The Interview (18+)

"Is That What You Like?"

beep beep beep beep

You shot open your eyes and swung your arm over the side of your bed, slamming your hand on your alarm clock to shut it up. 6:30am. You rubbed your eyes and stretched, bringing yourself up and sitting at the edge of the bed. You're a journalist for an NY news website that nobody really cares about; it's essentially just a blog to talk about celebrities and what's going on with them. Today, you were scheduled to do an interview with your favorite comedian, Bo Burnham. A few weeks ago, you exchanged a few words on Twitter to talk about doing the interview to which he concurred almost immediately. He gave a date and the name of the hotel he would be staying at, and you agreed to meet him there.

You got dressed in a black pencil skirt, a white button up and a pair of simple, black heels. You did your hair up in a semi messy bun and did your makeup, completing the look with a bright red lipstick. You punched in the directions to the hotel on your GPS and began driving. It wasn't far from your apartment, and you arrived in less than 10 minutes, just before your scheduled interview at 9am. You gathered up your books and notepads and stepped out of your car, slinging your purse over your shoulder as you walked to the main doors. You walked up the receptionist and greeted her.

"Good morning! I am here for Mr. Burnham." You said with a slight smile. The receptionist nodded and started typing on her computer.

"Alrighty, Miss. Mr. Burnham is in room 203, here is your key card." She passed you a card and you hesitated to take it. Shouldn't he have just met me in the lobby? I didn't think I'd be getting my own key card. You took it in your hand and started making your way to the elevator. It stopped on the second floor and you stepped out, walking down the hallway to find his room. You found the door and stood there for just a minute. You were finally going to meet Bo, you've dreamed about this moment for years. You collected yourself and knocked on the door. There was no answer. "Mr. Burnham? It's the journalist here for the interview!" You shouted against the door, knocking another time. Still, no answer. You punched in the key card and opened the door, seeing nobody in the room, except for a suitcase and some clothes sprawled out on the bed. The curtains were closed and the lights were off, but out the corner of your eye you saw a door cracked open and the light turned on in there. You set down your purse and your notepads and walked towards the door. "Mr. Burnham? Are you in there?" You said in a low voice, peaking through the door and gasping out loud, stepping back loud enough for Bo to hear.

You are 99% sure you just saw Bo pleasuring himself. He was standing in front of the toilet and you saw his arm jerking up and down, his head rolled back. He heard your shuffling and quickly covered himself. "Oh- fuck. I am so sorry." His voice trailed from the bathroom. Your hand was plastered against your mouth, completely in shock of what you just saw. You'd be lying to yourself if the sheer sight of that didn't make you immediately horny and wet. You heard the bathroom door squeak open and turned your head slowly to meet Bo. His face was beet red and he stood in the door frame with his hands clasped behind his back. "Uh, that was not exactly how I wanted this greeting to go." He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head and looking down. You giggled a bit, you didn't hate what you saw. "It's perfectly fine, no worries. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Burnham." You reached your hand out for a handshake but immediately drew it back when you saw Bo's face, as if he was silently saying "You know where my hand just was, right?", he just exchanged the same words with a slight smile. You picked up your notepads and cleared your throat. "Right, well, why don't we just get started with the interview?" Bo agreed with a nod and you both took a seat in a couple of chairs.

You and Bo have been talking for about an hour about his career and indulging in his personal life a bit. He went on tangents about his anxiety and rough patches, and you listened carefully while jotting things down. Some topics were pretty touchy, others made you both laugh and make jokes. You were enjoying your time with him, alone in this hotel room, a little too much. You found yourself making flirty gesture and trying to get his attention. The swift action of crossing your leg over the other, revealing your thong a bit, made him throb. "Mr. Burnham, I want to ask you some questions about your recent tour that you just finished, your Make Happy one." Your eyes met his gaze and he smiled. "You don't have to call me that. Just call me Bo. I like that better." He remarked, crossing his arms across his chest, never breaking eye contact. You nodded and smiled back at him, adjusting yourself in your seat. You don't know why that made you clench, but it did. You proceeded to ask him questions about his tour, and you noticed him not really caring about his answers, he started to become short with you. It was rather a drastic shift and you wondered if you may have said too much or ended up annoying him.