5 comments/ 42436 views/ 6 favorites Off the Coast of Somalia By: PositiveThinker Celebrities are kidnapped by Somali pirates while celebrating National Nude Day. In a press stunt gone wrong, celebrities are kidnapped by Somali pirates aboard a yacht while celebrating National Nude Day. Hi, I'm Saul Lipski. I'm a talent agent out of Hollywood. I used to be big before I got old, but now, at 65-years-old, I'm in the twilight of my career. This ever evolving, new computer technology is way over my head and I don't have the time, the energy, and the interest to learn any more of it than I already know. After clients complained they could never reach me, I only got a cell phone a few years ago, when Demi Moore bought me one for my birthday. No longer having the support staff I used to have to screen my calls and take messages, my clients not reaching me was a bad thing for them, but a good thing for me. At least I could keep a thought in my head without being forever attached to a phone, as are so many of the other agents in this hectic, blood sucking business. With blue tooth devices mounted to each ear that made them look like Spock impersonators at a Star Trek convention, the way that some of my fellow agents are so attuned to technological advances, they must have a computer chip implanted in their brain and a satellite dish imbedded in their ass. That's no way to live, forever tied to the Internet and the phone. Now with hands free Blue Tooth, there's no where to hide. Not even your car is the sacred escape it once was. "Sorry, but Mr. Lipski is unreachable. He's on the road," would answer my secretary when I wanted to get a head start on a long weekend. Those were the days. Now, it's constant stress and continual aggravation from the oh so self-important, self-absorbed celebrities, who demand the attention that they no longer receive and no longer deserve, many of which have expired their 15 minutes of fame, so much like a parking meter, years ago. I've been doing this for too long. I no longer possess the patient understanding that I used to have. Tired of coddling celebrities, I'm ready to retire, but this being Hollywood, tinsel town, I need to go out with a bang instead of a whimper. Much like a great magician on stage, I need a big production before I take my final bow and do my disappearing act. I want people to remember who I was, Saul Lipski, talent agent extraordinaire. I want to retire while still at the top instead of languishing at the bottom. Only, for me to do that, I'd have to climb my way back up to the top, not an easy thing to do at my age and with my meager client base. A Leo the lion, it's a pride thing with me, especially after being part of the high profile, celebrity scene for too long where fairytales mingle with every day life and eventually morph into surrealistic realism. After a while, those in the entertainment business, whether they are an actor or an agent, have difficulty discerning between fantasy and reality and fiction and fact. After a while we all tend to believe our own press releases, which is why so many of us are crushed by one bad review in Variety. I'm a specialty agent in the fact that I only handle and represent women. It's not that I dislike men, I like women. Women give me the motivation that I need to succeed where other agents have failed them. Yeah, I'm the guy they eventually all sign with to get their careers back on track. From the time I hung my first posters in my room of Mae West, Greta Garbor, Jean Harlow, and Caroll Baker, I knew my destiny was to work in the industry. Only, I thought I was going to be an actor. Watching every Oscar ceremony since I was a kid, I thought I was going to be a star. I never dreamt I'd be a blood sucking agent fighting producers for every dollar while representing washed up talent who were too drunk or high to make their contractual appearances. Most times, I enjoy representing women because I can coddle and romance them, whereas men would see right through my game of insincere bullshit. Men would never put up with my nonsense in the way that I can get women to eat out of my hand with just a kind word, a compliment, spending some time with them, taking them to lunch, giving them some intimate attention, and paying them some well chosen flattery. Don't get me wrong, I'm legitimate and above board in my business, as well as with my personal relationships and the respect that I have for women is unquestioned, that is, except for Christie Brinkley. I hate the bitch. My reputation is beyond reproach. I used to handle some of the biggest names in Hollywood and I still do; only they aren't as big anymore. Many of the celebrities that I represent are old like me and have fallen out of favor, especially with the younger crowd, some who don't even know who they are or once were. It's sad to be so famous, so idolized, and then to be so forgotten. Today with everything moving so fast and with everyone plugged in and hooked up to digitized pixels, it's wrong to be ancient history so soon and replaced by a YouTube video or a video game character brought to life on the big, flat screen, high definition television in full animation, just to sell toys. With cell phones, Blackberries, Sirius XM radio, HD TV, Facebook, Twittering, Skyping, LinkedIn, Wi-Fi, YouTube, Digg, MySpace, Flicker, Movatype, and Engadget, much like me, the movie stars of old can't compete with and stay abreast of all the new technology. The movie stars of old, the sixties and the seventies, not even that far back, are dinosaurs. Moreover, not all of us want to stay abreast of computer technology. Some of us prefer the real world and talking to people in person rather than sitting in front of a computer screen all day. It just seems that as soon as we learn and/or adjust to one technological advance, there is another one to learn and master. The advent of the computer is sort of what happened to radio stars when television became the newly emerging media in the '50's and now here I am being displaced by a silicon computer chip today. Yeah, we've all had our fifteen minutes of fame and it's time for us to move over for those who are next and standing in line while waiting for their fifteen minutes of fame, too, but what if we could just have one more grab at the brass ring before we all disappeared in anonymity somewhere in Iowa or Texas or Alabama? We'd give our grandchildren something to talk about to their friends. We'd be hip and cool again, even in this day and age of Blackberries, Twittering, and Skyping. So why not? What do I have to lose? I say; so long as I can still negotiate a contract, God willing, give it one last shot. When I first came to sunny California more than forty-years ago, I didn't have a nickel for a cup of coffee and another nickel for a donut, which is what that cost back then, a thin dime for a coffee and a donut at Joe's diner. Although it's nearly $10.00 for a latte and a Bavarian crème at the French Cafe, I now drive a Rolls Royce instead of a tired, old Chevy. Granted it is an old Rolls, as old the careers of all those women that I represent, but it was new when I bought it and a Rolls Royce ages gracefully, as do many of Hollywood's most precious celebrities that I resent, sorry, I meant to write represent. Boy that was a Freudian slip if ever there was one. The first thing I did was to change my name from Anthony Martelli to Saul Lipski. Yeah, sure, my father disowned me, but he changed his tune and welcomed me back in the family fold after I bought him a house in a Boca Raton, Florida and a new Cadillac every few years. Trust me; no one in their right mind would want an Italian over a Jew to represent them as a talent agent, ergo the name Lipski. Since then, everyone calls me Saulski and you can, too. Before the Paparazzi and tabloid newspapers ruined the images that celebrities so enjoyed and worked so hard to create by exposing their frailties with just as many unflattering photos as bad stories, I remember those days of bigger than life stars and exploding movie budgets. Thirty years ago when the money was rolling in, I could do no wrong. I bought a big house in Beverly Hills, which thank God, I still have but it's in desperate need of expensive repairs. At least I still have my car, my house, and my health. I count my blessings everyday. After three failed marriages, high blood pressure, and a bum ticker, certainly, things could be worse. I could be dead or worse, I could be off the A list. Once removed from the A list as an invitee to the swankiest Hollywood parties and premieres, it's best to close up shop. For me, this is my year to make it or break it. Do or die, this is my last chance to grab for the gusto. If I can pull this off, people will remember the name, Saul Lipski, as one of the greatest agents that Hollywood has ever had. My story starts with my dwindling client base. Women who were once famous have seen the best years pass them by for younger and no talent starlets. Albeit pretty pretenders, who love flashing their surgically enhanced tits and asses, as much as they flash their pantyless pussies and perfectly capped teeth and whitened smiles, these newcomers don't possess the talent of the old stars. Back in my day, the heyday of Hollywood, it took more than big boobs to make it big. Yeah, sure, there were always exceptions to the rule; Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield come to mind as possessing boobs over talent. Yet, unless you tragically died prematurely to stay in the limelight, as both those ladies did, you needed talent to keep the next generations watching and buying your movies. Yet, many of the stars today don't possess the staying power of the stars from yesteryear. There are too many flashes in the pans and the Paparazzi and tabloid newspapers have made and inflated as many careers as it has ruined. Unfortunately, with just a candid photo taken and published out of context along with a story filled with more lies than with the truth, the Paparazzi and tabloid presses are hugely responsible for making the careers of the young starlets and discrediting the careers of the icons. An understatement, it's difficult getting old, especially for women who were accustomed to being in the limelight and lit up by the bright lights of camera flashes while walking the red carpet. They were once big stars to hundreds of millions of people worldwide and as you can imagine, it is difficult no longer receiving that kind of idolized attention. Unlike men that act like they can take it or leave it, such as Jack Nicholson, Robert De Nero, Al Pacino, and Danny DeVito, those names are money in the bank. Unfortunately for my list of clients, women must do more to stay on top. When matched against younger, thinner, and more beautiful newcomers, no one wants to risk hiring an old broad for a big budget movie, especially if she has a few pounds around the middle, a big ass, and sagging tits. Few are able to see past their fading physical beauty in favor of their God given acting talent. Too often, unfortunately, now geared to a younger audience, it's not about the talent, but about the bling made shiny by a cover story in People Magazine. Jack, Bobby, Al, and Danny can eat and drink as much as they want while burning the candle at both ends, and get all the wrinkles they want, but if Raquel Welch or Ann Margret looks a little tired and bloated, that's all the gossip columnists write about, how terrible she looked walking the red carpet or snapped by the Paparazzi while out dining with a friend. It was expected for women to have a little something done, a lift here and a tuck there, but not men. Men are typically immune from the critical eye of the personal appearance opinions paraded forth by fashion designers, who are much more unfairly critical of women than they are of men. Whereas celebrity women are never allowed to look comfortable, they must dress the part with makeup and hair, even if running out to the supermarket. Men can look like bearded, big, bloat bellied bums, if they so desire, so long as they bring them in at the box office. Conversely and unfairly, when men age, men look sexy and sophisticated, so they say, instead of fat, old, and tired, as they write about women. When I look in the mirror at my reflection, I look fat, old, and tired. Nonetheless, look at Sean Connery being named the sexiest man on the planet in 1998 when he was 68-years-old. A senior citizen then, he was still regarded as a sex symbol. Go figure. That's the old double standard. Maybe had I starred in a 007 movie and lost all my hair, I'd be considered sexy, too. If I told you who my clients are you'd understand why I'm so upset. When they were younger, there wasn't anyone more beautiful, sexier, or more in demand. Do you have a minute? Step in my office, have a seat, and I'll pull my list of clients. Can I get you something to drink? It won't take long; today my list of talent is as short as my sex drive and attention span. Listen to these names; I'm sure they'll stir up some stiff memories of when you were alone in the bathroom or bedroom with your teenage fantasies and with your cock in your hand after watching one of their movies. Only, when you hear their ages, you may be surprised. Yeah, I know, we all get old, but we don't realize that celebrities age too, because we still watch the movies they made twenty and thirty years ago. We imagine they still look as good now, as they did then. Raquel Welch 68, Christie Brinkley 54, Ann Margret 68, Kim Basinger 55, Pam Grier 59, Dolly Parton 58, and Shannon Tweed, 51, yeah, do you remember her and her nude scenes? I bet you wondered what happened to her. She was hot in her time. Well, along the way, after posing for Playboy, she married Gene Simmons from Kiss and after having two children, a boy and a girl, they've been happily married ever since for more than twenty years. All of the above names and all those names yet to be read, I still represent. They are the ones who are hoping that I can give them a second wind with another windfall chance at fame and fortune. Some are still working in small movies, making personal appearances, and/or doing commercials, but most of my clients are on their way out, such as Katie Couric 50, Heather Locklear 46, Lisa Kudrow 45, Dana Delany 53, Mimi Rogers 53, and Cheryl Tiggs 62. Yeah, you're surprised I said that Katie Couric is on her way out, weren't you? She is. People don't want to watch an old broad reading the news. They want a young chick positioned beside an older man to be believable. Whenever Katie takes a night off, while on assignment or a vacation day, the CBS Nightly News ratings go up, good for the network but not so good for it's overpaid star. Then, there are those celebrities that are done and washed up, that is, unless I can come up with some sort of strategy that will shine the spotlight on them once again and for one last time. You'd recognize them once I start naming them, no doubt, Fran Drescher 52, Julliane Moore 49, Rene Russo 55, Cyndi Lauper 56, Maureen McCormick 53, Courtney Love 45, Demi Moore 47, Brigitte Nielson 46, Donna Mills 67, Michelle Pfeiffer 51, Twiggy 60, Lucy Lawless 41, Elle MacPherson 45, Catherine Bach 55, Meg Ryan 48, Linda Fiorentino 51, Lynda Carter 58, Kelly McGillis 52, Linda Evangelista 44, Sela Ward 53, and Andie MacDowell 51. See, I told you I was big or used to be big. Now, I'm just old and just as tired as my client list. My list of clients, that once encompassed more than 1,000 stars, models, personalities, performers, and celebrities, is down to 34 and dwindling every day, unless I do something right now to explode one last hurrah before I retire. Yet, thank God, I still possess my sense of humor, my touch for drama, and my unique creativity. Then, while watching Katie reading the nightly news, it happened. I not only had an idea, I had an epiphany. I hired a boat, a big boat, a yacht, actually, with a crew, a special crew and had a big banner made for the ship that read, Celebrities Celebrate National Nude Day. It wasn't cheap, but I knew my investment would yield me tens of millions of dollars in return, that is, if my plan worked. I know what you're thinking. You think that I'm just going to parade my mature stars around the harbor naked. Give me a bit more credit than that. Trust me; I'm a Hollywood talent agent who is accustomed to creating, developing, and implementing big production ideas. I have a much better idea than just flashing the naked, aging bodies of my celebrity stars around the harbor. Parading my naked celebrity stars around the harbor would appear nothing more than a pathetic attempt at grabbing some cheap Paparazzi photos and a sad tabloid press story. Instead, what I have planned will make the national news the world over. I had a private meeting with each of my clients and pretty much gave every one of them the same spiel. Most of them, more than half, thought I was nuts, actually they all did. Some of them realized that their careers were over and they were okay with that. Just as tired of all the nonsense as I am, they had a good run. They were ready to fade away in private life and were ready to retire, too. Then, there were others who still shared the twinkle that I had in my eye and they respected what I had done for them in the past to believe in what I could do for them in the future. I started my pitch with Katie Couric. "Listen Katie, I know you're not well received by the brass at CBS. No disrespect intended, but your news ratings are dropping like the old boyfriends you've fucked over and dumped along the way to get where you are now." "Well, thanks for that vote of support, Saul," said Katie with a laugh. "But I did no worse behind closed bedroom doors than any of my male counterparts did while advancing their holier than thou careers." "Point taken and duly agreed, but let's not get hung up on the past. We need to concentrate on the future. The important thing is that I can reestablish your popularity with the public. I can fix the bad image that you suddenly have, really I can. I can get you back on top, but you'll have to trust me," I said giving her my best honest Abe look. "Gee, I don't know Saul," said Katie with an uncomfortable smile. "The last time you said to trust you, I was switching networks, which I admit worked out monetarily but not so much when it comes to ratings. I think had I stayed with my old network, I may have been better received and offered more opportunities than what CBS has given me." We had a sexual history once, when we were younger and she was an unknown reporter working out of Miami. She wasn't as dolled up then, as she is now, but she still had those hot legs and boy she could suck chrome off a bumper the way she could suck a cock. She was as cute as a Pixie and you just wanted to squeeze her. She had it, the "It" factor and I saw it before anyone else saw it, which is why I wanted to represent her. I knew I could do better for her than she was doing at the time while working for a small television station in a crime infested Miami Vice type of neighborhood and I did. I'm the one who got her the Today Show gig. She has me to thank for her unprecedented success not seen nor duplicated since Diane Sawyer's and Barbara Walters' careers skyrocketed. "I have a special plan, Katie, a last hurrah, that will make you as popular as you were when doing the Today Show," I said involuntarily looking down while she crossed her legs and flashed me her panty. From the first day that I met her in the backroom of a dusty news studio when she accidentally on purpose, I imagined, flashed me her panty, some things never change and Katie Couric was still flashing me her panty. Without doubt, she knows men are voyeurs and in all the times she flashed so many men her panty back then, it made me wonder if she was a bit of an exhibitionist and flashed men her panty on purpose. Now, I figured, with her already being a big success and a celebrity, it was just a habit with her, perhaps, something she did for old time sake. Who knows, maybe she is an exhibitionist? Off the Coast of Somalia It was something she did without thinking; no doubt, flashing some panty while crossing and uncrossing her shapely legs was as startling as it was exciting. This is Katie Couric and those are her panties. Wow! Even I can't stop myself from looking every time she flashes. It's quick enough of a flash that it doesn't appear that she's flashing her panty purposely, but knowing Katie the way that I do, she always knows exactly what she's doing, where she's doing it, how she's doing it, when she's doing it, and why she's doing it. I can only imagine those poor, voyeuristic men being taken advantage of by her exposing her panties while interviewing them for the first time. She's certainly a sexy bitch when she's not being a nasty bitch. She was never a trashy bitch. Definitely, she's not the type of woman to go out without wearing panties, as do so many other celebrities, who flash more than their smiles when alighting from their limousines and cars. Katie loves wearing her sexy lingerie beneath her oh, too short skirts and she owns a lot of sexy lingerie to flash. She buys so much lingerie, that I dare say that lingerie is her fetish. Where some women love shoes, Katie loves lingerie. Don't get me wrong, she has dozens, hundreds of shoes, no doubt, but she has an entire dressing room of lingerie. Every time I watched her on television giving an interview, whether she was sitting across from the President of the United States, a Senator, some businessman or criminal, I knew she was flashing them her panty. I suspect it was a sexual technique that she devised and used to catch them off guard hoping they'd be distracted enough to stumble and something that Sam Donaldson and Dan Rather were unable to do. Knowing the sexual animals that men are, she'd momentarily sexually excite them, so that they'd make a mistake and reveal much more to her during her interview than she was revealing to them by flashing them her panty. "A bit over the top, you've come up with some crazy plans over the years, Saulski. Some worked while others backfired on you," she said with a smile before giving way to a look of impatient exasperation. There's that smile. She always had the endearing smile, but I could see her mind going a mile a minute thinking what she'd say next while plotting her next move and planning her career strategy. Yet, I could see from her stare that she was more than interested. She was intrigued. "What do you think, Katie" I said. "Do you trust me enough to give it one last thrust?" "Okay," she said finally taking the bait and giving me a pensive look before speaking again. "What do you have in mind now? I can only imagine," she said with her trademark chuckle. Suddenly, the image of kissing her while feeling her body consumed me with lust for her. I imagined stripping her naked, removing her blouse, bra, skirt, and panty, as she allowed me to do, so long ago, in a steamy Miami hotel room, one that the air conditioner suddenly died, filled my mind with immediate desire. Back then, we had as much fun taking a cold shower and washing the sweat off one another's body, as we had fucking and sucking in bed. I remembered that she had nice knockers with big, hard nipples, a firm, round ass, and a big bush. I wondered if she still had her bush or if she was shaved or trimmed. Making over her appearance to change with the times, as she had done when taking this news anchor position at CBS, I figured she was shaved. I wondered if she improved upon her cocksucking skills since the time she sucked me off so many years ago. Only, I couldn't image her getting any better than she was. She gave me the best damn blowjob I ever had in my life and, I won't mention names but, I've had some good ones from some really hot models and movie stars. "That's just the thing, Katie. I can't spill the beans, not yet, and your ticket to buy into my plan will cost you one million dollars in cash, upfront. I have expenses." Suddenly I felt like Zero Mostel in Mel Brooks' original movie, the Producers, when he was seducing all those old, widowed women to get them to buy into his Broadway plays. "A million dollars? Since when does my agent charge me for upfront expenses? We've always worked on the principle that you get me the work and I give you your 15% after I'm paid." She was a savvy business woman and as tight with a dollar as she was with her lips whether interviewing someone or sucking off someone. She was a real professional in both her interviewing skills and her cocksucking skills. "Well, this time is different, Katie. The million dollars is in addition to my 15% agency fee. It's going to take a lot of upfront money to put you back on top where you belong? I don't have the line of credit that I once enjoyed with the banks and everyone has their hand out not willing to play until I pay. Credit is tight right now; you know that better than most. You read the market reports daily." He patted her hand, "But I know that I can do it. I know that old Saulski can still take you wherever you want to go and place you high up on that pedestal where you belong." "Are you sure whatever you have planned will work?" "I guarantee it." "How do you know?" "I know because it's the latest and hottest thing presently in the news today." Right up her alley, I watched her eyes light up with news stories flashing through her mind, no doubt, while trying to guess which I was using to benefit her career. "In this bad economy, it wouldn't surprise me if you had me standing naked in an unemployment line or a home foreclosure auction to give me the exposure you thought I needed," she said with a laugh while taking pot shots in guessing which story I'd use to benefit her. "You won't have to cue up in line nude to receive the kind of response you'll receive from my exposure. Current events will put you back in the public eye. You will be nude, though, nonetheless," I said with a dirty laugh. "I'll be nude?" "Oh, don't worry, you'll have plenty of company," I said with another dirty laugh. "I don't know about the being naked part, Saulski. My body isn't what it used to be and I don't think the nightly news network would want their anchor being naked in front of their aging audience." "They'll be other opportunities, new opportunities other than doing the news, when I'm done promoting you. Not to worry. We just have to be at the right place at the right time and I plan on using a little fictional theatrics to help make sure we don't miss our window of opportunity," I said with a laugh. "This time, Katie Couric is going to make the national news instead of reading the national news." "You guarantee it?" "I do." "You mean; you'll give me my million dollars back if it doesn't work?" "Now, you'll never hear me agree to give a client a refund, Katie. Let's just say after knowing me all these years, I've never steered you wrong. You'll just have to trust my judgment and me with your money." Katie uncrossed and crossed her shapely legs, this time flashing me a prolonged flash of white panty. Without even yet knowing what the plan was, I could tell she was excited by my plan to put her back in the limelight. She'd probably blow me if I asked her nicely enough, but I was more interested in making money for her than wanting sex from her. She had taken to wearing very short skirts to show off her legs, the best legs in Hollywood, insured by Lloyds of London for two million bucks and I was tempted to unzip myself, pull out my cock, and fill her mouth with my passion for her continued success. "Okay, Saul. I'll have my attorney drop the money by later in the day." And so it went, I had 34 private meetings with each of my clients. Not all wanted back into the celebrity way of life and others were unwilling to trust me enough with a million of their hard earned dollars to buy into my master plan to put them back in the public eye, but enough of them agreed to make it worth my while. Those who didn't agree, I said my goodbye allowing them to break their contract and I gave them my highest recommendation for them to get another agent, should they be interested in working, again. To those who didn't take me up on my offer of renewed stardom, I gave them a blue Tiffany box with a little something to remember the good times we had. Some of those stars, who rejected my offer of renewed fame and fortune, namely Rene Russo, Catherine Bach, and Brigitte Nielson, didn't turn me down in my request of a quickie for old time's sake. Of those who agreed to negotiate a new contract with me were Katie Couric, Raquel Welch, Ann Margret, Christie Brinkley, Kim Basinger, Pam Grier, Dolly Parton, Heather Lockleer, Shannon Tweed, Mimi Rogers, Meg Ryan, Lynda Carter, Cheryl Tiggs, Julliane Moore, Donna Mills, Michelle Pfeiffer, Sela Ward, and Andie MacDowell. They were the ones who were older and more willingly desperate to do whatever they could to reverse time and prolong their careers, long enough to make one last killing. Other than making personal appearances or doing commercials, some of them had not worked in a long time and they knew their days before the camera were numbered. Eighteen stars signed up for my plan. Eighteen stars paid me a million dollars a piece; eighteen million dollars, more than enough money to cover all the costs of my plan, fix up my house, and buy a new Rolls Royce. Chump change if my plan worked, I stood to make 15% of every dollar my 18 senior stars stood to earn. I was back on top of my game again. Now the pressure was on me to produce and give my investors the results they wanted and needed. The plan was to set sail late in the second week of July and the media had been made aware with press releases. With the banner hanging over the stern and the Paparazzi shooting hundreds of shots, my topless celebrities stars hung over the sides of the yacht blowing kisses to those wishing them Bon Voyage. Hey, just because I said that I wouldn't parade my mature, naked celebrities around the harbor didn't mean that I wouldn't parade my mature, naked celebrities around the harbor. I'm a Hollywood agent. You can't believe anything I say. I wanted to have my plan in motion on July 14th, Nude Day, for a photo shoot that would show the world the naked photos of the still hot bodies of my stars. I told my aging celebrities that I was shooting them all nude to give them the opportunity to do whatever they needed to do, whether it was diet, exercise, and/or plastic surgery. I needed them to look fresh and vital and I took along with me a contingent of makeup, hair stylists, and lighting specialists to help hide their age while flaunting their bodies. With my yacht loaded with food and medical supplies, along with celebrating National Nude Day and being naked throughout the entire photo shoot, I had posted a press release that I was taking celebrities on a goodwill mission to help those less fortunate. I had already made a secret deal to show my live video feed on HBO at $50 a pop and I expected to make a bigger killing than any of Mike Tyson's fights from selling copies of my movie. The stage was set to launch the careers of my celebrity stars again and possibly for the last time. My final destination was off the coast of Africa, the Gulf of Aden, nearest Somalia, where the only thing hotter than the weather was the crime and where poverty was rampant and piracy was happening at a feverish pitch. Any Somali with access to a speedboat and an AK47 was taking to the high seas for profit. Only, I wasn't worried. The United States Navy, partnered with other navies the world over, were patrolling that part of the ocean. Only, a mere strip on my globe at home in my library, I didn't realize how big an area this was to patrol until we sailed through it and there wasn't a Navy ship to be seen anywhere on the vast horizon. Suddenly, I hoped I hadn't made an error of judgment by putting our lives in jeopardy. Somali pirates were still taking ships and holding ships and their passengers for ransom, but they weren't hijacking as many as they were before Navy Seals shot and killed three pirates and after navy warships of the world routinely patrolled these waters and captured other pirates before they even had time to hijack. Nonetheless, just incase, I had my own plan. I hired a crew of missionary soldiers, the best of the best, ex-Green Beret, Delta Force, and Army Rangers to run the ship and an experienced Captain who was familiar with the area to steer and navigate it through any troubled waters. I outfitted them with the latest in armaments, including laser guided missile launching grenades. Moreover, the yacht was equipped with very powerful engines that could outrun any pirate trying to chase us. No cost was spared to insure that my precious cargo, my once famous celebrity clients were safe. Only, I didn't tell my stars they were going to Somalia. I told them we were going on a cruise to nowhere. Having just returned from this area on assignment, it was Katie Couric who realized where we were, but it was too late. We were already there. I had hired a crew of actors to play the Somali pirates. Unfortunately, out in the middle of the ocean, I didn't receive the shore to ship message that my hired crew of pirate actors were unable to rendezvous with the yacht. They had missed their flight connection and were now stuck in customs, half a world away, being questioned why they had a suitcase full of toy guns and plastic knives. Unbeknownst to me, I was on a road to financial ruin and deadly danger. Fearing that they may ruin the party mood of my celebrity guests, I gave my crew of mercenary soldiers strict orders to stay out of sight of the passengers. I hired a real crew to serve the whimsy of my celebrity passengers, plying them with alcohol to make them feel luxuriously comfortable. I didn't want to worry my guests. I wanted them relaxed and looking young and pretty. I wanted the world to say, 'Wow, look at her. Did you see her? She still looks good. How old is she? No way, she can't be. She looks so much younger than that.' I had the ex-Green Beret, Delta Force assassins, and Rangers posted above deck where they could keep a good lookout for my phony pirates, as well as any real pirates, should they show up, too. Like chum leaking a bloody trail to a shark, it didn't take long for the real pirates to notice a yacht sailing their waters. A speedboat with seven, genuine, Somali pirates onboard was dispatched with the GPS coordinates to the yacht. Of course, everyone but I and the missionaries thought the pirates were real. "Rat-A-Tat-Tat," the sound of an AK-47 interrupted a beautiful day of lounging topless above deck. Oblivious to world events, until it was just beneath them, Kim Basinger, Lynda Carter, and Shannon Tweed peered over the port side stern to see what the ruckus was. Their surgically enhanced but still magnificent boobs bounced in the sun, as they ran for the safety of their locked cabins. Much like how Rudyard Kipling's Captain Courageous appeared, but more like how Christian stood on the Bounty, I stood on deck with a handheld video cam already recording the action of their bouncing boobs and generous asses, as they made good their escape before refocusing back on the approaching pirates. "Rat-A-Tat-Tat, Rat-A-Tat-Tat, Rat-A-Tat-Tat," the sound of gunfire disturbed the peace and quiet of the yacht, our little floating paradise of decadent luxury. "This is great," I said while aiming my camera at the speeding boat trying not to miss any of the action. "Rat-A-Tat-Tat, Rat-A-Tat-Tat, Rat-A-Tat-Tat," the pirates fired their guns of warning in the air again and the professionals I hired reacted; they were on alert should anything go wrong. Even though they assumed this was a boatload of actors, the authentic sound of gunfire poised them in readiness and positioned them to take immediate action, if need be. They were indeed a dangerous and scary lot of men. Much like pitting a squad of ROTC soldiers against a horde of Samurai warriors, a band of Somali pirates would have no chance against these experienced assassins. The yacht was already dead in the water, anchored off the coast of Somalia. Not wanting to interfere with the shoot, as previously instructed by me, the Captain had cut the engine when he eyed the approach of the pirate's speedboat. He saw their wake before he even heard their gunfire and now he allowed them to take his ship when they tossed up a hook over the starboard side and away from the view of the shore. He was instructed to do this, to allow the pirates onboard and was paid handsomely for the trouble of having his yacht boarded. Once aboard the yacht, in organized chaos, the pirates ran around the ship, breaking into cabins, and gathering everyone together. The men obeyed and the women all screamed. The pirates separated the men from the woman, all except for me. I told the pirates that I was in charge and that this was my boat. Then, an odd thing happened, something that lulled the pirates into inaction and spared their bloodshed. They appeared more enamored with the identity of women captives than they were with their prized multi-million dollar ransom loot. For illiterate men who didn't know English, but for one who did all the talking in broken English, the Somalis appeared to recognize and know many of the celebrities. Excitedly they talked among themselves when recognizing the celebrities on board. The only English they spoke were the names of the celebrities. I thought they were Somali actors who had briefly fallen out of character, after being enamored with the celebrity guests. Little did I realize that these men, genuine Somali natives, real pirates, had grown up watching old movies of these women and, now, here they all were face-to-face with them for their personal entertainment. "Well, I must say, whoever cast you guys did a perfect job. You look and smell like the real thing," I said patting one on the back and nearly receiving a rifle butt in the belly before the leader of their gang stopped him. I may have been fooled but my hired team of trained professionals was not. Using silent hand signals they had already devised a plan to overtake and kill their captors and take back the ship, that is, until they were herded down and locked away in the cargo hold. Fortunately for them, this was a yacht and not a freighter. They could easily unlock the door that confined them with a paperclip any time they wanted, but they allowed it to play out before killing the pirates and taking back the ship. But for the small arms they had hidden on their bodies, separated from their weapons and facing men with automatic weapons, they decided to bide their time and lay in wait for the right moment to surprise them. Even with their Martial Arts and hand-to-hand combat skills, they weren't faster than a bullet fired from an armor piercing automatic rifle and didn't want to risk one of the celebrities being injured or killed in a ricochet. I led the pirates to my quarters, the main cabin, where there was a camera and lighting already set up to show the world that this National Nude Day humanitarian cruise full of celebrities was overtaken by pirates. "I have an announcement to make," I said before being shoved in the ribs with the butt end of a rifle. "Hey! That fucking hurt. Now, calm the fuck down and allow me to instruct my clients. You're taking your part a little too seriously," I said while rubbing my side. It was obvious that the man who struck me didn't understand a word of English, but the leader of their group did. He admonished his man with an elbow to the face and then allowed me to speak to my celebrities. "This was all planned for your benefit." Some of the women laughed, others cried, and others verbalized their anger with me with a long list of expletives. Off the Coast of Somalia "With that said, I'm going to videotape each and every one of you to show the world that you've been captured. It's perfect that today is National Nude Day and that all of you will be naked while on camera. In one live video shoot we'll accomplish two things," I said with a smile of victory. "We'll show the world how beautiful, young, and vital you still look and we'll have the world's worried sympathy for your safe return. You'll be overnight celebrities again. They'll be talk show requests and book and movie deals. Trust me, you'll see. Your stars will shine again." Now, I had their attention. Now, they were willing to do whatever I wanted them to do. I had them all where I wanted, eating out of my hand. They all knew that I was about to launch their careers again by shooting their stars high across the sky and to be seen by the entire world. "Who's first?" I surveyed my eighteen celebrities for my most fallen celebrity star. "Christie, let's have you first. Strip out of that bikini and sit in this chair. I'm just going to bind your wrists and your ankles loosely with some duct tape and mess up your hair to show that you've been kidnapped." As soon as she stripped naked, I remembered her. It had been so long since I had sex with her. She was one of my first celebrities to deflower. She was so Heavenly beautiful, an Angel on Earth. Admittedly she looked better out of bed than she did in bed. Yet, she was a cold fish this one, disinterested and continually fixing her hair and makeup, she possessed little passion. I remembered the sex I had with her was mechanical, as if she was posing on a catwalk, but she was so strikingly beautiful. Preoccupied with her schedule of events back then, as if looking at her watch, she allowed me to fuck her without even so much as returning my humps. Having sex with Christie Brinkley, one of the most beautiful women in the world, was almost like fucking an unconscious woman, not that I ever had sex with an unconscious woman. Still, it was worth being the victim of her cool disinterest to brag, while having cocktails at the club or a cigar with my friends, that I had sex with Christie Brinkley. With shoulders back and breasts out, Christie sat in her chair looking so much more like the in-control model than the victim. She was still so stunningly beautiful to see, especially when naked. Good genes aside, albeit a bit of cosmetic surgery here and there, it was still obvious that she had worked hard to keep herself in shape. With toned stomach, arms, and thighs, maybe that Total Body Gym that she hypes with Chuck Norris really does work. "Easy with the hair, Saulski, I want to look my best on my televised premier," she said lifting her chin as if she was surveying the crowd at an exclusive cocktail party held in the Hamptons with her ex-husband Billy Joel, instead of appearing as if she was just kidnapped by Somali hijackers. "I just want to fluff it up a bit so that you don't look like your modeling and faking this shot," I said trying to muss up someone who didn't want to be mussed. "I need this to look real and believable; instead of having you sit there looking like Miss America being crowned." She was such an annoying bitch. Even now, as she did back then, she always thought she was better than everyone else and that her shit didn't smell. Then, I had an idea. It was something I had wanted to do since she destroyed her celebrity status rating with her last bitter divorce and made an ass of herself by allowing her fourth husband to drag her name through the mud by bedding his 19-year-old employee. Maybe, if she had given her husband what he wanted, sex, he wouldn't be having sex with another woman. Surprise, look out, I slapped her hard across her face and before she could even react, I slapped her even harder across her face the other way. Her head snapped back one way while her breasts bobbed the other. Two of the pirates reacted, grabbing me by the hand, but were called back by the leader. The leader understood what was happening and was content to watch the show. "Saul, what the fuck!" Her face was a bright red and her eyes were full of tears. All about her face, her hair was really mussed up, now. Christie tried getting up from her chair, but her ankles were duct taped to the legs of the chair and she nearly fell. "I'm sorry, Christie, but I need you to look like you've been crying after being manhandled," I said laughing to myself inside. "You could have fucking warned me, Saul." Her lip quivered. "I know how to cry on command; you just needed to give me that direction," she said, as if she was a role actress ready to audition for a part. "Yes, well, I'm sorry, but it was better you didn't see it coming. With your cheeks a beat red and your hair hanging across your face, this looks so much more realistic than me asking you to cry," he said looking at her through the camera lens. "Yeah, well, you look like you're enjoying this a bit too much," she said with tears streaming down her cheeks while staring down at the bulge that suddenly appeared in my pants. "And to think that I paid you a million dollars to be dragged out here in the middle of the ocean, stripped naked, tied to a chair, and slapped." If only she knew that I would have gladly paid her a million dollars to drag her out in the middle of the ocean, strip her naked, and tie her to a chair to slap her. It took all the control that I had not to stick my cock in her mouth and make her blow me. "And action!" I held up cue cards for her to read. "Help! I'm Christie Brinkley and I'm being held hostage by a ruthless band of Somali pirates." Saul panned the camera over to the pirates. "We hate America and we hate Americans," said the pirate leader with a heavy accent while holding his AK47 over his head and reacting to Saul's camera, as if he was on cue. Then, I zoomed back on Christie's face and panned back to get the rest of her naked body in the shot. Whoever it was who did her breast implants did a marvelous job. She had a great set of knockers. "They want five million dollars. Please help me," she said with tears running down her cheeks while feebly struggling against her ties. I panned back over to the Somali pirates making sure to get them and their automatic weapons in the video. I followed their movement, just as one of the pirates pulled out his cock and walked over to Christie. I couldn't believe it. This wasn't part of the script. I didn't know if he should stop him or continue videoing the sexual assault. I decided on the later rather than the former line of action. Had it been anyone other than Christie Brinkley, I would have stopped the sexual assault, but what the Hell. She's had more cocks in her mouth than she could remember. When the pirate touched Christie's lips with his cock, she recoiled and violently turned her head away. In one quick move, he grabbed her by her hair and pulled hard with one hand while pulling and twisting her nipple with the other. When she screamed, he filled her mouth with his cock, put a hand behind her head, and forced her to blow him. This was better than I had imagined. I couldn't wait to sell this video on the Internet. To satisfy her feigned indignation, I'll have to pay Christie a bonus for this shot, no doubt. As soon the pirate fired a load of cum in her mouth and across her face, I turned off the camera. It wasn't planned that Christie was going to be forced to blow one of the actors/pirates, it just happened. The feed, as dramatic as the video was live and was made even more dramatic by my turning off the camera and turning it back on after a few minutes, as if the pirates had control of the camera. Just as I knew the world would react to seeing Christie Brinkley tied naked to a chair and forced to suck the cock of a Somali pirate, I knew that by turning the camera off and on again, as a way to censor the video, it would keep everyone watching glued to their seats. I could just imagine hearing the major networks leading with this story. "What you are about to see is graphically explicit and is not suitable for children to watch." Just be giving a blowjob, something that Christie Brinkley has given thousands of, no doubt, during all those parties she attended in the Hamptons while at the height of her modeling career, she'd be a big star. "You're a fucking asshole, Saul," said Christie spitting out the remains of the man's cum while I helped to free her from the chair. "Who's next," I asked ignoring her and looking out at my cast of the rich and famous? "I can't believe you watched and did nothing while that piece of shit sexually assaulted me. How dare you allow that piece of shit to violate me like that?" "I was busy videotaping Christie," I said with a serious face while doing my best to refrain from smiling. "You'll thank me later when you're counting your millions in Aspen." "Fuck you, Saul," said Christie. The contrast was surreal to see someone so physically beautiful be so verbally vulgar. "Who's next," I asked again ignoring Christie again and looking out at my cast of rich and famous celebrities again? "I'll go, Saul," said Shannon Tweed. She was already naked. "Only, you're going to have to hit me a lot harder than you hit that bitch to get me to cry." She gave me a wink and Christie an angry look. "And if you hit me hard enough, you'll make me your woman," she said with a sexy smile and laugh. Damn, I'd love to see these two in a cat fight. Shannon would mop the floor with Christie. Still, it would be exciting to watch. Now this was a sexy and sensual woman. Never in my wild life had I had sex as hot as I had when I spent a weekend with Shannon. I remembered her now. She was right; I couldn't slap her ass or pull and twist her nipples hard enough. I couldn't bang her head against the headboard hard enough while slamming my cock in her pussy. She was wild with passion. A real dynamo, she loved being fucked hard and the harder the better. Then, she loved rolling me over and fucking me while sucking my tongue. If anyone could tame Gene Simmons of Kiss, the man with the magic tongue who had seduced more woman than Wilt the stilt Chamberlain, it was her. Once I secured Shannon to the chair, I slapped her so hard across her face that I hurt my hand. "Is that all you have, Wimp?" "Wimp? I'll show you Wimp, you Bitch," I said while suppressing a laugh. Slap her, I wanted to fuck her. She was still so very hot. I backslapped her so hard on the other cheek that I thought I popped her breast implants when they bumped together like pin balls in a machine. "Hey, I want to suck a cock, too, while being filmed," said Shannon taking my physical assault in stride. She didn't wince, she didn't even cry. She was a tough broad. No one would know I had even hit her, had she not had my hand imprint on her face. For men who didn't understand English, they understood what she wanted. Immediately, two Somali pirates pulled out their cocks and she took turns taking them in her mouth. "You didn't have to ask these actors twice to get the direction you needed to have," I said with a laugh. The two men took turns while Shannon's mouth while fondling her big breasts while I filmed all the action. "My husband will get off over this," she said after they both shot their loads in her mouth. With cum stuck to her hair and dripping down her eyes, nose, and chin and the two Somali pirates standing on either side of her with their pricks still stiff and leaking cum, she played her role as victim. "And action!" "Help! Please help me! I'm Shannon Tweed, married to Gene Simmons of the rock group Kiss. The Very Best of Kiss is just out." "Cut! Shannon, this isn't a commercial for your husband's music. You've been kidnapped and sexually assaulted on the high seas. Two Somali pirates forced you to blow them. You're inconsolable with hurt." "Okay, Saul. I get it. I'm sorry. Please continue." "And action!" "I'm okay, Honey," said Shannon to her husband while looking straight into the camera lens while crying crocodile tears. "They forced me to have oral sex with them and it was horrible, but I'm okay. Please send help. Someone save us." Quickly I zoomed out and panned the camera over to each of the pirates to show the men and their spent cocks. Then, I transmitted the videotaped live feed back to America. After Shannon read her script, I searched the crowd of sixteen to pick the next one to video. First we saw the flash off in the distance and then we heard the sound. It was surreal. We thought it was thunder and lightning. "Boom! Boom! Boom!" Three cannon blasts that shook the boat flew across the port bow. Everyone looked out the window. There on the horizon a few miles away was a navy warship. "Fuck! It's the fucking U. S. Navy! If I wanted them to get here this fast, it would take them days instead of minutes." I could hear the rotors of two helicopters flying low overhead. "Put down your weapons," ordered the navy over a loudspeaker. "We have you surrounded." Then they said the same thing in Somali, I imagined, with me not understanding a word of the Somali language. "Quick! Everyone strip out of your clothes," I ordered ready to give my cast of celebrities the motivation they all needed to play their parts. "Hurry! We don't have much time. I need you all to look afraid. You're petrified. You're going to die. These men are killers and they'd rape you and kill you rather than to allow the United States Navy to save you." The women immediately all got naked. Some were crying. Others were consoling those crying. It was the greatest show on earth and if this was a movie, if this was a movie, it would be an Oscar for everyone. "Slap me, Saul," said Racquel Welch. "I want to suck a cock, too." "Slap me, too," said Ann Margret. "Only not as hard as you slapped Shannon or Christie," said Ann. "Yes, slap us, Saul," said Lynda Carter, Meg Ryan, and Heather Locklear. "We want to be sexually assaulted, too," they said nearly in unison while laughing, as if this was a Hollywood celebrity game played at some exclusive drunken party. I slapped them all hard across the face before slapping their butts even harder. "And action!" I panned the camera over the sixteen naked celebrities making sure that I videotaped all the good parts. "Please help us," they all said in unison. "Someone save us! Hurry!" Then, I panned the camera back over to where the Somali pirates gathered, gave them a wink, and motioned them to the celebrities with a sideway nod of my head. A universal motion of dialogue, no doubt, that transcends any language barrier, the pirates wasted no time in grabbing, groping, and feeling the naked bodies of the celebrities. I panned the camera making sure that I got great shots of their tits, asses, and pussies while being touched and felt by the pirates. One grabbed Dolly Parton by her tits and forced her down to suck his cock while another did the same to Michelle Pfeiffer. Two pirates grabbed Pam Grier and Cheryl Tiggs, leaned them over, and plunged their cocks in their pussies and humped them hard. It was wild action and I filmed it all, as best as he could. I only wished I had two more cameras to get all the action that was happening now, all at once. Julliane Moore, Donna Mills, Sela Ward, and Andie MacDowell were all on their knees taking turns sucking off two pirates. It was sexual bedlam, an orgy gone violently wrong. Everyone was screaming and crying. The only ones appearing to have a good time were the pirates and Shannon Tweed. I knew that many of my celebrities were having the time of their lives, but they acted as if they were not. Better than Survivor, better than the Great American Race, and better than the Ozzy Osbourne reality TV show, this filmed assault was a better show than any reality television show, including American Idol. There was so much going on that I didn't know where to film. Never had I seen as much silicone in one place and at one time. Raquel Welch and Ann Margret, the two senior ladies of the group had these massive bushes. How they fit all that fur in a bathing suit bottom without showing, I never knew. Katie Couric, Christie Brinkley, Shannon Tweed, Kim Basinger, Heather Locklear, Mimi Rogers, Meg Ryan, and Michelle Pfeiffer were cleanly shaven. The rest, Pam Grier, Dolly Parton, Lynda Carter, Cheryl Tiggs, Julliane Moore, Donna Mills, Sela Ward, and Andie MacDowell were neatly trimmed. I couldn't help but keep a mental count. I was getting an erection, something I hadn't had without having to take Viagra in fifteen years. After seeing 18 pussies and asses and 36 tits, I was in sexual Heaven. I couldn't wait to market this video. It would make millions. "If you have one of the pretend pirates put a gun to my head, Saulski," said Katie Couric, "I'll suck your cock. I haven't had my protein shake today and I could stir you up before swallowing," she said moving her hand in the motion of giving me a hand job. I looked over at her naked body. She still looked good and her offer to suck my cock was, indeed, very tempting. I remembered her tits with her big, hard nipples and they still looked the same. They looked so good that I wondered if she had work done, but I couldn't tell. Suddenly, I wanted to fuck her, but more than that. She had become so powerful, that I wanted to dominate her, control her, and humiliate her. I wanted to bend her over, pull her by her hair, and fuck her up her ass. Just as that thought entered my mind, it passed with the sights and sounds of all the action that was happening at the same time. "You don't have to hold a gun to my head for me to suck you off, Saulski," said Mimi Rogers, Tom Cruise's ex-wife. "I'd fall to my knees and take you in my mouth now to show you how grateful I am for you helping me to get my celebrity back." Damn, for an old broad, Mimi still had an incredible body and her tits looked naturally and not created by some plastic surgeon. The leader of the pirates stopped his men and allowed all the women to gather around me to watch the show that was about to happen. "We'd all like to show our appreciation of what you've done for us, Saul," said Dolly Parton falling to her knees, unzipping my fly, pulling me out, and quickly taking me in her mouth. Lynda Carter, Cheryl Tiggs, and Meg Ryan were on their knees, too, surrounding me and when Dolly Parton released my erect cock from her mouth, the three women took turns blowing me. Kim Basinger, Pam Grier, and Heather Locklear took up where Lynda Carter, Cheryl Tiggs, and Meg Ryan left off. Never had I been as sexually excited. Never had I had seven women taking their turn blowing me. Never had I felt fourteen tits in one sex session. Now, finally, it was Katie's turn and she went at my cock as if it was her last meal. I was right about her. She could suck chrome from a bumper in the way that she was deep throating me while feeling my balls, sucking me, and maintaining the suction pressure with her lips and the swirling action of her tongue that made me want to cum nearly instantly. Appropriately and as if on cue, the Navy set off another round of cannons just as I exploded my warm gooey load in Katie's mouth. The cannon frightened her and she pulled me out of her mouth just as I shot a second load across her face. With cum dripping from her eyelashes, nose, mouth, and chin, I really gave Katie Couric a much deserved cum bath and with me still holding the video cam, the camera caught all the action. My unplanned blowjob by Katie Couric was being telecast all over the world. Only, from my vantage point, Katie Couric could have been blowing one of the pirates for all the camera knew. No one could see that she had just blown her agent, Saul Lipski. Off the Coast of Somalia Definitely, if these women weren't going to become celebrities again based upon being kidnapped by Somali pirates and they'd become Internet famous across the World Wide Web with this X rated sex tape. I was already crunching the numbers in my head, as to how much I stood to make from this National Nude Day escapade. The last one to disembark from the yacht, I held my video cam on the United States Navy as they took the pirates into custody before taking naked celebrity after naked celebrity off the boat. After being debriefed by the CIA, FBI, and NSA, once we arrived in the states, the airport was a madhouse with the world press, national press, tabloid press, and Paparazzi. Everyone wanted to interview the celebrity victims. My office was already deluged with offers for personal appearances, cosmetic, lingerie, and perfume commercial and endorsement offers, and there were book and movie deals, too. I had done what I had set out to do celebrate National Nude Day with my list of celebrities.