She's a Star (a Hollywood Hotwife story) by Max Sebastian Page A

him into her mouth, straddling his lap as he sat in a chair, presenting her rear so they could have a quickie in a dark corner of the street, leading him into the bedroom where she could ride him, or be ridden, giving herself totally to him.
    And there in the dark auditorium, in real life, Hayley just kept squeezing my hand, her eyes darting sideways to register my expression as I witnessed her Hollywood debut.
     
     
    *
     
     
    Afterwards, I was quiet for a while.
    I was silent in the car journey to the after party, as a show-biz journalist with a studio-agreed exclusive came along for the ride, talking so animatedly to the “hot new star” that Hayley hardly managed to get a word in.
    I was even feeling a little moody at the after party, as the pitying glances rained down on me, all of those watery looks offering me sympathy for being the husband of the actress who did that with her co-star.
    Moody was only for a few minutes, though, before I looked at Hayley toiling so hard to work the room—ever aware that she was now technically between jobs again—and pulled myself together.
    I wasn’t actively angry with her. The silence, the mood, the strong desire to crawl away and hide in some dark corner where nobody could see me—that was more to do with my dealing with the overwhelmingly strong feelings flowing through me.
    I had enjoyed the sight of my wife sleeping with another man. I just didn’t know what it meant now that my wife was about to leap onto the Hollywood A-list.
    At the after party, I took a deep breath and excused myself to the rest room once again. I just needed to step out, take a break, and then go back to the party to provide Hayley with the support she needed at this daunting yet exciting moment in her career.
    Hayley flashed me a look of concern, but I gave her a smile that attempted to be reassuring.
    I was thankful to find my way down a flight of stairs to a less busy restroom. Only a couple of guys were in there, and they were on their way out.
    Inside a stall on my own, I sat and just breathed, not even caring about the strong scent of cleaning products.
    It was only a movie, I told myself. And my fantasy was only a fantasy: I didn’t have to have it come true, I didn’t have to risk the loss of my incredible wife.
    Yet while I had been watching her up there on screen—as she acted as though she were now unconstrained by the expectations of her husband, playing up her sexuality, her femininity, her desirability for a new man—my body had been craving the reality of this fantasy, desperate for this to come true.
    But my head told me that Hayley couldn’t do anything even remotely risky now that she was a celebrity.
    I heard the door of the restroom bang, and male voices coming to spoil his moment of isolation.
    “Apparently they were inseparable during the shoot. He was like her puppy dog.”
    “Hound dog, more like.”
    “Oh no, you know she played hard to get?”
    “You’re serious? With Aaron Simpson?”
    My ears were burning, my heart palpitating, knowing who they were talking about. My cock thickened uncontrollably.
    “Okay, you breathe a word of this….”
    “Hey, bro, who d’you think I am?”
    “Well you know she’s married.”
    “I heard that.”
    “She spent the whole shoot flashing her ring at him. God, she was driving him crazy!”
    I smiled, and felt pure relief wash through my body. Clinging to the toilet like that, knees now up awkwardly under my chin as though I was worried one of those guys would look under the door to check they weren’t being overheard—I did look faintly ridiculous.
    “But they were still together the whole time?”
    “Oh, it was so obvious she’s into him. He’s never had anyone turn him down before, so he’s into her, too, like you wouldn’t believe.”
    “Jesus, he must have gone nuts. Here.”
    There was a pause, and then I heard the sound of a rapid inhalation of air—a sniff—and then a long sigh. Jesus, were they