‘Come on, man? Surely you’ve heard who it is?’

‘Course I have, but I don’t believe it. Round here? Why’d she move round here? All that money and all the world to choose from and she moves into our street? And next door to me? Fuckin’ likely.’

‘Maybe did a Marlene Dietrich – ‘I vont to be alone…’ had enough of the fame?’

‘Greta Garbo, yer pillock.’

‘Yeah, whatever. Same thing. Anyway, Sam says he saw her. Friday, as she was moving in. He was twagging school. Swears it was her… she even spoke to him.’

‘What? He never mentioned it to me. An’ I’m sure he would if it were true. Why wouldn’t he…’

‘Don’t ask me. I tried to get it out of him, but that’s all he’d say… got a bit embarrassed to be honest, clammed up.’

‘Sam spoke to a famous film star who’s moved onto our street and he wouldn’t talk about it? Fuck off, Joe. What did she say? ‘Come up and see me sometime’?’

‘That was Marlene Dietrich.’

‘Mae West! Don’t you know anything? Fucking film star… he’s winding you up!’

 

When I asked Sam, he denied all of it, said it was a wind-up. That really pissed Joe off and he swore again that Sam wasn’t joking. So, as no hard facts emerged, rumours of the new neighbour’s identity persisted for a while. I could see her back door from my bedroom window and so I staked her out, looking for definitive evidence. Every spare waking hour. Telescope. Camera. Just the thought it might be her turned me on. The couple who’d lived there before weren’t too bothered about drawing curtains so I was used to the Peeping Tom lifestyle. There was a TV in my room that was always turned on, but only as a diversion to anyone passing the door. I rarely watched it, preferring to spend most of my time with the light off and lenses trained on their windows - upstairs and down - jeans around my ankles in readiness. And many times I was handsomely rewarded. I think they even knew I was there, played to the crowd. But, despite all my previous practice, I never got more than a glimpse of a shadow of our new neighbour. She didn’t seem to go out. If she had a car it was locked in the garage. Gardener did the lawns and flower beds; cash was left in a plain brown envelope. Shopping was delivered. Parcel vans came and went. Everything left in the front porch. When I looked later or next day, it had been covertly taken inside, like she waited for me to eat my tea, fall asleep, knew when I was spying. The frustration was unbearable. Many a morning I’d wake fully dressed, back propped against the foot of the bed, TV still chattering. I suffered at school those days, hiding at the back of the class, aching to close my eyes…

 

‘It is her. Ryan told me. His dad’s shop delivers her papers. It’s definitely her. He knows her name… well her surname. It has to be.’ Joe was adamant, had rushed over especially to tell me. We glanced out of my window at the drawn curtains opposite.

‘Just ‘cos she’s got the same name, doesn’t mean it’s her. And anyway, if it was her, she’d change her name. She wouldn’t move into a place like this and keep her screen name. What would be the point? Photographers would be camping outside. They’re not stupid. They’d soon get wind of it and it’d be all over the papers. And anyway…’

‘What?’

‘I’ve been… checking, yer know, keeping an eye out.’ He raised his brows, motioned to my telescope, then blurted out.

‘Oh, yeah? Like you ‘checked out’ Michelle and Dave?’ I blushed at that, stammered a denial, but Joe knew too much. ‘Come on, she told our Nat – yer know they were at school together - she said she left the curtains open so that kid next door could wank himself daft while they did it. She got a kick from it, knowing you were watching. Dirty whore!’ and he suddenly whooped with glee, not at the thought of me doing what I did, but at the thought of Michelle – the fittest girl in our town by far - doing what she did. It was beyond denial, so I came clean. Joe wasn’t disgusted with me as I feared he would be. He thought it was perfectly natural, said that given the chance he’d have done exactly the same thing.

‘They got up to some right stuff, Joe. Fucking hell. She took it all ways – and often. Worst day of my life when they moved out.’ We both laughed at that and he punched me on the shoulder.

‘Yeah, but best day when she moved in.’

‘If it is her… I haven’t seen her yet, but there’s something going on. Whoever she is, she’s very secretive.’

‘You keep an eye out. If it is her and she strips in front of the window, yer won’t miss Michelle at all. Not one bit. And that’s saying something! Fucking hell – can you imagine…’ and Joe closed his eyes, smiling serenely. Just thinking about it got me rock hard and aching to touch myself. We watched some TV, night fell and, as soon as Joe went, I switched off the light and opened my curtains a crack. I stared out at the amber glow of next-door’s downstairs window and did just that. Touched myself. As soon as I started, a silhouette paused there, stretched its arms above its head. The telescope was in the corner and would have taken a few seconds to set up, so I used the naked eye, not daring to look away. My heart thumped uncontrollably, I hyperventilated and my vision blurred as I started to cum. I clamped my left hand around the tip of my cock and instantly pumped the palm full of hot creamy goo. I stared at the mess, dumbfounded, and looked back out through the window, but the shadow on the curtain was now gone. Shaking, I rose to my feet, shocked by the intensity of my response, and rushed to the bathroom to wash my hands. I’d been skeptical, but now I was sure. It had to be her. That night I slept better than I had for a long time. I dreamt that she climbed in through my window, tied me up and forced me to participate in a multitude of carnal activities.

 

I got DVD’s of her movies, watched them over and over and learned her leading men’s lines. She seemed to be everything to every male – friend, girlfriend, mother, wife, lover, nun, whore. Always soft and vulnerable on the outside, often cold, hard and controlling within. My bedroom walls were soon covered in her pictures. If she’d spied on me, she would have seen them. My favourite was the famous one of her coming out of the sea, breasts heaving, skin gleaming, smile and knife flashing. Beautifully painted promotional posters of all her films turned my room into a shrine. Certain DVD’s got played more than others: the zombie chase scene when her dress tore and she wasn’t – the glimpse is so fleeting that even with modern technology I couldn’t confirm it – wearing knickers; the love scene with what’s-his-name, where she briefly flashes her delicious boobs and – if you look very closely - one very erect nipple... and yes, the bikini scene: the material is so flimsy and wet that she might as well not be wearing anything, but the fact that she is makes it exponentially more sexy. There was a lull in her career after that film that spawned a couple of cheap horror flicks where she still somehow maintained a modicum of dignity while all around were losing theirs. But the critics only slated her, said she was finished and could never act anyway. Then she vanished. It was rumoured she was studying Eastern philosophy and had dropped out for good, but she returned with a vengeance. One heaven-sent role turned it all around again and she rode on its wave for a further five years. She had finally arrived, was the finished article and was totally stunning, irresistible, a true star. For a while, the whole world loved her. Leading men tried to be professional, but fell for her. Directors argued with her then fell for her. Co-stars tried to keep their distance, but still fell for her. All of them told tales of her insatiable appetites, her strange, reclusive behaviour and how she’d used them and then rejected them. Television, newspapers and magazines were scandalised by her increasingly outrageous exploits, while shamelessly exploiting her incredibly sensual image. Suddenly, inexplicably, sensationally she called it a day. And she vanished again.

 

For weeks I staked her out, but there were only fleeting, implied glimpses. Most nights, about two, she turned off the downstairs light and that was it. I imagined her climbing the stairs in darkness, disrobing and sliding naked between satin sheets. Longing for the upstairs curtains to twitch, I waited a couple of minutes just in case, then wanked myself hard, picturing her writhing beneath me. Occasionally her bedroom light would come on and that was enough to have me cumming quickly, just by itself. As time went on, even subtle changes of lighting within the house brought me wondrously and speedily to orgasm.

 

One day when I got in from school, I noticed that, for the first time since she’d arrived, her upstairs curtains were open. I dashed to my room and locked the door. After closing my curtains, I stuck the tip of my telescope between them and trained it on her most private enclave. In the centre of the back wall stood a massive heart-shaped bed with black silk sheets. The walls were indigo, the carpet white… on the far wall, a huge picture - my picture, but bigger - of her leaving the sea, serrated knife in hand. There were objects on the bedside cabinet. Private things, secret things… a small jewellery box, a dog-eared paperback, a slender red book - a diary? And… it couldn’t be… yes, a long, slender silver dildo standing to attention. What a magical device! Even at that range and in an inert state, it quickly brought me to a body-shuddering orgasm. I came in seconds, not caring where it went. I was frantic, pleading now for any glimpse of her. I was soon hard again and this time it took me a little longer, but again I sprayed the poor carpet with my jism as I focussed on her intimate belongings. My heart was pounding, my eyes were straining and I was unbelievably aroused. For a third time in minutes I got hard and had to stay that way as Mum called me down for tea… I said I was watching something on TV in my room and returned with a tray to eat there, all the while scanning her house for signs of life. As it grew dark my prayers were answered. The downstairs light came on. Its glow climbed the open plan staircase and lit the doorway of the bedroom above it. Breathing hard now and repeating, ‘Come on, come on’, like a mantra, I willed her to show herself. A shadow flickered on the landing and there she was, faintly backlit in the bedroom doorway, a goddess. I frantically pumped and squeezed but paused on the brink. The figure walked to the window, stretched and yawned, the unmistakable curve of her naked breasts lit by the spillage from the streetlights. Copious thin, runny cum – all there was left - audibly squirted from me, spattered the wall in front of me. When I looked again, the curtains were drawn.

 

Six months sped by, each day blurring into the next. The image of that incredible night was burned into my brain and I was frantic for a repeat. My schoolwork suffered. I was behind in everything. My social life went the same way. I was addicted, but apart from a couple of minor incidents, there was no fix to compare to that unbelievable night. The open curtains had been a unique oversight, and though I prayed every day for another similar circumstance, my prayers were not answered. Until the day of the letter.

 

‘Christ, I nearly opened that… bloody postman needs glasses. It’s for next-door… 47. The names a bit blurry…’ I dashed across the kitchen and snatched it from Dad’s hand. ‘Careful – you nearly tore it!’ It was addressed to her. My cock grew painful in my pants and I had to sit down. I saw Mum and Dad raise eyebrows to each other and smile wryly.

‘Take it round, love, put it through the letter box.’ There had been excitement for a couple of weeks after she moved in, but Mum now seemed oblivious to who really lived there. It was quite unbelievable to me that no-one thought we had a film star living next door. At first, when the media failed to turn up, even Joe stopped asking about her, accepting it was simply mistaken identity, a coincidence of initials and surnames. By now, it was wrongly assumed that the rumour had started when Ryan had divulged her name to Joe. Everyone forgot Sam’s moving-in revelation and subsequent denial. But not me. They’d all accepted the woman was just some lonely hermit, a sad recluse living out her last years in sorry solitude. That was fine by me - it meant she was all mine. My very own star.

‘Yeah, I’ll take it round it in a bit. Just got a few things to do.’ I sat a minute then climbed the stairs as calmly as possible and again locked my door. I undid my belt and buttons, pulled my jeans and pants down and touched her letter to the exposed purple tip of my rigid cock. Even the Queen on the stamp had a quick lick of me. I ran the edge of the letter down my shaft and it started. I’d never even pulled back the foreskin. Bam! Cum spurted from me as a shockingly powerful orgasm pummelled me, knocked me backwards onto the bed. When I came to my senses there were several glistening wet patches on the envelope and a smear of blood from a superficial paper cut adorning the edge. Fuck. I was horrified at what I’d done. This was a passport to her door and, while the thought she could soon be holding it in her hands was a source of unbelievable excitement and arousal, I knew I had to take better care of it. I quickly masturbated again, holding it to my belly as I exploded, then dabbed the envelope with a tissue, removed all marks but for a faint red stain - blood from my own cock. Eventually it looked like it might have been dropped in a puddle. When everyone was in bed, I even crept downstairs and ironed it to take out some of the wrinkles. All set. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be my big, big day.

 

‘Mum, I feel awful… I’m going to have to stay in bed. Might be flu or something.’

‘You do look terrible, love. Yeah, stay at home today. You know Dad’s on mornings? He’ll be back about three. Do you want anything before I go to work? I’ve only got ten minutes…’

‘No, I couldn’t face anything, my stomach’s really dodgy… You just get off. I’ll keep warm, get some rest. I should be ok by tomorrow.’

The ten minutes seemed more like ten hours. I could hear her rattling about, stretching it out. Finally she closed the door behind her and clip-clopped up the road to the bus stop. I gave her five more painful minutes to be sure she’d caught it, then leapt out of bed. My cock was painfully hard as I showered, but I resisted the powerful temptation to touch it except for a quick once-over with the sponge. I picked out some cool clothes – black mini-boxers, ripped faded denim jeans and a sparkling white T-shirt – gelled my hair and looked in the mirror. Lean, muscled body, thick dark hair, nice tan, piercing blue eyes and the bit of stubble I’d been saving up nearly all my life. No spots today! God was on my side. I looked good, well, as good as I ever would. The letter weighed heavy in my fingers as I sat on the bed staring across at her window. I suddenly realised I’d watched her house for months, but knew nothing about her daily routine. Did she rise early, eat a grapefruit, exercise in her gym for an hour then shower and take a light breakfast? Was she still in bed after a night of heavy drinking and wistful playing of her old movies? Or sitting at the kitchen table in her flannel nightie and slippers, coffee going cold while she smoked her sixth ciggie of the day? I waited till ten. What would I say to her if she opened the door? What was I doing? I had no plan, no speech, just an overpowering need to see her that obliterated everything. Again I looked at the letter and back to her window. The more I considered it, the more ridiculous the whole thing became. Any longer and I’d lose my nerve and the chance of a lifetime would be gone. It was now or never. Without another thought I bounced down the stairs and across the kitchen. Pulling on my trainers, I emerged into the warmth of a fine spring morning.

 

I was dizzy, detached, like it wasn’t happening to me. It crossed my mind I was in a film. Her gate was rusted, the catch creaked when I lifted it and the whole thing squealed as I pushed it open. I winced, looked again at the letter and pressed on. Dry pebbles crunched beneath my feet, each one crying out loud enough to warn her of my arrival. Was I on CCTV even now? Did she still have the pet cheetah from her Hollywood days and was it straining at a leash behind her front door? I walked down the side of her house and glanced over the fence and up into my own window. The sun never penetrated my room and it was always in shadow. From here, the glass merely held a reflection of the blue sky. Phew. No telescope on view and it was unlikely she’d ever seen the pervy kid-next-door who tossed himself off every night. I was still apprehensive but suddenly felt a little better. Despite my undoubted nerves, I realised I was still as hard as hell. I stopped at the back door, turned away and adjusted my erection, slowly raised the brass knocker and let it fall three times. Please! Be! There!

 

Nothing. I raised the knocker again, but I saw movement through the obscured glass before I could bring it down. I held it along with my breath and waited, all my senses straining.

‘Front door! Leave it in the porch!’ The voice was croakier, the accent harsher, but it was unmistakably her.

‘Miss…’ My breath cheated me, stole the words and ran. ‘I… I…’ I knew it would be her, but the reality of it was too much. The lock turned, a chain rattled, the door swung open a crack and from the darkness of her hallway she now spied on me.

‘Mmm… You the boy next door? What’s the problem? No school today?’ She knew who I was! How? Had she been watching me? I ignored my fears and her derisory tone and stumbled onwards.

‘A letter… came to our house. It’s yours, look. Number 47?’ The door opened some more.

‘Wow, look at you… Look like your going on a date or something.’ I froze. There she stood, hair wet, powder blue bath towel wrapped around her. My un-touched dream, the hard-focused reality: older but still very beautiful. A few more lines than I’d expected on her face, but her gorgeous face all the same. A damp hand reached forwards, grasped a corner of the letter and a huge diamond glistened in the sunlight. There was tension between us. The letter twisted with it, her mouth curled with it. ‘You can let go now.’

 

I couldn’t. I was stone. Her gaze was timeless, imperceptible. Red lips were full and damp and she teasingly ran her tongue across them. The face that launched a billion trillion sperm stood before me. All that was missing was the knife, but she didn’t need one - her tongue and mind would be her daggers. She sighed impatiently, suddenly looking very tired. ‘Look, kid… OK…’ After squinting at me and weighing me up, she began to read the shocking script of a horror film of my own making. ‘I know you watch me every night, jack yourself off thinking about me, and you have done so for months. I’m surprised you haven’t worn that little dick of yours away. Yes, I can see the pictures of me on your wall, the phallic telescope poking through the drapes, fucking with my privacy. And here’s the irony: I know what you do and what you think about, while you, the watcher, know fuck about me.’ She twisted her long blonde hair with her right hand while eyeing me up and down. Her smile widened, but it wasn’t a welcoming one, it was mocking. She opened the door wider and teased me inside with the letter, like an angler landing a twenty-pound trout on a two-pound line. I was hopelessly hooked, a fish out of water. I looked around, amazed. I was inside her home, standing in her hallway. The door closed silently behind me. ‘Dreams come true, son.’

 

She released the letter, then released the towel, held it in front of her and paused. My mouth fell open and a sledgehammer whacked the inside of my ribs. She cocked her perfect head, raised her geometric eyebrows and the towel crumpled onto the marbled tiles. Naked. A little older, yes, but her body was taut, unblemished, stunning. The nipples I’d freeze-framed for hours were stiff, pink and mobile as her delicious breasts swayed before me. Drops of water left her hair. My gaze followed as they coalesced and channelled between her tits, forming a rivulet that crossed the gentle undulations of her belly and pubic mound. The grainy, blurry frame from the zombie scene now littered the cutting room floor of my fantasies. Here was the real thing, shaven smooth and vibrant. The water swirled across the slit of her vulva and dripped from the rippled, dark folds of her labia like hot honey. Her weight shifted and the glistening lips parted. She was suddenly open and inviting. I came. She watched me shudder, saw the dark patch appear in my jeans, shook her head as it grew. Despite the shock and the shame, I still couldn’t move. She reached up and again the letter connected us.

‘I… I…’ Words wouldn’t come.

‘Don’t feel bad, kid. You know… before my comeback I had a kinda revelation… seemed like overnight I learned how to be really hot, realised I suddenly had all the tricks. Up here,’ and she tapped her temple. ‘Call it enlightenment; maybe just a rush of self-confidence, but they didn’t know what hit them. Couldn’t resist me. Bigger men than you didn’t even last that long.’ Her eyes motioned to the dark ring of cum that seeped through my jeans. ‘That’s why the bastards despised me, wrote all that crap about me. They came running when I beckoned and came in their pants, like little boys. The stars, the producers, directors, critics… The very people who’d written me off just a couple of years before. God, I hated them and so I humiliated them. Every last one of ‘em who’d once had me in exchange for an empty promise. Now they danced to my tune. And not one of ‘em man enough to tell it how it really was - that I was having them. Now you. Jacking off over my body… You think this is me?’ She swept a delicate hand down her statuesque torso then coughed an ugly, cruel sneer of a laugh. ‘You could bone this body till the end of time and you still wouldn’t be having me!’ Again the laugh, like icicles breaking.

 

Then she was suddenly the film star, my screen idol. Her voice fell to a sexy whisper and her body, wrapped in coils of indescribable sensuality, gyrated slowly and gently. ‘But imagine, little boy, if I gave myself to you. What a man you would have to be. What a man you would become. Picture yourself sliding inside me, riding me… or me astride you. Imagine me sucking your dick… swallowing… think of your tongue in my pussy… licking me, really tasting it…’ Her hand fell to her crotch. The middle finger slid between her legs, then snaked slowly upwards and kissed my lips. I was mesmerised. Her musky smell filled my head and again my cock throbbed painfully in its now sticky lair. ‘Steamy, passionate nights without end… mmm, but maybe your tastes are more…’ Her gaze burnt my cheeks red as she slowly turned her back to me, bent over and parted her fleshy cheeks, ‘…scatological?’ My head fell to one side till I was eye to eye with her two very fuckable open holes and then my breath came in sobs as again I squirted thick crude into the dark creamy confines of my pants. She paused till I had finished, till I was motionless, totally drained in every sense. Again we were face to face and I cringed at her amused sneer. ‘I somehow don’t think you’ll be telling anyone about this either, will you… Alex?’ I slowly shook my head, tears of abject humiliation starting to prick my eyes. ‘Now run along home. I know it’s a cliché, but I really do want to be alone.’ She pulled the letter from my grasp. The spell was broken and I turned and fled. Kicked-up pebbles rattled the fence as I stumbled down her drive, eyes blurred, head full of… nothing. A big, fuzzy throbbing ball of nothing. I slammed my bedroom door and fell against it, hugging and squeezing myself to rid me of both the shame that flooded through me and the contempt she’d poured into me.

 

The bright flames leapt and danced, wearing flares of purple and yellow, parodying one of her on-screen lows. They consumed her face, her body, her whole career from banal to glittering. DVD’s twisted and scattered dying rainbows through the acrid smoke, then slowly turned to black coke, never again to spin their prismatic yarns. Glancing over the fence at her closed curtains for one last time, I felt nothing, as though the house had always been empty. After a few moments, I went back inside and climbed the stairs to my naked room. I turned off the TV and sighed. There was so much schoolwork to catch up on.