She's a Star (a Hollywood Hotwife story) Read online

  Max Sebastian is a writer, author and occasional journalist who lives in London with his wife and child. He has been writing erotica for more than 10 years, with his first full length erotic novel, Anarchy of the Heart, coming along in 2012, and a second, Submitting to Her, a year later. His epic wife-watching romance The Madeleine Trilogy was published by KW Publishing in 2014.

  Also by Max Sebastian

  Available via MaxSebastian.net

  Novels

  Anarchy of the Heart

  Submitting to Her

  Madeleine Wakes

  Madeleine Plays

  Madeleine Strays

  What’s Mine is Yours

  What’s Yours is Mine

  A Killer of a One Night Stand

  Novellas

  My Wife, The Seductress

  A Calculated Affair

  The Wives with Benefits Collection

  (Short stories)

  A Mistress for My Wife

  What Your Husband Really Thinks

  Playback

  The Other Guy is Paying

  Retribution

  Wives with Benefits Volume 1 (Short story anthology)

  She’s a Star

  a Hollywood Hotwife story

  MAX SEBASTIAN

  MaxSebastian.net

  KW

  PUBLISHING

  Copyright © 2015 Max Sebastian

  All rights reserved.

  Cover image © Deklofenak | Bigstock.com

  First digital edition electronically September 2015

  Print edition published by KW Publishing, September 2015

  This is a work of fiction, any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or events, organizations or locations, is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or in part of this publication without written consent is strictly prohibited, other than limited quotes for purposes of review.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read this book, please do consider leaving a review wherever you bought this title, to help others find this story.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Prologue

  People always want to know if this was something she pushed me into accepting, or if I merely stooped so low that I tolerated her relationship with him out of some desperate attempt to protect our marriage.

  The truth is, I had strong fantasies about my wife being free to sleep with other men long before she was ever tempted to do so herself.

  Where did it come from? It’s a good question, and while I’ll never truly know, I think it had something to do with Brittany Snow.

  I sometimes wonder where my ex-girlfriend is now—at the time, her misdeeds did make my life seem unlivable. I guess she was my first love, though time has now firmly quashed any desire on my part to see her again. We were together maybe nine months, and I’d been certain at the time that she was The One, that eventually marriage and house and kids and so on would result. I kept on seeing her hanging out with a guy from her French class, and my paranoia slowly built until I started receiving suggestions from a couple of my friends that they’d seen her doing a little more than just hanging out with the guy.

  I broke off contact with her, and she didn’t come a-knockin’, so I figured she’d worked out that I knew about her and her fellow linguist.

  After Brittany Snow, I did go into something of a mourning period, and even beyond the six-month grieving process I went through, it took months and months before I stopped fantasizing about taking Brittany back. She had been good in bed. Thinking back, perhaps the desire to have her back melted some of the icy jealousy I’d felt.

  Did that experience set me up for the fantasy of my wife sleeping with another man? I’m willing to believe it.

  I met Hayley in New York when I’d just joined my first law firm. She was a student at the NYC College of Performing Arts, and had already done a couple of off-off-Broadway productions. She even had a part in a TV pilot that had ultimately failed to secure a series. I was totally bewitched by the fresh-faced redhead, who was all smiles and full of energy.

  But while she was marked out for success by her alma mater, on graduation she fell into the same hole countless other actors do when they attempt to launch a career in New York, rather than LA. Hell, it’s the same hole in LA, too, except the feeling of hope and optimism is stronger because there’s more happening out there.

  Hayley was locked into waitressing and bar tending, with her only commitment to acting being her endless roles as an extra whenever a movie production was in town.

  I saw her getting more and more downhearted about her chances as she hit her mid-twenties, and started worrying she was quickly becoming over-the-hill—the way the entertainment industry views women. My own career was surging ahead, keeping us in comfortable accommodation even while Hayley passed the time serving up cocktails and entrees.

  Then came marriage, which provided a little distraction from her gloom. I guess things did settle down between us, we got caught in a rut. People seem amazed that anyone could find themselves in a rut with someone as beautiful as Hayley Martin, but when you’re with the same person for five years, you just get so familiar. Sex is good, but you abbreviate it, you take short cuts, you stop seeing your familiar partner with the same kind of awe and wonderment as when you first met her.

  And then both of you get tired, and if one or both of you end up spending too much time in the evenings working, you don’t get to see as much of each other as you should….

  Some of that was my fault, spending too much time at work. But some of it was also the fact that Hayley’s jobs at various bars or restaurants kept her out late at night, whenever the shifts were available.

  But even if our sex life had been incredible the whole time, that wouldn’t have kept her from getting dispirited about her lack of success in the acting profession.

  So how did my fantasy about her infidelity emerge? We had a big argument.

  We didn’t tend to have arguments as a couple. Some people say that’s a bad sign for a marriage, but those are the kind of people who can’t keep from arguing. We were great at compromising, so invariably if there was any disagreement one or other of us would be able to see things from the other’s point of view, and step back.

  This argument we had, though, I didn’t see coming.

  Hayley got a role as an extra in a romantic comedy that was shooting in New York in the summer, and the role required her to sit on a bench in Central Park with a nice young guy, chatting mostly. And then she would have to kiss him.

  When she first told me about the gig, I didn’t even particularly stop to consider exactly what it would entail. I just said, “That’s terrific, honey! Congratulations!”

  It surprised me a little that she frowned and changed the subject after I reacted like that, but I wasn’t going to question her need to tal
k about something else.

  A few weeks later, with her performance approaching, she seemed a little nervous. I tried to be reassuring one night across the dinner table. “It’ll be okay, sweetie. You’re going to be fantastic, I’m sure of it.”

  She said, “You know it’ll take all day just to shoot that one scene.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And all I’m doing in that scene is chatting with this guy and kissing him.”

  “Right.”

  Just about here is where my manhood started noticeably thickening in my pants. I’d put money on the fact that this point right here was where my fantasy suddenly emerged in my head.

  “What if I don’t like him? The guy?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Chances are he’ll be friendly, right? And the movie people aren’t going to cast an ugly guy….”

  Then she looked at me in a slightly odd way, and said, “What if I like him?”

  And here was where things in my pants were ratcheted up to Def-con Two.

  Hayley blushed. “It’ll be really embarrassing, I mean.”

  I was thinking about my beautiful wife spending all day on a bench in Central Park kissing some handsome wannabe actor, and my cock was hard as a rock.

  “It’ll just be acting, right?” I said.

  I was munching on a forkful of Caesar salad at the time, and trying not to reveal to her the strange exhilaration I felt at the thought of my wife having a fun little kissing party in the Manhattan sunshine, while probably trying to figure out why in Hell I was feeling that way about her.

  And I don’t know if Hayley was just in a bad mood or something, having a particularly bad day. But she said sharply, “Don’t you care about it at all?”

  “Huh?”

  The standard response of the innocent caught dangerously exposed.

  “You haven’t said anything about the fact that I’ll be spending all day kissing some other guy…. Don’t you care about me anymore?”

  “Of course I do.”

  She was just feeling vulnerable, I guess, tired of the rejection that surrounded her acting career like a toxic cloud.

  “Aren’t you even jealous? What I’ll need to do for this role….”

  “Should I be? It’s acting, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t seem impressed.

  I sighed. “Look, you’re a beautiful actress—I’ve always figured if your career took off in a big way, at some point you’d probably end up in some kind of romantic role….”

  “‘If’ my career takes off?” she snapped. Inwardly, I groaned at the slip of my tongue. She knew what I meant, I knew what I meant, but in this kind of argument, there was no wiggle room. I silently scolded myself for not saying ‘when’ her career took off.

  “Look,” I sighed. “Do you really want me to get all angry and upset over this role you’ve taken? Do you really want me to be that kind of husband?”

  She was silent.

  I added, “You’d really want me to be the kind of husband who might stop you taking your big break, because it involved a couple of love scenes with a co-star?”

  “I just wish you’d care more,” she said, and it hurt like swallowing a bag of razorblades.

  She ended up storming out, and I felt bad about myself despite the certainty I’d just been ambushed.

  I sat there trying to figure out how I could possibly care more about my wife and her attempts to kick-start her career. What was I doing that was somehow insufficient? The trouble was, Hayley had never been the type of person who spoke up about what she needed, what she wanted. She wanted to get on and do it herself.

  I left her to spend some time alone in our bedroom, and racked my brain as I cleared away the dinner plates and the mess in our tiny little kitchen, trying to figure out what I was supposed to have done to show I cared.

  Was I supposed to have suggested she go back to school, study some new aspect of performing that might give her more opportunities? Was I supposed to become her manager and start working on signing her up for more auditions? Networking to get her some big break in a Broadway musical, when I had no contacts in the entertainment industry whatsoever?

  When it came to me, it seemed suddenly so damn obvious I could have kicked myself. What was the major challenge Hayley had been facing all the time we’d been together, when it came to her career?

  We lived in New York.

  At that point, I took a deep breath and went into the bedroom.

  I said, “Look, I’ve been thinking.”

  She was lying there in the bed, her eyes red from crying, a small pile of tissues next to her, one in her hand. She looked up at me, and I could see from her expression she was regretting backing me into a corner, but that her pride had made it impossible for her to back down.

  She was waiting for me to go on. I said, “I think it might be better for us to move.”

  “Move?”

  I shrugged. “It can’t be impossible for a young lawyer to find some kind of job in Los Angeles.”

  Her face broke into open surprise. Los Angeles.

  “What—” she said, unsure about whether she’d heard me right.

  “Don’t you think it would be better all round if we moved there?” I asked.

  With that, she was leaping up and squealing and flinging her arms around me, and that was the end of that particular argument.

  But it didn’t put an end to that strange little response I’d had to the thought of Hayley having a little flirtatious fun with another guy. The next day I found myself zoning out a number of times, wondering how her shoot was going in Central Park. I’d find myself staring out of the window from my office overlooking Columbus Park, imagining how it might be going for her.

  In my imagination, she definitely liked the guy she had to spend all day kissing. She felt her heart flutter every time they had to lean in and touch lips together, she felt all warm and syrupy inside at how nice it felt. And maybe, she started feeling a little sticky down below at the wickedness of kissing a stranger, a man who was not her husband, and the first man other than her husband since we had started dating.

  Why did I feel that way about her?

  The most obvious thing was that after being miserable for so long, it was nice to think that something pleasurable might happen to Hayley, something she could enjoy. And perhaps she needed someone else, other than her husband, to tell her how beautiful she was—to show her how beautiful she was.

  Of course, subsequently, my reading around the subject has suggested all kinds of other reasons fitting in with my strange desire. For example, the fact that some heterosexual males respond to the knowledge their mate is being unfaithful by stepping up their own desire for her so that they can then mate with her afterward, thereby improving the chances of conceiving with her instead of the rival male. In this day and age, the aforementioned male might not consciously want a baby with his partner just then, but the biological urge would increase his attraction to his mate—and perhaps he would interpret his increased feelings of sexual desire as being tantamount to actively wanting his partner to be unfaithful.

  But at the end of the day, back then, it was just a hot thought to me to have my wife responding sexually to some naughty little encounter with another guy.

  The feelings I had went into overdrive toward the end of the day when Hayley sent me a text stating:

  >Going out for dinner with a few fellow extras—probably be home late, eat without me! Xx

  I was rock hard as I read that text message over and over on the way home to our little place in the East Village, having replied to her that I’d be fine eating on my own that evening and that she should enjoy herself. Dreaming that her day of kissing might have turned into something more, that maybe I wouldn’t even see her until late into the night as her dinner with a few extras turned into some kind of first date.

  I really did like the idea of my wife coming back to me sexually fulfilled by actively being unfaithful. Crazy.

  When she did even
tually come back, it was only ten-thirty, and I felt strangely disappointed that she hadn’t stayed out late with her new boyfriend.

  But there was a glow about her when she came back from her day’s movie shoot, and it wasn’t just the couple of glasses of wine she’d had with her meal.

  “How was it?”

  “Nice,” she’d replied to me as she came in the bedroom. Not ‘good’ or ‘okay’ or ‘as expected’, but ‘nice’.

  “So you had a good time?” I prompted. “You liked him, the guy you had to kiss?”

  She smiled, and gave a coy little shrug as her cheeks flushed a little pinker. “He was nice.”

  There: I was hard again. I couldn’t help it. It probably didn’t help that she was looking gorgeous, wearing a little white t-shirt and dark blue shorts.

  “He was a good kisser, then?” I said as I approached her, more hungry for her touch than I’d been for a while.

  She smiled. “You really aren’t jealous, are you?”

  I leaned in to kiss her, gently, feeling her soft, warm lips hesitate for a moment on mine, as though she was worried I’d discover some little secret she was holding—and then she was kissing me back, perhaps repeating what she’d been doing in Central Park all day, perhaps going further now that she was with a man she was permitted to go as far as she liked.

  “Why should I be?” I said as we broke apart. One hand roamed her warm curves, tracing out her trim body, toned by daily runs. “I trust you, right? Just because some guy gets to kiss you all day, I know he’s not going to steal you away from me.”