The Trashy Virgin(33)

That was a huge mistake. Everyone in the restaurant literally craned  their heads to get a look at me. Plus, passerby could see me through the  big window as they walked outside, doing double takes when they  realized who I was. One guy even stopped in his tracks, pointing me out  to his friends before laughing nastily.

Then there were the comments themselves. When our burgers came, the  waitress asked silkily, "You're so skinny when you're naked, where do  all those calories go?"

I cringed inside. In the video I'd been a healthy, curvy woman but I'd  lost weight recently due to stress. My figure was now like a rail  because I was unable to eat, unable to focus on anything but the tragedy  of my life. It made me feel ugly.

Even more upsetting, it seemed that comments about my body were fair  game now, even if they were disguised at compliments. Just the other day  a woman I didn't even know said, "Love that outfit, the color suits  your bush down there."

I'd stood stock still, my face burning, unable to even put together a  response. The woman had merely sniggered before running off with her  friends, leaving me dying inside, wanting to go home.

But where was home now? My life has gone completely to shit ever since  the news hit the papers, and my mom's a mess, her distress making her  helpless.

"Melly," Noreen cried into the phone. "Why did you do it? You know I  have some money saved, I could have helped you with tuition."

"No, Ma," I said quietly. "Don't you remember our last conversation?  With Sam in the Army now, you asked if there was some way I could get a  part time job, remember?"

"But Melly," sobbed my mom. "I didn't mean for you to go into the adult  entertainment industry. I never meant for you to sell your body, it's  now how I raised you," she choked.

I felt really sad. "I know Ma, you did the best you could. But I didn't  want to burden you, and forty-six thousand a year is way more than we  can afford. I didn't see any other way."

"Oh Melly," sobbed my mom again. "What are we going to do?"

I didn't say anything. There were no answers after all, and it was all I could do to try and survive day to day.

I want to say that I was strong, that I soldiered on stolidly, putting  on a brave face by going to class, doing homework, and being productive.  But the truth is after a week of torture, I applied for and was granted  academic leave from Trinity. Again, another blow to my dreams. I'm not  sure when or how I'm going to finish my degree now, and without a  degree, how am I going to get a job, especially with my porn background?

Plus, I've been inundated by interview requests of the wrong kind.  Journalists ask the most intrusive, degrading questions, and it's almost  as if nothing is off-limits anymore.

"Do you think you're being exploited?"

"What is it like being the face of teenage promiscuity?"

"Can I take a look at your ID myself? I just want to verify your age for the paper."

The questions babbled on in my head even after I left the scene. To be  honest, I'm thinking about giving a candid interview just to correct  some of the falsehoods. People immediately think that I was abused as a  child, molested, locked in dark closets for long hours. How do I explain  that my mom worked hard to raise me right, and the porn is in no way a  reflection of her parenting skills?

God, I was exhausted just thinking about it. So very, very tired.  Sometimes I feel Melanie fading into the distance and my porn star  persona slowly taking over, overshadowing everything that I used to be.  People call me "Trinity" occasionally, and I find myself answering  questions as her.

"Trinity, what do you think about double-teaming? Do you think women are abused when they do double penetration?"

I was fatigued but at the same time so angry, it's hard to explain. On  the one hand, I was ashamed that I'd gone down the adult entertainment  path, but on the other, my subconscious knew that I had to own it. After  all, anyone who's ever watched X-rated stuff knows that there are  performers who love DP. The girls are usually squealing as they're  sandwiched, savoring the double-stuff in their cunny and ass. So my  reply was direct and straightforward.         

     



 

"No, women in porn agree to a scene beforehand," I said firmly. "No  producer would spring DP on an actress. Remember, she gets paid a bonus  for taking two, so there's no surprise, it's all built into the script."

"A script?" laughed the reporter disbelieving. "There are no lines in the film."

I kept my face resolute. What a jerk-off. But it wasn't over yet.

"Trinity," asked another reporter. "Are you making enough to cover your tuition now? Forty-six thousand a year is a lot."

That was the other big angle to the story. How increasing student debt  burdens had forced an Ivy League student to sell her body. And I wasn't  sure what to say in response to this question because it was basically  true.

I decided to dodge instead.

"I'm sorry," I said sweetly. "But my financial situation is none of your  business. Besides, it's rude to ask someone's salary," I said. "How  would you like it if I asked how much you made?"

"Seventy-five thousand," he sniggered, not missing a beat. "After taxes.  So how about it? Answer the question, honey bun, you know we'll find  out anyways."

"No can do," I replied sweetly. "But I'll let you know the next time I have a new release."

Because I was thinking of taking control of the narrative. Things had  spun so out of control, all the lies and rumors about me building up,  making me feel sad but also violated and outraged. I needed to regain  control of my life and maybe the solution was to throw myself into the  lion's den. After all, I was already at its edges. Why not go all the  way?





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Stryke




I wanted my sister home asap. She was flying in this afternoon and we couldn't get her in our arms soon enough.

The maelstrom has been fucking incredible. Melanie's been profiled in  Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone, all those publications focusing on the  salacious parts of her story, painting her as a "porn star" when in  fact, she's never performed professionally. It was all because of that  leaked audition tape.

But celebrity is cruel. The press has taken to calling her "Trinity" and  her answers have been getting sassier and more confident. She's saying  things like, "Women own their bodies and if they want to make a little  money, why not?" Holy cow. What had become of our innocent little girl?

When Melanie showed up at our doorstep, Saxon and I were on her in a  second, helping her in, settling her on the couch. She looked tired and I  was again reminded of her relative youth. In the magazine profiles  she'd been doused in make-up, her hair blown-out straight so that she  looked at least twenty-five. Here, out of the public glare she was  eighteen again, our little sister to be protected and cherished.

"Baby," said Saxon, "how have you been holding up?"

"Brother," she sighed, leaning her head against his bicep. "Not good,"  she murmured. "I'm so sorry, I ended up taking leave from school and  they said they couldn't refund tuition for this semester, not even part  of it," she continued sadly.

I kissed her head.

"Don't even worry about the refund," I rumbled. "We don't care about the  lost tuition. The more important question is, how are you?"

She closed her eyes as if letting herself rest for the first time in two  weeks, breathing shallowly, tears gathering beneath her eyelids.

"Brothers," she said sadly. "Am I done for? Will I always be Trinity  now, and not Melanie? Because you know that's how I'm publicly known."

We didn't know what to say. The truth was yeah, she was probably barred  from gainful employment forever more, the best she could do was probably  as a waitress or working retail. Because what respectable corporation  would hire a former porno star? Background checks these days are crazy  rigorous.

But we didn't want to get into it just now. We wanted her to feel  better, to become whole again, after the messed-up turn in her life.

"Honey," I said, smoothing her hair back. "Why don't you get some rest,  you must be tired after the long flight. We'll talk about it after  dinner."

And I saw that she was nodding off already, weary and slumped, the  stress and tension melting from her slender frame for the first time in  weeks. Slowly, Saxon picked her up and we deposited her on the big bed  in our room, her small form dwarfed by the huge circular mattress.

Once the door was closed, Sax turned to me.

"Fuck brother," he growled. "She's so tiny, she's lost weight for sure. Any update on who did this?"

I sighed. The truth was painfully simple and heartbreaking.

"Her roommate," I said. "A girl named Lauren. Melly thinks they're best  friends, but Lauren videotaped the audition on her cell and sold it," I  said.