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When I walk into my trailer after a long afternoon on set, I just want to crash on the couch and nap until the director calls me back out for my next scene. Maybe review my lines first, not that I have many. Tonight we’re shooting the movie’s big sex scene.

But as I walk over to my desk to pick up the script, I find a surprise waiting for me.

A giant dildo.

It’s standing tall on top of my copy of the script, making it impossible to miss. I’m no expert when it comes to cocks, but this thing looks realistic. There’s a large vein running down the side and a well–defined mushroom head on top.

I can’t help but smile. This has to be James’s doing. We’ve been playing practical jokes on each other all week, most of them alluding to our upcoming sex scene together.

This morning I got in early and smeared my lips in the brightest red lipstick I could find.

Then I snuck into James’s trailer and kissed the crisp white collar of the shirt laid out for him by the costume designer.

He actually tried to wear it anyway, winked at me as he walked on set with the imprint of my lips peeking out from under his blazer.

But as soon as the director noticed, he ordered one of his assistants to find a clean shirt for James to change into.

Too bad. I’d love it if that little prank had made it into the movie.

Picking up the dildo from my desk, I read the note tied around the base. It’s hand–written in big strokes of jet black ink.

Harper–

Thought you could use some inspiration for our big scene tonight. Don’t take it too literally though—this thing is only half my size.

Do yourself a favor and try it out. Think of it as a warm–up to get into character. You just might earn an Oscar if you show up looking flushed all over.

Of course, if you’d prefer a sneak preview of the real thing, you know where to find me.

–Your Partner in Crime

P.S. Please don’t be offended if I pop a boner tonight. You’re a beautiful young woman. It’s only natural for me to get excited about being in bed with you.

At first I’m shocked. Is he flirting with me? Using a dildo ? The man’s twice my age! Sexy as hell, yes. Single, yes. A bona–fide movie–star, also yes.

But still. Even in the movie, our relationship is inappropriate. Forbidden. I’m playing a student and he’s my teacher.

One thing in the note really stands out to me though. I can’t get it out of my head. Is his cock really twice the size of this dildo? That seems impossible.

And yet…it makes me wonder.

I know I shouldn’t let myself go there, shouldn’t even be thinking about what James looks like naked. But I can’t help myself.

In just under an hour, we’re going to pretend to have sex with each other. On camera. With the crew watching. James has already warned me that once we get into the bed on set, the only thing he’ll be wearing is a modesty sock over his cock.

That makes me both excited and nervous at the same time. I’ve never filmed a sex scene before. I’m not entirely sure what to expect.

But I don’t think I’ll need to “warm up” with the dildo as his note suggests. I get aroused just being around James. Every time he touches me, I get tingly. And once we’re on set tonight, our nearly naked bodies pressing against each other, I have no doubt that my skin will develop a healthy glow.

Hopefully that’s all the cameras will pick up.

Because under the covers, I’m pretty sure the rest of my body will have an even stronger reaction.

I just hope my pussy doesn’t get so wet that James notices.

The flimsy little stick–on underwear the costume designer instructed me to wear tonight aren’t going to go very far in hiding my excitement.

Hell, I’m already turned on just thinking about it. If James weren’t so much older than me—and so far out of my league—I might even allow myself to consider the possibility of having sex with him for real.

But that’s exactly the kind of scandal I need to avoid right now. Besides, I’m only eighteen and far too inexperienced to please a man of his caliber. He probably fucks a different woman every night of the week. It’s best to avoid getting too attached.

I squeeze the dildo in my hand. It’s surprisingly dense. Is this what a real cock feels like? I’m embarrassed to say I’m not sure.

The only thing I’m sure of right now is that this dildo prank of his demands a strong response. Something overtly sexual, over–the–top.

I can’t let James have the last laugh, that’s not how I operate. We have less than an hour until our big scene. I need to come up with something to escalate things even further and put the ball back in his court before then.

***

My name is Harper Layne and I’m a virgin.

There, I said it. Now you’re in on my secret.

For any other eighteen–year–old, it’s perfectly normal to still be a virgin. But society has different expectations for me because I’m Hollywood’s favorite bad girl. I’m supposed to be self–destructive and shallow. Beautiful but bitchy.

It doesn’t matter that I’m not actually any of those things, except maybe beautiful. Or so I’m told.

The whole world seems to think they know me.

They’ve seen my movies, watched my shows, seen my photos plastered all over the tabloids.

Every week the gossip columns come out with a new rumor about me, and it almost always involves my sex life.

Some new guy I’m supposedly hooking up with, some other guy I’m cheating on him with.

Hell, they’ve even published a few pieces implying I might be a lesbian.

I don’t trust the media.

Why should I? They make me out to be some kind of sex–crazed maniac. Which is ironic, given that I’m a virgin. An innocent photo of me holding hands with my best friend became an international sensation. Somehow that was proof of my lesbian tendencies.

Or my personal favorite, when the paparazzi caught me making out with a very nice, very hot guy in the ocean.

I barely even knew him, it was our very first kiss.

But here in Hollywood that photo became irrefutable evidence that we were fucking.

He got so freaked out by the attention that he dumped me the next day.

I haven’t even attempted to date anyone since then, which is probably for the best since all the guys I meet are egotistical assholes anyway. Seriously, actors are the worst. Especially the successful ones. It goes straight to their head.

So here I am, a virgin at the ripe old age of eighteen. It’s kind of embarrassing. Everyone seems to assume I’ve had sex. I’m a movie star, right? My life must be one constant thrill after another.

Not.

The truth is that my life is kind of boring. Sure, I get to hang out with famous people all day, get to be on the VIP lists for all the hottest new restaurants and clubs in LA. But it’s hard to enjoy any of it when everything I do in public goes viral for the whole world to see.

It hasn’t always been this way. A few years ago I was considered a child prodigy. Every director wanted me to be in their movies, and nobody seemed to care very much about my life off–screen. I had a wholesome reputation.

I can pinpoint the exact moment that everything changed, the night that people started referring to me as a wild child.

It involved a whole lot of alcohol and some poor decisions, and it happened right after the series finale of my TV show aired—the same show that catapulted me to fame and turned me into a household name.

While we were filming, I had stipulations in my contract that I had to maintain my reputation, had to be America’s sweetheart. So I played the part. I dressed in cute but conservative clothes, I never cursed in public, I avoided drugs and alcohol.

It wasn’t that hard to do. They kept me sheltered. I didn’t even go to school. They brought tutors to the set and made me study between scenes. I never really had the opportunity to be anything but good.

Besides, I was only sixteen when the show ended. Practically still a kid.

But as soon as the director called “Cut!” that last time, everything changed. Suddenly my agent was trying to find more mature roles for me so I didn’t get type–cast. I took jobs playing slutty high school girls, runaways, pregnant teens.

And then came the bender. The first and only time I ever got so drunk that I puked. The whole thing was caught on camera by the paparazzi. By the time I woke up the next morning, the video was streaming on every major celebrity gossip website. It was even picked up by a major news network.

After that, everyone just kind of assumed that was my typical Friday night. Everything I’ve done since then has been warped into some strange alternate–reality version of events.

Surely a girl who gets drunk and parties every night is having lots of sex, right?

Anyway, the movie I’m currently starring in is almost certainly not going to help my reputation. I accepted the role over a year ago, before the media turned on me. Back then I was still Little Miss Innocent, America’s favorite child star.

This movie was supposed to be my chance to prove that I’m not a kid anymore, that I can handle more serious roles.

Except that’s already become obvious from all the pictures posted online. People might not respect me as a real actress yet, but it’s not because they still think of me as a kid. They’ve seen me in a bikini. They know I have breasts.

Which makes the nudity I agreed to do for this movie even worse. The whole world is going to see my tits. And James fucking Grant is going to touch them.

No big deal, he’s only the hottest man in Hollywood. Every woman in the country has probably fantasized about him. His silver–gray hair, his steely blue eyes, his svelte body. Even his voice is sexy. Deep and melodic. Rumor has it he’s quite talented in bed too.

And I get to have pretend sex with him on camera. Not the romantic kind either. Our scene is pure filth, practically pornographic.

Me, the virgin. The girl who has no idea what the hell she’s doing.

Luckily the character I’m playing is also a virgin. Hopefully James will chalk up any awkwardness on my end to my fabulous acting abilities.

***