My Big Break (New 10/28)

[Somebody]

There's been a whole lot of interesting parental figures in stories like these, but this mom has to be one of the most uniquely awful. She's so detached from reality, I worry she might stop understanding what traffic lights mean, yet so laser-focused on her daughter's career that all of her emotions revolve around it, especially the unapologetically negative ones. Meanwhile Lena is the picture of a professional, being nice without getting overly emotionally invested in a way that would only become messy, but that isn't what the poor girl needs right now!

This might be the best description I've ever read of a girl's first orgasm. Perfectly paced. I'm so glad she's found an actual friend here! until Julian showed up, the story was threatening to become as sad as it is hot.

[Emily]

There's been a whole lot of interesting parental figures in stories like these, but this mom has to be one of the most uniquely awful. She's so detached from reality, I worry she might stop understanding what traffic lights mean, yet so laser-focused on her daughter's career that all of her emotions revolve around it, especially the unapologetically negative ones. Meanwhile Lena is the picture of a professional, being nice without getting overly emotionally invested in a way that would only become messy, but that isn't what the poor girl needs right now!

This might be the best description I've ever read of a girl's first orgasm. Perfectly paced. I'm so glad she's found an actual friend here! until Julian showed up, the story was threatening to become as sad as it is hot.

Thank you so much for the comment, it really means a lot!

Yeah, poor Hadley is definitely experiencing the negative sides of Hollywood. It’s definitely adding to her embarrassment, but it is hard not to feel bad for her. I’m excited to write more about Julian. I was actually considering doing an ENM spinoff as well, focusing on how Julian has gotten to this point in the project.

Any additional comments would be greatly appreciated!

[flyingmonk]

Good stuff

[Bucket]

Exquisite. Really, really good stuff. I very much enjoyed the latest chapters, and I'm definitely liking where this is going!

[alberic]

I'm sorry, I wish I could like it more. I'm interested in the story and the characters, but as much as I try, I cannot get through the flowery prose.

I guess it's just not for me; others seem to love it.

[Emily]

I'm sorry, I wish I could like it more. I'm interested in the story and the characters, but as much as I try, I cannot get through the flowery prose.

I guess it's just not for me; others seem to love it.

Okay…?

Maybe just move on and read something else then. I’ve stopped trying to make everybody happy.

I appreciate the feedback, but find this more discouraging than helpful.

[Emily]

Chapter 13


That night, I lay awake in the dark. The ceiling was a flat, grey void, and the only sound was the hum of the air conditioner. I thought about the Department of Education seal and the way the ink had bled into the paper. I thought about the clinical way Lena described my body, as if it were a map for a textbook. Then I thought about the way my mother had wiped me down, treating my skin like a dirty countertop.

I couldn't stop thinking about Julian. I wondered if he was lying awake too, or if he was as terrified as I was. He had a dog named Barnaby and a father who viewed him as a medical project. We were both just tools for other people's ambitions. I felt a strange mix of dread and excitement, a knot in my stomach that wouldn't loosen. I was terrified of being seen, but for the first time, I actually wanted someone to see me.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up the dark room, casting a blue glow over my pillows. I reached for it and saw a message from Julian.

"Hey," it said.

"Hey," the message said.

I stared at the screen for a long time. My thumb hovered over the glass. I typed a reply and deleted it three times. Finally, I just wrote, "Hey."

"Can't sleep?" he texted.

I stared at the blue light of the screen. "No," I typed. "You?"

"Same," he replied.

Minutes turned into hours. We texted about everything and nothing. He told me about his favorite books and the way he liked to draw in the margins of his notebooks. I told him about the movies I loved and the way my room felt too small for all my thoughts. We didn’t talk about the documentary. We didn’t talk about the cameras or the doctors. We just talked.

The blue light of the phone was the only thing in my room. I felt the warmth of the battery against my palm. Every time the screen lit up, my heart beat a little faster. It was the first time in a long time that I felt like I was talking to someone who actually wanted to listen, not someone who was managing a project.

It was a strange, humming sensation, like a radio tuned just slightly off the frequency. For years, I had viewed other people as obstacles or audiences, but with Julian, the air felt different. My skin felt too tight for my body, and every time my phone buzzed, a sharp, electric jolt shot from my fingertips straight to my stomach. It wasn't the calculated "chemistry" Lena wanted for the screen; it was a messy, unplanned gravity that kept pulling me toward him. This was a real crush—not the curated version from a movie, but a frantic, breathless feeling that made me forget how to breathe normally.

I spent the next morning in a daze, the sterile walls of my house feeling more like a cage than a home. Every time I caught my reflection in the mirror, I didn't see the "biological awakening" the producers were filming; I saw a girl whose cheeks were perpetually flushed. I wondered if he was thinking about me, or if the silence between his texts was just a void. The thought of him—the way his voice rasped and the way he looked at me without judging my lack of curves—made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with medical exams.

The doorbell rang, and for a second, I hoped it was a mistake. But when I opened the door, Madison and Lauren were already there, their presence filling the entryway with a chaotic energy that clashed with the sterile silence of the house. They didn't just walk in; they invaded, bringing with them the scent of cheap glitter spray and the loud, overlapping chatter of people who didn't realize they were entering a war zone. My mother beamed at them from the kitchen, her voice a high-pitched, performative trill that made my skin crawl. She treated them like guests at a gallery opening, oblivious to the fact that my friends were the only reason I hadn't completely dissolved into the floorboards.

"Hadley’s practically a star already!" Mom exclaimed, gesturing toward me as if I were a prize pony she was preparing for auction.

Lauren gave me a knowing, supportive squeeze of the hand, but Madison’s eyes were narrow. She didn't look at my mother; she looked at me, scanning my face for the cracks. Madison could smell a secret from a mile away, and right now, I was radiating a frequency of pure, unadulterated panic. I wanted to tell them about Julian—about the low rasp of his voice and the way we had shared a secret language in a white hallway—but the words felt too heavy to lift.

“Upstairs. Now,” Madison commanded, not even looking at my mother. She didn’t wait for an answer, simply pivoting on her heel and marching toward the stairs with Lauren trailing behind like a loyal lieutenant. I followed them, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, feeling my mother’s gaze linger on my back—a gaze that wasn't maternal, but managerial.

The moment the bedroom door clicked shut, the atmosphere shifted. The silence of the room felt heavy, charged with the electricity of everything I was keeping inside. I didn't sit on the bed; I paced a small circle on the rug, my fingers twitching.

“Spill it,” Madison said, leaning against my desk with her arms crossed. She didn't sit; she stood like a sentry, her eyes tracking my frantic pacing. “You’ve been vibrating since we walked through the front door. Either you’re having a panic attack or there’s a boy.”

Lauren flopped onto my bed, the springs giving a familiar, tired groan. “She’s definitely vibrating,” Lauren added, though her voice was soft, devoid of the usual teasing. She looked at me with a quiet curiosity, her head tilted. “Is it the project? Or is it something else?”

"There's a boy," I admitted, the words rushing out of me like a broken dam. I stopped pacing and sank onto the edge of the bed, my knees knocking together. "His name is Julian. He's... he's in the documentary too."

“A boy,” Madison repeated, her voice flat but her eyebrows shooting upward. She didn't move from her post by the desk, but her posture shifted from a sentry to a detective. “So, the clinical study of puberty has actually produced some puberty. How poetic.”

Lauren let out a small, delighted squeal and practically bounced off the mattress. “Wait, a real boy? Like, a person with a name and a face, not just a casting call? Is he cute? Does he actually like you, or is this just a ‘we’re both miserable and naked’ kind of bond?”

"He's... he's actually really nice," I said, my voice trailing off as I looked at the four walls of my room. Suddenly, the space felt too small, the air too thick with the secret. I began to describe Julian—not the "subject" Lena saw, but the boy who liked drawing in margins and had a clumsy golden retriever. I told them about the hallway, the way he looked without the clinical lights, and the strange, humming comfort of our midnight texts.

“Oh, look at her,” Madison sang, her voice dripping with a mock-sympathy that was far too loud for the small room. “The little biological specimen has a crush. I can almost see the heart-eyes manifesting as a clinical symptom.”

Lauren didn’t just tease; she leaned in, her shoulder pressing against mine as she giggled. “Is it a forbidden love? Two star-crossed kids bonded by the trauma of public nudity? It’s practically a Shakespearean tragedy, but with more body oil.” They didn’t stop until I was buried in a pillow, muffled protests of "stop it" barely audible over their laughter. It was a relief, actually. The teasing was a familiar language, a way to turn the terrifying intimacy of my situation into something a joke.

But then the laughter died down. Madison’s expression shifted, the playful glint in her eyes replaced by that sharp, analytical focus. She leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms. “Alright, jokes aside. How did the video shoot go yesterday? Did they actually make you do the clinical stuff, or was it just more ‘vulnerability’ practice?”

The question sent a cold spike through my stomach. I stopped pretending to be suffocated by the pillow and sat up, my gaze drifting to the floor. The memory of the previous day was a blur of harsh lighting and the smell of antiseptic. “They did,” I whispered. “I had to... you know. The whole process. The climax. Everything.”

"The camera was so close I could see the reflection of the studio lights in the lens," I said, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "Lena didn't tell me to act; she just told me to explore. She wanted the 'authentic biological response.' So I did it. I touched myself, and for a few minutes, I forgot about the crew and the doctors. Then it happened—this sudden, crashing wave that felt like electricity jumping a gap in my brain. My first time, and it was recorded in 4K.”

"Wait, you actually did it?" Lauren’s voice jumped an octave, her eyes widening. "Like, right there? With the lights and the crew and... everything?"

“Yes,” I said, the word feeling heavy and strange. “Right there. In front of everyone.” I looked down at my hands, remembering how the cold air of the studio had felt against my skin, contrasting with the sudden, radiating heat of the moment. I explained how the camera had been positioned—not far away, but intimate, capturing every twitch of my muscles and the way my breath had hitched. I told them about the silence of the room, save for the low hum of the equipment and Lena’s voice, which had become a distant, guiding whisper.

"Well," Madison said, her voice suddenly sharp and decisive. "Since you've already mastered the art of the professional climax, why don't you give us a live demonstration? Right now."

The air in the room seemed to vanish. I stared at her, my mouth slightly open. "What? Here? Now?"

"Why not?" Madison stepped closer, her expression a mix of challenge and genuine curiosity. "We're your friends, Hadley. We've already seen everything. Besides, you're the one who's basically a scientific breakthrough now." She paused, her gaze softening just a fraction, though her tone remained commanding. "Remember the sleepover? I didn't hesitate. I did it right in front of you, no cameras, no doctors, just because. It's all the same thing—just you, your body, and us."

Lauren looked between us, her expression torn between shock and a strange, vicarious excitement. "I mean, if you're comfortable with it," she whispered, though she was already shifting her position on the bed to get a better view. "It would be... kind of amazing to see if it actually looks the way you described."

“Okay.” I didn’t know why I agreed, but the word escaped me before I could build a wall against it. It felt like a surrender, a sudden collapse of the last bit of privacy I had left to guard. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline from the studio, or maybe it was the desperate need to prove to Madison—and to myself—that I wasn't just a clinical specimen. I wanted to feel like a girl with friends again, not a project under a microscope.

I stood up slowly, the movement feeling like a slow-motion reel. My hands reached for the hem of my pajama shirt, the cotton fabric feeling coarse and heavy against my skin. With a single, sharp tug, I pulled the shirt over my head, the sudden rush of air hitting my chest like a cold wave. I dropped the garment to the floor, where it landed in a silent, crumpled heap. Next came the shorts; I slid them down my hips, the elastic snapping against my thighs with a soft, rhythmic thud. Finally, I stepped out of my underwear, leaving the last barrier of modesty behind on the carpet.

I stood before them, completely stripped of my clothes and my composure. The air in the room felt heavy, humming with a strange tension as Madison and Lauren watched me. I felt small, my slight frame casting a thin shadow on the rug, but the way Madison looked at me wasn't clinical. It was mischievous.

She leaned forward, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across her face. "Just imagine," she said, her voice dripping with a playful irony. "A few more months, the documentary drops, and suddenly you’re the gold standard. You’ll officially have America’s most famous pussy."

The words hit me like a physical jolt. I felt the heat rush from my neck up to my hairline, a deep, pulsing crimson. "Madison!" I gasped, though I couldn't stop the small, nervous laugh that bubbled up in my throat. The absurdity of it—the idea of my most private anatomy becoming a national landmark—was almost too much to process.

"I'm serious," Madison continued, her eyes dancing with amusement. "People will be analyzing your folds in classrooms from Maine to California. You're not just a student anymore, Hadley; you're a biological monument."

"A biological monument," I repeated softly, the words feeling ridiculous in the quiet of my room. I didn't want to think about the classrooms, the textbooks, or the thousands of strangers who would eventually see me as a case study. I wanted the world to shrink until it was just the size of my mattress.

I lay back on the bed, the cool fabric of the duvet pressing against my spine. I didn't look at Madison or Lauren; instead, I stared up at the ceiling, letting the image of the grey void swallow the room. I reached down, my fingers finding the small, sensitive point Madison had described earlier. As I began to touch myself, the noise of their presence faded into a dull hum. I focused on the friction, the slow build of heat, and the way my breath started to hitch in a rhythm that belonged only to me. For a few minutes, I wasn't a lead actress or a clinical subject. I was just a girl discovering a secret.

The friction built a slow, humming heat that radiated from my core. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the fact that Madison and Lauren were inches away, their breathing synchronized with mine. I focused on the sensation—a tight, coiled spring of tension that grew with every circular motion. It wasn't like the studio; there were no bright lights or Lena’s clinical prompts. There was only the soft give of the mattress and the sudden, sharp awareness of my friends' gaze.

A slickness blossomed between my thighs, a sudden, heavy warmth that made the duvet feel damp beneath me. I stopped moving for a second, surprised by the sheer volume of it, the way my body seemed to be producing a tide of its own. It was a physical manifestation of the tension, a biological green light that I hadn't known how to trigger until now.

"You're getting there," Madison whispered. She was leaning over me, her voice a low vibration that seemed to hum right through the mattress. "Now, stop thinking about the room. Stop thinking about us. Imagine Julian. Imagine him standing right where Lauren is, looking at you exactly the way he does in those texts."

I closed my eyes and let the room vanish. I stopped seeing the beige paint of my walls and the silhouette of my friends, and instead, I saw the dim, flickering light of the studio hallway. I imagined Julian standing there, his shoulder brushing against the wall, that small, crooked smile playing on his lips. I thought about the way he looked at me—not as a biological specimen or a lead actress, but as someone he actually liked. The memory of his voice, low and rasping, echoed in my mind, and the sensation of the text messages we had exchanged for hours felt like a physical touch against my skin.

The feeling of wetness was overwhelming now, a heavy, sliding warmth that made me feel completely open. As I pictured Julian’s hand resting on my waist, a jolt of electricity shot through my lower stomach, tightening the coil of tension. I felt good—not just the physical release, but a strange, soaring sense of power. For the first time, the vulnerability didn't feel like a weakness or a medical requirement. It felt like a secret, a private fire that I was fueling with the thought of him.

My fingers continued their frantic, rhythmic dance, chasing a peak that felt closer with every breath. The image of Julian’s eyes—dark and knowing—locked into place behind my eyelids. Then, the coil snapped. A sudden, violent wave of pleasure crashed over me, starting in my core and radiating outward to my fingertips. I gasped, my back arching off the duvet, as a series of sharp, electric pulses seized my muscles, leaving me breathless and trembling in the sudden silence of the room.

The world stopped spinning, leaving only the heavy, thrumming silence of the room. I lay there, limbs feeling like lead, my chest heaving as the last of the electricity faded from my nerves. A slow, warm saturation settled over my skin, and as I finally relaxed back into the mattress, I felt the sudden, sliding weight of the fluid. It escaped the center of me in a steady, warm stream, dripping slowly down the crease of my buttcrack and pooling against the fabric of the duvet. The sensation was visceral and honest, a wet trail of evidence that I had actually crossed the threshold.

For a moment, I just breathed. I felt incredibly good—a floating, airy lightness that seemed to erase the clinical walls of my bedroom and the oppressive weight of my mother’s expectations. The shame that usually clung to me like a second skin had evaporated, replaced by a buzzing contentment. I wasn't a specimen or a lead actress in that moment; I was just a girl who had discovered a hidden switch inside her own body. Not for a camera, not for Dr. Voss, but for myself.

The floating feeling didn't last long. The cool air of the room rushed back in, reminding me that I was still naked and that two people were watching me. My muscles slowly unclenched, and the frantic drumming of my heart settled into a steady, heavy thrum. I lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling, feeling the dampness of the duvet against my skin.

Then, the silence broke. Lauren didn't say a word; she just lunged forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a clumsy, enthusiastic squeeze. Madison followed a second later, her movements more measured but her grip just as firm. They crowded around me, a tangle of limbs and soft fabric, pulling me into a collective embrace that smelled like Lauren’s strawberry shampoo and Madison’s expensive laundry detergent. For a moment, I was buried in them, shielded from the rest of the room.

“We love you.” Madison’s voice was muffled against my shoulder, stripped of its usual clinical edge. “But you are definitely going to need a new duvet cover.”

The laughter that followed was light and genuine, breaking the lingering tension of the act. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, feeling a strange sense of victory. For the first time since the auditions began, the nudity didn't feel like a requirement or a test. It felt like a bridge. I shifted, feeling the wetness of the release cooling against my skin, but instead of the usual urge to hide, I felt a quiet sense of ownership.

[flyingmonk]

Another outstanding chapter. Live the way you write.

[tiger_kitten_2025]

Really good chapter

[Somebody]

I just adore the contrast between the sickly supportive way that most people treat her, and the genuinely loving teasing she gets from her real friends. It's so sweet how well they get along.