This may come as a shock, but I'm a writer.
More accurately, I'm a screenwriter. A few years ago I wrote a screenplay that some friends managed to scrape some money together to film, and my friend who directed it had enough raw, amazing talent that the film was a hit on the indie circuit.
It got all of us noticed. The actors got gigs in Hollywood, I got an IMDB listing, and my director friend was hard at work on his next film, this time financed by someone else. And written by someone else, but that didn't hurt my feelings because he was such a wonderful person I was just happy for him.
Me on the other hand, I got a call from an agent in Hollywood, since I hadn't bothered to get one yet. Only this one represented an actress who also produced her own movies. I'm not going to tell you her name, but let's just call her Jenna. You'd know her to see her. She's been in a million things and was someone who I considered to be one of the most seductive women on the big screen.
And she most certainly was not a lesbian, unlike her new writer.
I had flown down to Los Angeles to meet with her, since she thought my writing on that little independent movie was exactly the kind of thing she was looking to make, and we became fast friends. The fact that I was a lesbian didn't seem to bother her, thankfully, and we spent two months fleshing out a story she had, with me doing the writing naturally.
At times it was hard, but I was loving every minute of her. Er, I mean it. Yeah, the process. Hanging out with this beautiful, leggy actress was fun, I have to admit, and many a night were spent in masturbatory bliss with her face in my imagination.
My hand had been my lover for a couple of years, since my last one hadn't ended all that well and frankly I didn't know a single damned person in la-la land. Except for my lovely, incredible actress.
We spent so much time together that we did in fact become very close, despite the fact that our writing sessions barely lasted an hour or two a day, depending on what else was happening at her production company. Always a dozen projects in the air it seemed.
During the time we were writing the screenplay, she had broken up with her famous boyfriend, though I didn't know why. She talked about it with me several times, but they seemed like they were a good couple. I had a little trouble understanding what the issue was.
Until that Friday. That wondrous, magical Friday.
I am most certainly not a social animal, so I didn't get out much. Jenna took it on herself to make sure I felt welcome in the film community, and included me in many meetings that I thought under normal circumstances the writer would not have been invited to.
She had also taken to inviting me over to her place on the weekends, just to hang out, ostensibly to work on the script, and have a couple of glasses of wine. Sometimes more than a couple.
Then that Friday.
As we walked into the surprisingly modest house, she said she was going to grab a quick shower and asked me to pour us both a glass. I did. And for a moment, I considered taking care of business while I imagined her soaping herself up only a couple dozen feet from me. Considered, but decided against it. It would provide enough fantasy for me later on, I thought.
"God that feels better," she said a few minutes later as she walked into the living room, wearing a rather clingy silk robe, barely long enough to cover her. I smiled and looked away, bashful as ever.
"You're killing me," I said.
"What?"
"Jenna, you're wearing a sexy gown overtop an even sexier body. You'll be lucky if you don't have to get your couch cleaned."
She laughed, then sat down beside me and grabbed her wine. I love her laugh.
"I think you need to get laid."
She was right of course, but who didn't? "Oh shut up," I said with a smile.
Suddenly she turned to look at me, serious. "Listen, I have a very important question for you, and I want you to be completely honest with me."
