Authors: Lola Hunter
Copyright © 2014 Lola Hunter.
All Rights Reserved.
Mailing List Signup
This story is for mature readers 18+ years of age due to sexually explicit language and content. All characters and specific locations are works of fiction and any relation to real life people, dead or otherwise, is completely coincidental. All characters in this story are of
legal ages, of non-blood relation and consenting adults of 18+ or older
official— I was now certified desperate. Day by day this town, this career, was turning me into someone completely different — Someone I didn’t want to be. As my knees were becoming bruised from the hard linoleum beneath me, I knew I’d finally hit rock-bottom.
“Aw, yeah,” the creep moaned as he stood in front of me. “That’s it. Take it, baby.” He plunged his tiny cock as deep into the back of my throat as I tried to ignore my on-repeat thought of ‘What the
are you doing?’.
My eyes were starting to water and I hoped he would finish soon. I tightened my lips around his shaft and positioned my hand on it so I could jack him off at the same time. He fell back on the wall, pumping his pelvis forward to screw my salivating mouth faster. I affected a moan to make it seem like I was enjoying it. He put his hand on the back of my head and pushed his cock so far in, I felt it move down my throat.
“I’m coming, I’m fucking coming. Shit.”
The director’s load entered my mouth and I managed to swallow it despite my gag reflex. I stared up at him with big innocent eyes as if to ask if I did all I needed to in order to finally get a bloody job in this godforsaken town. He helped me up off the floor and kissed me awkwardly.
“Good, that was good,” he said, stroking at my hair and gazing down at my breasts trapped beneath my tight t-shirt.
“Yeah. Sweet,” I said, trying to catch my breath and hold my nerves. “So, that’s it? I’ve got the job or…I mean, I’ve never really done this before.”
“I got a few more girls still to see, Sweetheart. I’ll call you. I promise.”
He straightened the glasses on his face, gave me a wink, and returned to sit behind the desk littered with head shots and resumes. I snatched my bag from the floor and exited the room.
A weary line of girls who resembled skinnier versions of me sat out in the hallway, awaiting their turn to be the next face of some campaign about weight loss or whatever it was. We were a dime-a-dozen: Girl-next-door, mousey blonde hair, blue eyes, all average weights for the States but overweight in the context of LA. The other girls studied me up and down as I left. I hated being perused like that but I guess I did the same to each one of them. That was the thing with auditions— Actresses always wondered, ‘What’s so great about her that they’d give
this job over me?’ But I knew there was another reason to their prying— They wondered how a plus-sized girl like
, who happened to have a little more baggage, was ever going to make it in Hollywood.
I lifted my chin up to force some confidence and sashayed my way through all of them to the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind me. I dunked my hands under the faucet and aggressively scrubbed them until they felt clean again. My OCD flared when I went against my conscience like today. I suppose it was a control thing. The amount of times I’d joked about sleeping with a director to get a job and here I was, knees and throat bruised from the throat fuck one just gave me. I bent down to gargle some water in mouth and caught my reflection.
“What a mess
I said out loud, wiping away a small tear that I would make sure was the only one I’d cry today. I frantically brushed down any stray hairs and wiped off the caked mascara under my eyes. No matter how put together I made myself look on the outside, it couldn’t make up for how messed up I was inside.
Inhaling the weird smells of Downtown LA’s streets, I lit a cigarette for some relief and meditated on my audition as I made my way back to my beat up old car. I couldn’t help but relive my audition: I killed my monologue piece and heaven knows I killed that blow-job. Surely
part had to be mine? Everyday I questioned why anyone, myself included, chose to pursue this damn career; Forcing myself to face more rejection than my high school life — which is a challenge, facing failure on a weekly basis, being scrutinized, pulled apart, and then there were the dark times like today when you’d let a casting director mouth fuck the shit out of you in hopes he’d give you the role that would pay you enough money to keep your apartment. Regardless, this was still better than rotting back in Kentucky with my suffocating, conservative parents who said my only hope in life was to find myself an alright man and hold onto him for dear life.
I began the draining two-hour long commute back to West Hollywood, passing the time with self-help audiobooks that were the inspirational spark in my otherwise gloomy days. They helped me to keep pushing that one day longer for my dream— That ever elusive dream where I yearned to be adored for exactly who I am, to change the opinion of what it means to be beautiful, no one was going to stand in my way of achieving that, not even every douche bag in Hollywood.
I arrived at Bangarang's at six in the evening, walking under its towering neon sign listing all the headlining comedians for the evening. It was Friday so I knew to expect a crazy shift as usual when all the hipsters and aspiring whoevers got off from their day jobs.
I squinted for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room then made my way behind the bar. My best friend and workmate, Astrid, saw me enter through the doors and gave me a smile from the stage.
“Geez,” she said, her voice booming on the speakers as she tested the mike. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“What do you mean?” I replied, trying to catch my reflection in the mirror at the rear of the stage.
“I mean you look exhausted.”
“Do I? I’m honestly fine so…”
“Sorry, babe. Not that you need me telling you that right now, huh? Anyway, How did your audition go?”
She jumped back down and walked over to give me a much needed hug. Astrid gave the kind of meaningful hugs that could make any day better — the kind that seemed genuine and loving. I held her a little longer than usual and buried myself into her hair.
“Hey, everything okay?” she asked, holding me by the shoulders to study my expression.
I dropped my gaze and sighed. “Seriously, it’s all good. I’m just…I really am tired.” If only she’d truly understand the broad spectrum of tired I was really implying. I don’t know why I could never open up about my larger, far more significant life problems beyond boys and body image. Perhaps it was because I never wanted to admit to myself that maybe I wasn’t cut out for this industry.
Regardless, Astrid offered her words of belief in her best friend:
value your talent and vision one day. Just keep hustlin’. You got it? You don’t give up. If anyone has the strength within them to do this, it’s you.”
Once seven o’clock hit, the rowdy crowd began to filter in through the doors, beelining straight to the bar where Astrid and I were at the ready. It was showtime.
“Hey, what’s up? What can I get you?” I greeted the first customers with affected enthusiasm that I knew came across as genuine charm.
I relished busy nights as I treated every customer as the person who’d give me my big break. It was a priority to make sure to speak to every person as sweetly as the next and turn on my flirt with the guys who’s manner or dress seemed more important than the rest. Occasionally, that would be coupled with them trying to feel me up and blaming me for sending them mixed signals the whole night — which was certainly draining — but if that’s what it required to achieve my goal then so be it. I’d learned early on that it was all about connections in this town and it didn’t hurt that it resulted in more tips too.
I returned to the bar from dropping some Jager shots off to one of the performers on the stage and saw a familiar figure standing there beside it.
“Hey Gunner,” I said giving him a polite hug.
“How’s beautiful Ellie today? Just the usual for me, babe.” I made him his vodka on the rocks with a lemon wedge and an authentic smile. “You stayin’ back late tonight? Me and the boys are gonna have some drinks later at Bar 5, you gotta be there.”
“Sorry, I can’t. I have a few auditions early tomorrow.” Gunner had always had a thing for me. His crushing on me was never a bother but he was about thirty years too old and a hundred pounds too overweight for my taste. It may have sounded hypocritical to judge a potential partner on that but the heart wants what it wants— I couldn’t help that I was attracted to fit types.
“Babe, you ain’t done ’til three and you still gotta be up and switched on for that bullshit. That game’ll kill ya, sweetheart. I swear to God, you’re better than all o’ that. But, what can we do when we love somethin’, right? And you know you always got your me here to fuck a muthafucker up need be, you know that I hope.” He threw me a cheeky wink and wandered off with his drink.
I smiled back and reached beside me for a cloth. That’s when my eye caught a shocking sight at the other end of the bar. My heart skipped a significant number of beats and my stomach turned. It was Rafe Williams, one of my favorite actors, in all his handsomely charming indie sexiness. Familiar, schoolgirl crush feelings bubbled up from the depths: Butterflies in my stomach, flushed face, loss of focus, and a sudden wish I had the guts to just say ‘Hello’.
“Hey! Yeah, you,” came a voice from directly opposite me. A muscular figure with a red t-shirt glared at me, clicking his fingers in my face. “Some service please. That
what they pay you for right, hun?”
“I—I’m so sorry. What can I get for you?”
“Two beers,” he said, not even bothering to make eye contact. I fulfilled his request and handed them back over to him. His response? To throw a ten dollar bill at me and storm off without a ‘thank you’. Luckily, service in this place had given me a tough skin. But by the time I went to look back to Astrid’s side of the bar, I noticed Rafe was gone.
“Um, hello?” I said, storming over to scold her. “Fan-girling the fuck out over there. Where’d he go?”
“Uh, who, babe?” Astrid said.
Williams.” She stared at me blankly. “You know. Kinda tall, kinda nerdy, smile to die for. Underrated actor, major crush, etcetera.”
“Woah, chill. I’ve never heard of him. If it’s the dapper dude in the suit then he’s over in his seat up there.” She gestured toward the front of the stage. He sat in the darkness of the audience at a table with a beautiful red head, whispering into her ear. My stupid self felt sick at the sight of them together. Crazy how I half-believed I might have a shot with him.
“Oh, God,” I said, grabbing Astrid by her arm again. “I’ve had so many fantasies about him, it’s almost embarrassing. I’m still haven’t adjusted to seeing famous people in the flesh yet, I guess, let alone