sure, it was not like Beyoncé and I were publicizing our relationship, but still, I could have hinted to Mya that there was someone else. I had left the impression that I was single and available, which was the only logical reason why she could have kissed me.

I briefly toyed with admitting to Beyoncé about my slight indiscretion, but I decided against it. I would only be courting trouble. I had not done anything wrong, so there was no need for me to beat myself up.

Two uneventful weeks passed, which I spent mostly by myself in my apartment, working on some unfinished stories, playing video games and getting high on weed with my homies. Beyoncé was still in the thick of promoting her album, appearing on every talk show known to man, and then traveling to England, where she seemed to be having much success. As she hung out with the likes of Princes Charles and William, I spent a great deal of time talking to Mya on the phone.

I was not sure if we were even going to see each other again after the BET Awards, but to my surprise, and I have to admit, delight, I received a call from her two nights later. She was a bit mad at me that I had not called her, despite promising to, but after explaining to her that I wasn’t sure if she was just being polite by asking me to call her, she readily forgave me.

She was currently at the East Coast, so there was no danger of anything physical happening, but deep down, I knew that I was as good as cheating on my girl. While Mya never directly came on to me, she did not exactly conceal the fact that she liked me either. And I did not try to discourage her either. Over the two weeks, we had gotten to know each other very well – she had shared her entire dating history, and described what she was looking for in a guy. I had been a lot more open with her than I was with most girls (except of course, for the little fact that I was still hiding the fact I was supposed to be with Beyoncé).

Most guys would have given anything to be in my position – a mild-mannered, average 20-year-old dude, who was actually the object of the affections of two of the hottest young starlets in R&B. Still, I was being wrenched apart by guilt. I could no longer hide the fact that I was developing strong feeling for Mya, and yet, I was totally and completely in love with Beyoncé. What was I to do?

Exactly two weeks after out first phone conversation, Mya uttered the words that I had totally been dreading, and yet, knew was inevitable.

“So are we just friends or is it going to be anything more than that?”

I was torn with very ambivalent feelings at that point. I could have gone ahead and confessed that I had been leading her on and was involved with someone else. I could have feigned ignorance and said that I did not know that we were headed in any other direction other than friendship. Instead of that, I blurted out the exact thing I was feeling.

“I like you a lot, Mya,” I admitted, “I hope it is going to be something more than that.”

And there it was. I was officially a scumbag. If I lived to be a hundred, I was going to be known as the sucker that cheated on Beyoncé Knowles. And to be truthful, I did not ever doubt the possibility that I was going to get caught. So what the hell was I doing?

My heart thumped loudly against my chest as I sped down the 71 freeway a week later as I drove towards Mya’s hotel on her invitation. I could not even deny the fact that I was being recklessly dumb. Still, as soon as Mya had asked me to come over, I could not resist the temptation to do so.

Beyoncé had arrived back in the country a few days earlier, and we had spent a very loving and passionate night at my place. I had fixed her dinner, and after eating by candlelight, we lay in each other’s arms and for the umpteenth time, watched her favorite movie, “Coming to America.” I had never felt as guilty as I did when I looked into her eyes and watched her fall asleep in my arms. She was so beautiful and perfect and loving, and I had never stopped believing how lucky I was. She was a millionaire many times over, universally adored, and the object of the affections of many people much richer and more famous than I was. Still, she chose to be with me, a modest, broke college student, whom she had only met because I decided to type out some of my fantasies of her on the bed.

Still, how could I resist Mya? She was so irresistibly cute, and sexy in her own way. While she did not have the flamboyant and bootylicious beauty that Beyoncé did, she was sexy in a very demure and modest way. While Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love” was the summer video that left most hapless teenage MTV viewers drooling, no one could deny the sexiness of Mya’s “My Love is like…Wo,” where her sexy striptease did as much for me as Beyoncé’s famed booty dance. I had almost had a heart attack when I watched the MTV Carson Daly bash thing and saw her perform that sexy striptease. For the first time in my life, I wanted to be Carson Daly. Yes, I had admired Carson Daly many times in the past, but even being with Tara Reid, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or Jaime Pressly could not make up for being such a complete tool. But as I saw Mya serenade him with such sexy moves as she sang sultrily, I wanted to be him.

For a week now, I hadn’t been able to sleep without Mya creeping into my dreams. I was Sisqo as she danced for me as she did for him in the video for “It’s All About Me,” I was one of the background dancers on Chicago, and took her in my arms right in the middle of “Cell Block Tango,” I was Carson Daly receiving a lapdance. I couldn’t believe how obsessed I was getting, and I knew that sooner or later, I just had to have her.

When she had called the previous night and told me that she was going to be in Los Angeles the next day and would love me to join her, I had not even contemplated hesitating. Ignoring the fact that I had plans with Beyoncé for the evening, I agreed to join her in her hotel room and hang out. I hoped that “hanging out” entailed a lot of naughty and passionate sex, but even if it meant just sitting next to her and talking, it would have been well worth it. So I had lied to Beyoncé, making up a story about an overdue paper. It was the first I had ever lied to her, and it did not feel good in the slightest bit, but it was something I had to do if I was going to be with Mya that night.

Before leaving for Los Angeles that night, I had logged on to CSSA as usual, and as I glanced at Beyoncé’s picture staring at me from right underneath my “Rulehater” name and “Board God” status, I felt a pang of guilt creep over me. If I was going to cheat on Beyoncé tonight, it would be a bigger insult if I did it while her picture still adorned my avatar. So who else to replace her than the potential object of my indiscretions, Mya. Underneath the picture, I truthfully admitted that she was “seriously competing with Beyoncé for my affections,” and not even bothering to think of what Beyoncé would think, I hopped into my car and sped off.

A bottle of champagne in one hand and a bunch of roses in the other, I fidgeted as I paced right in front of Mya’s hotel room. Taking the plunge and going ahead could potentially lead to a chain of events, jeopardizing my relationship not only with Beyoncé but also with Mya. If I went ahead and knocked that door (assuming I found a way to do so, as both my hands were occupied), I would have begun to embark on a journey that would definitely have some harsh repercussions.

Damning all those thoughts, I went ahead to place the flowers aside on the floor and gently knock on the door. Millions of thoughts must have gone through my head from the moment my hand touched the door right until the door swung. Of course, the thoughts all fled as she stood there, looking as hot as possible in a very tight, short, figure-hugging pink dress, which exposed all of her thighs and accentuated her slender frame.

“Wow,” was all I could muster as she came into my arms and enclosed me in her arms

“I’m glad to see you liked it. I was hoping you would,” she smiled, “And I’m also happy to see that you’re as cute as I remember. I was hoping it wasn’t just some fluke”

“Thanks,” I said, walking in and admiring the spacious hotel room. It was much larger than the rooms I had stayed in with Beyoncé whenever I accompanied her on one of her journeys. Currently dimly lit, and well decorated with an assortment of flowers and shimmering with the smell of incense, I felt totally at home.

I turned to her to comment on the room when to my utter amazement, she pounced on me like a tigress, all of her 120 or so pounds weighing on me as she heavily pressed her mouth against mine. For weeks, I had been reliving the memory of the brief kiss we had shared after the BET awards, and hoping something similar would happen, and now here was Mya attacking me with the ferocity of an animal on heat.

The beauty of girls like Mya is that while they act so shy and reserved in the public, they are uninhibited in the bedroom. Mya certainly seemed to be demonstrating her inner “closet freak” (as I like to refer to such girls) and as she attacked me with such passion, I did everything I could to match fire with fire. With lust that had been building up since I had bumped into her in the hallway, and to an extent, since I had seen the video for ‘Ghetto Superstar” back in 1998, I reciprocated the passion, holding on to her as hard as I could as I drank her in, out mouths searching each other viciously.

She had already begun to undo the buttons on my shirt, while my hands were all over her thighs, rubbing and caressing their smoothness. My buttons were loosened and she practically tore the shirt off me and began to kiss my chest hungrily. One of the few productive things I’d been doing with my summer was working on my physique, and I was glad to see that it had come to use. I stood at the foot of the bed as her mouth traveled all downwards, kissing my firmly toned abs.

My dick was already causing a riot in my boxers, and I felt so relieved when she undid my belt, unhooked my zipper, and released it from captivity. It sprung free in all its glory, and Mya was obviously pleased with what she saw. She promptly took it into her mouth. Bobbing her head in and out, she gobbled as much as she could swallow. My dick felt so warm inside her mouth, as she adeptly pleased me, making minimal teeth contact. Her hands grasped on to my thighs, and she paid maximum attention to me, twisting and turning her mouth around.

Eyes shut in ecstasy, I swayed as I enjoyed the effects of this awesome fellatio. It was as though several spine tingling sensations were being sent all over my body, my dick the epicenter. Holding on to her pretty face, and running my fingers through her hair, I tried to hold from screaming out loud.

‘Oh yes, Mya,” I moaned gently, “That feels so good, suck me, just like that.”

As my body shuddered and I found myself nearing an explosive orgasm, a mental image of Beyoncé seemed to flash right before my very eyes. I tried to shake it of as best as I could, but I could not help seeing her staring petulantly at me, totally aware of my infidelity. With all the strength I could muster, I forced her out of my mind, totally focusing on the orgasm that engulfed me.

“Oh yes, Mya,” I screamed, as she brought her face away from mine, and a torrent of gooey fluid splashed all over her face.

“That was amazing,” I declared, “Come on here.”

I lifted her entire frame in my arms and lay her on the bed, hiking up her dress lightly so that her red thong was in sight. I slightly pushed it aside and inserted my pinky. It was all moist and ready for me, and the squeal of delight I was greeted with showed that she totally needed some succor.

Pulling the thong down, I brought my mouth to her crotch, and after briefly licking her clitoris, after which she yelped with joy, I placed my entire mouth around her snatch and began to devour. She shrieked with delight as I pleasured her, my tongue circling her labia and making motions in and out of her hole. The noises being made were eerily familiar to Beyoncé’s lovemaking noises, and they made me feel too uneasy. I continued to eat her out though, while she continued to yell.

The sinking feelings of guilt did not depart even as I brought her to orgasm. There I was in bed, with an extremely beautiful female, and if not for the fact that by extension, I was cheating on another extremely beautiful female, I would have been on the moon. Instead, I was a reluctant partner in a very explosive sex session. Mya did not seem to notice this however, as she immediately pushed me down face up on the bed, and mounted me.

A wise man once said that the penis is not connected to the brain, and looking back at that night, I strongly endorse that observation. My dick, which had long since regained its erection, stood at attention, gallantly facing the ceiling like a Trojan soldier. Every part of me felt like a piece of crap, and I knew that I was not supposed to be there. I was supposed to be spending the night with my loving Beyoncé, who was ten times more precious to me than any woman. Mya was awesome, but the events of the night thus far had totally convinced me that I belonged to Beyoncé and no one else.

Mya was riding me hard, like a mechanical bull. Her clothes were completely off, and sweat glistening all over her pretty face, which was contorted into a very sexual expression, she moved in and out of me. All I did was move in and out, leaving most of the work to her. She seemed to like the feel of my dick in her snatch, and kept panting really loudly, her perky breasts jumping up and down. I reached up and grabbed them, squeezing as hard as I could and causing her to scream.

“Oh yes, I’m about to come,” she announced gleefully, speeding up her motion.

I felt my second orgasm of the evening approach me, and holding on to her, I raised my back up so that we were both sitting in the fetal position and embracing each other, her legs wrapped around me.

“Oh my God,” she screamed as the orgasm hit her, and in ecstasy, she ran her long fingernails across my back, digging into my skin and drawing a fair amount of blood. I was too deep into the action to really notice or feel any pain, but my mind began to wander and consider possible excuses I could use to explain the wounds to Beyoncé.

Mya lay in my arms for about twenty minutes. We were mostly silent, trying to overcome the passionate humping that had just taken place. She looked so peaceful and happy, and most of the guilty feeling I had felt during our lovemaking evaporated. Nonetheless, I knew right there and then that she would never be Beyoncé. No one ever would.

I lay tossing and turning all night long on my bed. Though I was exhausted, it did not even occur to me to sleep a wink. There was too much on my mind, too much going on, too many issues hat needed to be sorted out. There was no excusing the fact that I was a total prat. Even if I managed to excuse the cheating on Beyoncé by convincing myself that the two of us did not swear fidelity to each other, I knew there was no excusing leaving out the fact that I was involved with someone else from Mya. And they were not exactly low-profile chicks – both were mega-successful singer-actresses with new albums in stores.

Sex with Mya, despite the disturbance by my guilty conscience, had been totally explosive, and I had greatly enjoyed it. But I did not know if that was worth risking my relationship with Beyoncé over. I mentally compared and contrasted their pros and cons, trying to rationalize my behavior. Despite the hundreds of glowing attributes in Mya’s favor, it all came down to one thing – she was no Beyoncé, not even in the slightest.

Then it hit me. Beyoncé was the one for me. Nothing on earth could compare to the sensation that rushed through my veins just from watching her smile. I could never feel more contentment than I usually did when I lay in bed with her, holding on to her sleeping body and thanking God for making me so lucky. No one had her sense of humor, no one could engage me in such insightful arguments, no one could replace her.

Jumping out of bed and pulling on a T-shirt and a pair of Timberland boots, I rushed out of the house and into my car. I knew it was the dead of the night, but I just had to see Beyoncé, I had to gold her in my arms, I had to reaffirm to myself that she was the one. Sure, the drive to her penthouse suite was an hour and twenty minutes, but that did not bug me in the slightest. Besides, at that time of the night, I could make it in forty-five minutes without getting in trouble.

I switched the radio on as I sped on, and to my utter chagrin, KIIS FM 102.7 chose, of all the songs on their playlist, to play Mya’s “My Love is like…Wo” at that very point in time. I hurriedly changed the radio station to Power 106, and to my amazement, Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love” was blasting through the speakers. Freaking out, I turned the radio off. Someone was obviously fucking with me.

It was a miracle I reached my destination in one piece. My mind was totally scattered, and I must have exceeded an average speed of 100 miles per hour, but there I was, right in front of the hotel where Beyoncé’s suite was. It was about 3.30 a.m. and I knew she would be surprised to see me. I did not even have any ostensible reason to be there, but I decided I was going to tell her that I came over because I missed her and suddenly wanted to be next to her, which was true.

Beyoncé had long since given me a key to the penthouse suite. Since she was hardly in town anyway, she figured it might as well be put to use, so she invited me to utilize it whenever I pleased. I had never actually used it in her absence – despite the fact that it was a perfect getaway for a romantic conquest, I wouldn’t have dared cheat on Beyoncé, until a few hours earlier, of course.

Turning the key in the lock, and my heart bobbing against my Adam’s apple, I stepped into the dark living room of Beyoncé’s apartment. She must be asleep, I decided. Briefly toying with the idea of slipping away unnoticed, I decided on the opposite course of action and decided to surprise her in her bedroom. She would think it was an intruder or something, and would scare out of her wits when she saw it was I. I had to see her and plead my love to her, convince myself that I was worthy of her love. I needed to get rid of these guilty feelings that were plaguing me.

I was a bit mortified when I heard voices coming from her bedroom. Did she have company over or what? That should not be too surprising, it could merely have been one of her friends, maybe Kelly or Michelle. But what if it was…could she be cheating on me? Could she have a lover in there with her? If she indeed was guilty of infidelity, I debated within myself what course of action to take. I’d be the biggest hypocrite ever if I actually took offense, but I could not let such an occurrence slide without any reaction whatsoever. Choosing to let events unfold and act accordingly, I decided to listen in and be fully sure of what was going on before embarking on a course of action. Wait a minute, could those be lovemaking noises?

“Oh yes baby, that feels so good, suck my breasts just like that?” I heard a voice say.

My heart, which just a millisecond ago had been threatening to pop out of my mouth, sank right beneath my toes. I did not even need to listen any further to tell that the voice in question belonged to Beyoncé. How many times had I heard that voice in my nightly dreams for me to be wrong? She sounded the exact same way she did whenever we were making love. She continued to scream and yell, passing instructions to whatever sucker it was that was making love to her.

So many thoughts were flying through my head at that instant. I had been guilty of cheating of her just hours earlier, so by all means, I was getting what I deserved. Still, I did not expect karma to bite me in the ass so soon. Besides, this meant she probably had already been cheating on me for a while. Part of me wanted to storm in and kill her current partner, part of me wanted to storm out of the building and never see her again, and but the rest of me was too mortified to move an inch. I still stood there, my ears, of their own accord, glued to the racket that was erupting from the bedroom.

“Oh yes baby, suck my pussy, just like that, I’m about to come, damn.”

Then it hit me. I had to go in and confess everything to her. It made such perfect sense. Neither of us had any right to be mad at each other because we had not set any regulations for our relationship. If I went in there, and instead of confronting her, just admitting my own indiscretion, it would be a way of addressing the multiple infidelities at once. I would no longer have to carry the burden of having cheated on her, and everything would be out in the open. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room.

Naturally, Beyoncé was in complete glory, fully adorned in her birthday suit, sitting on the bed, her back against the wall. She looked so beautiful with her eyes shut and her blonde hair strewn all over her sweaty face. She was so amazingly gorgeous, that for a few seconds, I forgot the reason I was in there. Then it came to me, she was cheating on me, and just a few inches south, a face was buried in her laps, responsible for giving her the look of ecstasy that lay on her face. Glancing down, my jaw dropped to the floor, for buried in Beyoncé’s crotch, lay the face of not a man, but a woman.

The first time I had slept with Beyoncé, it had ended up being a threesome with my ex-girlfriend. However, since then, I had not even seen her exhibit the slightest traces of bisexuality, apart from, of course, suggesting various partners for me to pair her up with in my “Dangerously in Love” series. My girlfriend and I, regardless of the explosive sex, had not been able to work out our differences, and that had been one of the last few times I had spoken to her. I definitely had toyed with the idea of proposing another threesome to Beyoncé several times, but she was away much of the time, and whenever we were together, we were too busy screwing the brains out of each other to even consider bringing another individual into the mix.

I inadvertently gasped out loud with surprise, and my surprise turned to complete consternation when the female face in between Beyoncé’s legs revealed itself. I must have lost all control of my senses, and remained in limbo for God-knows-how-long.

“Hello, Mr. Rulehater,” Mya smiled, moving her jet-black hair from that cute face I had viciously come all over a few hours earlier.

“Umm…I don’t…damn,” I muttered, not daring to believe it. Could this be some abominable nightmare? Could my vision and hearing be playing senses on me? Could this be a cruel joke?

Mya was in bed with Beyoncé? How long had this been going on? Did Beyoncé know that I was cheating on her with Mya? Of course she did, Mya must have told her. In fact, she must have known all along all the while I was having all those conversations with her. Maybe it had even been a scheme they had cooked up, a test to determine my faithfulness, which, needless to say, I had failed woefully. I was totally busted, and had lost everything. In a few short hours, I had gone from Rulehater, the lucky author who got to bed both the girls of my dreams, to regular plain old me.

I brought myself back to reality, where both girls were scrambling off the bed, and Mya was hurriedly grabbing the bedspread to conceal her nudity. I readied myself for the barrage of insults and chiding that was sure to come my way. Which is why I was surprised by Beyoncé’s next words.

“I’m sorry, I’m so rude, I haven’t introduced you two yet. Have you met Mya, honey?”

The perplexed look on my face must have been pretty evident, but somehow, Beyoncé must have missed it. What was going on? Were they trying to extend the joke and see if I would keep lying through my teeth? I looked over at Mya, and the wink with which she greeted me told me everything I needed to know.

“No, not officially,” I answered, “I’ve seen all her videos and listened to her music, of course. Nice to meet you, Mya. Big fan.”

“Thanks,” she replied, her half-Italian face twitching into a mischievous smile.

“I hope you don’t mind, honey,” Beyoncé said as she came towards me, giving me a peck on the cheek, “I guessed you didn’t mind me having sex with girls, so I assumed you wouldn’t mind. I would have given you a call when Mya showed up tonight, but you were busy with your paper.”

“No doubt,” I replied mindlessly, “I don’t mind one bit, but next time, let me know, there’s such a thing as a threesome, OK?”

“Speaking of a threesome,” Beyoncé smiled, as she began to take off my top, “why don’t we get busy already.”

“I don’t believe you knew all along,’ I said to Mya over the phone the next day.

I was driving back home late on Saturday evening. Mya had left Beyoncé’s place earlier in the day, after several steamy rounds of sex, of the menage-a-trois variety. Sex had been wild. Mya was even more of a freak than she had shown in the hotel room, and I had taken turns banging the hell out each of them as they delightfully went at each other’s snatches. She had a busy day, so she left around noon, while I stayed a few more hours, spending a very fulfilling day in Beyoncé’s company.

On my way back, I had decided to give Mya a call. I was still very much nonplussed over the whole issue. Mya must have known all long that not only was I with Beyoncé, but how we met as well, as evidenced by her referring to me as my pen name. She had not shown any trace of surprise at seeing me, and refused to rat me out.

“How could I not know,” she answered, “when you are all she ever talks about?”

“How long have you two even been sleeping together?” I inquired.

“On and off for about three or so years,” she answered, throwing me for a loop.

“So when we met, and all the while we were talking, you knew I was with Beyoncé?”

“Correct,” she answered, “Beyoncé introduced me to the C-S-S-A site, and I fell in love with your stories. When she told me that the two of you were together, I was so jealous, and had to get in on the action.”

“Really?” I asked

“Yeah,” she responded, “Plus I got tired of Beyoncé talking about you all the time, about how cute and loving and good-in-bed you were, and wanted to find out for myself. I could have asked her to arrange a threesome, but I wanted to do it on my own terms, so I orchestrated the accidental meeting at the BET Awards, and everything afterwards.”

“Wow,” I answered, totally floored, “Totally genius. So did you like what you saw?”

“To be honest, I totally did, and still do,” she replied, “I was certain you were going to be just another shallow guy feeling all pompous cos he was fucking a singer, but you were so cool, ever since we met.”

“Come on woman, quit flattering me,” I asked, my head almost floating.

“I’m serious,” she answered, and I could tell she was smiling, “I honestly wish me and you could be together, but I know you probably want to be with her.”

“Mya you are a beautiful, amazing, incredible girl, or woman, whichever you prefer,” I replied, “I consider myself lucky to have had any form of contact with you, and if I wasn’t with Beyoncé, I’d be damned before I let you slip away. But I love her so much, and…I hope you understand.”

“Yeah I totally do,” she answered, “She also loves you so much, and the two of you have something so special. I wouldn’t get in the way of that. Just promise me one thing though.”

“And what might that be?” I sought to know.

“Don’t ever cheat on her again. I’ll let it slide this time around, since I am also guilty. But if I hear that you in any way did something to hurt her, I won’t rest until I make you pay. Understood?”

“One hundred percent” I replied.

“And you might also be interested in knowing that absolutely nothing is going on between her and Jay-Z” she continued, causing me to almost whoop for joy. “She loves you too much to even consider cheating on you, at least with a guy.”

“Thanks so much, Mya,” I genuinely said.

“Could I ask you for one last tiny favor? Well, not so tiny, but I’m hoping more than anything you say yes.”

“Sure, anything,” I responded, wondering what was so important.

“Could you write me into one of your stories?”

I am a man of my word, and because I promised the lovely Mya that I would write about her, what other way to begin my Mya career by recounting the story of what transpired between us. Mya and I remain very good friends till this day. I still have very strong feelings for her, but they’ll never compare to what exists between Beyoncé and me. Besides, she still joins us for the occasional threesome, so all is well.

This entry was posted in Anal, Cons, FF, MF, Oral, rulehater and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.