Casting About: Part 1 [MF][Mast][ENF][Exh]

**Casting About: Part 1**

Note: Original post was removed due to a link to Wikipedia (go figure).

I started writing this after reading Robert Evans’s The Kid Stays in the Picture. It’s slow to start (sex-wise), but I’m pretty sure from the first chapter title, you can tell it’s not going to stay PG forever.

—-

**Darling Starts a Porn Company**

The thing about fame is that it attracts all sorts, the eager and the hesitant looking to push their limits, the smart and the naïve, the good and the bad. Fame attracts them all, and it doesn’t really care about the wants or needs of anyone. I was a failed actor, so I knew all about this. I’d been on dozens of TV shows over the years, mostly playing “Clean-Cut College Student #3” or some other *totally* fleshed out role, and I’d even headlined a few pilots that never made it past a test audience. I knew the business, production, development, distribution. I knew fame just enough to know it avoided me like the plague. I knew that to be on the other side of the camera, to make it big that way, you need to have contacts that only fame could provide, which of course I didn’t have.

So, there I was in my late twenties (okay, *mid* thirties…), staring down the death sentence of forty (as an actor, at least), when I had the bright idea of going into porn. Now, here’s the thing: Porn is a hard business, no pun intended. Silcone Valley (no, that’s not a typo) is full of gangsters, money laundering operations, and prostitution fronts. The independent folks are mostly web-based and can avoid the trouble, but I was interested in creating something a little more real.

It took me six months and half my nest egg to set up a production and casting company. I split geographical distance between LA and San Diego, finding some nice beach-view offices and set out my plaque: Darling Talent & Development. It was my name after all, Benson Darling. I put some old cast shots of me up on the wall, back when I was a twenty-something playing teenagers, fake blond and all, and the later work where I went with a more serious leading man haircut and my natural brown. There were plenty of other actual famous people in the photos, which was really what I was going for. I also put up some headshots of the more well-known ones. No one needed to know I didn’t actually represent them. Heck, even if they do ask, you just say, ‘Oh, John the Movie Star, yeah…he’s a great guy.’ Most people take that as whatever they want to believe. They fill in the blanks that make them feel special.

I hired a call service out of India to handle my reception. I interviewed a few of them before I found one that had reliable fake American accents. When you call, you immediately hear a busy room, multiple calls, and then you get put on hold, no matter what. It’s Hollywood magic, baby. I did hire an actual receptionist. Her interview consisted of us negotiating what she would and wouldn’t be willing to do on the job. She was surprisingly broad in her in her options, especially since I don’t ask her to do much *real* work. Still, I felt like I was a really in the film business when we sealed the deal with her giving me a blowjob. She’s a thirty-year-old ‘actress’ whose body of work has consisted of showing her tits in the background of a dozen premium cable series and a handful of C-level movies. I let her go to any auditions she wants—it’s not as if I had to worry about her being snapped up by some network or studio. Her primary job was to interrupt every meeting I had with a ‘call’ from a random celebrity, director, or major production company. I made her a list, she uses a random number app on her phone, and that’s who ‘calls’. The list is important. I had to go with B- and C-listers or up-and-comers, as no one would actually believe Spielberg or someone else of his caliber was calling me.

My office is the corner one, of course. I have a beautiful view of the Pacific, a little of the beach, though we’re not right on the water—too expensive. Everything in the office is second hand, but with all of the failed IPOs up north, quality office furniture is never hard to come by. You’d never know I picked up the whole setup for under a couple grand. The largest part of my office suites is the production and casting room. It has a conference table, a small coffee area, a handful of digital still and video cameras on mounts, a lighting rack, a few props and costumes, a green screen, everything I need to look as legitimate as possible. Oh, and the casting couch, or course. Even professional movie and TV companies have these…they just may not all end up being used the same.

My first ads were simple, mostly online, posted in coffee shops (you can hire people to do this for you in dozens of cities), and a few of the cheaper trade magazines. To be clear, I was setting out to commit fraud. I fully expected to get the women I found some work, just not as described in the ad: *Attractive 20-30-year-old female actor for lead or secondary role in major TV series. No tattoos, no unusual piercings. Nudity negotiable. Representation not necessary.* It sounds legitimate at first glance. Any basic research would clearly indicate it wasn’t real, though. A major TV series? Why isn’t it in the expensive trade papers? You don’t need an agent or manager? Possible (probable) red flags. Still, within 24 hours, I had two dozen appointments lined up.

—-

**Sheryl auditions for Darling**

I showed up at Darling Talent a little after nine in the morning, pretty early by Hollywood standards, though I knew I was a bit far from LA. I was a writer, aspiring—meaning unemployed—but I saw the casting call in my favorite coffee shop (meaning the one that was okay with me using power and wifi even though I could only afford one cup a day).

I’d done some acting for a few years. It was how I got interested in writing, and I even did a year or so as an assistant producer on a reality show, but it never panned out. The AP thing, particularly, because, well, I got myself fired. I was bored and hungry, which was why I called for an appointment even though I knew I didn’t have much of a shot. I chalked it up to writer’s block.

Darling’s offices were on the top floor. I walked into reception and saw a pretty blonde behind the desk playing some game on her phone. My first thought was, and I hate to admit it, ‘Who did she have to blow to get that job?’ Not very women-positive of me, but she was probably making twice as much as I ever did. I walked over and introduced myself. She had me take a seat, and a minute later, Darling waved me into his office.

“Hi, I’m Benson Darling.” He said, offering his hand and pointing me to a seat in front of his desk.

“Oh, wow,” I said. “I recognize you. You were in, um, what was it, that college murder mystery show.” He beamed at my recognizing him. I’d looked him up on IMDB. I wasn’t a complete idiot.

“That was a good couple of seasons. Great cast.” He pointed to a photo of them on the wall. “Good people. Still friends with a few of them, though him…” He pointed at one of the other guys who was pretty well-known these days. “He’s a real diva. But enough about me. Here’s how this works. We talk for a couple minutes. I get to know your background a bit, and then we move to the production room for some photos and video tests. I try to do things a bit different here. I will call you…or my people will…even if you *don’t* get the part. Courtesy goes a long way, I say.”

“That’s great.” I said.

“And of course, we’ll call you if you *do* get the part, too!” He laughed and I played along. “So, tell me about you, um,” he looked at my headshot, “Sheryl Clement.”

“I studied writing and drama at Jenson College, that’s a small liberal arts school in—.”

“Oh, I know it,” he smiled, “all-female school, right?” I nodded, surprised he knew. “They have a solid program there.”

“Anyhow, you’ve seen my resume, you know I’ve been on a handful of shows, some speaking parts—I’ve included YouTube links on my resume—and I was thinking about getting back in the business.”

“How was your time on *Secret Admirer*…the reality how, right? How was that. I’ve never worked with a reality show. It’s interesting stuff.”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Sheryl, one thing you need to know about Benson Darling is, when he asks a question, he wants an answer.” He smiled.

“*Secret Admirer* was an awful show. We basically took twenty men and twenty women and turned them into slutty, stalking psychopaths, and all for ratings. They called me the woman-whisperer because I could get people—mostly women—to admit anything, do anything, to stay on the show. I will totally admit it was fun while I was doing it, and the money was good, but it does make you question yourself a bit.”

“So you quit?”

“Um…look,” I shifted in my seat, “I’ll be upfront. I was fired. You’d probably hear about it if you asked around. I got up to some…shenanigans…with a couple of the contestants. In my defense, all the APs were doing it, but I got caught, and it looked very politically correct to fire a woman for such a thing. God knows, I’m probably being used as an example in training videos these days.” I muttered.

“Hey, water under the bridge. Holly*weird*, right?” He laughed. “Okay, so I can’t tell you much about the show, only that it’s going to be a big cast, kind of a blend of scifi and fantasy, and it’s tentatively scheduled for five seasons. I tell people that because some people are hoping for 20 seasons on *Law & Order*, but that is definitely not on the table here.”

“Work is work, Mr. Darling.”

“Please, people just call me Darling.” I nodded. “And, you’re okay with nudity?”

“The flier said it was negotiable…?” I trailed off. I had done nudity in a budget direct to video feature once. On stage, too. And in an independent film. So, not never, but I didn’t even have it on my resume. I’d been ten years younger.

“The extent of the nudity, like top, back, full frontal. How often it happens. That’s all negotiable. Maybe I need to rewrite that flier…” He frowned, writing a note to himself. “But nudity is required, probably at least once, assuming it isn’t cut from the script. So, just to be clear, there will be test shots today with nudity.”

“Today? I figured that would be saved for a callback or whatever.” I said.

“I have just a few weeks to pull together a casting list. The option on this property is close to expiring, and if we don’t have something on film—and soon—well, the studio is *not* thrilled about losing out in a new bidding war with another company. My office in LA is fielding *twice* the number of clients I am here. We don’t have time for callbacks.”

“You have an office in LA, too?” I asked.

“Sure, but I live here. I like it better. Less traffic, for one. The real estate is definitely cheaper.” He laughed. The intercom warbled, and he hit a button on his phone. “Yes, Lucy?”

“I have Sony Pictures for you.” She said.

“Movies or TV?” Darling asked.

“TV, I think, Mr. Darling.” He rolled his eyes at me.

“Lucy, get a number, find out if it’s TV or movies, and I’ll call them back in twenty.” He cut the line. “Sorry about that. I keep trying to get her to ask more questions of the callers…screen them better. It’s unrelated to this part, in case you’re wondering—the Sony call?” I nodded. “So, are you ready to shift over to the production suite?” I followed him out of his office, through the reception, where there were now five other women—most of whom looked younger and prettier than me—patiently waiting. Darling actually seemed surprised by the number of people, giving a look to Lucy the receptionist, but she just shrugged.

The production suite was impressive. He had tens of thousands of dollars of equipment and lighting. Professional gear. That relaxed me a bit. The whole thing seemed less amateur in the moment. That’s probably me making excuses for myself, but I *did* know my way around digital video production, and it wasn’t low-rent. He pointed me to a seat at the conference table and tossed a couple of pages of script in front of me.

“Okay, Sheryl. Showtime, right? Read through that, don’t worry about the pronunciation of the weird names as they’re all fake to protect a leak of what show is being made, and—.”

“So, this is a book-to-TV thing?” I asked.

“I can’t say a thing,” he grinned, miming zipping his lips, “but if it were, all the books are already written, which is better than *Game of Thrones*, for example.” He stood. “You read it over, and we’ll run through lines in front of the camera, then photos.” I read the lines. It was…not great, but part of me was thinking the whole thing was a mock-up to not reveal anything to the tabloids. A lot of shows had secrecy like that in early development. “Ready?” He asked as he switched on the finals lights, and got behind the camera. I got in front of the off-white background and loosened up a bit. “I’ll lead off after I introduce you.” I saw the red light go on. “Screen test for Sheryl Clement, trying out for Prenda.” He said flatly. “Production number 1709. Action. ‘Prenda, we were worried about your safe arrival. The Lentox Armada was trailing you through warp space the whole journey.’”

“I may have been traveling alone, but the gods were with me, Arbiter Prime, so there was no need to worry. I’ve brought gifts from the Slax Empire, gifts which might aid both our Empires against the Lentox.” All I could think was not to affect the faux-British accent Carrie Fisher did in the first Star Wars.

“Weapons, we have, assassin.” Darling said. It was actually pleasant to run lines with a real actor, since most of the time some random person read them like grocery lists.

“Not weapons, Arbiter, something much better…information.” I paused. “Information that could change the very course of our centuries-long war.” I let out a breath.

“Fantastic, Sheryl, really. You made me really feel the threat of an imaginary war in a mocked-up script. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“Kind of, yeah. I mean, I’m a writer, and while I guessed this was probably a mock-up, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this whole setup was fake.” Darling blinked for a moment, but nodded back.

“We’ll move onto Menisla now. This is a secondary part, but appears in almost every episode, as I understand it.” He pulled down a darker background. “Okay, so, Menisla runs the upper baths; it’s where a lot of the politicking in the show takes place. You’ll need to take off your top for this scene, but I’ll only be shooting you from the waist up.”

“This is, um, unusual.”

“Hey, no, I get it.” He put up his hands. “I can call Lucy in here as a chaperone.”

“No, just, you know, nudity in an *audition*…I’ve done nude scenes,” I quickly added, “but I never had to do this *before* getting a part.” He handed me another sheet of paper with Menisla’s part on it. It had ‘For Production & Casting Only’ stamped at the top.

“I’m not supposed to show you that, but look at the casting guidelines.” He pointed and I read: *Menisla is introduced in the baths, naked, but even nude she has a commanding and threatening presence. Potential cast must exhibit poise and presence in otherwise embarrassing situations.* “Look, you need to decide now, nude or non-nude, but your chances at anything without at least the photos are almost nil. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was floored by your Prenda audition. I’ve already starred it, really.” He held up a list of names. Mine was starred in blue pen. He smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “So, if you’ll tie up that lovely brunette hair of yours,” he handed me some clips, “and take off your top, we can show them a Menisla who *owns* the room, *regardless* of her state of dress.” He backed off and went behind the camera, not even waiting for answer. I paused a moment, but then pulled off my t-shirt and unhooked my bra, tossing them both on the floor next to me. “Don’t worry, tan lines won’t be held against you.” He laughed, and I looked down at my breasts, nipples hard in the AC, and saw what he meant. I really needed to get outside more. “Screen test for Sheryl Clement, trying out for Menisla.” He said flatly. “Production number 1709. Action. ‘Mistress Menisla, always a pleasure, but more so seeing you enjoy your own baths.’”

“One of the benefits of owning the best baths on the planet is that I may enjoy them whenever I please—even after hours. That raises the question though, Torkeg, what are *you* doing in my baths after hours.” I tried to sound as imperious as I could, and that was not easy with my tits out.

“Perhaps I came for the beautiful scenery, Mistress.”

“If it’s girls you wish, Torkeg, those are found at the rear entrance of the baths, and—.”

“A woman, Mistress, I sought a woman. You.”

“You interrupted me, so you think me a woman, but treat me as a serving girl. Now, say your peace before I have you drowned, palace dog. My toes are starting to wrinkle, and I’d rather not have to climb out of the bath in front of you and share the sight of the one treasure I’ve kept from men all these years. Speak, dog! Your words are not worth my toes wrinkling in tepid water.”

“Oh, Mistress, these words, I think they are.” He turned off the camera. “And…scene. Fantastic. Honestly. You owned that character better than Prenda, I think.” He grabbed a camera. “So, I’ll get some head shots—.” I reached for my clothes. “You can put your shirt on if you want, but you’ll be taking it off in a minute.” I pulled on my t-shirt without a bra regardless. He took pictures and profiles, then backed up for body shots of the same. “Okay, now I need you fully nude.” He held up a hand. “No tattoos or weird piercings, right? Because we can stop here.” He shrugged. “I should’ve reiterated that earlier.”

“No.” I muttered. “No, tattoos or anything, but I’ve, um, never done full nudity before.” I pulled off my t-shirt again and started unbuckling the belt on my jeans.

“You can put your stuff on the chair over there.” He pointed. “And if you’d like me to leave the room while you change, I can.” I appreciated the offer. I’d been to casting sessions that were borderline bachelor parties before, five or six men six in loungers and watching the women parade through. Darling was being surprisingly sensitive.

“No, it’s fine.” I said. “You’ll be taking the pictures anyhow.” He shrugged. I kicked off my shoes, set my bra and t-shirt on the chair, and then shimmied down my jeans. I wasn’t wearing anything sexy underneath, the bra and panties both light blue cotton. I set my jeans on the chair and started sliding down my panties. Darling wasn’t even looking my direction, messing with a light meter, instead. I moved back into frame, now completely nude. I glanced down at the brown hair between my legs and frowned. I hadn’t expected to actually get naked today, and I couldn’t really afford a salon appointment. “Is, um, this,” I smoothed the hair between my legs, “is this a problem?” He glanced over, realizing what I meant.

“No, not at all. I mean, even on premium cable, if you don’t have hair, they usually add it in makeup. It’s not as if you’re all *Last Days of Disco* down there. Of the handful of women I’ve had come in so far, we’ve run the gamut, from bushy to bald. You’re safely in the middle. It also helps that your boobs are real, not gigantic, and you’re slim enough without being skeletal. A natural woman, really.” I blinked, not saying anything. “Okay, now, arms at your sides.” He took a series of photos. “Turn left…turn right.” He took more. “Now show me your back.” We were done in a few minutes, and then I got dressed, feeling good about the interview, though also feeling a little like I’d just bought a used car.

**End Part 1**

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/bhcgf0/casting_about_part_1_mfmastenfexh