The start of an interview

As she stepped in, the young woman looked even better in person than in her photos—if that was possible. Going purely on looks, you'd have to admit she was the best fit for the job.

But that was never your criteria, unfortunate for her. As she entered, you got a good look and couldn't help noticing how attractive she was. You knew this interview would be fun. She reached out her hand. "Mr. Johnson, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Jane. Thank you for taking the time."

She wore simple clothes—not the skimpy outfits more experienced girls sported to tease old pervs like you, hoping you'd look but not touch. Not that it ever worked. Her baggy layers made it tough to gauge her body fully.

You nodded, shook her hand. "Pleasure's all mine." You motioned to the couch across from you—the one you'd had since day one, stained by hundreds of girls' cum or yours. As she sat, you pulled out a binder. "You've got some experience, but this is worlds away from Kansas commercials. Not everyone cuts it out here. How long you been in L.A.?"

"I've only been here a little while," she said, "but I'm hoping to start with a TV show or movie and work up. I know I've got the talent, drive, and ambition. If you give me a chance, I can prove it."

You smiled. You loved that go-get-'em naïveté Midwestern girls brought—it made them so easy to use however you wanted, **** to avoid crawling back home.

"That's a good attitude," you said, "but attitude's not enough out here. Let's get started."

Over the next half-hour, you ran the standard interview: previous jobs, line reads, questions. It felt legit to most girls who came through. You were pleasantly surprised...she was solid. Great perk of the gig: anyone who reached you could handle the work, making your real decisions easier.

Afterward, you leaned back. "I'm just not sure. Lots of girls want this spot, and while you're good, you lack the experience others have."

She looked crestfallen...the face of too many rejections. Perfect, you thought. She'd be eager now.

"Thanks for your time," you said, rising to show her out. "Nicole will see you—"

"Please," she cut in. "Isn't there anything I can do to show you I can handle this job?"