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 depen
ded 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.”
Jesus, is he for real? This is what he fucking does for work?
As if on cue, each of the girls gets up. They turn around and bend over. Some look back at Joel. Several look toward me. They may not know who I am, but they can tell the tone of fucking deference that Joel used when he addressed me.
The girls are either bending over and slowly shaking their ass, or running their hands over their ass cheeks as they look back. A few are just bent over with their hands against the couch. One woman has fiery red hair and five-inch stilettos. She's wearing nothing else. She saunters over, running the palms of her hands up and down her naked thighs. She's holding her gaze on us—she has her eyes on the prize—and she slowly bends her knees, squatting down to the floor.
As she does this, she intentionally spreads her knees open, giving us an unobstructed view of her pussy. She's puckering her mouth—with those full, glossy lips—and parts them just enough to let the tip of her tongue come out and seductively drag across her upper lip.