Page 19 of Exrated
My ears perk up, and I suck back the tears. “Really?”
“Yeah, uh, Hudson Matthews, you heard of him?”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Well,” he says. “He wants you to send him your resume. He knows you may have auditions and is willing to be flexible, so it’s kinda ideal. I’ll text you his email, okay?”
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “Thanks, David.”
“Yeah, no problem…but hey, look him up first okay. Make sure you’re okay with it, but he’ll pay you well.”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
I hang up the phone and lie down, closing my eyes to take a nap and deny that my one shot at my dream has gone to shit. Fuck men. Fuck sex. And fuck amateur porn.
“Hudson Matthew Productions,” I say to Heather as I power up my laptop. “Does that sound familiar to you?”
“It rings a bell…”
“I swear I’ve heard it before.”
She shrugs. “Please let it be the company that filmsSons of Anarchy.”
“Yeah, right.”
I follow the link to the company’s website, and the second the screen pops up, my jaw drops a little.
“I told you…” Heather laughs. “Everything happens for a reason. This is a sign, Jemma.”
I stare at the screen. Pictures of women bent over taking it up the ass. Girl on girl. Vaginas. Vaginas. Vaginas.
“Jesus, David. Really?” I mumble beneath my breath.
“Fairytale Princess to Porn Queen.” She smirks. “It’s better to be a queen than a princess any day.”
“It’s a PA spot, not an acting role.”
"You are seriously going to be a fucking fluffer?" She pats me on the back.
"It's not a fluffer, it'san assistant."
She rolls her eyes and laughs. "Yeah, because what would they need you to assist with? Holding clothes, wiping splooge off cocks? Oh, my God, Jemma—what if they want you to help clean up the aftermath of a group scene."
“Uh, I’m not touching anybody’s semen.” I stare at the screen and laugh. “Well, at least it won’t be boring…”
“I wonder if you get to watch the scenes?”
I shrug. “Maybe…”
“Holy shit. I’d stay so fucking horny. Instead of cigarette breaks, I bet they give you masturbation breaks.”
“Porn stars, huh? I mean, you gotta have some level of respect for them. The level of self-confidence one must have to show their asshole to the world…”
“Right.”
We sit staring at the screen for a few seconds, then Heather taps my arm. “You tell them if they need an extra fluffer that you have a friend.”
“Fluffers are not real, Heather.”
