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I stepped off the bus onto Sunset Boulevard on my thirtieth birthday, broke but unwilling to give up. The casting call was just another chance in a long line of rejections.
Inside, I gave it everythingâyears of frustration, hope, and grit poured into a single monologue. The casting director barely reacted. âThank you,â they said, and I walked out, as unsure as ever.
A week later, the call came: I got the part. It wasnât big, but it was real. That role opened doors, and months later, standing on stage clutching an award, I knew it had all been worth it. Dreams donât come easy, but they come.
That was less than a year ago, and the studio apartment I lived in has since turned into a small mansion. But it feels huge, perhaps because I live there alone, though there's no shortage of female guests, to put it diplomatically.
I'm by no means ugly. "Cute" I've been told, "7/10". But with the power and wealth of fame, I now know what it feels like to be a perfect 10, maybe even 11.
Any woman is within reach, single or not. Sexual doors I didn't even know existed have opened up for me.
Let's enter them together.
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Thank you for reading.
In short, this scenario revolves around my somewhat unusual kink: Women who only wanna fuck me because I'm famous.
Kinks: Passionate sex, doggystyle, dom/sub, dirty talk, realism, detail, build-up
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