Celebs Meet CSSA #6 – Laetita Casta

[Ed. Note – An anonymous email was sent to Laetita Casta one day as she was between modeling shoots. She saw the subject and immediately a light clicked on – she had heard about the site, www.c-s-s-a.com, and knew that it was all the hush hush talk right now in the world of the rich and famous. The following is what happens when she decide to visit it. This continues the “celebs find CSSA” storyline, as this is part 6 in the series. Enjoy!
– Carnage Jackson ]

The Laetitia Chronicles

As with every other story here, this is fictional and
not intended to represent the actual conduct of the
celebrity involved
(even more so since this is part of
the “What would happen if a celeb visited CSSA?”
series). No under 18s meant to read it, you know the
drill.

Laetitia, her partner and their daughter are all real,
and so are some of the character names and places (my
dad really does share my name and he really does live
in Barbados, for instance), but the actual events are
mostly fictional. Special thanks to The Squad Leader
and Smackdown, who inadverdently did a “Bring It On”
with their stories and pre-empted my “celeb
contributes to the site” plan… but this one does
involve that aspect more than the other two. All
comments to cindylover1969@yahoo.co.uk – I welcome
your input…

Final note, I promise – parts of this story previously
appeared in a story I wrote on my now defunct Cindy
and Laetitia Stories Yahoo! Club (it didn’t survive
the Great Groups Changeover).

* * * * * * * * *

Although the only way she’d willingly listen to
Britney Spears was after a frontal lobotomy, Laetitia
Casta was not that innocent – as a model, an actress
(and unlike Elle Macpherson someone who actually had
lead roles in her movies as opposed to glorified
cameos or supporting eye-candy parts), a figurehead
and the mother of a baby daughter, she had a fair
knowledge of the world despite her 23 years. She was
in Rome promoting “Rue des Plaisirs,” and had been
unable to sleep that night, even after getting some
liquid help from room service. Resigning herself to
the fact that the Sandman would be a while in coming,
she opened up the laptop she had recently bought and
decided to do a bit of surfing the digital wave.

The stunning supermodel couldn’t resist searching for
sites about her (starting from Yahoo! France, of
course) and she was soon spoilt for choice; Laetitia
was impressed by how many admirers she had, and amazed
that most of their sites were far superior to her
official site (now offline). “That’s fan worship for
you,” she thought.

An hour later as she bid farewell to Zouzou.org, she
was still alert. Perhaps she could try checking ones
in other languages… wait a minute. What was that
address she had received a couple of weeks ago?
Apparently it was some kind of story site that was
very popular among those in the know. She still had
the URL in her address book; might be interesting.

Scurrying through her bags, Laetitia soon found it,
and tapped in http://www.c-s-s-a.com/ – “Celeb Sex
Stories Archive?” she said to herself when she
arrived.

“Hmmmm…” She had heard about this on the gossip
circuit – something about a Britney story that some
idiots (or lawyers, same difference) thought was a
real one. “I wonder…”

Well, it was worth checking; with nearly 2000 stories
online… she instinctively clicked on “C” for “Casta”
before realising they were under their first names.
“Americans!” she laughed as she found the right
section, and was pleased to find that she was indeed
there (not as many as others, but more than several –
and with a picture as well!). Laetitia opened up
“First Class All The Way,” and began her journey
through others’ fantasies about her.

When she had finished, she shook her head. She hadn’t
been to London to sell that particular movie, and
flying from London to Paris took a lot less time than
the writer had suggested. And as for her carrying on
like a sex-crazed slut (fellating total strangers and
being gang-banged in the cockpit)…! She should have
been disgusted; she should have been swearing to
herself that she would never read another one like
that.

But she wasn’t. She was smiling. She was…
titillated.

* * * * * * * * *

Laetitia felt it was best to ration herself: one story
a day (or night), and when she was at home it was best
to do it without her partner seeing. Each day she
returned to the site, opened another story, and read
it all the way through. Occasionally she checked
another celeb’s stories, but she always returned to
her own, by turns amused, appalled and (she had to
admit it) aroused by what was online. Admittedly when
she read “Laetitia meets Pete and Bruno” she couldn’t
resist the urge to take a bath immediately afterwards,
and “Laetitia’s Wet Dream” turned her stomach (why
would anyone get turned on by dreaming about killing
her and fucking her corpse?). But it wasn’t like she
would accomplish anything by taking the site to court
– and anyway most of the stories there were soft-porn,
nothing but fantasies by harmless males.

And she had to admit, it was a boost to her ego to
think there were men so pleased with her she inspired
them to write. It was almost a shame she had never
really had a contest to become a man’s partner for 24
hours, or made love to Heidi Klum, or been hypnotised
into being someone’s partner, or become a celebrity
callgirl with Cindy Crawford. Laetitia was not a
whore, but she had played one in movies.

And before she started her next one, she was going to
be playing “model on holiday in Barbados” soon.
Something else to look forward to, she thought as she
logged out.

* * * * * * * * * *

The plane wouldn’t be landing at Grantley Adams
International for hours yet, so Stephane and Sahteene
were curled up visiting the Land of Nod. Studying her
partner and child fondly, Laetitia Casta reached into
the overhead cabin and retrieved a folder; she was off
to the little girl’s room, and she needed some
entertainment to pass the time. She could see a couple
of admiring glances pass her way; she had also been
recognised by a few passengers, but no illicit sex.
Not yet.

Inside the women’s bathroom, Laetitia slowly reread
the printout of “The Photo Club,” the tale she had
selected from the folder. Maybe it was her own view of
herself, maybe it was the flattery, but she was
feeling very horny. Reading about herself in the act
put her fully in the mood. She carefully rolled the
printed sheets into one, as if she was about to
pretend it was a telescope; then she closed one end
and faced herself in the mirror. Laetitia lifted up
her dress, revealing both nothing and a lot – she was
wearing no underwear, and her hairy, glistening snatch
was waiting.

Gingerly placing the tip of the tale against her
quiff, she started to tease herself with it. The tale
brushed against her sex; Laetitia moaned slowly as she
ran it alongside her opening, and began to carefully
work it inside – she didn’t want to mush it up. The
makeshift dildo delicately and carefully slid inside
and out of her, the writer’s words literally turning
her on. She carefully rolled it back and forth, and
gasped in delight; it was tingling down there as it
manipulated the tale.

Praying that the walls were thick, she couldn’t
resist; she had to release her happiness at how she
was feeling. Luckily for her the walls WERE thick, so
no one could hear her cries as she finaly completed
her self-love… she carefully released the sodden
scroll from her pussy and smelt it. As she had done
the other day with “Casta Spell” and “For The Honour
Of Her Country,” she wondered how the writer would
feel if he knew his story had been deep inside her.

As she adjusted her clothes and stepped out, she also
idly wondered what it would be like to do one herself.
No… she couldn’t. But it was an idea…

* * * * * * * * * *

They were only going to be there for two weeks, but
the island wasn’t so big that they wouldn’t be able to
see the whole thing in that time; they had chartered a
car for the morning, and were relaxing on the beach in
the afternoon (well, Laetitia and Stephane were;
Sahteene was in the hotel’s creche). It was still hard
for Laetitia to unwind, though – not because of the
jealous glances thrown her way by more than a few of
the other women on the sands (not least when
accompanied by the lustful glances and comments like
“I thought Barbados didn’t have any mountains” from
more than a few of their companions), but because she
could not stop thinking about that site.

She had remembered to bring her laptop with her, a
blessing given the place’s lack of readily available
net outlets and that the island made some parts of
America seem only slightly less sexually liberated
than Amsterdam – a few careful enquiries with the
“Sunday Sun” photographer who had noticed her presence
and gently talked her into being that paper’s
swimwear-sporting Sunshine Girl for the week [AUTHOR’S
NOTE: not as unlikely as it sounds; Brooke Shields
vacationed there in the 1980s and did in fact appear
in the paper thus] had revealed that “Playboy” et al
had been a no-no on the island’s shelves since 1990.
As is often the case with such things, the lack of
widely available stuff only made Laetitia feel more in
need of it.

“I’m going to have a little walk,” she told Stephane.
“Don’t get sunburn…”

Laetitia’s walk took her off the beach and into a
lightly treed area. She liked feeling the fresh air
caress her bikini-clad body; a fan had once told her
that any average woman could look good in a bikini,
but it took a real beauty to take it to the next
level, and she did that regularly. She soon found
herself nearing the road, and was just about to turn
back when she found she wasn’t alone. A young man was
jogging towards her; he looked about her age. Dark,
muscular, handsome. A naughty thought flitted through
her mind… (She’s not going to jump him and have sex;
sorry to disappoint you.)

“Hi,” she said perkily and waved to him in a friendly
manner.

“Hello miss,” the young man replied politely, and
almost tripped over himself as Laetitia quickly pulled
the knot of her bikini top loose and let her acclaimed
breasts bounce free with a wide smile. It was only for
a few seconds, and she had her top back on and was
returning to the beach swiftly, but it was a while
before he recovered himself.

She couldn’t believe it – she had actually flashed
someone! Oh, it wasn’t like she’d never done nude
scenes or anything, but this was a spur of the moment
thing. She felt happy and relaxed for the first time
since landing in Barbados; but she hoped she wouldn’t
meet anyone on the way back. She might have been
tempted to do it again.

* * * * * * * * * *

Once again, Laetitia Casta was wearing nothing but a
very tiny bikini; the newspapers weren’t the only
Bajan things towards which she was being
accommodating. She was currently taking part in a
nighttime party, and was dancing as ferociously and
passionately as anyone else there. It was a warm
night, and the music (a mixture of local tunes and
American stuff) was pumping everybody, even Stephane
(rapidly getting more and more drunk) to a wild high;
Laetitia loved to dance, and as she twisted and turned
among the revellers and smelt the roast pigs being
cooked, she noted the excited looks on the faces of
the partygoers.

“You only live once,” she thought. Her dancing became
more and more sinuous, shaking and bouncing this way
and that. She directed her attention to a group of
guys who had been trying harder than the others to
ignore her, but who couldn’t hide the desire in their
eyes. They wanted her, and there was no way she was
going to let them down. But first her eyes glided
around the festivities trying to find Stephane… she
spotted him slumped on the sand. He was out for the
rest of the night… just as well.

Laetitia began to gyrate in front of the leader of the
pack, who joined her in the motions. She matched him
bump for bump, grind for grind. As the crowd noise and
the music rose, they moved closer and closer to each
other; he salivating at the hot French tourist, she
sweating at the toned young man (who was in fact
slightly younger), his friends shouting at her to take
it all off, it’s dark out here and nearly midnight…

What the hell, it would make a good story to tell her
girlfriends. Within seconds, Laetitia Marie Laure
Casta was revealing the body that made “Sports
Illustrated”‘s swimsuit issues the poorer for its
absence. Within seconds of that, she was buried under
a mountain of men, and the party really began the
second the first cock plunged into her hot mouth.
She had soon kissed and sucked that waiting, bulging
erection to orgasm, feeling the stranger’s thick come
spurting into her, but no sooner had it gone than
another hardon took its place; it was as if she had
set up a fucking stall at a fair and the queue had
gotten out of control. Laetitia felt hands everywhere;
running up her legs, caressing her stomach, pressing
into her pussy and asshole, stroking and licking her
boobs, everywhere. Boys kissing her, men licking her,
pricks prodding her, everyone eagerly trying to get
her. Though there were other women involved as well,
she was getting the bulk of the attention.

She knew that the only way she would get out of this
intact would be to try and get some kind of order; she
dragged the nearest guy into her arms and managed to
roll away from the crush a bit. As the two kissed, she
felt a tugging away and tongues moving over her
breasts, both of the massive nipples being feasted on.
But her first lover of the night had marked out his
territory – Laetitia gasped as he plunged inside her,
and howled again as she was borne upwards by the
crowd, the boy still grinding inside. Then she yelled
a third time as another of the revellers thrust up her
wonderfully tight anus; she had never been taken in
both areas before. She jerked back and forth,
wondering which would come first.

Her asshole was the winner. Soon she also felt the
wetness inside her cunt, as the boy was replaced by an
older man; older than him, but younger than Stephane.
“Remember Marianne Faithfull?” he asked/shouted as he
nuzzled her neck. “The Mars bar?”

“I’ve heard about it…” Laetitia called back as she
fondled him and the others.

“Would you like to try it a little later?”

She paused for a second before nodding. A brief
exchange of information later, and the baccahanal had
started again…

* * * * * * * * * *

The sun rose on a deserted but filthy beach. As usual
with these things, actually removing the evidence
hadn’t occurred to anyone involved. As Laetitia Casta
stirred awake in her hotel room, she had a fair bit of
evidence on her (several of the participants had come
all over her face). Thankfully Stephane was still
slumbering; she could wash it off. And then she had
that appointment to keep…

What on Earth had she been thinking? Was she taking
advantage of her holiday time to sow a few wild oats?
And what if he had been awake?

Then Laetitia thought about how she had felt last
night. She had liked it… no, she had LOVED it. Not
that she was going to make it a habit or anything,
but…

She was definitely going to meet that man.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Good morning, Laetitia,” he said pleasantly when he
opened the door on her knocks. “I must admit I’m
surprised you kept this appointment.”

“YOU’RE surprised?” she thought, entering the
scrupulously tidy house. Out loud, she replied “After
last night, it would have been silly to say no.”

“It’s too bad your partner couldn’t have come along,”
he said as their eyes fell on the “Sun” magazine with
her picture on the cover. She was wearing a skimpy
bikini, looking back over her shoulder and beaming
like… well, the sun. It wasn’t a bad picture,
Laetitia thought. “This is a small island, fueled on
gossip,” he continued. “You were very wise not to give
your name to anyone last night, but someone will
recognise that face. And those cheeks,” he added,
noting the thong she had on in the picture (“That’s a
sweet botsy you got there,” one reveller had said
approvingly prior to rimming the hole inside it). “But
I wouldn’t worry too much. No one got any evidence on
tape.”

“Unlike that story,” she muttered.

“No, not at all,” he agreed to her surprise. “You’ve
seen them too?”

Laetitia nodded. “As you may have noticed, it’s
officially a conservative island, but the Internet
makes this stuff easier. I’ve found quite a few tales
of you, mainly on-”

“CSSA, I know.”

“It surprised me to see the name of the writer; I
wondered if it was the same Victor Field I used to go
to school with… I did a little checking and I found
out it was, as opposed to his father.”

“He lives here?”

“His father does – he doesn’t know one of his son’s
hobbies is writing celebrity sex fiction. And I’m
certainly not going to tell him…”

Laetitia made a mental note to ferret out the man
before she left. “Shall we begin the chocolate? And do
you have a camera?”

“Yes…and yes.”

Five minutes later, she was lying on the carpet, his
video camera in action. She was again in action with
herself, but this time holding a king-size Bounty
(“Mars bars have been done,” he commented), solid
after frozen but left outside long enough for the
chill to be gone, but not enough to melt away. It felt
strange, knowing that this was one “penis” that would
never leave the body once it was inside. She fondled
her glorious mounds with the Bounty, and stroked her
stomach with it before sliding it through her jungle,
as her director focused on that part of her body.

She slowly started to fuck herself with the chocolate.
Down it went, coring inside… she tensed her pussy
muscles and drew the Bounty inside, smiling as she
felt it occupy the box. The man watched as it slid out
of sight and the lips closed up. Then Laetitia pushed
and the Bounty was released, sopping with her fluids.
It looked almost as delicious as her. “Do it again,”
he urged.

“Your wish is my command,” Laetitia agreed, as she
drew it back inside. “Are you going to eat it or save
it?”

“The bar I’ll save,” he told her. “I’m going to eat
something else.” He retrieved the pussy-flavoured bar,
and placed it inside his freezer. Still with the
camera whirring, he placed his head between her legs
and started tasting Laetitia’s coconut-chocolate
tinged box. This was a great one for both of them –
her pussy was gorgeous and he enjoyed tasting it. For
her own part, she was loving his tongue working on
her. Almost as good as Stephane… but at least she
knew his name.

She never asked her new friend who he was. He, in
turn, never showed the tape to anyone or let on what
he had done.

* * * * * * * * * *

The two weeks were flying by; Sahteene had been as
good a child as you could ask for, Stephane had a tan
that George Hamilton would die for, and Laetitia had
been sampling Barbados’s pleasures. But tonight was
the last night they would be on the island – and they
would be going out to dinner and dancing. All that was
in the evening; for now, Laetitia was finishing a
letter at her keyboard. Even on vacations, she still
liked to keep in touch. So did Stephane, who had asked
to use it when she was finished.

“It’s free, Steff!” she called, and got up to get
ready for another of her “strolls.” Every day she had
spent a little time by herself to check out more of
the scenery. Well, that’s what she told the others.

As Stephane sat down to see if he had had any
messages, he idly went for the bookmarks; like most
people online, he had some favourite sites. The news
ones, for instance – a chance to check the French
newspapers… Le Monde, Liberation, CSSA,
France-Soir…

What’s this? CSSA? Laetitia had bookmarked this one
why?

* * * * * * * * * * *

Bridgetown can be pretty dead for a capital city many
mornings. Not many people on the streets, the weekend
rush a while away… but where there’s a will, there’s
usually a way. There wasn’t a will, but there was an
Emmerton. He was currently on the receiving end of a
quickie from Laetitia; she had grown quite addicted to
living on the wild side, and was giving scant thought
to what would happen when she got back home.

Emmerton was a student at Harrison College who she had
spotted on his lunch break (which he always took out
of school grounds). He had been surprisingly easy to
talk into this; she always had to be careful. “Let me
guess, you’re not getting any from your husband,
right?” the lad asked confidently. “You want to try
some Bajan beef right?”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” Laetitia admitted. “But
when the cat’s away…” Emmerton understood. His
brothers were fairly shameless in their willingness to
give a thrill to female tourists, especially if they
were white. He himself had to admit to wanting to have
a go with some of the cuter foreign students, but this
was his first real chance. Here this gorgeous French
girl was promising him a one-time-only,
no-questions-asked quickie – and all before afternoon
classes. Now, as the closed-up minivan creaked to
their wanton passion, he could hold his head up high
with his brothers’ regular boasts. And what a woman to
be with… she may have had some odd teeth, but so
what? Everything else made up for it, and he had known
girls with far, far worse drawbacks.

Besides, it wasn’t her teeth that were important; it
was her lips. They were consuming his head, his chest,
his aching cock, everything. Laetitia was talking
dirty to him in French, and he gave it back to her in
spades. He did his best to make her first time with a
Caribbean man (or so he thought) a time to remember;
Emmerton’s rapid gyrations as he drove himself deep
inside her combined with Laetitia’s own bucking to
make the air-conditioned van seem a lot hotter.

He finally filled the condom he had insisted on
wearing with his young come, gasping over Laetitia’s
beautiful face as he did. She grasped his sweaty body
tight as she felt herself come as well, still hot and
happy… but Emmerton thought (wrongly) that she would
forget him when she left, and was happy when she
didn’t say she wouldn’t. He knew for a fact he never
would.

In his class a couple of hours later, he took his
place next to Jeremy Corbin. His friend had his folder
out on his desk; Emmerton idly glanced at it,
recognised the stunning young lady whose picture was
glued to the cover, and for the first and only time in
his life came on the spot…

* * * * * * * * *

“Did you enjoy your walk, Laetitia?” Stephane asked as
she kissed him hello on her return.

“Yes – very nice,” she replied.

“And what are you doing reading stories about you
having sex?”

Laetitia stopped for a second. She cursed herself for
bookmarking the damn thing, especially since she knew
the address by heart anyway. Stephane was a good man,
but he could be a little touchy.

“I couldn’t believe some of the things there on that
site,” he continued. “I mean, saying you’re a slut and
all that-”

“Come on. I’m not a nun or particularly celibate. And
you know I’m no prude.”

Stephane remembered her nude scenes in “La Bicyclette
Bleue” and “Gitano” and nodded. “And you’re not
shocked about these?”

“On the whole, no. Plus…” and she gave him a wicked
smile. “…they’re food for thought.”

Stephane hesitated. He had to admit he had enjoyed
reading a couple of them… and yet… “I can’t. When
you do nude scenes it’s you doing them, but this isn’t
you.”

“Ah, but it IS,” Laetitia replied. “Watch and learn.”
She opened up the site, and clicked her way to the new
additions page. There, in alongside tales about some
women he had heard of and others who were unfamiliar
(who the hell were Shannon Elizabeth and Kelly Hu?),
was “Les aventures erotique de Laetitia Casta –
Laetitia Casta (MF, FF, con, oral, anal) – by
Anonymous (in French).”

“In French? On an American site?”

“Lust knows no boundaries, darling,” Laetitia pointed
out as he sat down in disbelief and started to read…

” ‘OoooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhGOD!!!!’ I screamed,
grabbing the bedstead even tighter and yelling for all
to hear as my boyfriend thrust ever deeper into me,
using a vibrator in my cunt and his own equipment up
my ass. I had gotten very fond of sex over the past
few years, but for the most part I kept it purely with
my boyfriend – I don’t believe in keeping them keen by
being mean, and the only time in recent history it was
withheld was on HIS part. But even I believe a man
should have a night off. Occasionally I get some some
outside help, but always discreetly. But they say east
or west, home is best…

“Not for the first time, I marvelled over how my
boyfriend never seemed able to stop coming. Feeling
wave after wave of his hot juice rushing into my
stretched anus, I couldn’t scream any more – I
contented myself with a long, slowly subsiding
‘Ahhhhhhhh…’ as he continued to unload into me. At
last the deluge slowed, and I felt my lover’s rod
sliding back out and my asshole closing up after it.
‘Perfection,’ he sighed in delight, pinching my tender
cheeks one last time. ‘Pure heaven.'”

(Later…)

” ‘Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that
being seduced by a woman could be almost better than
being with a man. Now I knew why I always went to see
Sophie Marceau movies. Having your body tended to by
an older woman was heavenly, as long as she wasn’t
that much older. And Sophie was just right.

‘She slowly sucked both my ready nipples as I slowly
stroked her back, waiting to feel her lovely buttocks
under my fingers. Soon I found them, and cried out her
name as I slid a finger into her anus and another into
her open pussy. Sophie moaned happily as she removed
her attention from my breasts and kissed me on the
lips, clutching me as if she never, ever wanted me to
go. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go either…’ ”

(Later still)

” ‘I listened to the cries of father and son alike as
I took it in turns to fellate them. Forty years
separated them, but they were united in their desire
for me, and I was theirs to do what they wanted for
the night…’ ”

Stephane looked at his companion as if she had
appeared to him for the first time. “YOU wrote this?”
he asked, scanning through it. It was almost as if she
kept a diary of her sex life… who was this woman?

“They’ll think it’s someone writing as if they’re me,”
Laetitia explained. “In any case, it’s only fiction.”

Stephane shook his head. “Never do this again,
Laetitia. I’m not sure I like this side of you.”

“But-”

“I’m asking you as the woman I love to not write any
more of this filth. Please. It’s bad enough to have
men doing this about you, but…”

“That was a joke,” she interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t really write that – I’m just taking the
credit. It was a joke,” she added as she took him by
the arm. “Do you really think I’d go and write about
my sex life and put it in a story for the world to
see?”

“But there’s no name-”

“A lot of the writers there are embarrassed or want to
have creative pennames,” Laetitia assured him. “It’s
just a French fan with time on his hands…”

Stephane was hesitant, but Laetitia’s expression
convinced him. She had been just playing with him. He
relaxed and nodded. “And you just read them?”

“Just read them,” she confirmed.

“Well… I suppose that can’t do any harm. And this
just proves you’re a good actress. I honestly
thought…”

“Look, why don’t we get dressed? We have to leave for
dinner soon.”

And dessert is going to be fun, Laetitia thought.
Sorbet was nice, but Stephane’s cock was even nicer.

* * * * * * * * * *

The gossip sheets would soon have rumours that a
French model/actress had been behaving like a slut
while on holiday, but no one would ever confirm these
rumours, to the joy of Laetitia, who was fast asleep
on the flight from Barbados. Alongside her, Stephane
studied his sleeping partner. So lovely, so sweet…
she was a good woman. And she had been surprisingly
eager in bed the night before… almost as if she had
been keeping in practice.

In her dream, Laetitia was being held in the arms of
Monica Bellucci – their argument over which Asterix
cartoon was the best (they were both agreed that it
wasn’t the last one, though) had been intense, but
they had kissed and made up. Repeatedly. And now the
Frenchwoman and the Italian lady were deep in passion.
It was Falbala doing Cleopatra, sampling the darker
woman’s secret garden…

Laetitia smiled to herself and turned over, enjoying
her fantasy. This was definitely one for the Laetitia
Chronicles, the second “diary” she’d be submitting to
CSSA. When she woke up, she would be scribbling the
details down while they stayed fresh, to add to what
she had done on her summer vacation; she was sure she
could work it in there, as a lot of celebrities
visited Barbados (though Monica’s body would have been
far more pleasant to see than that of Donatella
Versace or (oh sweet God!) Cilla Black). She would
also start pondering who she should tell about the
site – no point in keeping this all to herself.

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