Thin Line

Thin Line 2

March 8, 2011

I never kept promises, it’s not a bad thing, I guess. I just mastered what everyone else’s doing.

It’s like a never-ending photo-shoot. It’s like they want my face plastered all over the world; in every wall, in every window, in every surface. Acting is not just acting, acting has a lot of baggage. Participating in photo-shoots is one of them. You have to be a model, be a singer, dancer, and a role-model all at once; It’s a need for a successful career in Hollywood. Sometimes I’m so tired with following orders that I just wanted to quit and just become a director or producer—that way, I’ll be the one who’s giving orders now. 

It’s too early for that though, and besides, I can’t leave acting. Not just yet. A passion is a passion, no matter how fucked up it may be. 

This model that I’ve been paired up with just couldn’t take her hands off of me—and I mean that literally. She’s been sending hints ever since this shoot started, sliding her hands through my back, moving her head near to me, and she kept on sending me this acute stares. It’s not that she wasn’t attractive or anything, I just, you know, can’t she wait just for a moment and not distract me during a shoot? The shots might come off as awkward, but fortunately, the photographer kept on shouting nice things so I’ll assume it’s going just fine.

“That’s perfect, last shot,” I almost rejoiced and jumped when he said that, but didn’t and just did my well for the last take. “And we’re done for today.” Fucking brilliant. The model tore herself away from me with a knowing glance while she slide her hand down my back. 

I stared at her blankly but with a smirk so she’ll know where to go next. “Dylan, it has been a pleasure to work with you.” Unluckily, the photographer approached me, laying his hand towards me which I shook. “You’re effortless, my dear, the shots went amazing.”

“Glad you like them.” was all I could say, and since I’m a man that does not say a lot of things, I ended it with a smile and then left. 

I took the girl into my yacht, and well, went further. I like taking girls into my yacht since the complex is private, and there could be no paparazzi driving around in boats and what not, so I wouldn’t get caught. I like banging girls privately, I don’t like my sex life to be public, so I’m doing my best to hide all the girls I had sex with so it wouldn’t create that much of an issue. And well not to mention, my parents don’t tolerate me sleeping with random girls so it has been an on-going secret until now.

She came after like three minutes, and I wasn’t even getting to the point yet, which frankly was a bore. “You’re so hot.” She moaned, licking her lips while doing so. I didn’t say anything and just continued only until round three since I was interrupted by my phone ringing; All the fucking time.

“What?” I didn’t even bother to say hello, I don’t have time to be fucking nice to everyone. 

“Dylan, where are you?! You should be on your flight back to LA by now, you have an awards show.” My manager, Stan, exclaimed. Holy shit. I immediately checked the time on my wristwatch and saw that it was already 11:30; my flight was supposed to be at eleven, well fucking shit. 

“Shit, I totally forgot, I’m on my way to the airport now.” I threw my phone on the bed, and gathered all my clothes on the floor.  

“Babe, where are you going?” The model I just slept with asked, she was still naked but I couldn’t care less since I was busy putting my clothes on. I looked at myself in the mirror and figured that I looked pretty swell, except for the sex hair, but I guess this will do. “I need to go back to LA, late for my flight.” When I was about to get my phone, she beat me to it and called her phone with it using the emergency keypad since it’s locked.