The Audition That Changed Everything I Thought About Myself

Camila was twenty-seven when she decided she was fed up with being invisible. She worked as a librarian at a neighborhood branch and spent her days between quiet shelves, returning greetings with a barely sketched smile. She was the kind of woman nobody noticed at first glance, though on the second, if there was a second, people usually got stuck looking longer than expected. She had chestnut hair to her shoulders, light eyes, and a mouth that always seemed on the verge of saying something that never quite came out.

That Thursday morning, however, she had left the building with a brown envelope under her arm and her mind made up. She had answered an ad on the internet. An adult modeling agency was looking for fresh faces. Unfamiliar faces, the notice said. And Camila couldn’t think of a better description of herself.

They had told her to come at four in the afternoon to a building with no sign on a narrow street in the center. She climbed three floors in an elevator that was too small and knocked on a dark wooden door. A man in his forties opened it, with rolled-up white shirt sleeves and a trimmed beard shaped with the precision of someone who looked at himself in the mirror a lot.

—Andrés —he said, holding out his hand—. You must be Camila.

—Yes —she murmured, and felt her voice come out weaker than she would have liked.

He showed her into a room that didn’t look like an office. Gray leather sofa, floor lamp with dim light, a rug that swallowed the sound of her heels. In one corner there was a camera mounted on a tripod, pointed at the sofa. Camila swallowed.

—Sit down, please —Andrés said, pointing to the sofa—. Before we start, I want to make something clear. Nothing is signed today. What we do in this room stays in this room unless you decide otherwise. All right?

—All right —she answered.

She wasn’t sure whether that sentence calmed her or scared her more.

He sat down opposite her in a leather armchair to match the sofa. He crossed his legs, rested his hands on the chair arms, and looked straight at her. There was no haste in his gaze, but no indulgence either.

—Why do you want to do this, Camila?

She had rehearsed the answer for days on the bus that brought her from the suburbs. She had prepared lines about liberation, about money, about breaking with a life that didn’t belong to her. But when she opened her mouth, all those phrases evaporated.

—I don’t know —she said, and felt stupid instantly.

Andrés smiled for the first time. A small smile, almost paternal.

—That’s an honest answer. The others would have worried me.

***

He asked her questions for almost an hour. Some were silly: when was your first kiss, what did you do last New Year’s Eve? Others left her silent for too many seconds. If you were alone in a room with a man you really liked, what would you do first? When was the last time you fingered your cunt thinking about someone you knew? Had you ever fantasized about being watched by more than one person at the same time while they fucked you?

Camila answered everything. Not eloquently, but truthfully. She told him she slipped two fingers inside herself in bed while thinking about a customer at the library who had never given her more than a greeting. She told him that in the shower, sometimes, she imagined two men at once, one in front and one behind, and that she came very fast. Each answer made her feel a little less dressed, though she was still buttoned up to the neck.

—Good —Andrés said at last—. Now comes the hard part. I need to see how you move. I need to see your body. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But if you want to keep going with this, you have to cross that line today. With me or with anyone else. Here, at least, there’s a camera you can look at before you learn to forget it.

She looked at the camera. The camera gave nothing back. She looked at Andrés. Andrés waited.

—Do you want to continue? —he asked.

—Yes —she said, not knowing where the word had come from.

She stood up. Her legs trembled a little, but not as much as she had imagined. She began with the blouse. Button by button, without looking at him, staring at her own hands as if they belonged to someone else. The blouse fell onto the sofa with the sound of light fabric. She was wearing a beige bra, the least sexy one she had found that morning, because she had been embarrassed to put on something pretty for a situation she still didn’t understand.

—Don’t look at the floor —Andrés said from the armchair—. Look at me.

She raised her eyes. He wasn’t doing anything different. He was still seated, hands still, gaze steady. But that steadiness held her up more than anything else she had heard in years.

She unbuttoned her pants. Let them fall and stepped out of them, catching the hem awkwardly with her foot, which made her blush. She was left in her underwear. The dim light drew shadows across her collarbones and stomach. For half a second she felt ugly, and then she didn’t feel anything specific anymore, only exposed in a way that didn’t quite hurt.

—Turn slowly —he said—. I want to see you all.

She did. A full turn, her arms a little away from her body, like a painting being adjusted under the light. When she faced him again, he nodded.

—Keep going.

She took off her bra. Her tits were left bare, small and firm, the nipples already hard as pebbles, tightened by the cold and everything else. She pulled off her panties with a speed that surprised her, as if she had understood that the longer she took, the harder it would become. The panties snagged for a second at her ankles and she noticed, with a sharp stab of embarrassment, the dark patch of moisture in her crotch. Andrés saw it too. He said nothing, but one eyebrow moved slightly. And then Camila was standing there, on a rug that swallowed her feet, completely naked in front of a man she had known for two hours, her shaved cunt almost bare and already shining between her thighs.

She had expected shame. What she felt was stranger: relief.

***

—Sit down again —Andrés said—. On the sofa. Put your feet on the armrests.

She obeyed without thinking. Once she was in position, the sofa cradled her back and her knees fell open, pointing to the two opposite corners of the room. It was the most exposed posture she had ever been in before someone. More than any gynecologist visit, because there was a protocol there and here there was nothing like it. Her cunt opened fully, the lips parting under their own weight, the swollen clit already peeking out between the folds. She felt a thread of wetness slide down to her asshole and did nothing to cover it. She couldn’t.

Andrés stood up. Came closer slowly. He knelt in front of her, not on top of her, but beside her, like an expert studying an object before touching it. He stayed a few seconds looking at her open sex, without pretending otherwise, with the same attention he would have given the first page of a book.

—I’m going to touch you —he said—. Not sexually yet. Professionally. I want to see how you respond to someone else’s hands. If you want me to stop at any time, you say “stop” and I stop. Understood?

—Understood.

He touched her. He ran his fingers along her thighs toward the inside, unhurried, like someone checking the texture of an expensive fabric. He brushed her hips, climbed up her side, slid down her stomach. He cupped her breasts with open palms, not squeezing, and pinched her nipples very gently between thumb and forefinger, one first, then the other. Camila arched her back half an inch without meaning to. She realized she was holding her breath and forced air back in.

When his fingers reached the insides of her thighs, she was already soaked. Her cunt was dripping in a way that felt almost ridiculous, and every time he ran a fingertip across her groin, an entire muscle inside her tightened. She didn’t know when she had started getting this wet. Maybe when she unbuttoned the first button. Maybe before, when he said her name for the first time in the landing. Maybe weeks ago, when she opened the agency’s reply email and read the date of the appointment.

—You’re ready —he said, and there was no surprise or triumph in his voice, only a statement of fact—. You’re dripping, Camila. Your cunt is shining from here.

She nodded, unable to speak. Hearing her name and the word cunt in the same sentence, spoken in that calm voice, made her stomach clench.

—I’m going to keep touching you. This is sexual now. Do you want that?

—Yes. Please.

***

Andrés opened the lips of her cunt with two fingers of his left hand. He looked at what was inside for a second, as if measuring it, and then lowered his head. The first lick was long and flat, from the entrance to the clit, unhurried, dragging all the wetness upward. Camila let out a short, sharp moan that she didn’t recognize as her own. He licked her again, and again, and again, each pass a little tighter, until he trapped her clit between his lips and started sucking it slowly, his tongue moving around it.

—Oh, fuck —she said, and it was the first time in years she had said that word out loud.

He didn’t answer. He kept eating her pussy with the calm of a man who had done this many times and knew there was no prize for finishing fast. He put his whole tongue inside her, pulled it out, circled her clit, sucked on it, penetrated her again with his tongue, came up once more. Camila closed her thighs around his head without realizing it and he pried her legs open with both hands, firmly, without stopping eating her pussy for even a second. His tongue went in and out in a rhythm that made her lose track of everything.

When he slid two fingers inside her, she let out a low, long moan. The fingers went all the way in on the first push because she was so wet there was no resistance. He curled them inside, found a spot, found it, and started massaging it while still sucking her clit. Camila gripped the edge of the sofa with both hands. She felt her hips moving on their own against his mouth, pushing, searching for more.

—Do you want more? —he asked, lifting his face for an instant. His beard was shining up to his cheeks.

She answered with a hip movement she hadn’t decided to make. He understood. He added a third finger, and with his other hand he motioned for her to get up.

—Come here. On your knees.

Camila slid from the sofa to the floor with her legs still trembling. Andrés stayed seated in the armchair facing her. He loosened his belt, pulled down his pants and underwear to his knees, and showed her his cock, thick, already hard, curving slightly toward his belly. She stared at it for two seconds before bringing her face closer.

She licked it first from bottom to top, from the balls to the tip, the way she had seen it done. Andrés didn’t help her or correct her. He let her go at her own pace. Camila opened her mouth and took him slowly, first just the head, tasting the salty flavor on her tongue, then daring to take more, until it hit the back of her palate and she gagged. She pulled off, breathed, and went back down. She started sucking him with awkward movements at first and then more and more confidently. He rested a hand on the back of her neck, not pushing, just guiding.

—That’s it, yes —he said in that low voice—. Suck it slowly. Use your tongue underneath.

She obeyed. She ran her tongue over the frenulum every time she came up and felt the cock throb in her mouth. Her mouth filled with saliva and the string of it ran down her chin. With one hand she gripped the base and worked him in the same rhythm. With the other, almost without thinking, she had gone back to touching her cunt.

Andrés let her stay like that for a few minutes. Then he held her face with both hands and gently pulled her back.

—Up on the sofa again. On your back. Open your legs.

***

He stood up. Took off his shirt with a calm that felt endless to her. His body wasn’t a model’s, but it had the solidity of someone who walks a lot and doesn’t look at himself too much in the mirror. He came to the sofa, lifted her hips with one hand, and placed the tip of his cock at the entrance to her cunt. He stayed there a second, rubbing it over her lips, wetting himself with her slick, running the head over her clit again and again until Camila moaned in impatience.

—Put it in me —she said, and was surprised by how blunt the sentence sounded—. Please, put it in me already.

He penetrated her in one thrust, not roughly but without stopping halfway. Camila felt herself go breathless at the exact moment he buried himself to the hilt, and she stayed there, suspended in a second that didn’t seem to belong to any clock. She felt him fill her completely, against the cervix, and let out a long moan she didn’t even try to control.

Then he moved. At first slowly, measuring her breathing, pulling almost all the way out and sliding back in to the base so she could feel every centimeter. Little by little he increased the intensity until the sofa began to creak under both of them and the wet sound of her soaked cunt could be heard over everything else. Camila clung to the edge of the cushion, then the backrest, then his arms. Each time she found something closer to hold onto, and that seemed like a ridiculous discovery in the middle of everything else.

—Look me in the eyes while I fuck you —he said.

She looked at him. He held her gaze while thrusting hard, his cock going in all the way each time, and Camila’s eyes filled with tears for no reason, or for too many reasons, she didn’t know. He grabbed one breast with his right hand and squeezed it, pinched her nipple between his knuckles, and with the other hand found her clit and started rubbing it in circles while he kept fucking her to the hilt. Camila felt the first orgasm arrive like a small wave, not the big one yet, one that shook her whole body and clenched her cunt around his cock.

—Good girl —he murmured—. You came right away.

She didn’t know what to answer. She just nodded, still trembling.

There was a moment when he stopped, pulled out, and asked her to turn over and get on all fours on the sofa. She obeyed. The new position opened everything in a new way, her ass raised, her cunt exposed again, and when he entered her again she felt him deeper, lower, almost somewhere in her stomach. Andrés was holding her hips with both hands now, and he fucked her with a steady, marked rhythm that made her tits hit the back of the sofa on every thrust. With one hand he stroked her back, the nape of her neck, her hair, and every so often he gave a soft tug, pulling her head back, as if he wanted to remind her she wasn’t alone inside the scene.

—Tell me what you want —he said, never stopping.

—Harder —she answered, and this time the word came out on its own—. Fuck me harder.

He obeyed. He hammered into her with all his hips, to the hilt, until the sound of flesh against flesh filled the room. Camila buried her face in the cushion and moaned in gulps. She could feel his cock hitting a place that made something inside her open. She felt the climax building again, slower this time, deeper.

—Do you want to keep it like this or do you want more?

—More.

He leaned over her. Ran his thumb over her asshole, very slowly, barely pushing, and whispered in her ear what he was going to do. Camila nodded before fully processing it. Andrés pulled his cock out of her soaked cunt and rubbed it over her ass, using it like lube. Then he set the tip at her asshole and pushed patiently. Camila held her breath and relaxed at the same time, because she had learned in the last hour that both things could happen at once. The head of his cock went in and she let out a sharp moan. He stopped. Pushed another centimeter. Stopped. Another. Camila was breathing through her mouth, cheek against the cushion, eyes half-closed.

—You okay? —he asked.

—Keep going.

He kept going, too slowly, giving her body time to understand what was happening. Camila moaned, this time long, this time without holding back, this time not caring who heard her on the other side of the walls. When he was all the way inside, he stayed still for a moment, letting her feel him. She had never felt so full. It itched, burned a little, and at the same time her cunt clenched just at the idea of having it there.

When he moved for the first time in that new intimacy, she felt a mix of discomfort and something nameless, something like opening a door that had been locked for years. It hurt a little. She liked it more. Andrés moved with calculated slowness, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the base, and each time he tore a deeper, more guttural moan from Camila. He reached around her hip with one hand and found her clit with two fingers. He started rubbing it in the same rhythm as he fucked her ass, and he slid the other hand into her mouth. Camila sucked his fingers hungrily, tasting herself. She stopped thinking completely.

He kept going until he felt her whole body start to tremble. He grabbed her hair with his free hand, wound it around his fist, and pulled just enough to force her to lift her head off the cushion.

—Come again —he told her—. Now.

***

The climax shot through her as if someone had pulled on an invisible cord running the length of her spine. It wasn’t long. It was intense in a way that left her speechless for a few seconds, her cunt convulsing around nothing and her ass clenching around his cock in spasms that drew a rough gasp from Andrés. He held out for two, three more thrusts and then pulled out abruptly, grabbed himself with his hand, and came over the small of her back, over the base of her ass, in hot spurts that Camila felt landing on her skin one after another. He dropped to his knees on the rug, breathing hard, his cock still dripping into his hand.

They stayed silent for a while. Camila sat up awkwardly, her body still trembling, semen sliding down one side to her thigh, and sat on the sofa with her legs pulled up to her chest. Andrés handed her his shirt. She put it on over herself like a towel, wiping with the hem without ceremony.

—Are you okay? —he asked.

—Yes.

—Really?

She took longer than expected to think about the answer.

—Yes. I didn’t expect to be okay. But I am.

He nodded. He didn’t smile. He stood up, poured her a glass of water from a carafe on the side table, and left it next to her.

—The camera wasn’t recording —he said then—. I don’t usually record the first trial. If you want to keep going, I’ll call you next week and we’ll start working for real. If you don’t want to, that’s fine too. You don’t owe me anything and I don’t owe you anything.

She drank the whole glass in one swallow. She dressed slowly, noticing how her cunt and ass still throbbed with every movement. She combed her hair with her fingers in front of the hall mirror. When she turned to say goodbye, she found him already wearing his shirt and the door open.

—Call me —she said, and was surprised by the firmness of the word as it left her mouth.

She walked down the three floors. Outside, the late afternoon sun hit her face and made her narrow her eyes. She walked toward the bus stop with a strange feeling in her chest, a kind of heat that wasn’t exactly happiness but was close enough, and with the hot sting between her legs reminding her at every step of what had just happened.

That night, in bed, staring at the ceiling of her room, she finally understood what had happened in that room. She hadn’t discovered she wanted to be a porn star. She had discovered that for twenty-seven years she had had a body that wasn’t entirely hers, and that that afternoon, for the first time, someone had helped her take possession of it. She slipped a hand between her legs almost without thinking and stroked her swollen cunt, still sensitive, until she came once more, this time alone, in silence, her mouth open against the pillow. The rest, if he called back, if she signed something, if she went ahead with the agency, was just detail.

She turned off the light. She fell asleep with a small smile no one saw.