manson in jenna jamesons buch

jenna jameson auch bekannt unter dem namen "jordan" oda?

Zitat

jenna jameson auch bekannt unter dem namen "jordan" oda?

Das war doch glaub ich Katie Price

Jo,das war katie price..
aber meiner meinung nach hat jenna silikon im kopp

oki,..danke
naja,..ich seh bei den weibern keinen unterschied,..-.-

hmmm^^
interessant;)
ich hab irgendwie das gefühl das Manson sie dafür bezhalt das sie sagt das er nen großen Pillamann hat

Aha den schwanz in den kopf stecken!:doof
wers nötig hat naja ich weiß zwar nicht was sie damit so genau meint

hehe,hab auch schon öfters gehört das er garnet so gut bestückt sein soll... nja.. wissn tuns nur de,de ihn gefickt haben,un ich bin froh,nich dazuzugehören

Zitat

Original von sabbracadabra
ich glaub... sie meint sie würde ihm jederzeit einen blasen

wer würde das nicht gerne tun??? *sfg*

hiermal der beitrag aus dem berliner kurier- statement von der tussi...

Dankend "Ja!" sagte Jenna dagegen bei Schock-Rocker Marilyn Manson. Der sei nicht nur "mächtig ausgestattet", schwärmt Jenna. Auch die hemmungslosen Orgien mit ihm seien phantastisch gewesen, schildert sie ausführlich und begeistert.

*neidischbin*

*rub his c*ck on the side of my head anytime*

nein damit ist meiner meinung nach nicht blasen gemeint oder schwanz in den kopf stecken:crazy

ich würdees als * er kann seinen schritt jederzeit an der seite meines kopfes reiben* das macht dann denk ich auch mehr sinn

After the red carpet. we wemt to a cocktail reception before the movie. Joy and I didn't know anyone, so we just stood there stupidly. I looked into the tangle of VIPs and saw, towering over all of them, Marilyn Manson. I wanted to meet him, especailly since I used to strip to his music. Before the thuoghtleft my mind, he was standing in front of me.

"Oh my God, hi," I squeaked
He just stood there, staring right through me. It was a little creepy. Then he grabbed my hand and started walked around the party with me. Nearly every rock star on the soundtrack was there: Perry Farrell, Billy Corgan, Flea, Angus Young, Sting, Jon Bon Jovi, LL Cool J, Robe Zombie, and Joey Ramone - basically, everyone I idolized. I was a little porn girl thrust into this world of rock superstardom. I was in heaven.

The first thing Manson asked me was how I draw my eyebrows on. He kept pumping me for makeup tips. After dragging me around the room for half an hour, he asked, "Do you want to be my date?"

I agreed. I followed him to his seat. Corey Feldman was a few rows in front os uf, and for some reason Manson was obsessed with Corey Feldman. He kept throwing popcorn at the back of his head all night and reciting lines from Dream a Little Dream.

Then he saw Amber Smith, who is a gorgeous girl, but that night she looked like a drag queen, so he started throwing things at her too. Everyone was a target to him. In that way, he reminded me of my brother.

When he gew bored of pelting Sherman Hemsley with footstuffs, he put my hand in his. For the rest of the movie, he just held my hand like we were teenagers on a first date. Every now and then I'd look over and see his tall character with long stringy hair, black lipstick, pancake makup, and mismatched eyes, and think of how surreal the moment was.

Throughout the movie, he kept making very witty comments. I couldn't believe how intelligent and thoughtful he was. When I came on screen, he cheered for me. As I become more comfortable, I put my hand on his leg. I didn't consiously mean anything sexual by it, but as soon as I touched him, he got shy and uncomfortable. It was very cute, or at least as cute as a self-proclaimed Antichrist can get.

Afterward, he invited me out with him and his band. I was in a better limo, because I had insisted on a Mercedes, so Manson, his bassist Twiggy Ramirez (who didn't say a word all night), and Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins all piled into my limo. "Watch this," Manson said. He poured a handful of different colored pills into his hand, and then popped them into his mouth and laughed, like it was one big joke. If I had done that many painkillers and muscle relaxtans, I'd be dead in a half an hour.

When everyone else became incapaciated - Twiggy's eyes were rolling into the back of his head and Billy was drooling on his shirt - Manson took the opportunity to kiss me. I had a good buzz and thought, "Bring it on." SoManson and I made out while Joy snapped photos.

When we got out of the limo and arrived at the party, everyone was looking at me funny. I thought it was because of the company I was keeping, but when I passed by a mirror I realized I had his black lipstick all over my face. I looked like I'd been eating mud.

Manson didn't leave my side all night. Even when he went to the bathroom (which was often because of all the cocaine he was doing), he'd ask me to wait for him outside the door. He didn't want to let me out of his sight. We finally found a couch, and Manson threw his coat over my lap and slipped his hands under my yellow Versace dress. All I could think was, "How can this guy remain so focused after taking so many drugs?"

We were a bizarre couple: I looked like a cartoonish exaggeration of the all-American California blonde and he was an exaggeration of the anti-American boogeyman. I was so different than most of the girls he'd been with, he said, so all night long he introduced me as his beach bunny. Yet, though we couldn't have been any more different, between us, we represented everything that religious fundamentalisists and rightwing conservatives want to smap out in American culture.

After fifteen minutes, we left to go to another party. When we got out of the limi, paparazzi were everywhere, blinding us with their flashbubls. The first person we saw when we made it through the gauntlet was Prince. Somehow Manson knew him, and he'd introduced us. Prince said "hi" and reached to shake my hand. I'd never been so tounge-tied in the precense of anyone else before. He was hot, and beautiful like a girl. Five steps later we bumped into Lenny Kravitz. Then we met Sheryl Crow and the girls from TLC and Quincy Jones, who squeezed my hand so hard I thought he was going to break it. It was all too much.

Up until then, I had lived in the sheltered world of the sex industry. And I had come to believe that I was a star, especially after Cannes. But when I met all thsee people, I realized I was nothing. I was just a niche icon, not a real celebrity. I had sex on schreen; I did some perfunctory acting. These people moved and inspired millions of people with their music. All I did was contribute to Kleenex sales. There must be something more I could make of myself.

When we got back to the hotel, Joy returned to our room and I suddenly found myself alone with Manson. That's when it dawned on me: we were going to have sex. And I was cool with it: I was on such a high, and I liked him a lot.

"Let's take a bath," he said in a voice numb, deep, and slow from painkillers, when we walked into his room. He didn't give me time to respond. He just drew the bath, took off his clothes, and got in. It was strange to see him naked. He was tall, girlish, childlike, massively endowed, and covered in scars in various stages of healing.

I had preconcieved notion that the sex would be crazy, but he was tender and loving. He washed me from head to toe, working on my feet for a good five minutes. My tan line seemed like such a novelty for him. Then he went down on me for nearly an hour. It took me that much time alone to even assimilate the image of the naked God of Fuck eating me out, his white butt in the air.

Without drying off, we moved on to the bed. He started sucking on the soft underside of my arm, which I'd never had anyone do before. It was a turn-on at first, but he didn't stop and it got to be vampirish. That was the only thing he did that seemed the slightest bit kinky.

He asked me to get on top, so I lowered myself onto him. We had slow, searing sex. But every time I came close to orgasm, he'd pull me off to keep from coming himself. I would have told him, "Do me a favor, and start thinking about baseball so I can come," but he hated sports. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. When he tried to push me off for the tenth time, I slammed my body down against his and rubbed my clit back and forth along his pelvic bone until we both came together. I collapsed onto him and then, when I got my breath bath, got out of bed, and began dressing to leave.

"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To my room," I said.
"You can stay here and sleep with me if you want."
"No, I really should be going. I have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow."
"Why don't you stay and cuddle?" he asked.
"Did you just say the c-word?!" (Note: she hates cuddling)

I don't cuddle, I aly with him for a while longer and listened to him talk about religion. Then I made my escape. Rod (Note: her husband at the time) was still waiting in my room for me.

Afterward, Manson started callign me - every day. When I wasn't there, he would leave me half-humorous, half-insnae messages about wanting to set me on fire or feed me to Corey Feldman.

Since my marriage to Rod was loveless and sexless, I started seeing Manson on and off. But the more I got to know him, the weirder he became. He would talk about wanting to see girls fuck prosthetic limbs or sucking Twiggy's dick, and I'd never be able to tell to what degree he was joking and to what degree he was serious. And he wanted to fuck me in the ass a little too often for my comfort. Every time we were naked, he'd be going for my butt like a rat to cheese.

I still like him to this day, but I couldn't envision him as a boyfriend. It wasn't that I was falling in or out of love with him. It was just that I was still married, and the whole strange affair was beginning to seem like a bad idea.

hey danke is mal sehr interessant zu lesen,wenn man sich das so vorstellt. süß *g*

The Godfather of fuck halt

das ist ja mal cool!!