#all me

Alex hadn’t considered this uncomfortable (for him) side of his business when the “great work” was in production, but as it moved to post-production, he was advised to clear his schedule as he might well have made a masterpiece.  I remember he was stunned when he told me.  Don’t get me wrong, I was proud of the work he did, entertaining, historic, thought-provoking, dreamily romantic, all of it.  I knew he was good at it.  He put his all in every day and came home emotionally drained, maybe physically tired, but all about me when he hit the door.  I cleared his mind he’d say after he’d kissed me into the safe, happy oblivion I found in his arms.  I supported his every effort and let him tell me whatever he wanted me to know.  He was a big man with a much smaller ego that could be “zenned” by a mere remark from me and be calm and relaxed.  I was always brimming with loving compliments.  Yet I always told him the truth and he knew it.

When he mentioned the possible Oscar nominations, I gasped and whispered a rare question from the ignorant, “Of course you are fabulous, sweet leading man, but what does that mean?  What will we be doing or not doing do you think?”

Alex held me close and pondered out loud, “Darlin’, you know me.  I’ll do as little press and schmoozing as can get me by.  There may be some to rub off on you if all these nominations happen.  I’ll try to keep it away.  I’m thinking you’ll have to come to the ceremony and after parties with me.  I want to show you off anyway.  And you know (Alex looked into my eyes) I need you with me for the big load of crap that is the biggest shit show in the business.  Oscars seem to come with expectations of future failures rather than accolades.  Fuck it, maybe I’ll not win and our paradise will remain only ours and Remy’s.” 

Alex winked at me and I whispered, “I love you, Swede-ee-pie.”

The weeks between nominations and awards were hectic.  Alex was away often – New York City talk show appearances made, west coast meetings taken and press handled.  I selfishly wished Remy could take my place on the night, but the world knew Alex was married to the invisible woman who must make herself seen.  He spoke about me briefly – as existing – to interviewers and refused to elaborate, leaving the expectation of me by his side on Oscar night.  I was nervous I would make faux pas.  I would be there for Alex, to keep him calm and whisper in his ear that he was surely mortal.  I teased him.  He kept smiling.  He wasn’t ready to spring our happy triad on the world of vapid movie press for Remy to go along.  I understood and agreed.  I joked that speculation was rife about his cock and we didn’t need to inflate it further with wondering where he put it.  Remy wasn’t keen on ejaculating us into his music career either.

Alex assured me that Attorney Beauchamp could handle the press and he didn’t care what I said since they would have to go find a dictionary anyway.  “You’ll hush if I kiss you,” he said and proceeded to prove it.

I asked Alex’s press agent about what to wear when and proceeded to Jarbas of Atlanta, a Brazilian designer whom I had known years before I could afford his creations and before he became well known in the fashion industry (at least in the south).  Maybe I could give him some good press at the Oscars.  I made Jarbas promise that he would still take my calls when he was undressing those hot men of the movies.   We laughed too much at every fitting, Jarbas trying to incorporate chain mail armor against the press and me exclaiming that the chastity belt should be made for him. 

I would be as well put together as possible to make Alex proud, and I would keep the sarcastic obtuse snippets to a minimum and I would by god smile about it.

Since I had never been to LA, Alex’s people booked us a five-day stay in a five-star suite with the ceremonial stress scheduled smack in the middle.  We left Atlanta at 9:00 am and arrived at 9:30 am with the time difference.  Alex had business that first day so his people gave me a handler and booked lunch for me with Eddie Muller, the film noir host on Turner Classic Movies.  Alex may have moved heaven and earth for that lunch as he knew how I loved the genre.  I was thrilled and admittedly acted like a fangirl for Eddie until I got that out of my system and listened, still a bit awe struck, to Eddie’s stories of the noir actors he had met.  He joked that since he had been his own version of “fangirl” with those classic stars he karmically should have to deal with some like blather in return.  We lingered over lunch, as shortly after my gushing episode, I came to myself and, being such a noir fan, asked intelligent (mostly) questions about the films, the actors, and Eddie himself.  He wanted to know about me and I thought it safe enough to be honest.  Alex might like to be a guest host on the cable channel sometime just for fun.  TCM was still based in Atlanta.  I told Eddie that Alex was the pretty one and got a good laugh in response.  After lunch, we perused the Walk of Fame that was close to the theater where the awards ceremony would be held.  Eddie pointed out some stars hand prints I tried not to ooh and aah over, and he got my contact number, with a laugh, in case Alex got tired of me he joked.

My handler let me do as I pleased until she was to have me at the restaurant for early dinner with Alex and Jack McBrayer.  Even though Jack was born and raised in Georgia as I was, he was definitely only Alex’s friend.  He refused invitations to visit us in Atlanta.  If I picked up his call, we never conversed, he just left a message for Alex.  Whatever Jack and Alex had for each other; Jack had a lot more of it.  Alex, to his credit, never let Jack go overboard with his affections when I was present.  Alex tried to include Jack with us in a friendly way and we might all have been a bit more privately affectionate, but Jack was jealous of me being so sure of Alex’s love.  And I am sure of Alex.  That doesn’t negate the odd blowjob give and take with an old friend.  Jack couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of the recreational aspect.  Alex tried not to hurt his feelings. We never spoke of Remy around Jack.

Alex hadn’t seen Jack since his last Hollywood press trip.  Alex stayed with Jack when he was in LA for just a few days.  When my handler handed me in the door of the restaurant, I spied Alex and Jack seated not far away as I thanked her and hugged her goodbye.  As I made my way toward them, Alex’s back was most of what I could see of him and Jack was telling him something and smiling with all his many pearly teeth.  Jack saw me first and I heard his expletive at my presence, “Alex, Motherfuck!”  Alex turned, saw me with my eyes wide and rose to meet me.  He took my hand and pulled me into an embrace, flinging over his shoulder at Jack, “Watch it, Jackass.”  Alex lingered at the kiss hello and whispered, “Don’t mind it, I got you.”

I gave a general smile and said, “Oh, I’ve been such a tourist!  When you have your star on the Walk of Fame, sweet man, you’ll need extra space for your big perfect Viking paws.”  I kissed a finger on Alex’s hand I held; he lovingly caressed my cheek.  Jack was subdued.

Dinner was tasty and we managed to get Jack laughing.  All was well until Jack whined, “You’ll have an Oscar in every room.  Alex, you won’t have time for me anymore.”

Alex was already tense with the press, the awards, the blahblah hoopla and he was suddenly furious.  His whisper was barely audible but heard by the ears it was meant for, “If you don’t fucking know me better than that you can go to hell, Jack.”

Alex had already paid the (outrageous to me) tab.  He grabbed my elbow and ushered me quickly but gently out of the restaurant.  We caught a cab and Alex easily made it to second base on our quick drive to the hotel.  The cuddle calmed him and we both yawned like yaks and snuggled up somnolently.  We would talk about it in the LA sunny morning.

My little eyes fluttered open at 8:00 am Atlanta time with Alex on his back gently snoring through the LA 5:00 am.  I was cuddled to his side with my arm slung over the gentle rise and fall of him.  I kissed Alex’s chest and slithered silently down to kiss the sleeping cock.  As I had become familiar with Sweden’s language and culture, I began to call Alex’s cock “Dala Horse Dick” or “Dala” in company.  Alex giggled over the nickname every time I used it.  As soon as I breathed on my favorite toy and flicked my tongue over Dala’s foreskin, he opened one eye (he only had the one) and began to stretch.  I warmed Dala in my mouth earnestly nudging him fully awake with tongue twirls and suggestions of a firm fist.  Alex began to stir and Dala in my mouth felt like Alex was smiling.

“Darlin’, you’re making me so hard.”  Alex moaned and began to gently thrust, urging my firm fist to stroke a little rougher and my licks and moans to coax the head out and proud a little harder.

“You’re gonna make me come that way.  Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

I said nothing, keeping my mouth engaged in more important endeavors.  I knew that Alex needed some comfort with no demand for reciprocity.  Today and tomorrow would be high performance/high stress days for him.  I knew he needed me to encourage his calm, polite press demeanor he cultivated so well or he would have borne this award rigamarole alone.  I was ready to be with him in his spotlight, physically the woman well behind the man.  I no longer doubted the longevity of our union.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, baby, here, it’s yours.”  Alex moaned his satisfaction in sighs and whispers as he gave his offering for the morning devotional and prayed to me every sweet name in Swedish.  He urged me off his spent cock toward his smiling face for thankful kisses.

“I’m sorry about Jack and I’m sorry I got angry with him.  (He knew I knew his fuse was short under the circumstance and I loved him anyway.)  You’re my little girl, darlin’.  What’s wrong?”  Alex was murmuring his loving “afterwords” when I jumped like I was bitten.

I had swallowed all his glad essence as the usual course of things (I liked him inside me however it came) and I suddenly realized my stomach was empty but for cum, and queasy.  I leapt up and ran for the bar fridge, grabbed the coffee creamer and took a swig, then got a settling ginger ale to take back to bed.

I handed Alex the soda and by way of explanation offered, “Oh Alex, sweet man, so much cum I thought I was gonna puke.  Your dick was bigger than my stomach this morning.”  I giggled and dove in for his warm, cuddly kisses and caresses until we both fell back asleep entwined.

At time appropriate, Alex was warm and relaxed in my arms and soundly cussed the alarm in a whisper as he moved to shut it off.  He determinedly closed his eyes.  “I haven’t had enough of my sleepy girl.  How is it you know just what I need when I need it?  I love you, Jamesy.”

Alex planted gentle kisses on my eyelids; I found his lips with mine and pulled him closer.  “And I love you, all of you as you are.  And I am proud of you every day.  These next few days will be like any others for us, an adventure but with a determined schedule.  Do we have time?”  I was moving my hips against him suggestively.

“I’ve got all you want, my love.”  Alex moved his hard cock between my legs and rubbed the head through my hot lips.  “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.  Moan my name.  Scream for me. Oh god, baby cum on my cock and yell it out loud,” my lover demanded as he thrust his cock inside, filling me completely and nudging the end of my love canal that was used to the love taps.

Sometimes we made love quietly, the two as one, caressing each other’s soul.  This morning Alex needed to hear it and I gave it to him willingly.  “Fuck me.  Give me your cock.  Make me come.  Oh god you’re so big.  Alex!  Harder, big man.  Fuck!  Fuck!  Alex!”

Alex knew just how to play the tune he wanted with his flexes, wiggles and thrusts within my heat.  I was very close to the ultimate explosion from his fucking expertise with me and his own adamant desire for me, pushing me to jump so he could catch me – the same me he’d had for years.  Alex was still so virile and intent on my orgasm such that I never got enough of him.  I was surely satisfied, but I always wanted him, even with the ever-sexy Remy, and especially in Alex’s absence I longed for the feel of all of him.  I had intentionally quit wondering if I would ache for him when our forever was over and gladly got it while it was here.

“That’s it, baby.  Fuck me.  I’m gonna fill you full.  C’mon, baby!  Give me!”  Alex was loud too and we both bellowed our moans of mutual orgasm at each other and whosoever was beyond the walls and could not escape the sounds of our exclusive ecstasy.

We collapsed in giggles as we began to breathe normally.  “I so fucking love you,” Alex murmured between kisses.

“C’mon, let’s un-cum and get ready.  I’m taking you with me today.  I have just a couple interviews [he mimicked] ‘How does it make you feel being nominated in all these categories?  What will you do with the Oscars?; ‘Well, April May June Girly Girl, I’m incredibly honored and humbled by these nominations.  It took all of us to make the movie, not the least of which is the Film Editor who didn’t leave me on the cutting room floor.  Haha,haha.’  And then my love, we’ll drive into the hills, up Mulholland Drive, and park and look and make out a little.  We’ll eat junk and make an early night of it, for tomorrow we die.”

Alex was teasing me, but I knew he was feeling very nervous for him who was usually the cool of a cucumber.  I was ready to be impaled by the press with him.  As we exited the shower, I dialed Our Remy.  I knew Alex would be real with Remy, not the big brother will take care of everything manly role he assumes so easily.  They talked while I did my makeup.  Alex had tears in his eyes as he came into the dressing area of the suite and handed me the phone with a very heartfelt kiss that made me tear up with him.  “Goddamn it, Alex.  My eyeliner isn’t even dry before it’s running down my face,” I spoke at the phone for Remy’s ears too.  Both of these loving guys laughed enough to be heard and we were all OK.  As I said goodbye to Remy, he said he would meet us in Atlanta when we got home and to let it be a surprise to Alex.  No matter what the outcome of the Oscars, Remy would cheer Alex immensely, and no matter the outcome of the Oscars, Alex would be blue and sad, undeserving or overlooked. 

Alex’s handler texted her presence with the car just as we finished breakfast.  I checked my indelible makeup (expressly for stress or sex), took Alex’s proffered paw and off we went.  Alex kissed me in the elevator (he liked to do that and had done since we met) and whispered, “You are beautiful, Jamesy.”

“As are you, my best Skarsgård.  I pronounce you horribly photogenic and I your fetching woman in waiting.”  I meant to keep our spirits up with my terribly tactless compliments.  Alex giggled at my wordplay and teasingly growled through his “horrible” monster claws as he slung back his pretend glamorous long blond hair.

Alex was on some noon live show and afterwards would do a recorded interview for Entertainment Tonight.  He was a charmer, even in his sleep he regularly charmed the pants right off me, and full of easy smiles for the usual inane tall and pretty comments.  He answered the specific questions broadly and talked about the movie clip that was everywhere right now.  Then the live host blurted, “Alex, word is you’re married [word had known for literally years, it’s just that Alex did most of his work without me, like most people].  How long have you been off the market? 

Alex smiled and said, “Whateverhernamewas, I haven’t been married near long enough,” and blew a kiss in my direction.  The audience sighed a big awwww. 

The host continued, “Looks like he’s still a happy newlywed.  Sorry girls.  Is your wife with you?”

I was in the wings of the studio and not visible to the audience, watching a monitor and drinking a coffee, in my regular casual clothes that I didn’t wear near as well as Alex wore his.

Alex responded, “Yes, I was glad Fischer could make the trip with me.”

Then things got wonky.

Host:  Well, I guess so!  Who wouldn’t want to go to the Oscars with the man of the hour who looks like this? (She motioned toward Alex, her hand moving up and down like showing a dog or a kitchen appliance.)  Let’s see if the camera can find her.  Freddie, can you get Mrs. Skarsgård in frame?

Alex:  Stop!  (Alex stood and walked toward the camera to put his hand over the lens.)  No, Freddie.  Stop it!  I’m fair game.  My family is not.

Host: Let’s go to commercial (making the throat cut motion with an unattractive frown).

Alex:  Interview terminated.  (He waved to the audience, unclipped his mic, turned and saw I was walking toward him and moved to intercept me.)

Truth be told, the time designated for the Alex segment was likely at an end anyway.  I hugged Alex who said, “Fuck ‘em, they ain’t nothing to me.”  He was parroting my words about the paparazzi I had spoken to him on the day we met.  We were congenially laughing when the host ran up to Alex, apologizing her silly guts out to both of us and begging Alex to come back so she could end on a nice note.

I said, “Go for the tonic chord ending we all want, especially in a love song,” and reached on tiptoe to kiss his nicely made-up lips, a kiss that he bent to receive and return as habit.  

Alex whispered to me, “Fucking voice of reason,” and followed the host back to set and took up his mic to rousing applause from the studio audience.  I stood stock still within sight of the audience, unwilling to let anyone think I was shy or intimidated, and watched Alex do his thing.  He assured everyone that his beautiful one (I can’t believe he said that out loud) would be with him on the red carpet.  The host complimented Alex and me as an aside and wished him and his movie all the Oscars he could carry.  Then it was over.  Whew.  I think the audience clapped a little for me, the formidable Skarsgård guard.  I was coming to whip whatshername’s ass, off camera, or at least cuss her to the ground.  In the south we genteelly brook no shit.  You’d best treat my boy right.

On the way to the next thing, I assured my sweet boy that I didn’t need quite so much protection, although I loved him for it.  I reminded him that Americans all think they’re your cousins and want to sit on your lap – never as private and respectful as Europeans.  Alex opined that the host wanted something unplanned to enhance her ratings, that she knew I was not to be on camera, and by god she got her something.  He knew the clip of him saying “stop!” would be great fodder for every interviewer to munch on and he would explain if explanation was necessary with me on his arm on the red carpet.  It would save us from fielding the more intrusive questions.  I knew Alex was right about these things and pointed out that he did not say “fuck” on air as would have been his first thought.  He hadn’t been angry; he just wasn’t having it.  We spent the next wait time kidding each other with “Freddie, don’t make me fuck you up,” which got us to “You wanna fuck that camera, Freddie?  Focus on that.”  Alex threw me a bird with, “Freddie, can you get that in frame?”  I put Alex’s extended bird finger in my mouth which changed the tone of our wait.

When Alex was called for his camera time for the later broadcast, they already had the few seconds of tape where Alex had walked toward “Freddie” and played that instead of the movie clip.  That was after Alex had charmingly answered the same movie/Oscar questions and then only showed Alex saying “stop!” and moving from his chair before the movie clip came on.  Alex laughed genuinely and just said, “Yeah, that happened,” before launching into his movie chat.

I wasn’t watching him for that one and it’s a good thing because when he told me about it, I laughed like a hyena, possibly loud enough to have been picked up on the interview audio had I been present.  Alex often tells me pedantically, “You should never stifle a sneeze or a laugh, little chicken, and never ever an orgasm!”  I listen.

The rental car was waiting when we were handled back to the hotel.  The concierge smiled and dangled the keys at us as we entered the lobby.  We turned on our heels and followed him out.  The car was right in front.  Alex thanked him and tipped him as he handed us into our ride.

“I guess you get handed a lot of things or is it handled in a lot of things?” I quipped, thinking of an Oscar handed him – or not and then briefly how I loved his gentle, firm manhandling of me.  

Alex read my mind and declared, “And I will handle you, chicken.  First, the best smoothie in Hollywood.  Then into the hills.”

We were finally alone like we were just going to the park or a cafe, a regular couple having simple fun, just us.  We popped in Erewhon for a bathroom break and smoothies for our health; and then to In-N-Out Burgers for our wellbeing.  As Alex drove and I silently sipped, he began to muse about the whys and wherefores of extant circumstance that began with an unnecessary apology.

“I’ve turned into a right moody bastard haven’t I, darlin’?  I’m sorry for that.  But you take me as I am and you don’t get upset.  Why is that?  Are you a witch?”  He kidded me with obvious appreciation.  I sipped silently and Alex turned to look at me.  I winked at him.

“I’m one lucky fuck,” he declared to himself and referring only to me, “The little woman finds me fascinating,” he chuckled, “and I made a movie that is the greatest thing since Gone With the Wind.  Ain’t that riiight, Miz Scarlet?”  He was teasing my southern sensibilities by being so self-deprecatingly sarcastic. 

“Well, Suh Cuddlebunny, you apparently put forth your art at just the right time for it to be not only recognized but coveted.  I understand your angst but remember that you are generally charming and inoffensive and humble.  Your acceptance of an award that is supposed to still mean something will be polite and humorous and you will still be a mysterious Swede to your peers who adore you today.  Um, Eric Northman could accept in your absence.  Did you bring your fangs?”  That last remark got the desired belly laugh.  He had finally shed all the mentions of True Blood in his public path of celebrity, and we had made Eric my vampire love slave.

“You are prepared if you win, right?  Because it feels like you will be the first Skarsgård to “get some.”  I thought dealing with the reality of it might help with his existential doubt and self-loathing.

“As for whether you are deserving, I know that you deserve all the awards (meaningless as they truly are).  In life I like to believe we get what we deserve – good or bad.  We just have to take it and know that “fiddle-dee-dee Rhett, tomorrow’s another day.”

Alex was driving and thinking.  He grinned and said, “Well then, win or not, frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

“Aha!  There’s my boy!”  Alex pulled over to an overlook on Mulholland and kissed me into oblivion.

“You know I’ll love you whatever life brings us.  You could never disappoint me, Alex.”  I should have known he would take me parking in Hollywood (in view of the sign) as soon as parking was possible.  It seemed that until the awards had come and gone, a good come was the only time Alex was free and fearless.  I could certainly help him with that.

It was broad daylight, on a travelled road, with the leading man who had a familiar face when I freed his hard cock, kissed it, stroked it then straddled him and took his magnificent member into my nether heat.  I rode Dala right there.  We were quiet as I worked on him with my internal muscles.  He watched for cars in the rear-view mirror. We appeared to be in a fond embrace, hiding our faces from the passersby.  There were no commuters to see Alex’s intermittent covert thrusts that quickly brought us to fruition.

“I know,” Alex hummed against my cheek, “Fuck c’mon.”  I felt Alex tense as the tingling fire engulfed me.  We had both thrown our heads back, my fists curling his shirt, his eyes hooded as he growled deep in his throat with each shot, almost a big cat’s purr.  I had managed silence until I clutched his shoulders and kissed him deeply, soft caterwauling muffled by Alex’s dancing tongue.

“Goddamn.  I want more,” I breathed, back in the world.

“Not now, darlin’,” Alex snickered as he gently pushed me off him and stowed the warrior, “Look.”  A police cruiser had pulled in behind us.  I fixed my dress, fetched the bag from In-N-Out from the back seat, and prepared to deal with the law as I did so often in court.  We had the windows down for the breeze.  As the officer walked up, Alex said so post-coital charmingly, “Hi, we were about to eat burgers with the view.  Is there a problem?”

I watched demurely as my man worked, ready to come to his aid.  Alex was all smiles watching recognition dawn on the public servant.  “Fuck, you’re that Skarsgård guy in that movie, you know, that everyone’s talking about.  Would you sign my notebook, er uh, for my wife?”

Alex took the little pad and wrote, “For the Mrs. of the Upholder of the Law, all the best, Alexander Skarsgård.”  The officer was still dazed and looked like he wanted to kiss Alex.  Alex handed him his notepad with a sheepish (I thought) grin.  The policeman shook his head as if to clear it and mumbled, “Thanks.  I know you can find a more private place for what you were doing.”

The mood was congenial as Alex and I answered, “Yes, sir!”  The officer began to laugh and by the time he’d walked to his car he was bellowing laughter.  He saluted Alex in the side mirror and let out a whoop as he started his car and sped around us.

“Let’s eat outside, shall we, lover?  I’m starving,” Alex kissed my cheek.  He was feeling like the Ruler of All He Surveyed just as he should.

We drove by Alex’s old house, eschewed the sad fame made real by the “Hollywoodland” sign suicides, and further celebrated with imported water Alex’s new marks on the industry – his menacing of a cameraman (poor Freddie) and probably or definitely fucking his wife expertly in a semi-public area (we called it our In-N-Out appetizer).  On the way back to the hotel, Alex turned to me and announced, “Oh yeah?  Fuck Oscar.  Don’t tell Remy.” Alex would be fine tomorrow.

Oscar Day dawned early.  Alex opened one eye and turned toward me, wrapping me in his warm, strong arms.  “Makeup and hair will be here at noon, red carpet at four, then the interminable awards.  Let’s have a little cuddle,” Alex talked into my neck between succulent kisses from those perfect Skarsgård lips. 

I snuggled into him, still half asleep.  I felt Alex’s big hands stroking over my thigh and moving to open my legs, which I did for him as ever.  He stroked my mons Venus, pressing his fingers between my nether lips and feeling the sex nectar that he had called forth.  It made him drool.  He wiped his mouth and licked his fingers.  Usually by the time he was working his fingers within me and drooling, his cock was steel.  I opened my eyes and reached between us for my favorite toy.  Not only was he hard and ready, he was throbbing.  He hadn’t touched his cock and it felt like he was ready to come – just from fingering my love nest?  I leaned to kiss his face, “Alex, what do you need?  Say it.”

He kept his fingers in his mouth and thrust his cock at nothing.  I knew.  I leaned over to my suitcase under the bed and extricated his favorite dildo and lube. Alex moaned, “Fuck, I love you, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”  He was babbling a little.  I lubed the faux pleasure wand while Alex sucked my clit.  We had figured out a way we could do it; I was limber enough and Alex’s cock was big enough: on our sides facing each other I slung my top leg over Alex as far up his torso as I could; he bent the knee of his top leg and inserted his cock all the way to my lungs (it felt like) as I bent over my top leg so I could reach Alex’s sweet ass and insert the faux (much smaller than Alex’s real one so easily told apart) cock into his pink pucker and move it in rhythm to his thrusts in me.  Sometimes we missed Remy.  He was too big to fuck Alex, but two more hands and another nice cock came in so handy.  We would have to manage on our own.

We managed fine.  Once we got going when the giggles became expletives of pleasure and we were both physically intent on our collective satisfaction, it almost felt too good to come.  The pleasure on Alex’s face that I caught glimpses of during our danse de baise was like a drug I was addicted to.  We were both maximumly stimulated.  His cock rubbed my g-spot and clit continuously.  His cock was massaged unceasingly by my inner muscles on the brink of orgasm that I could hold much longer because my limbs were so contracted.  His prostate was being rubbed by the faux cock that I controlled.  I was fucking him while he fucked me.  My hard nipples scraped his skin and both of us sucked on whatever of the other’s skin we could reach.  When one of us could no longer hold on and allowed the tremor of impending explosion, the other followed.  There could be no better or longer-lasting orgasm shared as one.  It was as if we burst synchronously, screaming our tandem death, and came back together through the bonds of our love for each other.

The culmination was loud and long and loving.  It was an emotional release such that neither of us could withstand as a usual sexual experience.  Our sex was always satisfyingly fabulous.  This was the stratosphere of human eros expressed.  We couldn’t love each other any harder/better/more intensely.  Afterwards we curled up together neither wanting to let the other go – until we had to pee and hit the shower.

We would be fed and clean by noon.  Alex ordered all the room service morsels he knew I liked.  He held me and kissed me.  And all this day he would love me with his eyes the way he says I always look at him.  He was sure he was loved and not alone.  I kept him hugged up. 

As we sat in robes eating just what we wanted, I went again to my suitcase and came back to the table with two small velvet boxes.  Alex looked curious and pulled me into his lap.  He whispered in Swedish, “What have you got, angel love?”

I had managed to have a small bit of jewelry made (lapel pins) for his Oscars night.  I wanted tangible proof of my unchanging love.  I offered him the first box.  I whispered, “I love you, Alex.  I wanted to show you.”  My love began to trickle down my face.

Inside the box was a circular pin made of a Paraiba tourmaline bezel set in a male symbol, a Columbian emerald set in a female symbol and a Santa Maria Aquamarine in a male symbol.  Alex saw it was our triad.  He kissed my tears away.  I hurriedly explained that if it was not appropriate for the Oscars because he wouldn’t want to explain such a private circumstance, I thrust the second box into his hand.  As he saw the brilliant cut Paraiba heart shaped stone, he had tears.

“You gave me your heart.  I’ll wear it tonight, my love.”  Alex kissed me deeply.  “I love the other one as well.  I hope you commissioned one for you and Remy too.”

I nodded in the affirmative.

Shortly before the arrival of the Hollywood magic makeup people who would style me as well as Alex, my sly boy thrust a bigger velvet box into my hand.  “I got you a little bauble as well, my beautiful one.”                    

I always wore the gold necklace with an elongated round bead on it that said “Alex” around the bead in script.  He had given me it when we first realized we couldn’t leave each other alone, about five years ago.  Alex knew I never took that off.  He also knew I didn’t require presents to love him.  I opened the box with vague trepidation.  I wouldn’t wear anything too flashy, even to the Oscars.

Oh!  It was two more gold beads, two script-inscribed squares with artfully rounded corners, each a little different from the other, to adorn my Alex elongated orb!  Alex knew me well.  He was smiling ear to ear.

“It wasn’t so much, my love.  I like it that if it pleases you then I have thought it out properly and you will wear it all the time.  You are so attached to the simple bead around your neck, it deserves enhancement.  You deserve some more of me you can fondle in public.  Please, my love, look at the script.”

The engravings said: You’ve got me now on the four sides of one and Your Swede-ee-pie around the other.  Hell, I thought he sort of hated it when I called him that but “Swedely” allowed me my liberties.  Overpowering love manifested in my eyes.  Alex laughed and hugged me tight.

“Goddamn it, Skarsgård.  When you win tonight I’ll be sobbing in the audience, embarrassing your calm, collected self, fangirling all over the table on camera like your star struck idiot.”

After adding the beads, Alex refastened the chain around my neck, “No you won’t, darlin’.  You’ll never be star struck ‘cause I’ll never strike you.  You’ll have to be star-kissed – not the tuna. [Well placed neck kisses delivered by his Highney Mr. Heartthrob of the World.]  You have to come home with me ‘cause your stuff is here.  You can’t trade me for a prettier guy ‘cause there isn’t one.  Oh fuck yeah, you’ve got me now.”  He had me laughing.

“I’ll take you any way you come.  Or should I say I’ve had you every way you come and I forever want more.”  I fingered my new treasures. 

Alex laughed and went to answer the knock of the prettier up-ers.

I was nervously singing Nelly’s Hot in Here under my breath, “Git on up on the dance floor; giv’ ‘at man what he askin’ for…”  Alex kissed me to shut me up.  He knew I wasn’t used to such doings like he was.  Oh Jeezus.

Alex announced in general, “Whatever you put on our lips, make sure it stays, we’re going to do a lot of kissing tonight!”  He began with pecks on the cheeks of them.  The magic ladies giggled and went to work.

Futue eos, si iocum capere non possunt

Camera ready, we looked like ourselves only stunningly flawless.  Alex was formally perfect in his tux and heart lapel pin.  My Jarbas dress was such the deal with my gold necklace.  I was not unadorned – I wore my big Tanzanite earrings that were not so much formal as delightfully decadent; and I had Alex on my arm for eye candy.  I didn’t care if anyone looked at me, this was Alex’s night.  I suggested to Alex that we were both very cunning stunts.  He thought about that as we were handled out the door and having grasped the Cockney slang, turned and planted his lips on mine.  Let the show begin!  And jeezus fuck, we had a limo.

Such a show it was!  We were in a limo line around the block with the lines of fans already partying and looking for whoever could be seen.  After about fifteen minutes of holding hands in the cool crawling limo, the driver’s radio sounded, “Josh, you’re coming up.  Who you got?”

Josh half turned and lowered the partition, “You’re Skarsgårds, right?”  Alex answered in the affirmative.  We heard Josh utter “Skarsgårds! Hot damn,” as the partition raised. 

Shortly, the door opened, Alex squeezed my hand, gracefully unfolded out of the seat, and offered his hand to assist me as I assisted my dress.  I gasped and quickly covered it with a smile.  Alex was grinning at my reaction.  I took his arm and he kissed my head (I had refused the lacquer since my hair only did the one thing anyway and I knew I would thoughtlessly run my hand through it as I often do).  Even in late afternoon LA sun, I was blinded by flashes and lights and deafened by the wave of “Skkkaaarrrsssggååårrdd!” screams.  The crowd of fans and onlookers acted like they were in a 1940 movie about the Oscar ceremony for the many blockbusters of 1939(Gone With the Wind, The Wizard of Oz, The Women, et al), yelling for autographs and faux (surely) swooning by falling over the crowd barriers at the sight of The Swede.  Alex had me securely; he waved; I smiled.  At one point he recognized someone and we paused while he exchanged quick pleasantries.  When we moved, he put his arm around me and said as fact, “You are absolutely beautiful.”  He had said that to me the very first time he saw me almost naked.  He sincerely thought it still.  I was beautiful to he who mattered.  We shared a smile and our love eyes at the private memory and then we were away from the noise, and “called on the carpet” for Alex’s first little interview.

I looked openly at the interviewer as I would the Judge in a trial and smiled, as Alex had instructed.  She gushed over him, asked how he was feeling with seven nominations, where he took the opportunity to introduce me, “I am pleased to be with my Beautiful One tonight.  This is Fischer, the prettier Skarsgård.”

That surprised me and I laughed outright.  I glanced up at the boy and said, “I married him for his satirical sense of humor.”  Then Alex laughed outright.  The interviewer was mute.

Alex looked at me and quipped, “Even if I don’t win, we can entertain each other,” and winked at the interviewer holding the mic.  She burbled a thank you, Alexander Skarsgård, good luck tonight.

The next dressed up woman with a mic was prepared.  She did the obligatory gushing over Alex and the movie, then questioned, “Mrs. Skarsgård?”  I said, “Yes, Fischer is my first name.”

Immediately she turned back to Alex and asked, “What was it on the blahblah show that got the cool Swede upset?”  She was referring to the “Freddie Incident” as we were calling it.  Alex looked at me and said offhandedly, “I can get testy at that time of the month.  My Beautiful One keeps me happy.  She will make the appearances next time I’m nominated for an Oscar.”  We smiled and walked away, leaving another one speechless.

Alex whispered to me, “This is fuckin’ fun, darlin’!  You’re here in an official capacity and I don’t have to be so afraid of erring into tactless gender upset.  I love you.”  He kissed me right there in front of cameras and stars and other people who could and might comment on it.

“Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke,” I told my boy after the smooch.  He laughed and said, “Be sure and use that mantra tonight when I need it.”  I nodded and we went into the building.

The theater was nekked for handlers – or usherettes.  They were everywhere, ready to help, or ready to herd celebrities more like.  Most of the celebrities were docile, not drunk yet and perhaps excitedly nervous.  The pretty, young sheepdogs were very pleasant as they were earpiece linked and their glamorous job was marginally easier than herding cats.  The table for Alex’s movie where we would sit with the integral who worked on it was pointed out, as was the bar and the lounges.  We were informed that we were not required to be “camera present” for the entire three hour plus show but should be “tabled” when any of our related/nominated categories were called.  We would be reminded of the big ones.  They would find us no matter where we had slunk off to – there were intercoms in the lounges.

We got a glass of champagne mostly to hold as Alex could not risk a buzz – that would be later.  Alex had previously texted his list of thank you’s so he could be mindful of a short speech.  I had his phone (turned off) in my little purse so the lines of his impeccable tux were pristine.  Alex introduced me around.  The table were all Alex’s movie connected nominees, happy to be there, happy to see him and generally in good spirits.  They welcomed me with open arms.  Still, we were all “acting” appropriately, speaking generally and being “haved.”

Alex’s first nominated category was Best Director.  The nominees were heavy with talent.  Alex was believing he would not win and was smiling about it.  A camera was on our faces as the presenter said, “And the winner is…”  Alex was the face of calm looking at me; I know I was wide-eyed and unmoving, looking at nothing.

“Alexander Skarsgård for blahblah movie, murph murph!”  I had ceased to hear anything from the stage after his name.  Alex plainly said, “fuck,” kissed my lips and statuesquely arose and took the stage.

He was the consummate actor.  His acceptance seemed well rehearsed; I knew it was more like off the cuff.  As his thank you’s scrolled across the screen (if one looked at one of the huge screens of the broadcast around the room) he said, “I cannot singly take credit for this award.  The planets aligned and everyone gave their best.  We are grateful to be so noticed.”  Then he lapsed into Swedish and thanked me and Remy for loving him.  He held up the statue, looked at me, gave me a Skarsbrow and said, “Thank you, darlin’.  You got me now.”  He was ushered off and a sheepdog came for me to join him backstage.

Alex was standing for the press photographers.  There was a short press line to get initial reactions of the winners.  I waited.  Alex saw me out of the corner of his blue eye, “C’mere, darlin’.”  I walked over, took his hand and said, “You don’t have to prove you’re the prettier.”  He laughed and put his fingers up behind my head as horns as the photogs snapped.  We had practiced standing and where to look, so I hoped I was looking alright through the lens.  Alex said, “OK?” to signal the end of the snaps, and we walked away hand in hand. 

“Really brief, correct, and sweet speech, Skarsgård.  You’re great at this, except for the first word out of your mouth.  (He looked puzzled.)  It was ‘fuck’.  (I giggled.)  You’re the man.  They won’t use that.  Anyway, I gotcher back, Jack.  I gotcher six, Bix.  Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.”

Alex rushed me into the nearest lounge and kissed me long and hard.  I was finding that he was taking it in stride, no self-doubt.  “We should pee while we’re here, precious.  You hold my purse and I’ll hold up your cummerbund.”

We were back and camera present for Best Lead Actor in a Drama.  Alex preferred not to pay close attention and was calmly calling me his fuckbunny in Swedish.  I was holding my breath.  When his name was announced Alex said, “Sweet Jeezus.”; I whooped and immediately clapped a hand over my mouth; Alex laughed at me and used my head to help him out of his chair with a little love scritch.  He was in fine fettle.  As his thank you’s were again scrolling, he paused then quipped under his breath but certainly audible, “Glad I could take direction.”  He got a laugh.  Then he looked very serious as he said, “My Beautiful One (he gestured to me) and I were in bed one night when she suggested a brief comment of mine would make a perfect acceptance speech.  I agree. Pregnant pause [he whispered and took one].  [Ending loudly] I love you; let’s do that again!”

There was laughter among thunderous applause and some even stood in ovation.  No sheepdog came for me this time and Alex must have made shorter work of the short press line.  He was back after just one more category.  “We should suffer a little and sit here, dontcha think?  I missed my kiss, darlin’.”  He leaned in and gave me a gentle tongue smooch. 

“Now everyone will be speculating about my nonexistent pregnancy rather than your huge cock size,” I sighed. 

“I know, Jamesy, you can take it.”  Alex had decided to just enjoy this, “Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.”  He moved his chair beside mine and put his arm around me – and his finger in my ear before caressing my cheek and relaxing his hand on my clavicle.  I gave him my narrow eyed “I will get you later” look.  He whispered, “I’m counting on it.”

Alex’s movie also won Best Cinematography and Best Supporting Actress.  Alex cheered the loudest.  It would be speculated in the press that the other winners rode Alex’s coattails.  Alex took every opportunity to uplift their performances and say he was grateful to them.  Alex was easy to like and so easy to give your all to please him.  He was quick with praise and private with criticism – except with me who threw any shit right back, then fucked him and made up.

Finally, it was time for the big finale, Best Picture.  The entire table were giddy with success.  Alex had made clear that a win for one was a win for everybody who worked on the film.  During the broadcast commercial before the category was announced, Alex suggested that if we had another win, all of them should go up and speak their quick thank you’s, that he would remain seated.  He opined that he’d been seen too much and he had nothing else to say.  He encouraged them with a sincere smile.

It was no surprise that Alex’s movie won Best Picture.  The surprise came when at the announcement, the table whooped as one and stood to run up to the mic, but they stopped when Alex remained in his chair.  They tugged his arms, two people on each side, and pulled him laughing from his perch.  He followed them onto the stage and stood in the back, motioning others to speak.  There wasn’t so much time for thanking until the show’s director motioned to wrap it up.  The ones on stage yelled in unison, “Thank you, Alex!”  Hell, I shed a tear never noticed for the loud ovation. 

Five Oscars were awarded Alex’s movie. (I call it his.  He was executive producer, director, co-writer and actor, and it was mostly shot in Atlanta – but I guess it was really Lionsgate’s picture.) No wins for screenplay or editing.  Oscar statues would be engraved and delivered weeks later.  The show was over but for the gnashing of teeth.  There was much press afterwards, like photos after the wedding.  I sat, drank a little champagne and watched.  Alex was such a pro.  He called me over and began to talk up my dress, so Jarbas could benefit.  By the time we got into the car to go to the hotel to get ready for the after party or parties, Alex was a little disgruntled.  “We won too many categories.  Others’ efforts were as good or better.  Such fuckin’ idiocy and to make such a big fuckin’ deal.  Hollywood asshole politics.  We wouldn’t have been noticed if not for studio backing, distribution, and simultaneous theater and DVD release.  Goddamn this business.”

I hugged him, loved him, “Fuck us then, if we can’t take a joke.”

“Fuckin’ voice of reason,” Alex teased through his chuckling, “You ever been fucked in a limo, darlin’?”

“Not in this dress.”  I saw under streetlights that he was hard, straining those lovely tux pants.  I moved to free the warrior and licked my lips.

“Ahhh, once more through the park the long way, my good man,” Alex spoke through the intercom to the driver.

“What was that, Mr. Skarsgård?”

“Just keep driving until I tell you to stop.”

 As I took the warrior deep into my mouth to suck, lick, tongue and tease, Alex moaned, “Fuck, that feels so fuckin’ good.  I’m gonna come soon.  Oh fuck.”

Alex had his hands in my hair and had leaned forward from the cushy bed-seats of the limo so he could shallowly thrust into my mouth.  I glanced up at his beautiful face in the lights and shadows.  He was watching me.  He held my head lovingly and growled, “I’m gonna shoot.  Watch me come, Jamesy.  Fuck, I love you.”

I felt him shoot in my mouth, I swallowed quickly as I could with my lips around Dala, watching his face as he gave me all of it.  He had such a blissful countenance, almost beatific.  He held my gaze and gave me love-eyes.  He said my name like it was the most rapturous love song.  He cupped my face and gently brought me off his cock to kiss me passionately for long orgasmic minutes.

I whispered breathlessly, “Alex, you’re making me come.”  He dove once more for my lips and moaned into my mouth.  He moved his leg between my legs as I knelt on the floor of the limo, still holding up my dress.  The smallest pressure of his knee against my clit (through my designer panties) took me over the cliff.  Sobs shook me exacerbating the tremors of my ecstasy.  Alex held me firmly and kissed me violently as if to draw my orgasm to my lips for him to feel.

He held me tightly, unwilling to set me free with the aftershocks.  He whispered in my ear so intimately, “My love, do you need my handkerchief?”  He knew that I could have dripping panties and my own cum running down my leg.

I whispered, “No, baby, I had Jarbas make my panties moisture proof.  I always want you.  I planned ahead for our shared libido.  And what the fuck did you just do?  Are you going to be able to make me come by just looking at me?”

“Working on it.”  Alex murmured on his way to my lips for more kisses.  “Damn, I want to taste you.”

I wanted to move off my knees.  Alex helped me into the seat.  He stowed his relaxed and easily concealed warrior and touched the intercom button, “Driver, how far are we from the hotel?”

“About ten miles, sir.”

“Let’s head back.  Very nice ride.  Thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

I know that usually a blowjob is not much of a romantic endeavor.  Yet this one had been the height of emotional amour.  Cocks are funny.  Sometimes the oddest situation will make them stand up and yell, “I’m a man. Worship me.”  I don’t think that is cognizant thought, just the cock attitude.  Alex couldn’t exclaim joyously over his own accomplishments, he’s too Swedish.  Jeezus, three Oscars that were his!  He could boast and brag for years, but he would never do it once.  I think his cock had to express his pride for him.  He had never been so quick to come for my lips.  He was announcing it moments after I began the cock tongue dance.  And what it did to me was unprecedented, especially at my age (neither of us is so pretty twenty anymore).  I can and do come easily for Alex, but he has to work some for it.  I had just come hard on a look and a kiss.  If this kept up, I wouldn’t be able to go out anywhere with him without a cane to steady my orgasmic self and a diaper to catch the natural lube.  Oooooh, pretty.

It was strange and wonderful Oscar night.  Alex tipped the limo driver as we exited under the lit canopy of the hotel.  We looked a fright.  Alex’s tux shirt was untucked in front.  He was carrying his jacket.  My face must have bested the indelible during those kisses and spread the makeup around.  I was carrying Alex’s cummerbund and my purse.  We looked at each other, grinned and walked straight and proud into the lobby, accepting congratulations on the big win from the staff.  In the elevator we laughed as Alex pulled me into a kiss that had the earmarks of foreplay as he fondled my breasts through my dress.  I could just hear in my mind’s ear the security watching the elevator monitor:

Hey, Jed, isn’t he that Skarsgård who won all the Oscars?  Hell, who’s he trying to fuck in the elevator?

Good lord, Janet, leave him alone.  From what I’ve seen, that’s his wife, or anyway she’s wearing his wife’s dress.

I was thankful I didn’t have to really hear it.  I was having a fine time.  I ran my hand between us and damn if Alex wasn’t hard again!  It surely was fucking Oscar night.

Inside the suite where there were no cameras, Alex wordlessly unfastened my dress.  I took it off and marveled at the outside dry panties.  Alex was removing his cufflinks, his white chalcedony shirt studs and putting them in the jewelry case he carried to such events.  I passed him my tanzanite earrings to go in too.  He kept my hand and kissed it.  He searched his coat lapel for the heart and kissed it before placing it in the thin case that was metal with a combination lock and looked like a small laptop just thick enough for a watch.  He hung up his coat, threw his shirt in the closet and reached to unfasten his pants.

“Mmm.  Looks like I got some pre or post cum there.”  He was talking to himself as he hung up the cum pants and stroked his hard cock.

I wandered naked into the bathroom and was brushing my teeth and admiring my nicely fucked makeup when Alex came in as I spit the toothpaste.  I turned to him as he was kneeling, still stroking the upright warrior. 

Alex looked up at me with those beautiful love eyes, “Please let me love you, Jamesy.  I need to.”  Alex grasped my hips and buried his face in my twat, his lips immediately kissing, sucking my clit.  He gave me two fingers for my pussy to purr around and curled them just right.  I was already moaning his name, wanting him to possess me again as he had earlier.  I wanted him to fill me emotionally and physically.  The sweet anticipatory tension gathered in my loins.  Alex loved to suck my clit and feel my orgasm pulsing on his tongue.  He hadn’t long to wait.  His moans vibrated my clit against his tongue.  My clit jumped, Alex growled, I said, “Oh please, fuck me,” as Alex removed his fingers from my clutching twat to lube his twitching hardon.  I collapsed on the plush rug and reached for Alex as he inserted his throbbing cock into my need.  We moaned in unison.  Alex pressed my thighs open farther until my knees were on the floor on each side.  He held them down as he savagely rammed his cock into me over and over.  It hurt and I wanted more.  Tears ran down my cheeks.  I couldn’t move my hips to ease my stretched muscles.  I heard the silence except for our breathing and the sound of Alex’s balls slapping my taint.  I had no control over my orgasm.  Alex began to add a butt wiggle to rub my clit on the base of his cock.  I had no voice to beg him to let me up, no, keep going, harder.  Alex had his hands pushing my thighs down, pushing, grunting, fucking my pussy hard.

My orgasm flung out of me all over him and on a screech of profanity.  It hurt so good and then it just hurt.  He looked at me then and kept going, chasing his victory.  He even sped up for four, five gut wrenching thrusts, then screamed his orgasm as he shot inside me.  He noticed my face was scrunched in pain and took his hands off my thighs.

I tried to straighten my legs without much success but managed to rotate my hips so that they didn’t hurt as much.  It would ease.  Alex stayed inside me lazily thrusting until I put my hand on his chest and said, “Stop.  Help me fix my legs.  You hurt me, Amleth, and I liked it mostly.”

Alex pulled a hard dick out of me with a thick rope of cum.  He was repentant. He kissed my lips and kissed the bruises he’d made on my thighs.  He rubbed my muscles and helped me slowly straighten my legs and stand up.  He was sincerely apologetic and fussed over me with the puppy dog eyes of a kid who went just a little too far when he knew better.  I was a limber girl and would be fine as long as he didn’t want to dance ‘til dawn.

He was so concerned for me and so horny still.  Oh, I loved that Viking beyond good reason.  I stroked his hard cock, kissed it and said, “My sweet Berserker, fuck me once more, please, Swede-ee-pie?”                                                                             

We would both be sore tomorrow.  Alex ran a bath with bubbles, carried me to the big tub.  I oozed in and Alex slithered in facing me.  “I love you, Jamesy.  I can’t get enough.  Here, come and sit on my cock so it feels good to you.  Do as you wish, baby, just fuck me.”

“This is my first love bath fuck with an Oscar winner.  Does a big movie god enjoy such earthly pursuits?  Is he famous enough to hire someone to fuck me for him?  You don’t have to pay Remy.  He can fuck me and tell you about it.”  I had oozed up to straddle him and I slipped his cock inside me.

I was going to tease his winner’s remorse right out of him.  “Ooooh, big man, did your cock get bigger with every Oscar?  I’m gonna come all over you until you remember you’re still my sweet boy.”  I moved hips and inside squeezed him leisurely and kissed his face and all of him above the water line.

“I love you, Alex, every way you come.  I love you.  I want you. (I was still moving on his cock.)  Just you, sweet man, not the actor.  I really love every inch of you and how well you make me come, just for you.  You give me your best and I am proud to also receive your worst.  I love you.”  I kissed him passionately and he returned it.  He gave me his love eyes with tears in them.

“I’m sorry about some of this.  I need you to help me get it out.  I need only be a big deal to you.  Forgive me, love me, stay with me forever.”

“And after our forever I will still love you.”  I sped up my grinding pole dancing.  Alex helped move me up and down in the water until, gazing at each other, we came as one, pulsing, sighing, loving the other as a part of the one.  We shared our souls as we had done so often.

Alex relaxed with me cuddled on his chest until the water got cold.  It was time to party and Alex was in the most gloriously perfect mood to just be his humble self.  No matter what befalls us, we can just fuck it out, apparently.  Good to know.

Pedicabo ego vos omnes              Fuck all you all

I think Alex was fucked out, at least for a while.  We looked very much like a not too old, stylish, monied couple who must have been on mood enhancers too long since they whispered and shared giggles and little kisses and were old enough to not be so “cringe”.  We cared not one whit.  We were getting through as best we could – intact.

Alex wore black jeans and a lightweight turtleneck with a blazer.  Damn he was hot.  I had a Jarbas retro original 60s geometric color block pant suit, bellbottoms and trapeze top, reminiscent of Paul Mondrian, but with cute little me inside, as Alex said.  We were cool.  Alex was hot.  We were cool.  And we wore our triad pins to have a little bit of Remy with us.  They were noticed; no one asked.

Vanity Fair afterparty was full of lovely celebrities and journalists who couldn’t wait to kiss Alex’s ass.  He’s not into that really.  We spoke to everyone nicely and drank a bit.  Alex wanted to hide in a corner and kiss.  He was tired from the stress of dealing with this whole situation.  I said we should be seen as much as possible, chat with everyone, make connections without definite contact info, and remember we were in love (with each other); and “just fuck all you all” uttered as a quiet thought to keep us calm.  Alex laughed like a hyena, and again when I showed the gesture for it that I hadn’t thought about since law school when we would periodically try to use it as an affirmative defense.  [The gesture is an extended arm and a stirring motion/rolling your wrist with a flat palm down.]

Alex perked up and began to enjoy himself.  He’s tall and when he gestured, he took in so many to be fucked.  We did a lot of snide grinning at each other.  Alex was the star of the night so women began to talk positively about what I was wearing.  Hell, I handed out Jarbas’ business cards.  Why not?  We stayed a couple hours and then pled other obligations.  Let them dissect us; we just gestured them a smiling adios.

Fortunately, there were no other obligations that Alex cared to keep.  On the ride to the hotel and bed and sleep, I was feeling a bit snarky.  I said, “Alex, dearest, I didn’t know one man could manufacture as much cum as you have inserted into my person today.  Is it because you have a lot of balls or did you train for copious sperm output?  I’m feeling a bit testosteroney.  Let’s eat Italian tomorrow.”

Alex had been trying to follow that convoluted bit of silliness but got lost somewhere.  “What?  Baby, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m full of your come.  That’s all.  It feels kinda good.”

We gave all of Hollywood one last gesture from our balcony before we hit the pillows and slept until we woke up – noonish, it was.

Alex uncuddled me and sat on the edge of the bed rubbing sleep from his eyes.  I awoke from the emptiness at my back, “Fuck, where are we, Alie?” I croaked at his back as I pushed hair out of my eyes – ack, all that sunshine.

“Oh yeah, Hollywoodland.  You’re fuckin’ famous!”  I knee walked over and put my arms around him.  He had been unmoving since the eye rubbing.  Suddenly he inhaled sharply, breaking my hold around his chest, grabbed my arm and pulled me around him into his lap, tickling me for all he was worth.

“Aaaaaiiiieee,” I giggled screaming, “Let me go, you brute!”  I began to play at beating him with both my fists on his chest like a damsel in distress.

He held me gently then, “I love you, Jamesy,” he declared and hugged me.  “Don’t you have to pee?  I do too.”  We stood and I pushed him back on the bed and ran for the bathroom, squealing like a little girl.

When he ambled to the open bathroom door, cock in hand, I waved at him from the toilet like a homecoming queen.  He looked at me very seriously, “Just stay right there I think I can hit you from here.”  He stroked the foreskin back from the head of his cock threateningly.

I stood, being empty, flushed the toilet, stood aside and beckoned him forward, “No need to give me a dousing, my lord, shall I hold it for you gently?”  I gave him a half curtsey before I laughed and walked toward the shower. 

Alex joined me with a half hard cock and a smile on his face.  “My god, woman, we should be on the stage!  What piss drama indeed!”  We had a nice wash and some loving affectionate smiles and kisses.  It was only after room service was on its way that Alex turned on his phone and I looked for mine.

“Holy fuck!”  Alex whined at his phone that was buzzing like crazy.

“Oh yes, we’ve had some of those, sweet man.”  I answered with my butt in the air as I looked under the bed.  When I came up for air I heard his phone vibrating in his hand as he watched my phone hunting gyrations.  “Is god calling you, Alex?  Fuck I can’t find it.  Call me, maybe I can hear it.”

Alex held his phone out to me.  “Take this one.  I don’t want it anymore.”

I took his phone and began to look through missed calls.  “C’mon, sweet man, call your dad back anyway.  He might love you as much as I do.  But first, let’s call Remy!”

We had gotten only so far in dressing and lounged about in our respective underwear.  I pressed Alex’s phone into his chest and lightly fondled his overused cock through his Calvins.  Alex took it and dialed Remy.

Remy picked up the call with Alex saying “Quit it, darlin’” to me.  We were face timing.  Remy took in the scene and said, “Hey loves, I wish to fuck I was there.  I’d hold you down and play with your cock all day, Alex, and I bet Jamesy would help me.  You won big, man!  How was it?”

And we all spoke at once.  Alex and Remy began conversing in Södermalm slang and I cussed them in southern redneck.  We were in love.  I let them chat awhile, then feeling left out, I pulled my bra up and showed Remy my tits, shaking them provocatively.  Those boys laughed like teenagers.  Remy said, “Alex, go take care of that lovely creature who says she loves you for some goddamn reason.  Jamesy, save me some kisses.  Later.”  The phone connection was broken, but our connection remained strong.  It was sufficient Remy to raise Alex’s spirits high enough to want to go to the beach in Malibu or swimming in the hotel rooftop pool.  He made some calls to his people, Stellan first; I ate his bacon from the room service brunch.

We would best the hero-on-their-shoulders blues.  Life’s too mysterious to take it so serious-ly.  Nothing that happened during our time in LA could change how we love.  Remy was going to be very busy with us when we converged back in Atlanta in just a couple of days. 

Keep it happy, keep it snappy, keep it gay.  (song lyric from The Producers on Broadway)

End.