Literal God of fuck (Marilyn Manson One Shots/Imagines)

22-Jenna Jameson and her experience with The god of fuck

A/N : So, guys, in case you're wondering how was/is Marilyn in bed like, i've found an articel from Jenna Jameson's autobiography, where Jenna (she's a pornstar) describes her sexual experience with Marilyn i think in like 1995. I just thought it might be interesting for us all, and don't forget to leave a feedback in comments! Really wanna know what you guys think!

Yes, Jenna Jameson. She gives the details in her autobiography.

Below is an extract

My Night with Marilyn Manson - by Jenna Jameson

“There were stars everywhere, the paparazzi knew who I was, and every news channel was shoving a microphone in my face. After the red carpet, my friend Joy and I went to a reception. I looked into the tangle of VIPs and saw, towering over all of them, Marilyn Manson. I wnted to meet him, especially since I used to strip to his music. Before the thought left 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 walking around the party with me: Billy Corgan, Flea, Angus Young, Sting, Jon Bon Jovi, LL. Cool J, Rob Zombie, Joey Ramone - everyone I idolized was there. 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 of us, 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 grew bored of pelting Sherman Hemsley with foodstuffs, 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 this tall character with long stringy hair, black lipstick, pancake makeup, and mismatched eyes, and think of how surreal the moment was.
Throughout the movie, he kept making very smart, witty comments. I couldn't believe how intelligent and thoughtful he was. When I came onscreen, he cheered for me. As I became more comfortable, I put my hand on his leg. I didn't mean anything sexual by it, but he got shy. It was very cute, or at least as cute as a self-procalaimed 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 all one big joke. (If I'd done that many painkillers and muscle relaxants, I'd be dead in half an hour.) When everyone else became incapacitated - 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". (So Manson 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 that 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 skirt. 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 fundamentalists and right-wing conservatives want to stamp out in American culture.)

After fifteen minutes, we left to go to another party. When we got out of the limo, paparazzi were everywhere, blinding us with their flashbulbs. The first person we saw when we made it through the gauntlet was Prince. Somehow Manson knew him, and he introduced us. Prince said "hi" and reached to shake my hand. I'd never been so tongue-tied in the presence 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 these people, (I realized I was nothing). I was just a niche icon, not a real celebrity. I had sex onscreen; 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 and slow from painkillers, when we got to his room. He 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 a preconceived notion that sex would be crazy, but he was so tender and loving. He washed me from head to toe, working on my feet for a good five minutes.

My tan lines 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 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 back, 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 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?!" I don't cuddle, but I lay with him a little while longer and listened to him talk about religion. Then I made my escape. (Rod was still waiting in my room for me.)

Afterward, Manson started calling me - every day. When I wasn't there, he would leave me half-humorous, half-insane 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. Of course, I was very discreet about the fling. However, as soon as the paparazzi photos of us hit the press, Howard Stern was on the phone asking about it. I denied the whole thing (on the air and told him we were just friends.) But the next day Manson was on his show, blabbing about the entire thing. I never pegged him as the type to kiss and tell.

Also, please check out my new fanfic Saturnalia.
And who wants a song imagine?