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Exrated by Stevie J. Cole (10)

As soon as I open the door to my apartment, Heather looks up from the couch and smiles. She grabs the remote, turns the TV off, and folds her hands in her lap. She’s sitting so prim and proper she looks like some 1940s school marm.

“Ah-hem.” She blinks her eyes, and her grins widens.

“Yeah?” I toss my keys on the coffee table and flop down in the chair across from the sofa.

“How was…work.”

“Good.”

She nods her head, fighting a giggle. “Like really, really good, or just kinda sorta good?”

“Really? How old are we, twelve?”

She throws her hands up, laughing. “Hey. I’m curious—slightly jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Uh, yeah. I just got a subscription for PornHub—”

“A subscription? Heather, isn’t that shit free?”

“I mean if you want commercials and shit. I don’t have time for commercials when I’m trying to flick my bean, Jemma. Ten bucks a month. All the porn I can watch.”

I lift both brows and stare at her because is she serious? “You’re joking?”

“No,” she raises one hand like she’s taking a solemn oath. “I’m horny. I like porn.” She exhales. “Damn, it feels good to get that off my chest.”

“Oh, my God. You are like a man!”

“Porn is a way of life, my friend. One you are embracing on a whole new level.”

“Yeah, well…”

“So seriously, was it weird?”

“It’s really weird. There’s all those lights and cameras. And they have to do take after take after take.” I exhale. “Did you know that there is such a thing as anal training?”

Her brow wrinkles and her nose scrunches up. “What?”

“Yeah. Anal. Training. Evidently they have these butt plugs they use to stretch out your asshole.”

She snaps her fingers and nods her head. “That’s how come they can take it like a champ. I always cringe when I watch that stuff. Hmm.” She nods again and smiles. “I feel like this is one of those moments were the commercial with the little rainbow and butterfly come on with the logo, ‘The More You Know.'”

“The thing that just baffles my mind is that these people are completely unfazed by it. Hell, one of the guys that handle the equipment was nodding off during a girl on girl scene.”

“Wow. Was he gay?”

“I don’t know.” I giggle. “It’s just strange. There is no way I could be naked, spread eagle with some camera lens aimed on my crotch.”

“Yeah, that has to take some serious confidence to let people all up in your snatch like that.” She pauses. “Oh, think of how much confidence it takes to go doggie style and show the world your chocolate starfish.”

“You have such a way with words, Heather, you really do.”

I push up from the couch and head to my room.

“Hey, wait a second. I need details.”

“What details?”

“What does a fluffer do?”

“I’m not a fluffer.”

“Okay,” she smirks. “What does an assistant do?”

“I just got coffees and water, ran baths, passed out dildos.” I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous that sounds.

“Passed out dildos—standard. What about the guys? Any of them hot?”

“I only saw one, and it was just his back.”

“That sucks.” Suddenly, her eyes pop wide open. “Oh, my God, if you meet James Deen—the way that man looks at those women is enough to do it for me.”

“He looks at them like he wants to eat their skin, Heather.”

“Oh, he looks at them like he wants to eat something…”

I wave her off as I walk into my room and straight to the bathroom. I plug the drain in the tub, turn the taps, and quickly undress. I stare at myself in the mirror, and I already feel tainted. The sound of the running water only reminds me of Tonto, Claude, and breathy moans. I sink beneath the heated water, watching the water pummel down into the tub. My mind flips back to that guy, his ass flexing with each hard thrust, and, well, fuck it. I scoot down, place my foot on the wall next to the faucet and hang my right leg over the edge of the tub. I let the hot water pound down over me until my eyes roll back in my head.

Tainted. So fucking tainted.

After I’ve gotten dressed for bed, I grab my laptop and pull up Facebook.

There’s a video of a cat and dog fighting. A million selfies. An ad for Sephora and I have a message request from—shit—Tyler.