The Fashion Icon


Ron Weaver was still nervous. He’d never not be.

It had been several months since “The Fashion Icon” had completed filming, but Ron was still so overwhelmed by the presence of Kirsty Kirby, the film’s glamorous star. She had asked him to dinner after they had finished the last day of ADR sessions, and as uneasy as she made him feel, he couldn’t say no.

In the film, Ron played Michael Dawson, a young aspiring fashion designer hired as an aide to Alexandra Blair, the most powerful name in the women’s fashion business, played by Kirsty. The two-time Oscar winner stayed in character during filming, not speaking to Ron between takes and maintaining a snobbish, stuck-up demeanor every second she was on set. On the last day of filming, she immediately left the set in a limo, not even bothering to speak to the director.

Ron didn’t know what to think as he looked at Kirsty across the restaurant table. Was this the “real” Kirsty, or another character she played when she wasn’t working?

“You know, I never had the chance to say this before,” she said in her quiet, beautiful Australian accent, “but I thought you did a phenomenal job as Michael.”

“Really?” said Ron. “That is very high praise coming from you. I appreciate it.”

“You’d better,” she laughed.

Ron had never heard Kirsty laugh, not even in the movies.

“You have…this power…this grace…in every take you were electric, you were on point,” she continued. “Powerful stuff!”

“Thank you.”

“We’ve got to find something else to work on together.”

“Yeah, I guess we should.”

Kirsty took a sip of wine. The room became uncomfortably quiet.

“I loved your album too.”

“What?” Ron responded, so loudly that other diners looked on.

Kirsty laughed again. “You seem surprised.”

“Well, Escort bayan uh…”

“What, you didn’t think I’d like hip-hop?”

“Well, I…”

“Ron, what do you think I listen to all day, Rodgers and Hammerstein?”

“Well, no, but…I mean, you’re, you know…classically trained and all that-“

“Oh, classically trained,” Kirsty smiled, waving her pale hand in the air. “Come on, Ron, I’m still in the real world.”


“I must say, your lyrics…they’re pretty sensational.”

“Oh, man.”

Kirsty laughed again. “I mean, I figured you’d get some-I mean, you’re a really handsome guy-but boy, you must get a lot!”

“Oh, boy. Look, I hope that…uh…”

“You hope what?”

“Well, look, uh, ‘Risque Business’ came out a while ago, and I wouldn’t say the same things I said on that album in the same way…”

“Oh, come on, Ron.”

“No, no. I’m serious. Look, I’ve been doing a lot of reading about…you know…the male gaze, and uh…”

“Look, Ron. And I can say this. Do you know what the male gaze is?”

“Why, yes, it’s-“

“You’re a male, and you gaze.”

“Oh, man!”

Kirsty took another sip of wine and playfully kicked Ron’s leg. “Look, I wasn’t offended by your lyrics at all. A woman can tell the difference between a guy who writes about fucking because he doesn’t like women and a guy who writes about fucking because he actually loves women. You’re the latter.”

“OK. I hope so. I aspire to be.”

“Well, you’ve already achieved your goal.”

There was another brief bit of uncomfortable silence. Ron took a sip of water.

“Look, I haven’t had the chance to tell you this previously, but I want to say it was an absolute honor to work with you. You are my favorite actress. I have literally Bayan escort seen all of your films-all of them. Not just the American ones. The Australian ones, too. You are a living legend.”

“Ah, not that again.”

“No, no. I’m serious.”

“OK,” Kirsty smiled, as she gave him another playful kick under the table.

“Mind if I ask you a question?”


“What was your favorite movie of mine?”

“‘Bathsheba and David.'”

“Really? You saw that? Nobody saw that!”

“My mom and I did.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, we were the only ones in the theatre.”

“Hah!” Kirsty laughed.

“She wanted to see it because she was a big Christian.”

“What happened when…well, you know…the scene.”

“She grabbed my hand and ran the fuck out of the theatre.”

Kirsty’s entire body shook with laughter.

“She didn’t read the reviews?”

“No, no…she figured since that since it was a religious movie, it had to be clean.”

Kirsty shook her head.

“How little she knew.”

“Too funny.”

Ron took another sip of water. He knew he couldn’t tell her about how, five years after that incident, he was an eighteen-year-old living on his own…how he bought the DVD of “Bathsheba and David”…how he pleasured himself over and over at the sight of her pink nipples, ivory-white stomach and firm ass in her love scenes…how he was so jealous of the actor who played King David…and how he had dreamed of one day meeting her…a dream that, ten years later, had finally come true.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw a mysterious figure walking briskly from the window of the restaurant. Kirsty looked in the same direction and smiled.

“You know this is gonna be in the tabloids tomorrow, right?”

“Oh, that’s Escort who it was.”

“I can see the headlines now-‘Kirsty Kirby and Ron Weaver hook up off-screen and share a cozy, romantic dinner.'”

“Yeah, they always do that.”

“Well, who knows,” Kirsty smirked, kicking Ron playfully a third time. “Maybe, for once, they might print the truth.”

Kirsty winked, and Ron’s eyes involuntarily fell upon her cleavage. This couldn’t be happening, he thought to himself. He glanced upon her bare, lightly freckled shoulders and straight, reddish-blonde hair. She looked hotter now than she did when she made “Bathsheba and David” a decade and a half ago.

Ron’s brown eyes and Kirsty’s blue eyes locked. Neither one could break their stare.

“So…” Kirsty whispered. “I’m going to let you in on a couple of secrets, OK?”


Kirsty leaned forward, almost as if she was planning a conspiracy.

“When I was a teenager, I wanted to go to Hollywood because I wanted to meet Denzel and fuck him!”


“Yeah. Then I found out he was married.”


“Can’t win ’em all, honey.”

“I know. So that’s one secret. What’s the other?”

Kirsty leaned forward even closer.

“Well, three more secrets. Number one-you are way fucking hotter than Denzel. Number two, I want to take you home, suck you off, and then have you fuck the ever-loving shit out of me.”

Whoa, Ron thought to himself.

“See, there’s a female gaze, too.”

“Uh, I guess so.”

Kirsty took off her shoe, reached up and touched Ron’s crotch with her toes. Ron wanted to yank off all his clothes and fuck her right on the table.

“I do have to warn you, though…you’re gonna have to share the room with two other naked guys.”


Kirsty shook her head and smiled. “My Oscars, you fool!”

“Aw, man,” Ron replied. “I should have seen that one coming.”

“Don’t worry. You will later.”

Ron laughed as Kirsty signaled the waiter for the check to arrive. He couldn’t wait to fuck her.

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