XXX-Files: A Personal Fantasy
by Kirsten B

STORIES ON THIS SITE ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS ONLY

Archivist's note: Kirsten later wrote of this story on her personal website:

Over the years since I initially wrote The XXX-Files, I've received more feedback about it than all three of my other stories combined. Not all of it was good, either. There has been more than a bit of backlash in recent months about actor fic - and I have to admit that I'm beginning to see the point. These people - indeed, anyone who has ever worn the uneasy title of "celebrity" - are entitled to privacy, just as you and I are.

The XXX-Files was removed from the Gossamer Archives with their July update. I am considering removing it from this page, as well, and leaving it as an exclusive to Bobbi's Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation site. I would be exceedingly grateful to y'all if you would write me and let me know your thoughts on my decision - whether you think I'm overreacting or doing too little, too late.

Actor fic or Real Person fic appears to be more acceptable now, but using real people in a fictional scenario still irks many people. If you are offended by the thought of these fictional versions of the actors involved, please feel free to choose another story to read.

*DISCLAIMER* - The following story, much to my chagrin, is a work of fiction. It depicts various acts of a sexual nature in a frank and loving manner. If you are under the age of 18, or are easily offended by such things, *please* stop reading now! Delete this file from your hard drive, and save you and me both some heartaches, okay?

Before we go any further, I suppose I should explain what this story is all about. Penthouse Magazine (yes, folks, women *do* read it) has a regular feature known as their Celebrity Fantasy. I wrote the following vignettes with the intention of mailing it in to them - which is why I cover ground with which we here are all *very* familiar with by now, and use language rather more blunt than that which is usually found in the more passionate prose here. (I readily admit to being a rank amateur in comparison to some of our more prolific authors here in the newsgroups, but I am *certainly* more talented than the average Penthouse writer....) Somewhere along the line, I realized that if I simply posted this in the newsgroup, I was guaranteed an audience - and one that would probably have a greater appreciation of my subjects....

Copyright 1994 by Kirsten B. Distribution of this story, with disclaimer and copyright information intact, is permitted.


The XXX-Files: A Personal Fantasy
- Erotic Fiction by Kirsten B

It had all started out as one more Sunday night at the bar, singing karaoke, when the guy in the suit walked over and introduced himself. He was a casting agent for the Fox television series *The X-Files,* and they were looking for someone to cast as a potential love interest for Agent Mulder, played by David Duchovny. Would I be interested? One wildly enthusiastic phone call to my husband later, I was on my way to Vancouver, British Columbia, where the show is filmed.

At the initial script run-through, I settled in effortlessly, developing an instant rapport with David, his co-star (or was that our costar?), Gillian Anderson, and the rest of the crew. In the evenings, David and I went out for dinner and dancing, establishing a relationship that felt as though we known each other for years. Principal photography began on the episode, and people couldn't help but notice the electricity as David and I shot our scenes.

One afternoon as we were shooting exteriors, a thunderstorm blew up unexpectedly, and the rest of the day was cancelled. Back at the hotel, I stared out the window dejectedly. This was the first time my husband and I had ever been apart for more than a day, and the first time I had ever left my native California. Never in my life had I felt so alone. Suddenly, there was a knock at my door. It was David, script in hand, wearing a tight white T-shirt and a pair of faded, ripped jeans that fit like he had been born in them. I invited him in, grabbed my own script, and offered him a drink. Soft drinks in hand, we sat on the bed, and started running lines.

Apparently, my mood was obvious, for a few minutes later David set down his script as I felt tears come to my eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked, a look of genuine concern throwing a shadow across his boyish face. Setting my glasses aside to wipe my face, I merely shook my head. "Hold me, please," was all I said.

For what seemed like hours we sat there, arms around each other, one of his hands gently caressing my face. Suddenly, I felt, more than heard, David chuckle. I looked up at him bemusedly. "What?"

David just looked at me and smiled. "You remember the series motto, right?"

"Of course I do - 'The truth is out there.'"

"Well," he went on, "the truth is I have never wanted to do anything in my life as much as this." His mouth descended upon mine, and we kissed, each of us instinctively knowing what the other wanted.

We needed no words then. Under my oversized poet blouse, David found first my bare back, and then my bare breasts. I closed my eyes and sighed contentedly as his long, slender fingers expertly played with my nipples. My blouse fell to the floor unnoticed as David's fingertips were replaced with his soft mouth. I gasped as he lightly trapped a nipple between his teeth. "Oh - you're a vocal one," he said with a smile. "I like that."

We continued kissing as he helped me out of the rest of my clothes. As I stepped out of my skirt and panties and lay back on the bed, David's fingers ran up the inside of my thighs until he found my fiery liquid center. With two fingers deep within me and a thumb on my clit, he played me as Segovia played the guitar, starting softly, then building to a crescendo rendering me incapable of anything else as I screamed my release.

Still fully clothed, David sat beside me on the bed, gently caressing me until my breathing returned to normal. I sat up and reached for him, but he stood and crossed the room with a mischievous grin. Taking the complimentary basket, David rummaged through the contents and sat back down, tossing a package of condoms on the bedside table. Smiling, we melted into another embrace.

I pulled off David's shirt and began nibbling my way down his smooth chest. I opened his jeans and slid them over his firm ass and well-muscled legs, revealing a pair of dark blue bikini briefs that were fighting valiantly to contain his straining manhood. The battle was futile, however, and I relieved them from duty, much preferring to take matters - and David - in my own hands. Oh, how I wanted to taste him! I knew, though, that that was not a risk worth taking, so I grabbed a condom off the table and opened the wrapper.

Staring into his deep hazel eyes, I placed the condom over the head of David's cock. Using only my mouth, I rolled it down into place. Closing his eyes, David wound his fingers into my long hair and moaned. I savored the feel of him in my mouth, the weight of his balls in my hand. Slowly pulling away from him, I settled back on the bed, holding out my arms. Like a man possessed, David crawled onto the bed. We kissed, gently at first, then with a savage urgency as he thrust into me. We were consumed by a fire of passion - there was no holding either one of us back. David slammed his cock into me in a way that, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew would leave me bruised from navel to knee, but I didn't care. I matched his rhythm, thrust for thrust, clawing his back, crying out his name, with my legs locked around his. A triumphant shout signalled David's impending orgasm, and his hips began moving at an impossible speed. David's climax triggered my own, and I sank my teeth into his shoulder with an animal fury.

We spent the night in each other's arms, reluctantly parting only so David would be in his room for his wake-up call, to avoid rousing suspicion. ("I think we aroused plenty as it is," he said, ducking the pillow I threw at his head.) The weather cleared that morning, and filming resumed. Everyone said that the scenes David and I did that day were the best yet. David just looked at me and smiled. "We put in some long hours last night," was all he said.

Three weeks later, our relationship had been tacitly acknowledged by the rest of the cast and crew, and had sparked an unlikely discussion between David, Gillian, and myself - our legions of followers on the Internet. Having been deeply involved with the various "life experiences" of being a new mother, Gillian had never really been introduced to the various newsgroups, mailing lists, etc., and so I began bringing in hard copy from various threads of discussion to help get her feet wet, starting, of course, with the alt.tv.x-files Frequently Asked Questions file. David immediately dubbed me "the Infobahn's chauffeur to the stars," which led to various car jokes on the set, and so forth.

About a week after I started bringing things in for her to read, Gillian approached me one afternoon at lunch. "My husband has taken Piper to visit her grandparents for the weekend, and I was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner - 'girls' night in,' if you will."

Realizing that some time away from David would probably, in the interest of privacy, be a good idea, I accepted. After the day's shoot, we headed back over to my hotel to grab some stuff in case the hour got late and I decided to crash for the night, and went to her house.

After dinner, we were sitting at her kitchen table - an immense butcherblock affair - looking at that week's posts, when Gillian pulled one page out of the stack. "This one was quite an intriguing read," she said, handing it to me. I stared at the page in something approaching horror when I realized it was one of mine, and that she had drawn a bold circle around my signature file. "I found it quite interesting that you never mentioned this to me," she said, indicating where I had rather prominently declared my undying lust for her, as well as for David. I stared at Gillian in shock. "B-but - your husband -"

"I'm married - not dead," she replied - words I myself had used when she had cornered me earlier in the week to ask about David. "You of all people should understand this. Or is a lesson in order?" She stood, and indescribable look on her face, and untied the front of her wrap dress. "Kneel," she commanded me, and opened her dress.

Bright coral nipples emerged from the half-cups of an electric blue satin bra - a color which inexplicably complimented her hair, making it shine like molten copper. A matching thong covered her pubic mound, with sheer stockings being held up by a lace garter belt. Like a cobra under a snake-charmer's spell, I was compelled to remove her panties, and I gasped as I discovered that there was not a wisp of hair to be found. Expecting this reaction, Gillian smiled. "They shaved me in the hospital when I had the baby," she explained, "and I decided I liked it better this way. And I'm sure you'll appreciate it, too."

I needed no further encouragement. Starting at her stocking-top, I traced the edge of her garter belt with my tongue, savoring the feel of her skin. The heat radiating from her sex was intoxicating, spawning a similar reaction in my own loins. Gingerly, I eased two fingers between her nether lips, causing Gillian to brace herself against the table, growling softly. I was out of my mind with desire, and with my need to please her.

Gillian's cunt smelled faintly of sandalwood - and tasted like nectar of the gods. I drank deeply of the juices that flowed from her, sweeter than any wine. I ate her ferociously, pulling on her labes, catching her clit in my teeth, holding on to her for dear life. Suddenly, she came, screaming like a wildcat, her cunt muscles grasping my fingers powerfully.

After taking a moment to collect herself, Gillian pushed me away from her, ordering me to strip. With the shyness that always overpowers me in front of a woman so much more attractive than I am, I began to turn away. Lightning quick, she reached out and spun me back around. "You will face me," she said in a tone that brooked no discussion, "and I expect you to look me in the eye."

Completely terrified, and yet undeniably turned on, I hastily shed my shoes and socks, then began removing the rest of my clothes. Gillian sighed contentedly as my breasts came into view, but clucked her tongue when she first caught sight of my prolific pubic thatch. "We're going to have to do something about that," she admonished, and my eyes widened. "Oh, don't worry," she crooned, "I've become quite skilled at it. Now - on the table." Still a little shocked by this turn of events, but not wanting to disappoint her, I scurried to comply.

Gillian disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a steaming bowl of water and an admittedly beautiful brass-plated shaving kit. I was surprised at first when she began to lather me up without attempting to trim my pubes beforehand, but thought nothing more of it until I realized that she intended to use a *straight razor* to do the deed! I panicked and began squirming uncontrollably. "Oh, this will never do," Gillian said, and, faster than I could follow, stripped out of her stockings and tied my feet to the legs of the table. I was hopelessly committed to this now, and I found myself suddenly awash in the evidence of my desire.

As it happened, I needn't have worried. Gillian was every bit as skilled with that blade as she claimed. I was in a daze. To be probed so intimately, and yet in a fashion that was not deliberately sexual, was maddening. When the last vestiges of shaving cream were finally washed away, I was so wired I could broadcast, and she knew it. "Now," she said, matter-of-factly, "we have to moisturize all this newly uncovered skin, and the best thing for that you already have in ample supply." Gillian effortlessly slipped three fingers into my pussy, and began working what she found there into the now bare skin of my mound. Deliberately, she avoided my clit, and when I finally thought I would burst, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. "That just about does it," she said. "Now for the final test."

As Gillian descended upon my smooth snatch, I reached the boiling point. Her first tender licks triggered an explosion that started in my clit and radiated out to my extremities at lightspeed. I was rendered utterly incoherent by that initial contact, but she continued ruthlessly, pushing me past limits I didn't know I had, until, screaming her name, I blacked out. When I resurfaced a few seconds later, my legs were untied, and Gillian had brought her mouth to mine in a kiss that mingled our juices. Helping me off the table, we shakily made our way to the shower, where we rinsed off a fine sheen of sweat, and then stumbled into bed, folded around one another.

The next morning was a day off from production, and we lingered over breakfast, discussing the previous night's events. Reluctantly, we agreed that trying to fit a repeat performance into our respectively maddening schedules would be suicide, but neither of us had any regrets. This affair, however, would not make it back to the set.

And what did David say? Not much. He looked at me rather quizzically the next night, but I silenced him quickly with an up-close introduction to the new me. "Besides," I said, "it was something I was bound to do."

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