Film Star: Prologue LENGTH: 2,204 words
WARNING: This story contains sexual acts between young adult males and/or females. If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relations to real persons or acts that may appear within are unintentional. THIS STORY IS FICTION.
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JUSTIN BIEBER FILMED PEEING IN A BUCKET WHILE DRUNK
LEAKED TEXT MESSAGES JUSTIN SENT SELENA GOMEZ SHOW HIS DICK PICS AND BEGGING FOR SEX
NOT SO BIG AFTER ALL? JUSTIN BIEBER CAUGHT WITH PHOTOSHOPPED BULGE IN NEW CALVIN KLEIN UNDERWEAR ADS
BRAZILIAN PROSTITUTE FILMS JUSTIN BIEBER SLEEPING AFTER SEX: SAYS HE HAS A SMALL PENIS
WHY JUSTIN BIEBER HAS NO CHOICE BUT TO BANG HOOKERS
JUSTIN BIEBER FLOPS - NEW ALBUM JOURNALS FAILS TO CRACK TOP 40
JUSTIN BIEBER FILES FOR BANKRUPTCY
PROLOGUE
Life comes at you fast and from behind, no matter who you are. I rose to the top on pure talent, and a lot of people resented me for it. But I didn't care. It never impacted me, hurt my feelings, to see all of those people hating on me. All that mattered was the bottom line.
But eventually they came for me. Don't get me wrong, the tabloids always have their stories, and it's the job of every A-list superstar to take his turn, bend over, spread his cheeks, and get fucked in the ass by the press, and I didn't mind at first, even kind of liked it, because I was invincible. Scooter always told me my future was set: financial counselors handling my assets, shaking charts in my face every other week showing me how much money I was bringing in from endorsements, investments, moonshots; monthly meetings in Silicon Valley, me and my team, relaxing, having a few beers, listening to dozens of little geniuses file in and beg for venture capitalist funds; Forbes covers, Justin Bieber, the one man empire. I knew Scooter was working hard to build me a future, because he needed me and always would. I was the biggest star in the world. I was a sex icon. Millions of girls were obsessed with me and for good reason. In the end, I was right: he was building a future alright, just not for me.
When things started to go downhill, he and the other executives at my label held private meetings, and every major player who had a stake in Justin Bieber helped plan an exit strategy. Everyone, except me. They pulled out, ran away with millions, my millions, leaving me and my money to take the brunt of the ass-whipping. Don't get me wrong, I still made away with some cash, and lawyers convinced me to open up lawsuits against the media for promoting their fake news, that I could bring in enough money to make up for the damages, but I never did get any money out of all the court cases, just got sucked dry by those lawyers.
I still knew it wasn't the end. Money comes and goes, but Justin Bieber doesn't. The girls would always love me. I had looks and charisma to milk for days. I was the young playboy guys wanted to be and girls wanted to fuck. So I kept living my life.
When things got really bad, I fell back on my own fame. Back in the day, I used to model for Calvin Klein underwear, and even though they had fired me by this time due to the bad publicity, I still had something useful from them. You see, they used to send me huge shipments of their underwear weekly. I mean a shitload. I used to wear a pair once and throw them away, simple, no need to do laundry. I realized I could some extra cash selling them online as "Justin Bieber's underwear." Obviously, no one knew it was me selling them, would have made for more bad press, so they probably assumed it was some creeper. I handled in the operation in good faith, though. I was tempted to just pawn off all the brand new pairs up front, as no one would have known the difference, but then I thought back on all my one night stands with groupies over the years and how desperately they just wanted a smell or a taste of my body. They didn't just want Justin Bieber's underwear. They wanted Justin Bieber's used underwear. So I decided to always wear a pair for a day before selling them.
Eventually, though, I burned through most of my supply, and Calvin Klein had long since stopped replenishing my stock with new shipments, and honestly the demand Justin Bieber's used underwear kind of collapsed. But believe me, business was booming for awhile, so good that I ran through my entire supply of boxer briefs and started working through the plain white briefs. I had never even worn any of them before that point. As a dude who wore boxer briefs his entire life, I hated those briefs, there was just something fucking gay about a dude wearing tighty-whities, but hey, they were free underwear, and honestly I warmed up them after I started wearing them. There's no doubt that they made my bulge look bigger.
At any rate, like I said, business was good enough for me to scrape enough money to move to a cheap apartment in Los Angeles, to do a little soul searching, to regroup and plan my comeback. I was initially concerned that I might run into some of my old acquaintances, chief among them Ryan Butler, my best bro back from the days of Stratford. I kept in touch with him for a long time even after I became famous, but eventually we started talking less or less. I just can't bear to see him face-to-face in the midst of my slump. I figure I'll just wait it out until things trend upward before I reach out with old friends to reconnect.
Turns out that I didn't really have to worry when it came to Ryan, though, because supposedly he's out in New York City now pursuing some opportunities to be a film director. He always wanted to be a film director. Back in the day, he built a social media following as "Justin Bieber's best friend" and transitioned into vlogging and endorsement and short little videos. I won't lie, it blows that he's out there in NYC moving up in the world while I'm stuck in the ruts here in the asshole of LA when he built his entire career on my name. Where are my royalty checks?
At least that means I don't have to worry about encountering him here, though, not right now. I still get by on the scraps of what I once had, but I have no money anymore and a shit ton of debt. No way can I let him know how far I've fallen, not while he's raking in the cash. I'm looking for something new, for the start of a new chapter of my life. I know I can't work normal day jobs, not because I don't have any skills, but because I have too many skills. I'm too good for that. I'm a performer, a businessman, and above all, an artist, at heart, and I can't squander that on a nine-to-five.
So I've been piecing together a plan. While I dreaded running into certain people in LA, the truth is that it's also the perfect place to run into others, industry insiders with connections that could put me back on the map, get me back in the game. So I spend a lot of my free time walking up and down _____ during the day, partly because it's a beautiful walk, great exercise to keep me in shape, a quiet time for thinking, but also because it's just that type of place on the edge of the action, where you might just run across a film executive or producer finishing up lunch or walking to his car, an industry insider who would surely notice Justin Bieber walking by and try to persuade me to work on his new project. It's been rough thus far. I see familiar faces, but they avoid eye contact. They pretend they don't recognize me.
Which brings me to girls. It drove me nuts for a while, because they're the worst about it. At first, I would still chase down actresses and reality stars on the streets, but eventually I settled for whatever hot piece of ass crossed my way. They're all the same. They act like they're clueless, like they've never heard the name Justin Bieber, or babble about some other douche who is supposedly the new heartthrob, or worst of all, admit that they had a thing for Justin Bieber but are convinced that there's no way that I could be "the" Justin Bieber. All that complaining just to make it clear that in spite of all of that, I still get pussy. Lots of it. I have built a network of girls who I keep in contact with, and I don't even bother telling them about my past. I text Selena on occasion too, hoping to reclaim her attention. Not sure if her number is still the same. But anyway, most of my hookups are just girls I meet here or there. There's something validating about hooking up with girls who don't know that I'm "the" Justin Bieber. I know their intentions are pure. There's never any concern that this girl or that girl is hanging around me just because she's a gold digger or fame whore. These girls are here for my body and my cock. I'm a kinky guy in bed. I live to have girls down on their knees in front of me, choking on my penis, taking it in the ass, and swallowing my load when I'm finished. And they genuinely want it.
At any rate, today is a special day. Much like every other, I'm walking down _____, basking in the heat of the LA sun, but with a spring in my step, a renewed sense of purpose. I'm headed to the store to pick up some condoms. I only have a couple bucks to my name, but I need the condoms because one of my regular hookups is headed over soon, and she's bringing a friend. From what I hear, the friend isn't into group sex. Then again, girls always say they aren't into group sex until my clothes start coming off. Five minutes later two mouths are wrapped around my cock or they're bent over doggystyle taking it in the ass in shifts.
But that's not all of the good news. A few days ago, chance shined brightly on me and I ran into Christopher Steele on this exact street, leaving _____, a popular healthy food lunch destination for reality stars and execs. You may not have heard of him, but he's an executive at Paramount Pictures and Brazzers, which if you also don't know, happens to be one of the biggest porn studios in the world. We've met before, at some party in Nashville. He recognized me immediately, we talked for a bit, and we've been emailing back and forth ever since.
He was upfront, which I appreciate. He talked to me about the porn industry and how much money big time stars pulled in. He talked about how all the teasing that I'd done over the years, walking around in public with my shirt off, with my pants sagging, or with nothing on at all except for my underwear, my time spent modeling my bulge for those hungry fans as a Calvin Klein model, how it had all nurtured a pent-up, insatiable demand for Justin Bieber's naked body in all its glory, to be consumed by the eyes of everyone. When I feigned disinterest, he lowered the stakes. He insisted even a single naked photoshoot would be enough to kick-start things and offered me $10,000 for it. I salivated at the thought of all that money. I knew it was all true. But I declined. Not because I'm modest. Not because I didn't believe him that the demand was still out there, because I knew it was. I declined because I knew something more, which is that the instant I entertained the world's thirst and blessed them with that high definition glimpse of my naked body, they'd lose interest. I had seen the same thing happen when selling my dirty underwear, and I don't make the same mistakes twice.
So there's no way I could film a porno attached to Justin Bieber's name. A single, publicized picture of my naked body would smother my chances at a successful comeback. I would be throwing away my last and biggest bargaining chip. So I refused. I'll keep my dick in my pants, at least in front of people who know my real identity. Like I said, I'm not modest. I played hardball with him, and after awhile it all paid off. We agreed on an underwear shoot, as long as it came along with a part in one of Paramount's new movies, even if it was a small role at first. Anything to get my foot in the door. And I'd also consider his other offers, or so I said, to keep him biting. In reality, I wouldn't. But this was how I was going to make it big again.