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The next 48 hours saw over 25,000 people apply.
Now, it’s important to realize that there are a lot of people who want to get into porn. You wouldn’t believe the slush pile our casting director has. And it’s not just guys. Girls apply probably more than guys. And Cheryl looks through all of them. She watches all the fucking videos and reads all their letters. That’s how dedicated she is.
But at the end of the day, we need a certain girl.
So after a frenzied level of activity that meant literally taking less than half a percent of those that applied, fifty girls were called in, specifically from the New York Tri-State area.
I know they were looking for people with prior experience. We had a couple stars come out of retirement to be a part of this project. But even with experience, we also want a fresh face. A face that doesn’t scream out slut. Because this shit is going to go mainstream. Someone should be able to put on an I.E.—Illicit Escape—in a crowded library and no one should be able to know that they’re watching porn.
I mean, you ever been on an airplane with your kid, and you’re sitting there and the dude next to you has his iPad out and he’s watching two chicks fucking blow a dude? With your son or daughter just sitting there and you’re like what the fuck, right?
Think about how disrespectful that fucker is. Now, if he had an I.E., then he can zap out and you wouldn't have to worry about your kid being exposed to shaved pussies until you know, later on in life when he knows how good fucking feels.
But enough about this shit. I actually came here today because sure, I’m a bit curious as to the quality of these girls that we’re casting.
“We were just going through some exercises to classify the girls, Ethan,” Joel tells me. I nod and sit down.
‘Going through exercises’ means that Joel is looking for ways to separate out the wheat from the chaff.
I sit down on a folding chair in the room across from five couches with fifty girls in various degrees of scantily clad attire. Some girls are sitting there in sweat pants and others are sitting in just a bra and panties. A few are topless, thinking it helps their chances.
Not likely.
“Alright, ladies,” Joel says going through his clipboard. “Let’s give us all sexy faces.”
It’s fucking hilarious how the mood seems to change as fifty girls go from various stages of being bored but trying to look excited, to trying to look smoldering hot. They scrunch their noses, wrinkle their eyes, leave their mouths open, bat their eyelashes, and start breathing heavily.
I scan the girls. Yeah, you heard me; I’m enjoying the fucking view.
I mean, who knows, I could end up fucking one of them.
Fuck, I wouldn’t mind taking my turn through all of them. In fact, a part of me wants to hire them all and bring them over for one night and fuck all of them.
But that would probably end the casting call in disaster. We’d fall behind in our product launch. All for what? Pussy?
It’s not worth it.
Or is it?
My eyes set upon a girl in the middle. She’s wearing a tight black dress that hugs her legs and ass like a second fucking skin.
Oh, fuck. Yes, I definitely would love to tap that fucking ass. She’s got a slender fucking body with curves in all the right places. Her blonde hair is shoulder length and her eyes are bright and intelligent.
She’s wearing a sticker on her chest—similar to the other girls. Her sticker says #26.
And she couldn't look more bored if her life depended on it.
“Numbers 3, 4, 6, 9, 12, 24, 34, 38, 43, 45, 49, 50, thank you,” Joel says looking at his clipboard. “You can go now.”
So that’s it. After dragging themselves all the way down to our Times Square studios, they sit around on couches for a while, and then they’re told they can go. Which is a polite way of saying fuck off.
Normally, this would be my fucking cue as the girls with the numbers mentioned get up and proceed to the door. I’d be up and following them out, looking to fuck one of these sluts and take her home with me for the night.
But right now, I’m fucking entranced just look at #26 sitting there, even though she’s completely bored out of her fucking mind.
I look down at my casting sheet and try to find a name that matches #26. There it is. Brittney Roman.
“Alright, ladies, let’s get up and bend over,” Joel says. “Show me that ass.”
