It sounds like a cliché, but it’s absolutely true: Kelly Ann Peters had it all.
Kelly Ann was a stunning redhead, slim but put together in all the right places. A 34B top coupled teamed with a deceptively cute ass and her perfectly toned legs which went on forever. She looked great in shorts, but awesome in a miniskirt. She worked that body well, sliding her hips too and fro, magnetizing the gazes of guys in tantalizing way only girls with a special gift could accomplish.
A flirt since her teenage years, the now 22-year-old had snatched the heart of James B. Jackson. Young Mr. Jackson wasn’t a looker, a football star or a brain. Yet he had what every girl wanted: good old fashioned American cash. The son of the wealthiest man in Middleburg — a place where wealth was merely an adjective measured in degrees — James had the pick of the best women from miles around, and he used them for as long as HE wanted and then discarded them like yesterday’s wrinkled newspaper. Everyone knew he wasn’t about to settle down. He had a pick of the litter. And for every girl he dumped, scores awaited his call.
That is, until he met the desirable, virginal Kelly Ann Peters.
The girl was the crème du la crème of area ladies, and James set out to conquer her and all her sensual charms. Kelly, though, was a bit old fashioned, and had ideas of a long-term, not short-term relationship. Oh, she took his call, dated him and was paraded around to all the best restaurants and savoir faire functions.
After several dates she’d neck with James, swapping spit with the rich boy, but never giving in to his carnal desires. Oh, she promised she would, “one day”, but left him with a hurting case of blue balls date after date. Her rejection of his advances only made Kelly Ann more desirable to the high society boy.
Oh, he would leave their dates with a hard-on, only to have it taken care of by a more willing girl on the sly.
Yet when he finally arrived home he wasn’t thinking of the girl who put out for him in the back seat of his BMW or no-tell motel. Rather, it was the Mount Everest of area women, Kelly Ann Peters.
Her plan worked, as the dapper, manly James decided to settle down with Kelly. Why not? He figured she’d be the trophy wife, and banging her would be a crowning achievement. The wedding date was set, the honeymoon paid for by James’ father, and the down payment on their first house was complete. All that was left was the royal wedding.
Kelly was euphoric, a princess who would be marrying her king and living her dream. It wouldn’t be long before she bagged the sparkling new Mercedes, the mornings at the spa and afternoons at the club.
So why am I telling you this?
Well, Kelly was days away from a perfect life.
All I had was an explicit video tape.
Uh huh, a much younger Kelly Ann Peters was the star of a X rated movie, filmed when she was 18, drunk, and in the mood for adventure. That adventure meant sex, a whole lot of raunchy sex.
I know all about her adventure in stardom, you see, because not only did I shoot much of the video, but I also had one of the lead scenes with the girl.
It happened so innocently.
Kelly Ann was a close friend of my sister Tara, a frequent visitor to our home. Being 18 months older than the flirtatious two girls, I’d spend weekend nights hanging out with them in our basement, playing pool and sneaking drinks from my dad’s bar. Oh, I dated, but there were times when hanging out at home was a lot more pleasing on the eyes than getting shot down by a prim and proper girl.