Three Celebs and a Wanda
Three Celebs and a Wanda
Saturday night was bizarre, mad, erotic and fun. I broke 2 of my New Years Resolutions and achieved one goal from there, sort of.
Saturday afternoon:
Walked dog. Got eyebrows waxed. Bought hold-ups.
Saturday evening:
I was going to get all dolled up, but in the end I decided to play it conservative. Brown turtleneck, brown skirt, grey hold-up stockings and brown clogs. I wore my hair down. It was a little frizzy, but still looked good. My make up looked good, my clothes looked good and my hair looked good. I was ready for my celebrity date.
I arrived at [Unnamed TV station] late. I wasn’t late on purpose. I just suck. I should have left home earlier. I signed in at the front desk and waited for a production assistant to come get me. In the elevator the production assistant, a young twenty-something Aussie said I looked familiar. She asked if I’ve been there before. I told her that I’d been there last year for a meeting regarding a Reality TV show. She indicated that she worked on the show and that’s where she must recognize me from.
A short walk from the elevator the PA led me to the dressing rooms. She knocked on one of the doors. After no answer she peered inside. No one was there.
“Hmmmmm.. He was here a minute ago.” she told me as she picked up her mobile and speed-dialled someone. We stood there halfway inside the dressing room halfway in the corridor. After what sounded like a stifled and somewhat terse conversation she me to have a seat on the couch and he’ll be right there. She waved bye and said that she’d see me around sometime. She closed the door behind her.
I looked around the dressing room. It was smaller, darker and less glamorous than I had imagined. There was a small TV in the corner switched on to Sky News.
A minute later the door opens again. Mr.TV Presenter enters. I apologize for being late. I could tell he wasn’t the sort of guy used to waiting for anyone. We embraced then kissed on the lips. He grabbed his jacket from the coat rack and we left the dressing room.
We walked out of the building to the street corner. He hailed a cab, and was quite chivalrous as he held the door open for me. After a 20 minute cab ride, spent mostly in sitting traffic, we found ourselves near Piccadilly Circus.
He opened the cab door for me and grabbed my hand as we approached the restaurant. A gentleman, who I presumed to be the Restaurateur, immediately recognized Mr.TV Presenter. The Restaurateur spoke to a few of his staff in Italian.
Then somehow I was whisked away from Mr.TV Presenter into a rickshaw that had a scarecrow with a huge erection in the seat next to me. Confused? Not nearly as confused as I was! It was a bit breezy outside and the wind kept blow my skirt open. Thank God I wore underwear! The rickshaw dropped me off at an Italian restaurant in Covent Garden. I walked into the restaurant. There was a cluster of old Italian men sitting in a booth by the door. They didn’t seem like customers, nor did they seem like staff. I surmised that they were friends of Restaurateur.
The Maitre D’ asked if he could help me.
“I um, came over here in a Rickshaw with a scarecrow? The owner sent me?”
The Maitre D’ looked at me like I had three heads. I pointed to the Rickshaw outside the restaurant. As the Maitre D’ walked outside Mr. TV Presenter and the Restaurateur approached the restaurant.
“You okay?” Mr TVP asked?
“This is so bizarre.”
The Restaurateur was a short dark-haired man filled with joie de vivre. He seemed to make a big deal of Mr.TVP’s appearance. The Restaurateur strutted through the restaurant as he escorted us through to our very private seats overlooking the whole of the restaurant.
I felt weird and self-conscious that everyone in the restaurant was staring at us. Now usually, I love being the centre of attention, but it’s weird being the center of attention when:
A. You’re dating a TV personality
B. The TV personality is cheating on his wife
C. You’ve been driven to the restaurant in a rickshaw while sitting next to a scarecrow with a huge erection.
Part of me was thinking, “Doesn’t Mr.TVP want to be more discrete?” What if someone here works for the tabloids? What if someone here tells his wife? What if there were fans at the restaurant. And maybe I shouldn’t worry. And another part of me was thinking, “Well if he isn’t concerned, then why should I be?”
Dinner was lovely. We didn’t even need order off the menu. I just told Mr.TVP the sort of things that I liked and he ordered it. We had lots of seafood. Yum!
He was very tactile. We kissed a lot during dinner. He also tried to finger me. Now usually I wouldn’t pass something like that up, but I felt really self-conscious that people were looking at us. It turns out that once we were tucked away in our booth, no one was looking at us, but I felt really self-conscious of him being caught red handed.
After dinner we took a cab back to the [Unnamed TV station]. I had less than a half hour before I had to be across town for my radio interview with TalkSport. So with the little time we had left, Mr. TVP convinced me to go back to his dressing room with him. He went ahead of me to check that the coast was clear. He then took my hand and led into the elevator. We exited the elevator then walked down the empty corridor. He unlocked his dressing room door then led me inside. He closed the door behind him. We immediately began kissing. I then took a seat in his swivel chair. I slouched down and opened my legs wide.
Mr.TVP got down on his knees, lifted my skirt and began kissing my thigh. He pulled my pink panties to the side and began licking my clit. I guess he found the “push-aside” method ineffective as he reached up and pulled them off me.
So there I sat in some expensive leather swivel chair, legs spread apart, wearing hold-up stockings and no knickers. His tongue felt so good on my clit. I decided to ditch the chair and just get on the floor. I laid down on the floor with my knees bent. He fingered my pussy and licked my clit at the same time. Fuck, it felt amazing. He’s obviously skilled. He passed the 7 minute test.
What is the 7 minute test? I’m glad you asked. Any guy eating me out should make me cum within 7 minutes. If it takes longer than that you’re doing something wrong.
There’s something about the combined pressure of being finger fucked and licked simultaneously. I came really hard. I held his balls while he jerked himself off.
My pussy was soaking wet. I couldn’t even put on my panties! I rolled them into a ball and threw them into my purse.
We kissed good bye and he hailed me a cab.
By the time I got to TalkSport Wanda was there waiting for me outside. We signed in at the front desk. We took the lift to the second floor where Mike Mendoza was waiting there for us.
Mike seemed like a jolly affable fellow. He offered us some (non-alcoholic) drinks and introduced us to his producer Mini Mike Russell.
We went into one of the empty studios to record the interview. It was cool. I’ve never been in a radio studio before. The headphones were too big for my head. It was weird and funny that when I spoke into the microphone that Wanda, who was sitting next to me, could hear me through her head phones. We were sort of giddy and laughing about the newness of the experience. I think Mini Mike found it amusing.
The interview went really well. Or at least in my estimation it did.
A few minutes after the interview I met George Galloway. He looked unusually tan and had the beginnings of a Che Guevara beard. I shook his hand and told him that I was happy to meet him. He reminded me that it’s not too late to vote. I told him I was American. (Did he not pick that up from my accent?)
After the interview Wanda and I hung out with Mini Mike behind the glass. Okay, so maybe I’m a geek but it was completely fascinating to see how a radio show is put together. We were shown the computer that runs the beds and the ads. And we got to see the computer used for when callers ring in. We logged a few calls and talked to some callers. It was sort of like we were doing work experience, but really fun.
We stayed in the studio until around 4:00 AM. I was completely wiped out at the end of the day but it was a lot of fun.
Saturday night was bizarre, mad, erotic and fun. I broke 2 of my New Years Resolutions and achieved one goal from there, sort of.
Saturday afternoon:
Walked dog. Got eyebrows waxed. Bought hold-ups.
Saturday evening:
I was going to get all dolled up, but in the end I decided to play it conservative. Brown turtleneck, brown skirt, grey hold-up stockings and brown clogs. I wore my hair down. It was a little frizzy, but still looked good. My make up looked good, my clothes looked good and my hair looked good. I was ready for my celebrity date.
I arrived at [Unnamed TV station] late. I wasn’t late on purpose. I just suck. I should have left home earlier. I signed in at the front desk and waited for a production assistant to come get me. In the elevator the production assistant, a young twenty-something Aussie said I looked familiar. She asked if I’ve been there before. I told her that I’d been there last year for a meeting regarding a Reality TV show. She indicated that she worked on the show and that’s where she must recognize me from.
A short walk from the elevator the PA led me to the dressing rooms. She knocked on one of the doors. After no answer she peered inside. No one was there.
“Hmmmmm.. He was here a minute ago.” she told me as she picked up her mobile and speed-dialled someone. We stood there halfway inside the dressing room halfway in the corridor. After what sounded like a stifled and somewhat terse conversation she me to have a seat on the couch and he’ll be right there. She waved bye and said that she’d see me around sometime. She closed the door behind her.
I looked around the dressing room. It was smaller, darker and less glamorous than I had imagined. There was a small TV in the corner switched on to Sky News.
A minute later the door opens again. Mr.TV Presenter enters. I apologize for being late. I could tell he wasn’t the sort of guy used to waiting for anyone. We embraced then kissed on the lips. He grabbed his jacket from the coat rack and we left the dressing room.
We walked out of the building to the street corner. He hailed a cab, and was quite chivalrous as he held the door open for me. After a 20 minute cab ride, spent mostly in sitting traffic, we found ourselves near Piccadilly Circus.
He opened the cab door for me and grabbed my hand as we approached the restaurant. A gentleman, who I presumed to be the Restaurateur, immediately recognized Mr.TV Presenter. The Restaurateur spoke to a few of his staff in Italian.
Then somehow I was whisked away from Mr.TV Presenter into a rickshaw that had a scarecrow with a huge erection in the seat next to me. Confused? Not nearly as confused as I was! It was a bit breezy outside and the wind kept blow my skirt open. Thank God I wore underwear! The rickshaw dropped me off at an Italian restaurant in Covent Garden. I walked into the restaurant. There was a cluster of old Italian men sitting in a booth by the door. They didn’t seem like customers, nor did they seem like staff. I surmised that they were friends of Restaurateur.
The Maitre D’ asked if he could help me.
“I um, came over here in a Rickshaw with a scarecrow? The owner sent me?”
The Maitre D’ looked at me like I had three heads. I pointed to the Rickshaw outside the restaurant. As the Maitre D’ walked outside Mr. TV Presenter and the Restaurateur approached the restaurant.
“You okay?” Mr TVP asked?
“This is so bizarre.”
The Restaurateur was a short dark-haired man filled with joie de vivre. He seemed to make a big deal of Mr.TVP’s appearance. The Restaurateur strutted through the restaurant as he escorted us through to our very private seats overlooking the whole of the restaurant.
I felt weird and self-conscious that everyone in the restaurant was staring at us. Now usually, I love being the centre of attention, but it’s weird being the center of attention when:
A. You’re dating a TV personality
B. The TV personality is cheating on his wife
C. You’ve been driven to the restaurant in a rickshaw while sitting next to a scarecrow with a huge erection.
Part of me was thinking, “Doesn’t Mr.TVP want to be more discrete?” What if someone here works for the tabloids? What if someone here tells his wife? What if there were fans at the restaurant. And maybe I shouldn’t worry. And another part of me was thinking, “Well if he isn’t concerned, then why should I be?”
Dinner was lovely. We didn’t even need order off the menu. I just told Mr.TVP the sort of things that I liked and he ordered it. We had lots of seafood. Yum!
He was very tactile. We kissed a lot during dinner. He also tried to finger me. Now usually I wouldn’t pass something like that up, but I felt really self-conscious that people were looking at us. It turns out that once we were tucked away in our booth, no one was looking at us, but I felt really self-conscious of him being caught red handed.
After dinner we took a cab back to the [Unnamed TV station]. I had less than a half hour before I had to be across town for my radio interview with TalkSport. So with the little time we had left, Mr. TVP convinced me to go back to his dressing room with him. He went ahead of me to check that the coast was clear. He then took my hand and led into the elevator. We exited the elevator then walked down the empty corridor. He unlocked his dressing room door then led me inside. He closed the door behind him. We immediately began kissing. I then took a seat in his swivel chair. I slouched down and opened my legs wide.
Mr.TVP got down on his knees, lifted my skirt and began kissing my thigh. He pulled my pink panties to the side and began licking my clit. I guess he found the “push-aside” method ineffective as he reached up and pulled them off me.
So there I sat in some expensive leather swivel chair, legs spread apart, wearing hold-up stockings and no knickers. His tongue felt so good on my clit. I decided to ditch the chair and just get on the floor. I laid down on the floor with my knees bent. He fingered my pussy and licked my clit at the same time. Fuck, it felt amazing. He’s obviously skilled. He passed the 7 minute test.
What is the 7 minute test? I’m glad you asked. Any guy eating me out should make me cum within 7 minutes. If it takes longer than that you’re doing something wrong.
There’s something about the combined pressure of being finger fucked and licked simultaneously. I came really hard. I held his balls while he jerked himself off.
My pussy was soaking wet. I couldn’t even put on my panties! I rolled them into a ball and threw them into my purse.
We kissed good bye and he hailed me a cab.
By the time I got to TalkSport Wanda was there waiting for me outside. We signed in at the front desk. We took the lift to the second floor where Mike Mendoza was waiting there for us.
Mike seemed like a jolly affable fellow. He offered us some (non-alcoholic) drinks and introduced us to his producer Mini Mike Russell.
We went into one of the empty studios to record the interview. It was cool. I’ve never been in a radio studio before. The headphones were too big for my head. It was weird and funny that when I spoke into the microphone that Wanda, who was sitting next to me, could hear me through her head phones. We were sort of giddy and laughing about the newness of the experience. I think Mini Mike found it amusing.
The interview went really well. Or at least in my estimation it did.
A few minutes after the interview I met George Galloway. He looked unusually tan and had the beginnings of a Che Guevara beard. I shook his hand and told him that I was happy to meet him. He reminded me that it’s not too late to vote. I told him I was American. (Did he not pick that up from my accent?)
After the interview Wanda and I hung out with Mini Mike behind the glass. Okay, so maybe I’m a geek but it was completely fascinating to see how a radio show is put together. We were shown the computer that runs the beds and the ads. And we got to see the computer used for when callers ring in. We logged a few calls and talked to some callers. It was sort of like we were doing work experience, but really fun.
We stayed in the studio until around 4:00 AM. I was completely wiped out at the end of the day but it was a lot of fun.
Labels: BBC, George Galloway, Mike Mendoza, Mike Russell, Mini Mike, pussy, TalkSport
posted by Naive London Girl at 2/27/2007 02:30:00 PM
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