slowed and went to stand in the shallows, trying to let the procession of shining waves calm his mind. But when he broke the silence, his voice was as tense and bitter as before. “So, you’ve decided to give up the virgin shtick. Congratulations.”
“I would have thought you’d be flattered,” she said, injecting a note of hurt into her voice. “After all, I’m asking you to be my first.”
Despite himself, he felt a twinge of guilt. He said defensively, “If you are a virgin, which I doubt—”
“One way to find out.”
He turned to face her and caught an expression on her face he’d never seen before: naked anger. It vanished as he saw it, replaced by a look of sweet confusion. She squinted out at the ocean and said, “Listen, Jared, I don’t want to put you on the spot. If you really don’t want to take part in this, you could help me in some other way.”
“Remind me. Why do I want to help you?”
“Because it’s so much cheaper and easier than a libel suit.” She smiled at him.
He turned back to the ocean sharply to hide his own scowl of naked anger. Valerie had explained her scheme to him once already. She intended to use the loss of her virginity as a pilot for a new reality show that would be hers—produced and directed and presented by Valerie LeBlanc, with the lion’s share of profits going to the same Valerie LeBlanc. It would be a show on which virgins were deflowered publicly. Maximum publicity was guaranteed from the many news outlets that would rush to denounce it. Even people who didn’t get turned on by the idea would watch it out of sheer curiosity—like people drawn to stare at a car crash. Never mind the effect on the girls who appeared on the program.
Of course, such things existed already on the Internet—or, at least, footage existed that was claimed to be of sex with virgins. Anyway, it was the kind of thing that sometimes made Jared ashamed to be involved in pornography at all. In bad moments (when thinking about it gave him a hard-on, as it was humiliatingly doing now) it made him ashamed to be a man. The certainty that he himself wouldn’t be the leading man of this disgusting enterprise hardly helped. All he wanted to do was to stop it from happening. And then he began to feel uncertain of exactly where the line was drawn—why being part of a reality show in which Benita had sex publicly was okay. But Benita likes having sex in front of the cameras, he told himself. That’s where the line is drawn. A virgin doesn’t know whether she . . . oh, God.
And any hope of regaining his ethical footing was scuppered by a growing desire to throw Valerie down in the shallows and . . . not rape her. Not exactly. “Oh, fuck it,” he said without turning to look at her. “Explain what you mean. I might as well know what your plans are for us all.”
“Since you realize I’m going to win,” she said. “Smart. Well, it’s like this. I’ve realized I was being too conservative in choosing someone who’s already in the business. I was inspired, you know, by your friend Emily.”
Jared snorted. “If you’re hoping I have an in with George Clooney—”
“I was kidding,” Valerie said icily, “about George Clooney. I would have thought that was obvious.”
“You thought I would fuck you. I don’t know what could be more unlikely than that.” As he said it, he was miserably aware of his hard-on, which at any moment she was going to see. At least it would prove that he wasn’t impotent, for what that was worth. But of course she had never believed that—it was just a casual lie. For him a potentially career-ending lie, but that wouldn’t matter to Valerie.
She said, “I had in mind Ralph Anderman.”
Jared almost turned to her in shock. He caught himself in time and said slowly, “I don’t get you. He’s not even that famous. And he’s just turned down In Depth. What makes you think he’s going to change his mind to be on TV, screwing you?”
“Well,
“I would have thought you’d be flattered,” she said, injecting a note of hurt into her voice. “After all, I’m asking you to be my first.”
Despite himself, he felt a twinge of guilt. He said defensively, “If you are a virgin, which I doubt—”
“One way to find out.”
He turned to face her and caught an expression on her face he’d never seen before: naked anger. It vanished as he saw it, replaced by a look of sweet confusion. She squinted out at the ocean and said, “Listen, Jared, I don’t want to put you on the spot. If you really don’t want to take part in this, you could help me in some other way.”
“Remind me. Why do I want to help you?”
“Because it’s so much cheaper and easier than a libel suit.” She smiled at him.
He turned back to the ocean sharply to hide his own scowl of naked anger. Valerie had explained her scheme to him once already. She intended to use the loss of her virginity as a pilot for a new reality show that would be hers—produced and directed and presented by Valerie LeBlanc, with the lion’s share of profits going to the same Valerie LeBlanc. It would be a show on which virgins were deflowered publicly. Maximum publicity was guaranteed from the many news outlets that would rush to denounce it. Even people who didn’t get turned on by the idea would watch it out of sheer curiosity—like people drawn to stare at a car crash. Never mind the effect on the girls who appeared on the program.
Of course, such things existed already on the Internet—or, at least, footage existed that was claimed to be of sex with virgins. Anyway, it was the kind of thing that sometimes made Jared ashamed to be involved in pornography at all. In bad moments (when thinking about it gave him a hard-on, as it was humiliatingly doing now) it made him ashamed to be a man. The certainty that he himself wouldn’t be the leading man of this disgusting enterprise hardly helped. All he wanted to do was to stop it from happening. And then he began to feel uncertain of exactly where the line was drawn—why being part of a reality show in which Benita had sex publicly was okay. But Benita likes having sex in front of the cameras, he told himself. That’s where the line is drawn. A virgin doesn’t know whether she . . . oh, God.
And any hope of regaining his ethical footing was scuppered by a growing desire to throw Valerie down in the shallows and . . . not rape her. Not exactly. “Oh, fuck it,” he said without turning to look at her. “Explain what you mean. I might as well know what your plans are for us all.”
“Since you realize I’m going to win,” she said. “Smart. Well, it’s like this. I’ve realized I was being too conservative in choosing someone who’s already in the business. I was inspired, you know, by your friend Emily.”
Jared snorted. “If you’re hoping I have an in with George Clooney—”
“I was kidding,” Valerie said icily, “about George Clooney. I would have thought that was obvious.”
“You thought I would fuck you. I don’t know what could be more unlikely than that.” As he said it, he was miserably aware of his hard-on, which at any moment she was going to see. At least it would prove that he wasn’t impotent, for what that was worth. But of course she had never believed that—it was just a casual lie. For him a potentially career-ending lie, but that wouldn’t matter to Valerie.
She said, “I had in mind Ralph Anderman.”
Jared almost turned to her in shock. He caught himself in time and said slowly, “I don’t get you. He’s not even that famous. And he’s just turned down In Depth. What makes you think he’s going to change his mind to be on TV, screwing you?”
“Well,
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