Celebrity Crush, Part 1

by HardJulia

Even when I was a tiny little girl I liked looking at pictures of pretty ladies. My Dad put it down to the fact that I had never known my mother. She had thought better of motherhood within weeks of my birth and disappeared. My Dad got one letter from her, from half way around the world, wishing him luck but there was another life she had to live.

I probably inherited my sexual precosity from her, according to tales my Aunt told me recently. By the age of nine my fascination with the adult female form had developed into real desire. That was also the year I discovered my Dad's pornography collection. Back then in the early nineties it was a cardboard box full of VHS tapes, mainly with lesbian themes. Up to that time I had thought I was the only lesbian in the world but clandestine viewing of "Pussy to Pussy 4" and other fine works of cinematography showed me otherwise. At this time it never occurred to me that a woman would find a flat-chested nine-year-old like me attractive and I thought I would have to wait for years before I could enjoy the kind of fun the women in the movies were having. I turned out to be wrong about that.

Apart from my Dad's porn, my main outlet for my growing sexual feelings was pictures of beautiful female celebrities. I devoured the celebrity pages of magazines and newspapers and compiled numerous scrapbooks full of my favourites. There was one woman in particular that sent my pulse racing and my groin tingling in those days. She had the looks of a movie star but her celebrity was for other reasons. She was one of the most photographed women in the world and deserved two whole scrapbooks to herself. Looking through these, particularly the paparazzi photos showing my idol getting out of a car, maybe revealing a little too much thigh or even a flash of panties, is what started me masturbating on a regular basis.

I guess it started with an almost involuntary rubbing of my crotch, just to ease that lovely but nagging tingle which started whenever I saw a picture of the woman of my dreams. I soon dicovered how to make that tingle build up to an almost terrifying climax, followed by a brief period of blissful satisfaction. After that, whenever my Dad was out or working in his study, I could have been found in front of the TV with a VHS tape in the slot and my treasured scrapbook open on the sofa beside me, combining in my imagination my celebrity crush with the wild lesbian lovemaking on screen. Fortunately no-one ever did discover me doing that.

Something amazing happened three months short of my tenth birthday. Dad saw me cutting out a picture of my idol from a magazine and commented that he might be meeting her very soon. He was a big wheel in an international charity so, I now realise, it made perfect sense for him to attend charity bashes where the object of my desire would be a celebrity guest. They would all be hoping that this beautiful and famous lady would patronise their particular good cause.

"You mean it?" I squealed. My Dad often teased me and it all seemed too good to be true.

"Sure," said. "It's next Friday at the Ritz Hotel."

Suddenly my Dad assumed a new importance to me. I sometimes went to his charity events if he could find nowhere else to park me and they were mostly extremely boring. However as the only pretty little girl in a sea of men in dark suits I attracted a fair amount of attention, some of it unwelcome but at least the sight of a supposedly respectable businessman trying to control an enourmous erection in his trousers relieved the tedium.

I badgered my Dad to take me along to the Ritz and he eventually agreed on the condition that I just shook her hand once and didn't pester her for autographs or anything. The idea that I would get to touch her hand was so thrilling I was worried that I might faint when the time came and miss everything. That night I thought of her and masturbated.

The charity reception turned out to be as boring as any other until she arrived, when it miraculously became a glittering occasion. She looked amazing as she entered followed by two serious-looking men I assumed were bodyguards. She was dressed in black silk and glittered with jewels. I remember thinking it was quite a daring outfit for a serious occasion, as though her next appointment was somewhere more showbiz. The dress was tight- fitting, quite low-cut in the bust and short, showing her beautiful legs off to perfection. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

A line of suits formed up and I squeezed in next to my dad to shake hands with her. When she got to me she smiled broadly.

"And who are you, darling?" she asked.

"This is my daughter Julie," my Dad answered. I was tongue-tied.

"What a lovely surprise," she said and bent down to take my hand. At that point I could have kicked myself because my eyes went straight to her breasts. I could see quite a way down the front of her dress. I think she noticed where I was looking, too.

After all the hand-shaking, drinks were brought round and people started to mingle. I was left on my own for a while but the guest of honour spotted me. She broke away from a group of fawning men and came over.

"Us girls have to stick together at these things," she said, taking my hand. After that she led me around the room as she met the various important attendees. She handed me a drink from one of the trays which I thought was orange juice but there was something else very pleasant mixed with it.

"Bucks fizz," she said. "Champagne and orange juice. Lovely isn't it?"

It was. I was thirsty and slurped it down rather quickly. Hers disappeared fast too and she got two more for us before continuing her circuit of the room. Her body guards stayed close by. I started to feel a bit more confident and joined in some of the conversations, probably talking nonsense but no-one seemed to mind.

After my third bucks fizz I wanted to pee quite badly. "I need to go!" I said to my lovely companion in a stage whisper. She smiled and winked at me.

"Me too," she said. "Don't worry, I know where it is."

She led me out of the main reception room and down a corridor. The bodyguards followed.

"It's a relief to get away from that lot for a while," she said. "They can do without us for ten minutes."

We reached the ladies' room and, to my surprise, one of the bodyguards went in first. He emerged after twenty seconds and nodded to his beautiful boss. The men stood guard outside as we entered.

The ladies' room was the biggest I had ever been in. It had a few items of nice furniture in addition to the usual cubicles and washing facilities. Today it had also been decked with flowers, just in case the special guest needed to use it. There was a smell of expensive perfume.

We entered adjacent cubicles and I did what I had to do. I listened intently for noises from next door. I suppose I'm just nosey like that. There were no watery noises but quite a bit of rustling of clothing.

We exited at about the same time and washed our hands. I looked at her in the wall mirrors and smiled. I was still a bit tongue-tied. She smiled back warmly, looking even more adorable.

"We don't have to go back right away," she said. "Let's sit down and have a little chat."

She put her shoulder bag down on a comfortable looking two-seat sofa in the corner of the ladies' room and we sat down. Her short skirt rode up as she sat and, even to save my life, I couldn't have taken my eyes off her legs. I noticed she was wearing no stockings. She didn't need them. Her long, tanned legs were immaculate.

She asked me about my Dad's charity and I told her what I knew and how it was a very good cause. He would have been proud of me. She looked at me intently but didn't seem to taking much of it in. Then she crossed her legs and my eyes were drawn back to them, as if by a magnet. I stopped talking abruptly, which made it all the more obvious.

She giggled. "I think you've got a little crush on me," she said softly.

That was putting it very mildly indeed. I couldn't say anything and eventually just nodded.

"I don't mind at all," she reassured me. "I'm very flattered, in fact."

She looked at me for a while longer. "Is it a lovey-dovey crush or more of a ...um... sexy kind of crush?" she asked.

"Both," I said eventually, my voice almost imaudible.

"That's OK too, darling" she said. She bent towards me and kissed me on the cheek. Her soft lips lingered there for a few seconds. She kept her face close and whispered in my ear.

"And what would you like to do about it?" she asked.

At the time I had no idea what she meant but, in this position, I couldn't resist taking another peek down the front of her dress. She took this as an answer.

"Oh I see," she said, smiling and putting both hands on her own breasts. "Well. As much as I'd like to, I can't get properly undressed for you. I just don't have time. There's something nice and quick we can do though." She bent and kissed me again, on the lips this time.

"Thank you," I murmered, thinking that was it. However, she then uncrossed her legs, took my hand and placed it flat on her inner thigh, quite high up near the hem of her skirt. Her soft skin felt wonderful.

"Why don't you do a little exploring?" she said, moving my hand further up, under her dress.

I kind of snapped out of my daze then and realised this was the opportunity of a lifetime. The champagne in the bucks fizz must have helped a little too. Without any help I pushed my hand further up her thigh, far enough to discover she was wearing no panties. It was then I noticed the pink satin garment just protruding from the top of her bag. She must have taken her panties off in the toilet cubicle. A world-famous celebrity had taken off her panties just for me!

"It's alright," she said softly. "You can touch it."

Touch it I did. I was expecting hair but discovered that she either shaved very closely or had used one of the new waxes. She very obligingly opened her legs a little wider and I cupped her vulva with my hand. I looked up at her for approval.

"Good girl," she said encouragingly but glanced at her watch. I decided to go for broke and my fingers went in search of her vagina. A wetness on the lower part of her outer labia seemed a promising place to start and I plunged my middle finger into her crack just there. It was like sinking into warm, soft butter. I followed up with my forefinger and pushed both into her quite hard. My fingers just kept on going deeper. I looked up at her again.

"Oh WHAT a good girl," she breathed.

I kept my fingers inside her and lifted my face for a kiss. She responded and this time put her tongue quite a long way into my mouth. It was heavenly.

"I really do have to go now," she said very regretfully after we broke off. "My men will come storming in soon."

"I love you," I blurted.

"Of course you do, darling," she said, gently removing my hand from between her legs. "I love you, too."

I must have looked as if I was about to cry. I wanted more. "Don't worry, we'll see each other again," she said. "Watch for a special invitation in the post."

Before I could say anything she picked up her bag, making sure those panties were well concealed, stood up and strode towards the door, smoothing down her dress as she went. She blew me a kiss before she left.

Dear readers, that is my best recollection of my first meeting with Her Royal Highness, the late and much lamented Princess Diana, also known as the Princess of Wales and the mother of the future King of England. One thing I remember for sure is that I, a skinny nine year old, really did get to third base with her on our first date, although we skipped first base that time, and I had the scent of her on those two lucky fingers for some days afterwards to prove it.