Archive-name: Fantasy/debgibs1.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Day in the Life of Debbie Gibson, A


     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."

--