For as long as I can remember, my life has been one relentless, steaming pile of shit.
Okay, maybe not entirely shitty.
Turns out, whatever cosmic prick cursed me with this existence felt bad enough to toss me one solitary bone.
I was good in bed.
Not just "hey, that was nice" good. I'm talking "ruin your life, call out of work, forget your own name" good.
It's not exactly the kind of talent you put on a resume, but when it's the only hand you're dealt, you brag about it anyway. From a young age, I was a magnet. Being poor didn't matter when I had that kind of pull.
I grew up fast, hosing down my youth in a blur of bedrooms, honing the craft of pulling and pleasing until I hit absolute peak.
By twenty, I was a goddamn machine.
"You're wasted on me, Andrew," Bridget used to whisper. She was my favorite regular, the kind of girl who'd trace circles on my chest after a three-hour marathon. "You perform like an Adult star. You should be getting paid to ruin lives, not just mine."
That was the spark. The golden ticket out of the gutter. I figured the adult industry was my manifest destiny.
If only it were that fucking easy.
Fifty scenes later, I was still a mid-tier nobody. I realized pretty quickly that I only felt like a legend because back home, there was no competition. In the industry, I was just another set of abs.
There were guys more talented, more hung, and for some reason, way more bald.
I stayed, though. I was a workhorse, the reliable guy they called when the lead flaked or couldn't get it up. I made enough to keep the lights on and the fridge stocked with bottom-shelf beer, but I wasn't a star. I was the guy you forgot the second the credits rolled.
Then Bruce called.
He offered me a feature with Jessie Reagan. The Queen Mother of MILFs. The woman who had been the lead architect of my teenage fantasies. I'd gooned to her clips so many times I could probably map her anatomy from memory.
This was it. The break. The chance to finally stop being a body and start being a name.
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I stood by the edge of the king-sized prop bed, buck naked and throbbing. My cock was already a steel rod, straining toward the ceiling before the lighting cues were even set.
Around me, the crew moved like shadows. I could hear the muffled snickers of the cameramen as if they knew I was gonna fuck this opportunity up.
My heart was slamming against my ribs like a caged animal.
"Relax, Andrew," Director Bruce called out, his eyes glued to the monitor. He noticed the beads of sweat rolling down my abs. "Your heart is visible through your chest. Breathe, kid. We need a performance, not a cardiac event. We start rolling in sixty seconds."
I tried to channel that cold, professional detachment I'd cultivated over fifty shoots. I told myself she was just another actress. Just another body.
Then the door opened.
Her expensive and seductive perfume hit me first.
Jessie Reagan walked in.She was draped in a silk robe that looked like it was holding back an explosion.
Her sharp eyes locked onto mine. She avoided my face and looked straight down at my trembling, vein-split erection and smirked.
"So," she purred, her voice a low vibration that made my vision blur. "This is the new toy Bruce promised me? I hope he doesn't break easily."
"He's good, didn't you watch the videos I sent you?"Bruce said.
"I don't watch other people's videos," Jessie said. "I only watch the ones I'm in. You sure this 'Andrew' is as good as the hype, Bruce? He looks like he's about to vibrate out of his skin."
Fuck. Focus, Andrew. Don't be a fanboy. Be a professional.
"He's just spooked," Bruce countered, though I could hear the doubt creeping into his tone. "Once the red light hits, he's a machine. Best stamina in the mid-tier circuit."
A few muffled snickers erupted from the lighting crew. "He looks green as hell. Look at him sweat. Is he leaking or is that the gym?"
"Someone get Dre a towel!" Bruce barked. "God, what is wrong with you today? You're ruining the matte finish on your chest."
A PA scurried over and jammed a rough towel into my hands. I wiped my face, my hands trembling so hard I almost dropped it. The fabric felt like sandpaper against my hyper-sensitized skin.
"You good, bro?" Bruce asked, leaning in close.
"Never better," I lied. My voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well.
"Can we shoot now?" Jessie sighed, sounding bored. "I have a flight to Vegas in four hours."
I managed a stiff nod. "Yes, ma'am. Ready."
Bruce stepped back, gripping the megaphone. "Positions! Lighting is set. Sound is rolling... and... ACTION!"
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Jessie walked towards me. She moved toward in a slow catwalk, her eyes never leaving my face. Then, with a flick of her wrists, the silk robe pooled at her feet like a discarded skin.
There she was.
The legend in the flesh. Her breasts were masterpieces of soft, heavy curves, topped with dark, pebble-hard nipples that seemed to point directly at my soul. Below, her waist tapered into the kind of hips that were built for wreckage, leading down to a manicured, dark thicket of hair that pulsed with the musk of a woman in her prime. She was a goddamn sun, and I was flying too close.
My heart began to stutter.
Thump-thump... skip. Thump... skip.
I've done this fifty times. I've fucked models and starlets. Why now? Why her?
Then she was standing a few inches from me. The heat radiating off her skin felt like a furnace. The scent of her perfume clogged my throat, making every breath a struggle.
"I want to feel you stretching me out, Dre," she whispered, her lips brushing against the shell of my ear. Her warm breath sent a violent shiver down my spine that ended right in my straining cock. "Do you think you can actually handle a woman like me? Or are you all talk?"
Then, she reached out. Her hand was cool, soft, and terrifying, wrapped around the base of my shaft.
It was the trigger.
The electrical surge of her touch collided with the frantic, irregular rhythm of my heart. A blinding flash of white light exploded behind my eyes. It felt like a tectonic plate had just shifted in my chest, crushing my lungs under a thousand tons of rock.
"Bruce..." I tried to gasp, but my throat was a desert.
The world tilted. Jessie's smirk turned into a look of confusion, then horror, as my eyes rolled back. I wasn't going to be a star. I was going to be a headline.