By Lucy J. Madison
Charlize Theron leaned her head back against the stiff cushion of her set trailer’s couch rubbing both temples, trying to stem the onslaught of a full-force migraine headache. This particular headache was mainly caused by the grueling sixteen-hour action sequence shoot she just finished. The acrid smell of all the explosive effects didn’t help either. Her entire image was already riding on this super sexy spy film that promised to give audiences a “female Bond.” The pressure of being that empowerment fantasy for so many was beginning to take its toll on Charlize.
She knew she should change out of her costume, take a hot shower, and get some food but she was too exhausted to do any of those things. So, Charlize sat in full costume and makeup, trying to pretend her head didn’t hurt.
Charlize closed her eyes and took a series of three deep breathes in a feeble attempt to relax her mind. The tension in her shoulder blades loosened, the muscles of her jaw began to relax. Mentally working her way down her body, she let go of the stress and tension inch by inch, muscle by muscle. She tried to imagine being somewhere off the coast of Greece in the ridiculously blue/green clear water on a jet ski with the wind in her hair, the salt spray flying around her.
As she slowed the jet ski down near shore, she spotted a woman walking toward her wearing a white bikini and a wide belt draped across her hips with a diving knife attached. The woman stopped in knee deep water, holding a hand up over her eyes to shade them from the sun as she looked in Charlize’s direction. The jet ski motor purred in idle as Charlize stared back at the woman staring at her. This was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman Charlize ever laid eyes on.
The woman began to introduce herself. “Hi. I’m…”
“You’re Honey Rider,” Charlize interrupted. “I know who you are. You’re only the most iconic Bond girl in history.”
“Actually, my real name is Ursula,” the blonde bombshell corrected in a slight Swedish accent.
“You look exactly the same as you did in 1962. You’re absolutely gorgeous, but how are you here right now?” Charlize asked, dazed and confused.
“I’m here because you’re daydreaming, Charlize. And what’s a Bond-on-Bond daydream without a little pretend?” Ursula climbed aboard the jet ski behind Charlize and immediately pressed her tanned body hard against Charlize’s back.
Ursula purred into Charlize’s ear, “Aren’t you going to take me for a ride?” She ran her tongue across Charlize’s ear, sending waves of desire through Charlize’s body. Charlize gripped the throttle of the jet ski hard, her knuckles turning white. She leaned back against Ursula, feeling the immediate heat from their bodies. “Hang on tight,” she said as the jet ski whisked them both away.
The End…Or is it?
Disclaimer: This series is a satire by the author and is entirely a work of fiction and is not intended maliciously. Celebrities are in a fictional depiction or personality parody.
Sources:
Photo credit: Vogue/ SD Yankee Report
Lucy J. Madison is a novelist, poet, and screenwriter from Connecticut. She’s the author of two contemporary lesbian romance novels In the Direction of the Sun and Personal Foul as well as a collection of poetry entitled I.V. Poems (Sapphire Books). www.lucyjmadison.com Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.