Day In The Life Of Debbie Gibson


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It also contains scenes featuring actual people from the entertainment
industry. If you ever actually *meet* Debbie Gibson, please give her a copy
of this story and my mailing address– because if she thinks it’s funny I
want to go out drinking with her. If, however, she finds it offensive and
wishes to pursue legal action, I am fully prepared to deny ever writing
this story. For all anyone knows, some 14 year old hacker broke into my
account and posted this.

You can give this
to your friends. Please do not alter it or sell it. Thank
you and have a nice day.

— The Madwoman

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Day in the Life of Debbie Gibson
by Madwoman

A silver tear rolled down Debbie’s perfect cheek as she slowly lowered her
sleek young body into the white marble bathtub. When she was younger, a
nice hot bubble bath was all she needed to raise her spirts, but now it
seemed that nothing would calm her troubled soul. Life wasn’t easy for the
teenage singing sensation. It seemed that no matter what she did, no one
would take her work seriously.

"Trite." the critics had called her last album. "Trite, cheesy and sappy."
Debbie shuddered and began to weep harder. These were her innermost
feelings they were poking fun at. If "Lost in Your Eyes" and "No More
Rhyme" weren’t heartfelt reflections of the depth of the human soul– she
didn’t know what was. And surely "Electric Youth" was the most
inspirational song about youthful potential since David Bowie’s "Changes".
But still her finest works were ridiculed by those too emotionally and
intellectually immature to fully understand them.

But Debbie’s musical career wasn’t what was bothering her, and she knew it
all too well. Her real problem is that she could no longer go on ignoring
the feelings that were swelling inside her body. She was blossoming into
womanhood, but could not realize her fantasies in fear of tarnishing her
image as the fresh, innocent pop starlet. It wasn’t so much to preserve her
career– she knew in her heart of hearts that she could make it on her
talent alone– but she felt she owed it to her fans. She wanted to be a
role model to young girls, to tell them that it’s cool to just say no to
sex and drugs– to follow their dreams and to be an individual. But at the
same time, Debbie was finding it harder and harder to resist the powerful
desires coursing through her veins.

Yes, Debbie was a virgin, but it was more by circumstance than conscious
choice. She was curious, but didn’t want to just hop into bed with the
first guy that came along. And since her busy career prevented any kind of
real romance from developing, it seemed that she was doomed to chastity
forever. It had been months since the last time she had been touched in a
sexual manner. A smile crept across her face while her mind replayed once
again that delicious evening.

She washed the tears from her face while her slender toes slipped around
the tiny chain on the rubber stopper in the tub. A gentle tug and the water
began slowly draining away. Debbie began gently caressing her taut young
body as the water lowered, exposing her soft flesh to the cool air. Bubbles
crackled and popped on the delicate surfaces of her small, pert breasts–
sending tingling pleasures from her tiny pink nipples to her moist
womanhood.

"Kirk," she whispered to herself. "Oh… Kirk…"

To most people, Kirk Cameron was just another television star. He played
Michael Severs on the popular ABC sitcom "Growing Pains"– a winsome youth
with an irresistible smile and a keen wit. But he was more than this to
Debbie. Much more.

By now the water had reached the floating curls of her soft blonde pubic
hair. Debbie ran her slender fingers through the tiny locks and remembered
that night at the Emmys.

By mere chance they had been seated next to each other. They talked a
little, mostly about being mobbed by hordes of twelve year old fans
whenever they went out in public. But while they spoke, Debbie could feel
Kirk undressing her with his eyes– tracing her curves and taking obvious
glances at her tight skirt. He had an air of hungry confidence about him,
and she felt desires welling up inside her that she had never felt before.
The lights went down in the room, and the ceremony began. Kirk took
Debbie’s hand and began gently stoking it. Then he suddenly let go, and
instead put his hand on her knee. Slowly he began to move it up her leg,
stroking and caressing her inner thigh; making Debbie swoon in shameful
anticipation.

Lying in the bathtub, Debbie’s mind played over the delicious image of Kirk
gently slipping his fingers underneath her silk panties, his manicured
nails lightly grazing her swollen rosebud– all the while looking into her
eyes and coyly mocking her obvious passion. She pictured that face, those
fingers, penetrating over and over…
And then it boomed over the sound system, "And the winner for best actor in
a Family-Oriented Situation Comedy is… KIRK CAMERON!"

Kirk removed his hand from Debbie’s sopping underwear with admirable
swiftness, with only a split second before the roaming cameras would whirl
to meet his ever-charming smile.

Debbie began thrashing about in the bathtub, shuddering violently with
orgasmic tears, but only a second after her muffled cries began to escape
her ruby lips– the wooden door into the room blew into a thousand pieces
under the force of a strategically placed tactical plastic explosive.

Into the room jumped an unholy trinity of nefarious evildoers. The central
figure was a fully clad ninja warrior– armed with razor sharp precision
weapons and dressed in the black eelskin Shinomo garb that only outfitted
the assassins of kings. The ninja was flanked by a pair of Nazi frogmen in
gray-green wetsuits and flippers– each carrying a deadly speargun whose
purpose was all too obvious. On their chests was the unmistakable emblem of
Adolph Hitler’s Third Reich. Without hesitation, the two frogmen advanced
while the figure in black stood back to survey the carnage. Debbie had the
sudden feeling that she might be in trouble.

What only Debbie’s adoptive family and a handful of others knew, however,
was that this young nightingale was far from defenseless. When Debbie was
only a few months old, she and her natural family had been in a shipwreck–
and Debbie, the only survivor, washed up on the shores of a small uncharted
isle somewhere between the Fiji and Easter Islands. She was raised by
wolves for the first few years of her life, until she unwittingly came
across the only other human being on the island, an aging Shaulin Martial
Arts Master named Bruce who taught her the ways of man and the art of self
defense. After ten years of rigorous training, Debbie decided to once again
rejoin the real world, and fulfill her destiny as the best-loved pop
starlet of all time. On a makeshift outboard canoe, Debbie sailed to New
York, where she was soon adopted by a nice upper-middle class Protestant
family, who introduced her to record producer Fred Zarr– and the rest was
history.

Debbie leapt from the tub in a flying summersault, barely avoiding a forked
spear that fiercely penetrated the four foot luffa only inches from where
her sinewy young form had just been. Even in mid-flight, she was able to
identify the deadly curare poison coating her opponents’ barbed
projectiles. They were playing for keeps. She spun to meet the evil duo,
and remembered the words of her master… "The less effort expended, the
more powerful the connection." An indescribably graceful spinning crescent
lunge kick underneath the chin of her first opponent neatly severed his
head and sent it flying into the bidet.

She ducked a slice from the second frogman’s 9-inch serrated hunting knife,
and with a deafening cry of "WAX ON" she plunged her open hand through the
Swastika emblem on his chest– and with a similar cry of "WAX OFF" she
withdrew his still-beating heart. As the body slumped to the floor, Debbie
whirled to meet the stoic gaze of the remaining figure in black.

"Who are you?" she cried, "And what do you want with me?!? I broke a nail
on your lame-ass frogman’s collarbone, and I’m really pissed off!"

"You have killed two of my finest warriors," intoned the ninja. "And as you
die, I want you to know who is killing you." The figure pulled off its
sinister hood, and out poured a cascade of fiery red hair.

It was Tiffany. Debbie’s arch-rival in the musical netherworld of teenage
pop icons, and the very figure of evil incarnate. Her fans thought of her
as a quiet young girl with modest dreams of stardom, when in reality she
was a brazen harlot who would stop at nothing to have the whole of the
music industry under her wicked thumb.

"Tiffany!" cried Debbie. "I should have guessed!"

"You were expecting maybe Chuck Norris?" quipped back the red haired vixen.
"I mean, Chuck’s pretty hard up– but he’s got better things to do than
nail a prissy little WASP like you."

"What are you doing here? What do you want with me?" screamed Debbie,
falling back into a defensive posture.

"You ruined my career! I was on the verge of creating a musical empire…
I’d taken the first few steps to establishing myself as the hottest young
thing around– when all of a sudden you came around singing those insipid
little ballads of yours and stealing my thunder! Next thing I knew, I found
myself classified and categorized as a flash in the pan little tart like
you."

"What?" gasped an amazed and unbelieving Debbie. "You honestly thought you
could make it big by covering Beatles’ tunes for the rest of your life?
Not!"

"You untalented little Blonde tease!"

"You plagiarizing Red-Haired Slut!"

"Slicing your throat open is too quick a death for you!" sneered Tiffany,
dropping her weapons’ belt to the floor. "I’ll crush you with my bare
hands!!" She let loose a double reverse snake punch aimed at Debbie’s naked
torso.

But Debbie was too fast for her and did a double backwards somersault to
the other end of the room. As Tiffany sped towards her, Debbie crouched
down and threw her lower body upwards for the little known Shaulin upside
down spinning helicopter kick for which there is no known defense– except,
of course, for the even lesser known Japanese flying supersonic blur-hand
in which Tiffany had been expertly schooled. The two clashed together in a
tangle of limbs and flesh, leaving them locked in a strangling embrace–
pitting will against will in a struggle to the death.

But as Debbie’s hands closed around her opponent’s neck, she found herself
mesmerized by the tender fierceness in her eyes. She suddenly remembered
what it was that she was doing before this rather startling interruption,
and the proximity of such a beautiful, healthy young body pressing against
hers sent an unexpected flash of heat through her loins. This took Debbie
completely by surprise. I mean– she shaved her legs and had long hair and
everything– she never dreamed that she might be a lesbian! But her body
cared very little about her mind’s outdated ethics as she pressed her firm
young bosom into Tiffany’s.

As she did so, both her and Tiffany’s grip loosened, and their snarls of
anger transformed into faint moans of pleasure. Debbie found herself
entranced with the delicate lips of her opponent, and before she could stop
herself she was kissing them. For a moment it occurred to Debbie that
Tiffany’s acceptance of this might be a ruse to get the upper hand– but
then she felt a soft, warm tongue slide into her mouth, and she knew she
had a willing and eager partner.

"I wanted you so bad," whispered Tiffany between kisses. "So bad I wanted
to destroy you, because I didn’t think I could ever have you."

"Mmmmmm…" replied Debbie. "I never thought it could be like this…."

Tiffany’s hands roamed freely over Debbie’s supple body, as Debbie neatly
removed her black ninja garb. Underneath she wore nothing, and Debbie
swooned as she uncovered a figure not unlike her own– save for a wild
growth of fiery red hair between her legs.

"I never believed you were a real redhead," quipped Debbie tenderly, as she
slowly kissed down her torso.

"That’s O.K." countered Tiffany, gingerly swinging her partner around into
a sixty-nine. "I never thought you were a real blonde."

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