Do you live for the fantasy?

I have this recurring fantasy.

It’s about Jason.

And for once, it has nothing to do with our hot, sweaty, naked bodies entwined in a soft, comfy bed. For once, no throbbing cock or wet pussy.

This one is simply about meeting him.

Picture this. Opening night for his newest movie. Let’s say it’s either The Expendables 2 or Killer Elite. It can vary.

Leicester Square, London. I’m there, alone. Standing in the crowd, watching everyone from the biggest movie star to the lowliest, but still lovely Big Brother contestant pass through on the red carpet.

I’m nervous. Butterflies in my stomach and all that.

And then, I see him.

He suited up for the occasion. Matching Ray Ban aviator shades, red tie, blue suit. He’s looking dead gorgeous.

I’m looking like an absolute loon, with my banner, waving and hollering his name.

It’s no use. He doesn’t hear me. Dozens of other loons are pushing me to the back.

I decide to have one more go.

“HEY STATHAM!!” I yell out.

And this time, he hears me. Turns around, looks me dead in the eye. I point to my banner.

It says “Do you think I’m sexy?”

He walks up to me and says “Yeah.. I think you’re sexy.”

I turn my sign around. On the back, it says “Care for a snog?”

He chuckles and plants a kiss on my cheek. Then, he signs an autograph and poses for my old camera.

And then he’s off.

Let me ask you this. Do you know how far I would go to make this particular fantasy come true?

How far would you go to make a fantasy come true?

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