_._._._._

I watched my girl perform at the American Music Awards, grinding her body and rubbing against the other girls, and I got so hard I could barely stand up and applaud.

But Britney, the little button-nosed, blue-eyed girlie girl with the pierced naval, is a virgin. And so am I. In theory.

But watching her up there, the sex so strong I could smell it, all I could think about was my birthday. The truth is, in the world of stylists and hair dye, Fendi handbags (so last year) and management who treat you like diamonds when you're on, we're all sluts. Including me. Especially me.

So I've never put my dick in her. That much is true. But I've been fucked more than the whores in Charlie Sheen's black book, in more ways than one. And my girl - my svelte, wide-eyed, singing-and-dancing-to-the-top-40-teen-pop girl - is responsible for some of it. And watching her up there on stage with the fringed shirt, grinding her pelvis against the platinum blond who was actually playing an instrument, all I could think about was my birthday, the ultimate fuck. I know it was Britney's big moment. She got to host the awards and play like she was a real musician, and she had the whole world waiting to see what she wore. I should have been a loving boyfriend and just been happy for her, not sitting there thinking about my own prime moment. But if I were to be honest, my life is all about me.

Skip back a little to the day I turned 19. One more number to change in my bio. Name: Justin Timberlake. Favorite color: Baby blue. (That forever sealed my fate to get baby blue shit from across the world, from teddy bears to envelopes colored with pencil crayon.) Height: six feet. Age: 19. Now girls with braces who send money away for the Abercrombie and Fitch catalogues can upgrade their ideal age for a boyfriend. Now the girls who suddenly started watching basketball on TV because they know I like it can hold a slumber party to celebrate my birthday, since if history repeats itself in this industry, they'll have moved on to the next big thing by the time I turn 21.

But I'm not bitter. Really.

So happy fucking birthday. Now I can legally get drunk in Canada. And to spend any amount of time in Canada, you need to be drunk.

Isn't Busta Rhymes Canadian? If he weren't the shit, I'd say that to him to see how long before he tried to make imprints of his gold rings on my face. Sometimes you're screamed at so often and see so many "I luv Justin" posters that the only reaction you really long for is a bad one, because at least you know it's honest. I know the fans are what put me where I am, and I know there are many different types of fans with multi-faceted personalities, but some days it's hard not to look at them and think of the one that's suing you. Once at an autograph session an older fan, probably in her late 20s, thought I wasn't looking quite perky enough for her and made some joke about how the fans pay my bills. I wish I'd had my Visa bill on me. I would have handed it to her and said "Go nuts." It's also wild how the people who want to know you inside out are so quick to not understand when you're having a bad day. I don't want the real you. I want the you that I see in Teen Beat. I want the 10-inch doll that comes with puppet strings.

So it is with this knowledge that I turned 19, getting yet another gold N Sync necklace from my management, some stuff from the guys, even Joey, which was faintly embarrassing because on his last birthday I forgot his present and had to run out in the middle of the party to buy something. About the only birthday I care about anymore is JC's, because he's my boy.

Britney flew in from wherever she was, legs freshly waxed and wearing a little sun dress that showed off her boobs, as if any minute a photographer would pop out and yell "Britney!" Flash. My girl can play the game better than anyone, and I so love that about her.

When we got in my room she threw her arms around my shoulders and gave me a big enough tongue kiss to make my knees weak. "I got you a really great present," she said slyly, suddenly turning coy and sitting on the end of the bed.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I can't tell you," she said. "Not until tonight."

Sigh.

Usually I hate surprises unless they involve sex or money, but if Britney says she has a surprise, I don't push it. Her surprises haven't been bad yet, even if at the time they seem like more than I can stomach.

Skip to the end of the night, where we danced hard and drank enough that the six of us piled into the hotel with wobbly legs. My clothes were sticking to me from sweat, my hair and body smelling like skunky beer and cigarette smoke, not to mention the dry ice they'd sprayed through the club to offset the strobe light effect. Lance was tired, Joey did not have a woman, Chris was a little drunker than all of us and JC was quiet. Reflective. I couldn't really worry about any of it. All I could think about was my surprise.

Britney and I went in my room before we had time to watch the others file into theirs. As soon as the door shut I reached to put my arms around her, thinking if I was nice enough to her she'd at least give me head, if not put her fingers in delicious places. The booze made my body hotter than usual and I was certainly willing to repay the favor if that's what it took.

She stepped away and made a disgusted face. "Take a shower," she said, picking at my shirt until she pulled a corner of it away from my body.

"OK."

I went into the bathroom immediately, leaving the door open a crack as I stripped down and ran my hands through my hair. I knew the water would wash me clean, make me touchable. She didn't have to ask twice.

I turned it on hot and stepped in, letting it wash in rivers down my body, over my nipples, rush against my cock. There's no turn on like good water pressure, and under normal circumstances I would have stayed in there to jerk off, holding a nice image in my head of JC or Joey or one of my faithful band members coming up behind me to soap me up. But real sex was waiting in the other room. At least real oral sex.

I showered quickly and stepped out, grabbing a towel and securing it around my waist. I should have taken something in with me to put on, unless Britney wanted me naked when I walked out. "Hey Britney," I called as I started combing my hair back. "Throw me something to put on."

No answer. I turned slowly and looked at the door. It was shut. This must be part of her game. Fair enough.

I brushed my teeth, scrubbing them hard, spitting down the drain and flashing them in the mirror. I found a bottle of cologne and dabbed a little on my neck, refastening the towel when I was done and turning around to face the door. Deep breath.

I opened the door slowly. I knew there was someone in there. I could sense their presence. I rounded the corner to find Britney spread legged in the chair, a leg draped over each arm, and Joey's face buried between her legs.

For the first few seconds all I could do was stare. Finally she opened her eyes and looked over, her fingers still twisting in her hair, her hips still grinding slowly. "Justin," she said, smiling.

"But..." I cleared my throat. I scanned the room for lack of somewhere better to look. "But it's not your birthday."

"I know." She pushed Joey's head away gently and sat up, leaving Joey to kneel back and look everywhere but at me. I wanted to find some way to tell him that this was OK with me, OK as long as there was something in it for me, but I figured the best way to do that would be to not react.

"Lay down on the bed," Britney said.

I walked slowly over to the bed and laid down, folding my hands on my chest like I was in a coffin.

Britney didn't move. "Close your eyes."

I closed them obediently, swallowing hard and waiting. What was she going to do? She still didn't seem to be moving. If anything, it sounded like she was kissing Joey. Whatever Joey was here for, it definitely wasn't me. There was no way I could see Mr. Macho Italian going for that one.

Since I had no idea how long I was going to be laying there with my eyes closed, I tried to regulate my breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeper, almost like I was trying to go to sleep. I tuned out everything else, waiting patiently, trying to find something to think about other than my heart pounding in my chest.

Suddenly I felt the bed shift, moving me slightly. Someone had laid down next to me. I concentrated, trying to get a sense of who it was, when I felt soft fingers brush my stomach. It definitely wasn't Joey's fingers. They were too gentle for that. Joey would be insistent, yanking at my towel and jumping on top of me. If he were into it. But I still sensed Joey over by Britney. It could be anyone.

I felt a face loom over me, breathing on me. Hearing the breathing gave me a bit more of a clue, but it couldn't be....

"Open your eyes," Britney ordered.

I opened them and came face to face with the bluest eyes I know, the softest dark hair, the sharpest features...

"JC."

JC smiled a little, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through my wet hair.

"Happy birthday," Britney said. I was focused on JC, but I could sense her doing something in the corner, like raising her arms as if to say "ta da!"

I swallowed hard.

"I know it's what you wanted," Britney said. "It's so obvious. So I thought I'd give it to you."

I swallowed hard again. "Thank you," I said weakly.

My best friend for my birthday. It was a good idea, in theory. It was just...terrifying. My heart was thumping a million miles an hour, my vocal chords tightening into tiny violin strings.

"Is this okay?" JC whispered.

"Uh huh."

"Wellll..." Britney sang. I could just imagine Joey over there, getting impatient as fuck with all of this. "Kiss him."

I lifted my head as he lowered his and we bumped noses. We both laughed a little and tried again, me going right and him going left, and our lips met. Very soft and very nice. Our mouths didn't open immediately. We just kept our lips pressed together, as if we were getting used to the feeling.

I felt JC's fingers brush across my cheek and stop at my jaw, prying my mouth open a little and slipping his tongue inside. I immediately arched toward him, my hand going straight to the back of his head and pulling him closer.

"JC," Britney said. "Stroke his cock."

No. No. I wanted it to go slower than that. I wanted to lay there and make out with him and gradually explore his body with my hands. I wanted each touch to be a natural progression, from arms to nipples to stomach and on down. But Britney was calling the shots. The only reason I was allowed to do this was because she was involved, and I silently prayed for JC to know that.

He did. He reached down and parted the towel. I didn't realize how hard I was until I felt the cool air hit my erection, and my body suddenly felt like it was on fire. JC ran his fingers over it lightly at first, enough to make me ache with longing, and then wrapped his hand around it and began to stroke gently.

Oh Jesus, I thought. If he kept doing that, it was going to be the best 30-second birthday present I'd ever gotten. He kept it slow and even, but I still felt myself getting harder and wetter, trying not to move my hips in time with it. Please, I silently begged Britney. Please tell him to stop.

The alcohol, I thought. I can't come yet. I've been drinking. I never come this quickly when I've been drinking. But it wasn't helping. I still felt my insides twist, every cell and vein and muscle aching to move in time with his strokes. JC slid down and started sucking one of my nipples. That was breaking the rules, but Britney didn't say anything.

I wrapped my fingers in his hair, trying in vain not to arch my back against his mouth. Please tell him to stop, I thought. He won't stop until you tell him to.

"Suck it," Britney said.

No! No, bad idea! But it was too late. He was already licking his way down my body, lapping like a dog, using his free hand to spread one leg and then the other until he was settled between them.

Then I felt his mouth on me, moist and hot, taking me as deeply as possible and then pulling back to lick the head. I realized I was mumbling encouragement, getting vocal in spite of myself, thrusting my hips toward him and feeling him work on me faster and faster like he was hungry for it.

"Britney..." My legs started to tremble. Maybe this was all that was supposed to happen. A blow job from JC, and happy 19th birthday. "Britney, I'm gonna come..."

Britney's voice was throatier now and I realized that Joey had his fingers inside of her. "Stop."

JC pulled away and looked up at me with one of those gorgeous, dazzling grins. It was too much. He climbed up my body and rested an elbow on either side of me, waiting, his breathing even and his eyes glossy.

"Justin, you'd better get him ready."

Get him ready.

I pulled at JC's body, trying to force him higher up on me, finally grabbing at his hips when I had the chance and forcing them up to chin level. He leaned forward and put his hands above my head to support his weight, pushing his hips toward me until I could reach his cock with my tongue.

I began sucking him hungrily, my body coming alive underneath him. He thrust gently in time with my mouth, enough to go deeper but not so much that it would push him down my throat. Out of nowhere I thought about the Monty Python song - "sit on my face and tell me that you love me." I wanted him to shift his weight so I could explore more with my tongue, suck on his balls, lap at his ass.

Britney threw out another order. "JC, turn around."

I wasn't sure what she was talking about, but JC knew immediately. He spun around so he was facing the opposite direction and laid down on me so we were in a 69. I couldn't ever remember being so hard, so hot, so fucking turned on, me sucking him like I'd never sucked anything, him sucking me at the same time and sliding a wet finger in my ass. I bucked against him, spreading my legs wider. I heard Britney's far-off voice, still giving orders. I heard something like "two fingers" and then there were two inside of me, stroking, prodding, manipulating. I wanted to come so badly I could taste it, like when I'd jerk off and tease myself for so long that by the time I came it was one hard, long, warm gush.

Britney must have said "stop" because JC rolled off me, laying next to me as I panted. I ran my hand across my stomach, feeling that my skin was warm and clammy, wanting so badly to keep my fingers drifting down so I could touch myself and jerk off, just to end the suspense.

"Justin, do you want JC to fuck you?" I didn't know what Joey and Britney were doing. I really didn't care. I swallowed hard and nodded, then said "yes" just to make sure she understood.

"How do you want him to do it? Do you want to be on your back? On your stomach? On your side? On your hands and knees?"

I was in no state of mind to make a decision about anything, but I didn't want to hesitate and run the risk of her stopping everything. So I said the first thing that came to mind. "On my back."

JC was kneeling between my legs in seconds, lubing himself up, his brow furrowed in concentration as he prepared for entry. When he leaned in my legs moved quickly and my ankles locked on his shoulders. I knew I was a little closer to finally coming and I could barely stand the wait.

Then he pushed inside of me. I wondered vaguely if I was tighter or looser than he thought I would be. I wondered if he knew that I'd done this before, done it more times than anyone other than Britney could guess. My body folded almost in half as he leaned forward and put a hand on either side of me to support his weight. He started a rhythm slow and deliberate enough that I could feel him pulling and stretching me, every smooth movement of his cock inside of me, the friction of skin against skin.

"Arghuoiu," I said. No one ever said I was articulate while getting fucked. I got one more look at JC's pretty blue eyes and intense expression before I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Britney," I begged. "Tell him to go faster."

"OK. Go faster."

He obeyed, pumping faster and therefore harder. I reached down and stroked my cock, knowing it was against the rules but wanting to come so badly that I didn't really care. The first few times I got fucked I'd lose my erection the minute someone was inside me, but in the right mood, under the right circumstances, I could jerk myself off and come before they did. This was definitely the right circumstance.

I knew I was flushed and covered in sweat. JC leaned down to swipe his tongue across my neck, bending my legs even farther, and our sweaty stomachs touched. I knew I was inching closer to orgasm, a few steps away from coming all over the place.

"Justin." Britney's voice was coming from the side now, right near the edge of the bed. I opened my eyes and looked over. She had a Polaroid camera pointed toward us.

"I want a picture. For posterity."

"Uh," I said.

I came seconds after the bright camera flash, feeling spurts of wetness land on my stomach, me making a noise that sounded like a cross between a banshee and a wounded animal. JC pulled out and leaned back on his heels, pumping his own cock a few more times until even more wetness hit me.

I laid there panting, covering my arm with my eyes. I didn't want to look at JC right then, maybe because he had just given me a blazing orgasm or maybe because he finally knew what went on with Britney and I. I knew Joey was over in the corner, making Britney come if he hadn't already, and that he would bolt in roughly two minutes.

I felt a rough towel being dabbed on my stomach and realized that JC was cleaning me up. He leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. "You OK?"

I peeked out from under my arm, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah."

"Happy birthday," he said, giving me a moist, sweet kiss that I wished would go on forever.

"Hey, break it up, you two," Britney said. She sounded playful but I knew I'd hear about it later.

JC smiled before he got off and started getting dressed. I looked over to watch him pull on his pants and saw the door shutting behind Joey.

When JC had fastened the last button on his shirt, he smiled at Britney. Britney smiled sweetly and waved. Then he walked slowly toward the door and shut it behind him quietly when he left.

Britney hopped on the bed and laid next to me, rubbing her leg against mine. Her hand rested against my chest and she scraped her nails gently across my skin. "Did you like your present?"

"Yeah," I breathed, but it seemed like the world's biggest understatement.

"Good." She kissed me softly and I could taste her on her lips, like Joey had kissed her after kissing her nether regions. There was only one taste on my tongue and it was one I wanted to keep for as long as possible.

My birthday was the last time I got to touch JC other than in a brotherly, buddy-buddy sort of way. Our unregulated last kiss probably has something to do with it. But maybe if my girl gets a little more famous, gets to host a few more awards shows, she'll decide she doesn't want me anymore. Maybe my group's popularity will fade, the fans will get lives and she'll move on to some Freddie Prinze Jr. type, or maybe marry her 50-year-old manager. Then I'll finally be able to go back again.