## Archive-name: Debbie.Gibson

From: lafolle@ucscb.UCSC.EDU (90262000)

Subject: A Day in the Life of Debbie Gibson

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

To whom it may concern:

The following is a work of fiction. It contains both scenes of sex and violence, and if you feel this may offend you I highly recommend THAT YOU GET OUT MORE OFTEN YOU NO-

It also contains scenes featuring actual people from the entertainment industry. If you ever actually *meet* Debbie Gibson, please give her a copy of this story and my mailing address-- because if she thinks it's funny I want to go out drinking with her. If, however, she finds it offensive and wishes to pursue legal action, I am fully prepared to deny ever writing this story. For all anyone knows, some 14 year old hacker broke into my account and posted this.

You can give this to your friends. Please do not alter it or sell it. Thank you and have a nice day.

--- The Madwoman

A silver tear rolled down Debbie's perfect cheek as she slowly lowered her sleek young body into the white marble bathtub. When she was younger, a nice hot bubble bath was all she needed to raise her spirts, but now it seemed that nothing would calm her troubled soul. Life wasn't easy for the teenage singing sensation. It seemed that no matter what she did, no one would take her work seriously.

"Trite." the critics had called her last album. "Trite, cheesy and sappy." Debbie shuddered and began to weep harder. These were her innermost feelings they were poking fun at. If "Lost in Your Eyes" and "No More Rhyme" weren't heartfelt reflections of the depth of the human soul-- she didn't know what was. And surely "Electric Youth" was the most inspirational song about youthful potential since David Bowie's "Changes". But still her finest works were ridiculed by those too emotionally and intellectually immature to fully understand them.

But Debbie's musical career wasn't what was bothering her, and she knew it all too well. Her real problem is that she could no longer go on ignoring the feelings that were swelling inside her body. She was blossoming into womanhood, but could not realize her fantasies in fear of tarnishing her image as the fresh, innocent pop starlet. It wasn't so much to preserve her career-- she knew in her heart of hearts that she could make it on her talent alone-- but she felt she owed it to her fans. She wanted to be a role model to young girls, to tell them that it's cool to just say no to sex and drugs-- to follow their dreams and to be an individual. But at the same time, Debbie was finding it harder and harder to resist the powerful desires coursing through her veins.

Yes, Debbie was a virgin, but it was more by circumstance than conscious choice. She was curious, but didn't want to just hop into bed with the first guy that came along. And since her busy career prevented any kind of real romance from developing, it seemed that she was doomed to chastity forever. It had been months since the last time she had been touched in a sexual manner. A smile crept across her face while her mind replayed once again that delicious evening.

She washed the tears from her face while her slender toes slipped around the tiny chain on the rubber stopper in the tub. A gentle tug and the water began slowly draining away. Debbie began gently caressing her taut young body as the water lowered, exposing her soft flesh to the cool air. Bubbles crackled and popped on the delicate surfaces of her small, pert breasts-- sending tingling pleasures from her tiny pink nipples to her moist womanhood.

"Kirk," she whispered to herself. "Oh... Kirk..."

To most people, Kirk Cameron was just another television star. He played Michael Severs on the popular ABC sitcom "Growing Pains"-- a winsome youth with an irresistible smile and a keen wit. But he was more than this to Debbie. Much more.

By now the water had reached the floating curls of her soft blonde pubic hair. Debbie ran her slender fingers through the tiny locks and remembered that night at the Emmys.

By mere chance they had been seated next to each other. They talked a little, mostly about being mobbed by hordes of twelve year old fans whenever they went out in public. But while they spoke, Debbie could feel Kirk undressing her with his eyes-- tracing her curves and taking obvious glances at her tight skirt. He had an air of hungry confidence about him, and she felt desires welling up inside her that she had never felt before. The lights went down in the room, and the ceremony began. Kirk took Debbie's hand and began gently stoking it. Then he suddenly let go, and instead put his hand on her knee. Slowly he began to move it up her leg, stroking and caressing her inner thigh; making Debbie swoon in shameful anticipation.

Lying in the bathtub, Debbie's mind played over the delicious image of Kirk gently slipping his fingers underneath her silk panties, his manicured nails lightly grazing her swollen rosebud-- all the while looking into her eyes and coyly mocking her obvious passion. She pictured that face, those fingers, penetrating over and over...
And then it boomed over the sound system, "And the winner for best actor in a Family-Oriented Situation Comedy is... KIRK CAMERON!"

Kirk removed his hand from Debbie's sopping underwear with admirable swiftness, with only a split second before the roaming cameras would whirl to meet his ever-charming smile.

Debbie began thrashing about in the bathtub, shuddering violently with orgasmic tears, but only a second after her muffled cries began to escape her ruby lips-- the wooden door into the room blew into a thousand pieces under the force of a strategically placed tactical plastic explosive.

Into the room jumped an unholy trinity of nefarious evildoers. The central figure was a fully clad ninja warrior-- armed with razor sharp precision weapons and dressed in the black eelskin Shinomo garb that only outfitted the assassins of kings. The ninja was flanked by a pair of Nazi frogmen in gray-green wetsuits and flippers-- each carrying a deadly speargun whose purpose was all too obvious. On their chests was the unmistakable emblem of Adolph Hitler's Third Reich. Without hesitation, the two frogmen advanced while the figure in black stood back to survey the carnage. Debbie had the sudden feeling that she might be in trouble.

What only Debbie's adoptive family and a handful of others knew, however, was that this young nightingale was far from defenseless. When Debbie was only a few months old, she and her natural family had been in a shipwreck-- and Debbie, the only survivor, washed up on the shores of a small uncharted isle somewhere between the Fiji and Easter Islands. She was raised by wolves for the first few years of her life, until she unwittingly came across the only other human being on the island, an aging Shaulin Martial Arts Master named Bruce who taught her the ways of man and the art of self defense. After ten years of rigorous training, Debbie decided to once again rejoin the real world, and fulfill her destiny as the best-loved pop starlet of all time. On a makeshift outboard canoe, Debbie sailed to New York, where she was soon adopted by a nice upper-middle class Protestant family, who introduced her to record producer Fred Zarr-- and the rest was history.

Debbie leapt from the tub in a flying summersault, barely avoiding a forked spear that fiercely penetrated the four foot luffa only inches from where her sinewy young form had just been. Even in mid-flight, she was able to identify the deadly curare poison coating her opponents' barbed projectiles. They were playing for keeps. She spun to meet the evil duo, and remembered the words of her master... "The less effort expended, the more powerful the connection." An indescribably graceful spinning crescent lunge kick underneath the chin of her first opponent neatly severed his head and sent it flying into the bidet.

She ducked a slice from the second frogman's 9-inch serrated hunting knife, and with a deafening cry of "WAX ON" she plunged her open hand through the Swastika emblem on his chest-- and with a similar cry of "WAX OFF" she withdrew his still-beating heart. As the body slumped to the floor, Debbie whirled to meet the stoic gaze of the remaining figure in black.

"Who are you?" she cried, "And what do you want with me?!? I broke a nail on your lame-ass frogman's collarbone, and I'm really pissed off!"

"You have killed two of my finest warriors," intoned the ninja. "And as you die, I want you to know who is killing you." The figure pulled off its sinister hood, and out poured a cascade of fiery red hair.

It was Tiffany. Debbie's arch-rival in the musical netherworld of teenage pop icons, and the very figure of evil incarnate. Her fans thought of her as a quiet young girl with modest dreams of stardom, when in reality she was a brazen harlot who would stop at nothing to have the whole of the music industry under her wicked thumb.

"Tiffany!" cried Debbie. "I should have guessed!"

"You were expecting maybe Chuck Norris?" quipped back the red haired vixen. "I mean, Chuck's pretty hard up-- but he's got better things to do than nail a prissy little WASP like you."

"What are you doing here? What do you want with me?" screamed Debbie, falling back into a defensive posture.

"You ruined my career! I was on the verge of creating a musical empire... I'd taken the first few steps to establishing myself as the hottest young thing around-- when all of a sudden you came around singing those insipid little ballads of yours and stealing my thunder! Next thing I knew, I found myself classified and categorized as a flash in the pan little tart like you."

"What?" gasped an amazed and unbelieving Debbie. "You honestly thought you could make it big by covering Beatles' tunes for the rest of your life? Not!"

"You untalented little Blonde tease!"

"You plagiarizing Red-Haired Slut!"

"Slicing your throat open is too quick a death for you!" sneered Tiffany, dropping her weapons' belt to the floor. "I'll crush you with my bare hands!!" She let loose a double reverse snake punch aimed at Debbie's naked torso.

But Debbie was too fast for her and did a double backwards somersault to the other end of the room. As Tiffany sped towards her, Debbie crouched down and threw her lower body upwards for the little known Shaulin upside down spinning helicopter kick for which there is no known defense-- except, of course, for the even lesser known Japanese flying supersonic blur-hand in which Tiffany had been expertly schooled. The two clashed together in a tangle of limbs and flesh, leaving them locked in a strangling embrace-- pitting will against will in a struggle to the death.

But as Debbie's hands closed around her opponent's neck, she found herself mesmerized by the tender fierceness in her eyes. She suddenly remembered what it was that she was doing before this rather startling interruption, and the proximity of such a beautiful, healthy young body pressing against hers sent an unexpected flash of heat through her loins. This took Debbie completely by surprise. I mean-- she shaved her legs and had long hair and everything-- she never dreamed that she might be a lesbian! But her body cared very little about her mind's outdated ethics as she pressed her firm young bosom into Tiffany's.

As she did so, both her and Tiffany's grip loosened, and their snarls of anger transformed into faint moans of pleasure. Debbie found herself entranced with the delicate lips of her opponent, and before she could stop herself she was kissing them. For a moment it occurred to Debbie that Tiffany's acceptance of this might be a ruse to get the upper hand-- but then she felt a soft, warm tongue slide into her mouth, and she knew she had a willing and eager partner.

"I wanted you so bad," whispered Tiffany between kisses. "So bad I wanted to destroy you, because I didn't think I could ever have you."

"Mmmmmm..." replied Debbie. "I never thought it could be like this...."

Tiffany's hands roamed freely over Debbie's supple body, as Debbie neatly removed her black ninja garb. Underneath she wore nothing, and Debbie swooned as she uncovered a figure not unlike her own-- save for a wild growth of fiery red hair between her legs.

"I never believed you were a real redhead," quipped Debbie tenderly, as she slowly kissed down her torso.

"That's O.K." countered Tiffany, gingerly swinging her partner around into a sixty-nine. "I never thought you were a real blonde."

Last modified (10/09/96 12:14:23) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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